#sentry x you

[trainer-from-unova]

void

𖤐 bandom blog: @princess-lvcifer 𖤐 english ao3 𖤐 spanish ao3 𖤐 edits 𖤐

ship: the void x mutant/black widow reader (x robert reynolds)

summary: They were getting used to Bob and Void. Most of the time they dealt with Bob, who was shy and respectful — and on the other side was Void, who thought he was superior to everyone (or almost everyone) and could get on their nerves a lot of the time, but they had learned that, for some reason, most of the time he only showed up when the former was alone with _______, so they tried not to let those situations happen.

c/w: lack of communication, consensual sex, oral sex, piv sex, masturbation, alcohol, light angst

a/n: this is post-canon and the movie isn't out yet so if the void's ooc or don't have some powers or somebody who died in the movie (Taskmaster- wHO SAID THAT!?) is here don't mind it. Also English isn't my first language and this is better in Spanish because "ghosting", "empty" and "void" it's the same word: vacío.

word count: 3'8k

Dealing with a system could be difficult, let alone living with it — fortunately, they were getting used to Bob and Void. Most of the time they dealt with Bob, who was shy and respectful — and on the other side was Void, who thought he was superior to everyone (or almost everyone) and could get on their nerves a lot of the time, but they had learned that, for some reason, most of the time he only showed up when the former was alone with _______, so they tried not to let those situations happen.

At first she was confused that such a thing happened, then it began to annoy and even sadden her. She thought he hated her for some reason, and she thought it made the most sense that he hated her for being a mutant.

"He doesn't hate you for that," Yelena said in her typical annoyed tone. She and the others knew it wasn't personal.

It was girls' night out and the four of the team were drinking in a bar in Manhattan as Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte.

"Oh, so you confirm he hates me," she said in the same tone.

"No, he doesn't hate you- well, I think," she hastened to correct herself.

Of all of them Yelena was the closest to Bob, but she didn't know why he was giving her the cold shoulder; she just knew that if she asked him directly it would be too suspicious. The few times Yelena brought up the subject when the two of them were alone together he tried to quickly change the conversation, saying he didn't want to talk about it, and she accepted in defeat because she didn't want to make him uncomfortable, let alone provoke a trigger for Void to come out. Every time they commented on these attempts she or the others said that maybe Bob thought there was a possibility that it was _______ posing as Yelena with a mask and wig, and that would explain why he didn't want to talk about it even with her.

"I'm sure he hates me for that reason," she said referring to her mutation, not wanting to say it explicitly because she was in public.

"If your theory were true, wouldn't it make more sense for him to hate me too," Ava asked, "even more than you?"

"Exactly!" said Yelena pointing and agreeing with her, understanding her point. Antonia nodded slowly and silently as she sipped her drink.

"I mean, even if it's not..." she stopped and waved her hand, and they all understood that she meant "mutant" "I think my power is scarier than yours, and he doesn't treat me like he treats you," said Ava.

"Yeah, but I don't know..." She shrugged her shoulders. "That's the only logical explanation I can see, or maybe I have done or said something that upset him too much without meaning to and he doesn't dare tell me."

"You'd have the explanation if you got inside his mind," Antonia reminded her.

"But I don't want to do that," she said.

They all knew why she didn't want to do that, it wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time they would talk about him and that subject, so there was no need to remind them.

At the beginning, when they were together with all the group, she would catch Bob looking at her, and their gazes would cross — not when they were on a mission, but when they were in calmer, more domestic settings she would sometimes smile at him, but he would always, no matter the situation or the place, look away seriously and quickly. Now it was she who looked at him from a distance, and he didn't even look her in the eye when she spoke. Luckily they both tried to be cordial in group, not wanting to make the others uncomfortable — they didn't speak directly but they spoke, and if someone were looking from the outside, probably no one would notice what was, or rather, what was not between them.

The one she did speak directly to and make eye contact with was Void, the few times they were together. He even dared to come dangerously close to her and scan her from top to bottom without any disguise whatsoever. It didn't bother her — even though she knew it wasn't technically him, she found the difference curious and it was better than nothing. It wasn't him, but his body was the same.

She knew she probably shouldn't make a big deal out of the situation, if he didn't want to get along with her for whatever reason that was his problem, but she couldn't help but feel frustrated. She wanted to get along with him — not because she felt the need to make everyone think well of her, but for the sake of coexistence and above all because she did like him, even if it didn't make sense.

It was on a sleepless night that she approached the answer that was keeping her awake — as she couldn't sleep as the hours passed she became thirsty, so she quietly left her bed and her bedroom for the kitchen to get something to drink. It was when she reached the living room on her way down the stairs to the first floor of the complex that she saw that the chandeliers were on, and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Bob walking away from the kitchen, heading towards where she was in just his pyjama bottoms. When he noticed her he stopped in front of her and looked at her in surprise, but quickly changed his expression — she knew it wasn't him anymore.

"It's been a long time," she said in a calm tone, slowly approaching him.

"You can visit me if you miss me so much," he said in his typical mocking smile and tone, slowly approaching her as well. "As easy as knocking on Bob's door and waiting for me to open it for you," she laughed, snorting through her nose as she folded her arms.

"He'd have a heart attack."

"I'm here to protect him," and that answer made her furrow her brows in frustration and curiosity.

"Why doesn't he like me?" she asked once and for all. She didn't really want to discuss the subject with him, it was personal and emotional, but clearly she couldn't ask Bob directly either. "Why do you have to protect him from me? I don't understand."

"You've never entered his mind?" he asked still with that mocking tone, as if it was ridiculous for him to ask such a question because she could easily get the answer doing that.

"No, I'd rather not, if possible..."

"Afraid of not making it, as in my case?" He asked, reminding her of the time she tried it when he got out of control and blacked out Manhattan.

"It's not that," she said, rolling her eyes, "I don't like to do it, specially with people I'm close to."

"Then you'll never get an answer."

"Let me talk to him," she pleaded.

"Why so much interest in him?" he asked slightly more serious and even a little annoyed. "At least I like you."

"Is that another reason why I can never be alone with him?" she asked surprised and confused by the sudden and ambiguous confession.

"Maybe," he replied mockingly again.

He was starting to get on her nerves, but at the same time she couldn't help raising her eyebrows and laughing incredulously, looking in another direction. In their conversations there always came a moment when she didn't know whether to give in or play along, but that night she decided to play along.

"Oh yeah?" she asked looking at him, imitating his tone and dropping her arms.

"Yeah."

"I don't think you like me as much as you say you do," and she wasn't partly lying, but she wanted to know how much truth there was in his words.

"Do you want me to prove it to you?" He asked daring to stand dangerously close to her as he lowered his gaze to her lips. She was surprised by his proposal and his boldness, but decided to be expressionless at the moment.

"Alright," she replied averting her gaze to his lips and being aware of what was likely to happen a few seconds later. What she didn't expect was for him to bring his fingers to her chin to lift it even higher as he closed the small distance between their lips.

They got straight to the point: the kiss was intense and desperate from the start. Unconsciously she moaned and brought her hands to his shoulders as he brought the hand that cupped her chin to one of her cheeks, and with the other he pulled her closer to him by her waist.

When they parted for lack of air he raised his hand to turn off the lights with his powers, and then grabbed her hand and guided her hurriedly to his bedroom, where in complete darkness they quickly took off all their clothes and got into bed to continue kissing there, with him on top of her. When he tired of kissing her lips he settled down next to her to kiss her neck while he slid his fingertips down her abdomen, creating little spasms until he reached where he wanted: her clitoris.

He began to move his index finger in circles. Her breathing began to hitch, and she tried not to moan, but it was impossible. She bit her lip and put a hand to her mouth to silence herself, but he grabbed her with his free hand, intertwined her fingers and placed it against the mattress.

"There's no reason to hold back, the walls are theoretically sound proof," he said against her neck, tickling her with his voice. He was loving her moans, and he was getting hard just listening to her moan and feeling her writhe in pleasure beneath her, and she could easily feel it against her thigh.

Wanting more he began to move his finger faster, making her moan more often and harder. She also began to feel a warmth inside her abdomen moving down to her crotch and she began to spasm harder — it was obvious to both of them what was happening. She ended up exhausted even though she had done nothing, having to catch her breath.

Then he released her and slid down, where he put his hands on her thighs to spread them open and kissed his way down to her crotch. Noticing what he intended to do she opened her eyes like plates and blushed like hell, almost having to stifle a gasp of shock — she wouldn't complain about not having to do anything and be sexually pleasured, but she was embarrassed to have someone get that close there. He was a first in that sense, none of the few men in her sexual history had dared to do so — unfortunately it wasn't common for normal men, but he was clearly not a normal man, in many ways.

Unconsciously her hips bucked against his mouth and nose, and her body began to tremble as he thrust his tongue into her, making her even wetter than she already was inside. She closed her eyes, threw her head back and grabbed him by his long hair, tousling it even more. She found it hard not to writhe in pleasure and he could tell she was about to make her climax again by her uncontrollable moans, which grew louder as she clung even tighter to him.

After that he climbed on top of her and she noticed him settling back on top of her and between her legs, and she cooperated by wrapping her legs around his back. He didn't put on a condom as he knew it wasn't necessary.

He slid the tip of his member across her entrance as if he were painting on a canvas with a brush, causing her lips to open slightly, and then he inserted his member slowly, causing her to clutch at his back. She was very wet, but it was still hard to make her way in. "Fuck, you're tight..." he growled, his forehead resting on her shoulder and making her blush. "I thought you Black Widows had a lot of experience."

"What a subtle way to call me a slut," she said now slightly offended as he began to thrust into her, slower and then faster. Her moans were rising again, as she heard his hips grinding against her buttocks, and most of all, the bed frame bumping against the wall and the wetness inside her.

She decided not to hold back her moans as he began to thrust harder and faster, and soon after she felt that warm sensation again, moving down her belly and into her crotch. A few more thrusts and they were both on the verge of orgasm — she was moaning uncontrollably from her throat and begging him to please make her cum as she arched her back and tightened her fingers. He finished the same way, sighing and cumming inside her as her walls closed around him, her hips spasming before coming to a complete stop.

When they were done, exhausted and lying on their backs, they stared at the pitch black ceiling as they caught their breath.

"Okay, so..." she said suddenly, now calmer and after wiping herself with a packet of tissues that he took out of one of the drawers of the small table next to the bed. "You like me sexually, that's for sure, but... In general, why do you like me?"

"You're very curious," he said laughing quietly, "aren't you?" he asked as he turned his neck to the left even though he couldn't see her.

"If you were- if you two were" she corrected herself quickly, adding Bob to the equation as she did the same with her neck, only to the right, "clearer, I wouldn't have so many doubts," she said slightly annoyed.

"Well," he turned his neck towards the ceiling again, "you're attractive in many ways and you're the most powerful one here- after me, of course."

"Of course..." she repeated sarcastic, doing the same. "Thank you, I suppose...? Though I'm not the most powerful among the others by far."

"That's what you think," he said surprisingly serious, "but you have potential. Maybe with proper training you could have gotten into my mind back then."

After that she was silent and thoughtful for a few seconds, and decided to change the subject.

"When... can I talk to Bob?" she asked turning sideways.

"Do you really want to talk to him right now?" he grumbled, to which she now laughed quietly.

"No, but soon, okay?" she said poking him in the arm.

"Okaaay, okay."

She was exhausted, and he let her sleep there, in his bed. They both suffered from insomnia, but after all they had done, falling asleep was easier, especially for her. She was the first to fall asleep and the last to wake up — the last to fall asleep was Void, and the first to wake up was Bob.

He woke up slowly, and opened his eyes in surprise and confusion when he noticed that he was completely naked. The confusion got worse when he noticed someone next to him, and that someone wasn't just anyone — it was _______ and just like him she was naked, he could see it because there was some morning light coming in through the window of the bedroom. He blushed and panicked, having her there with him and guessing what happened in the night between her and Void. As usual he didn't remember anything and thought that, as usual, Void would take control of his body — but to his surprise he didn't, so he panicked even more.

He stretched out his arm until he could reach for his mobile phone on the small table to his right, trying not to move too much or make too much noise so that the sleeping woman to his left would not wake up. He looked at the time, but that wasn't really the information he wanted to get — he wanted to go to the notes app in case there was a message from Void explaining the situation, but there was nothing there. The situation took a turn for the worse when he noticed her stretch and move towards him, curling up next to him.

"Good morning," she whispered tiredly, her eyes still closed.

"Uh... Good morning...?" he asked extremely confused, almost scared.

The moment she heard that, noticing his change of tone and his complete confusion, she opened her eyes wide and sat up, not caring that she was bare-chested and looking at him just as confused and scared as he was.

"Bob?" she asked nervously.

"Um yeah," he answered and did the same.

"Oh God, that bastard appears and disappears at the worst times!" She exclaimed annoyed, referring to Void as she sat cross-legged under the sheets.

"Tell me about it..." He whispered, "What... happened last night?"

"Oh, well..." She blushed as she remembered what happened, averting her gaze in another direction as she bit her lip. "A lot of things, actually..." she laughed nervously.

"I mean, you don't have to give me all those details," he said nervously and blushed as he sat down in the same way as her, "I just want to know what led to this..."

"Okay, so..." She sighed deeply and prepared to launch into the monologue that would be the explanation. "Well, I was having trouble falling asleep so I went to the kitchen to get a drink," she said looking into his eyes, but she got nervous so she looked down, and she wasn't the only one as he did the same while listening to her explanation, "but there I ran into you and Void appeared, then we greeted each other and mentioned you. He said that he protects you from me and that confused me, even more because I've been annoyed for months now by the fact that you've been ghosting me and whenever we're alone he literally always appears..." She said, gesturing with her hand and looking in another direction. "I wanted to talk to you about it but since I couldn't I asked him, and he asked me if I'd gone into your mind..." he tensed and looked at her again, even though she was crestfallen. "I said no, not because I can't as in his case, but because I don't want to, it seems to me an intrusion..." she said, now looking in the other direction. "Like sneaking into someone's house," she shrugged her shoulders. "So, all of a sudden... I think he confessed to me that he likes me...?" she asked confused, now finally looking him in the eyes — he was listening to her intently, but also confused, surprised and embarrassed. "Because he told me that and that literally that maybe that was also a reason why he always showed up when we were alone," she said looking down again and pointing at him with one hand, "so I decided to play along and he told me that if I didn't think he liked me that much he could show me, so we kissed, came here and... Well, the rest is history," she looked back into his eyes as she laughed nervously and shrugged, waiting for him to finally say something, but he was too busy sighing deeply and taking it all in to say anything.

"So, let's be clear... You really wanted to...?" He gestured with his hand, pointing at her with his index finger and then at his chest, and so on a couple of times.

"What?" she asked confused. "Fuck? Uh yeah, you're- you two are hot, and I had three orgasms..." she whispered, smiling but blushing.

"Oh..." he said surprised and blushing. "I'm glad, I guess..." She nodded silently and slowly, and they both stood in silent, crestfallen for a few seconds, not knowing what to do or say.

"Um, Bob..." she said nervously to get his attention as she craned her neck to look at him, and he did the same, "Have I ever done or said anything to you...? Or do you hate me because I'm a mutant...?" she said trying to hide her distress as much as possible, wanting to make it seem more like curiosity, but her tone and facial expression really gave her away.

"Hate you!?" he asked nervously. "No no, for God's sake! I don't hate you."

"Then... Why don't you talk to me? Why don't you look at me? Why do you disappear every time we're alone?" she asked as her voice broke and her eyes began to water. It broke his heart to see her like this, so vulnerable because of him: she was literally naked in body and soul.

"I... I'm afraid of your power," he confessed chagrined and defeated as she looked at him without understanding what he was referring to. "My mind it's a chaos, and... I don't want anyone to see that part of me nor my past, especially you all... Knowing that you have the power to do it and that you can't get into Void's mind... Two plus two equals four, I guess... Even when we're in a group I try to think of other things in case you're hearing my thoughts."

"I've never gone into your mind or any of the team's," she said shaking her head, "I don't generally like to do it because of what I said before, it's very invasive and none of my business... I wouldn't want anyone to enter my mind without my permission, without warning. I only do it on missions. And I don't listen to your thoughts or anyone else's, otherwise I wouldn't be able to go anywhere. That's more like... Mm..." She paused to look for a good example, "like going on Spotify and hitting play on a song — you have to go into the song and hit the button, if you don't you don't hear it..."

"Good to know..." he said sighing deeply again, but calmer.

"Yeah..." she did the same.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time, I really couldn't imagine it was affecting you so much..." he said embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it anymore, the past it's in the past," she said trying to smile in a convincing way.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Void made up for enough last night, but if you want another round..." She joked, causing him to blush again, more than at any point in the entire conversation. "I'm kidding!" but she wasn't completely kidding. "Let's get some breakfast, come on," she said as she laughed.

[baezen]

fatal attraction | r.r [dark]

pairing: robert reynolds [sentry] x f!reader word count: 3650 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], sex pollen, dark themes, violence/abuse, non con/dub-con, forced penetration, degradation, multiple orgasms/orgasm denial, biting, choking, knife play/blood, spanking/slapping,

summary: sex pollen, sex pollen, sex pollen. aka: in which you've been dosed

oneshot | masterlist

The scraping of metal against concrete alerts you to a new presence. Your strength has been zapped, barely able to lift your head off the small cot you’ve been lying in for days, weeks even. You lost track of how long you’ve been held captive. The minimal light you did see was from the overhead fluorescents as guards came by to check on you.

Food was scarce. They fed you minimally, knowing if you were well fed and hydrated the chance of you fighting back would increase. So they’d kept you borderline starved, dehydrated to the point your lips were cracked and your head throbbed. Any time they brought down water, it was only a small plastic cupful, never enough to satiate. Never enough to keep you going, but enough that it kept your body functioning.

Even when you asked for more, begged and pleaded with whoever had the job of giving you more water, they never followed through. Agreeing just to shut you up, the disappearing for god knows how long. 

The guard spoke lowly in a language you couldn’t translate. Whether it was because it was a language you didn’t understand, or because you were too tired to put in the effort to try harder, you weren’t sure. Judging by the harsh tone exchanged by the men stationed outside your room, it wasn’t good.

You were desperately holding out hope that the team would find you. That they’d bust through the compound wrecking all kinds of havoc. Every loud bang had you hoping that it was them, that they’d been able to track your location to its last known point.

The thick concrete walls stopped you from being able to use your powers. If you had more energy, more water, you knew you’d be able to reach out to someone. Bucky hated whenever you communicated with your powers, years of mind control was triggering whenever you spoke inside his head. He was out. Yelena also didn’t like it, the slightly older woman finding it creepy. Though you knew if it really came down to it, she’d get over it. She was a maybe. 

Alexei found it thrilling, often more intrigued by your voice being in his head. He got too distracted by the trick, going off on a tangent about how cool and different your abilities were. He was also out.

Ava was your best bet, but that was if you could penetrate the fortress you were held in. You knew it was more than concrete, something stronger that stopped your abilities from working at a distance or even up close.

You’d tried your first day in the cell. Trying to manipulate one of your guards into leading you outside, but he’d just grinned and slammed the door of your cell. Your cage. It had thrown you for a loop that he hadn’t been able to fall for your tricks. The one thing you could always count on was your ability to convince people to do something you wanted them to. Your mind was a weapon, and your captors knew exactly how to weaken you. Knew exactly how to make you doubt your abilities.

You hadn’t been part of the Thunderbolts for long, but the time you had spent with them had been interesting. This mission, the one where you’d been incapacitated and taken hostage, was up there as one of the worst missions. Most of them were decent, where you actually had enough intel and could subdue the intended culprits. Gone are the fucking days, though. 

You wished this mission had been like those – quick and easy, and a hell of a lot cleaner. 

There’s a whirring overhead, the small fan on the roof or your cell humming to life. You watch it spin, your eyes used to the darkness by now. The smell hits you first, a scent unfamiliar to you but you’re too tired to care. Too tired to do anything but continue to breathe in whatever the fuck they’re feeding into your cell. Too tired to try and hold your breath for fear of what’s to come.

At this point in time, whatever they had planned was only going to make you wish you were dead. For now, all you could do was breathe and hope for the easy way out.

It starts as a warmth to your skin. A low and slow heat that tickles your cheeks before bursting to life in your chest. The warmth coursed throughout your entirety, blossoming further down in your abdomen. 

The ache felt never ending.

The deep seated desire was lodged inside you and growing fervently. Bubbling just below the surface, desperate to be released.

You’d never felt like this before. Whatever you’d been dosed with coursed through your veins, causing you to writhe on the bed trying to placate the feeling. Urging it to subside, to give you any kind of reprieve. 

Every time you rubbed your thighs together the sensation amplified, sending you into a frenzy. It felt so good, but it wasn’t helping. It was only amplifying the sensation. You felt like your body was in overdrive and nothing was helping.

Your pulse raced, pounding in your ears. You panted, hands fisting the thin mattress on the cot as you forced your legs apart, fighting against whatever was in your system.

“Fighting only makes it worse.”

The voice was eerie, distant. You couldn’t tell if the person it belonged to was in your cell with you, or if it had come through the speakers on the wall. 

You’re gasping for breath as desire flows throughout your body. The voice is right, though. Fighting it only makes it worse, but attempting to soothe the ache just heightens everything you feel. You’re in a bind and not in a good way. 

Your eyes fly open as you feel a hand against your face, fingers stroking down your skin before they wrap around your neck. Your own hands fly to their wrist, trying to pry the fingers free. All it makes them do is squeeze tighter as their other hand forces your legs apart.

You gasp, unable to speak as your oxygen is slowly cut off. The person cups your sex over your tactical gear, roughly groping you, but the whole body ache you’re experiencing lessens slightly. Instead of a protest, your body reacts graciously, hips bucking against the person’s hand.

“I knew that was what you needed,” the voice taunts and lessens their grip on your neck. You gasp heavily, drawing breath into your lungs as the dizziness dissipates from your mind.

 It allows you a moment of clarity. The person is a man, he’s real, and he’s touching you. You want him to stop, want him to leave. You don’t know him, you don’t want him. But it feels so good. The ache is still there with a vengeance, but now you know how to soothe it. You can take care of yourself, right?

Wrong. 

The hand that was around your neck connects with your cheek, a loud slap echoing around the concreted cell.

“Fuck you,” you spit vehemently, launching yourself to your feet and taking a fighting stance. 

If you were in your right mind, you’d have seen his hand reach out. Feel it wrap around your ankle. You’re shoved up against the wall, the cot creaking as he climbs up onto it and uses his body weight to keep you pinned.

A whimper falls past your lips, his hand roughly gripping your face. You swear you can see a smirk on his face as he presses his body against yours, rolling his hips so you can feel just how aroused he is. You spit at him, disgusted, but your hands are useless. Your body is betraying your mind, so desperate for a release you refuse to give to this man. 

You force yourself to fight, to spit in his face and throw a punch. It takes all of your strength, but you do it. You fail to see the punch he throws back, connecting with your jaw. 

“Stupid whore,” he spits and you swear you can hear a smile in his voice. “It’s going to be fun breaking you in.”

You stagger along the wall, knowing this is the fight of your life, but your limbs are heavy and desire is calling to you like a traitorous bitch. You feel him grab your hair, slamming you into the concrete with a force that has you reeling. 

You feel sluggish, like you’re moving in slow motion. You know that’s not the case. You know it’s whatever is coursing through your veins, some kind of virus. If you had more of your wits about you, you’d know it wasn’t a virus. No virus makes you wildly, insatiably horny. 

Your fingers scrape against concrete desperately, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. A scream is caught in your throat as he drags your face along the wall, skin catching against the raised, jagged pieces that overhang the otherwise smooth wall. 

He laughs as you flail, tripping over your own feet as he throws you back down onto the cot. You barely have time to recover as he smacks you once more, this time on the other cheek. He tsk’s, gripping your hands in one of his and pinning them above your head. 

“I promise you’re going to enjoy this, kitten.” 

His lips brush over your ear and you pull it back before headbutting him as hard as you can, his legs either side of yours, keeping them pinned. 

He chuckles, your head having only connected with his jaw with nowhere near enough force to injure. At this point, you’re only hurting yourself. 

You feel the cold sting of metal pierce your stomach, the sharp point likely drawing blood as it slices through your shirt. The material is tight against your skin and you scream as it continues to dig into your stomach. It doesn’t feel deep enough to disembowel you, but it’s still not pleasant. The knife pierces and drags through your skin, moving higher, the blade slicing through your bra, nipping at your neck as the last of your shirt is sliced open.

You whimper as he bites the handle of the knife, his hand roughly groping your breasts as he hums, his hand gliding through the blood slickening your skin. It makes your stomach churn, but as he tweaks your nipples, you fail to care. Arching into his touch despite desperately not wanting to.

A pleased gasp falls past your lips and he chuckles once again, gripping the knife and shuffling back so he can cut your pants off you. He pins your knees to the cot, the blade pressing into the flesh over your pubic bone. You hiss as it pierces the skin and he drags it down, cutting away your tactical pants while narrowly missing your sex. 

Still, your body is on fire, aroused by even the possibility of that happening. Of his blade knicking your most delicate flesh. You moan loudly, unabashedly. It only seems to spur him on even more.

He groans appreciatively, maneuvering you so he can pull your clothes off. Leaving your pants bunched at your ankles, but ridding you of your shirt completely. As he either forgets to pin your hands down, or skips over it completely, you take the chance to claw at him. Raking your nails down his face.

His fist connects with your face again. “Get me some handcuffs for this slut,” he growls as you cradle your face, continuing to fight him off as best as you can. It’s clear he has you at a disadvantage, your body continuing to crave a release it seems will be by his hand. Or his cock.

Metal clangs as he catches the restraints, cuffing one hand to the metal frame of the cot before forcing your other into it as well. You buck your hips, desperate to try and continue to fight. Desperate, desperate, desperate.

You’re dripping with arousal. Blood and sweat and grime coat your skin. The ache flowing through your body is crippling. You feel exhausted, beaten and bruised. You know this is only going to get worse, but you’re not in any position to do anything about it. You can’t fight anymore, so you submit.

He drags his fingers through your slickened folds, spreading your lips and robbing his fingers over your swollen clit. You whimper and buck your hips, a desperate “no, please,” falling past your lips.

“I’m only trying to help,” he says condescendingly. “You want me to help, I know you do. I can smell your arousal.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, your whimper betraying you as you feel the knife pressed against the underside of your breast.

He tuts disapprovingly. “You know you want this. Be a good girl and take it.”

He moves the knife to rest against the base of your throat, your pulse spiking and body stilling in response. He seems to like that, you think. Your stomach churns as his hand returns between your legs.

“Stop,” you plead but it’s futile.

He ignores you, slipping two fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan lowly in response, trying to fight the pleasure that relieves the painful ache. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but you know it’s pointless. You know he’s going to take what he wants, and you try to find a happy place to disappear to. You try to steel your mind to block out the assault that’s taking place, but your mind isn’t the weapon it usually is. The pleasure coursing through you renders you powerless to his ministrations. The way his fingers fuck into you, grazing over that spot inside you that has you writhing and gasping. 

“You can cum, kitten,” he goads you. Your body is convulsing in response, pleasure bursting through you and relieving the pain you'd been feeling. 

You moan heartily, feeling it rip through your chest and burst from your lips. 

The ache is still there, still heavy on your soul. A constant reminder that he did this to you, that he’s the one bringing you pleasure despite the hell you’re in.

He adds a third finger, continuing to fuck into you. Stretching you, bringing you over the edge a second time with no chance of protest before your moans were tearing their way from your throat yet again.

You panted heavily, nipples painfully hard. With each breath the tip of the knife dug into your skin a little bit more, but you felt wild. Overwhelmed. Your body was on fire and he was the extinguisher. He was also the ignition source, the reason you were even in this predicament at all. 

“There she is, my complacent little whore,” he praises, stroking your face appreciatively. “Shame what happened to your face.” He tuts disapprovingly, gripping your jaw as he turns your head from side to side. 

You grit your teeth, anger flaring that quickly subsides as he readjusts his hold on the knife. The blade pierced your neck a little more, a little deeper. It’s close to your windpipe, any deeper and you know it’s game over. You know it’s a slow, painful death as you choke on your own blood.

It’s smarter not to fight. 

It’s smarter to just take whatever he gives you next.

“Please,” you whimper. “It hurts so much.”

He’s slowly rubbing your clit, alternating between rolling his fingers over your sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves and slipping his fingers back inside your needy little cunt.

The pleasure starts to build again, the ache turning into something more. Something feral. Primal. 

You whimper as he withdraws his fingers, the blade no longer pressed against your neck. You’re about to complain, about to beg, but you hear the sound of his zipper being tugged down. You feel the bed jostle as you assume he’s removing his pants. His weight no longer pins your legs to the bed and you take the chance to pull your knees to your chest before kicking out at him, hearing him grunt as he lands heavily on his back on the cold concrete floor. The knife clinks as it falls from his hand, disappearing into the darkness.

“I’ll fuck the fight right out of you, whore,” he snarls, his hands gripping your ankles before he straddles your legs again. “You start to cum, I stop. Let the pollen drive you fucking insane. You’re just a little toy for me to play with. I tried to help you, I did. You won’t submit to me and let me take it? I’ll force my way into your needy little cunt. I’ll fuck you with my knife and gut you from the inside out. Is that what you want, hm?”

You shudder, swallowing hard as arousal pools between your legs again. The ache is back with a vengeance, but his words start to sink in.

Pollen. That’s what you’ve been dosed with. That’s what came in through the vents. No wonder you’re wild with desire. Feral with it.

He slides his hand up your torso, spearing your blood around your body. Dipping his fingers into the wounds he’s caused you, making you cry out. His laughter is wicked, fingers sliding around your neck and squeezing as you clamp your legs shut, refusing to give him access. He grunts, wedging his knee between your thighs. Spanking your pussy as he forces your legs open. 

“You’re going to take my cock,” he growls and you feel your head spinning once again. His grip on your neck tight, making it harder to draw breath. Your heart is hammering away in your chest, hips bucking as you feel him pinch your clit harshly.

“Please don’t, please don’t.”

It’s useless. You don’t even know why you tried. You’d only wasted valuable breath. 

You pull at the handcuffs, trying to twist your body away from him, but he’s everywhere. The tip of his cock spreads you open and he’s seated inside you with one harsh thrust. You’re seeing stars, whimpering and struggling and gasping for breath. Praying to whatever God might be listening that someone will come and save you, because it’s obvious you can’t save yourself.

He’s thick and heavy and stretching your needy cunt more than his fingers ever could. Reaching places inside you that have you trying to blink spots from your vision. And he takes you with force, without a care for how you’re feeling. You deserve it, after all. You’re just a warm, wet hole for him to use, just like he told you.

You feel yourself fading, feel yourself struggling to hold onto reality, but it seems as though he wants you conscious. Wants you aware of everything he’s doing to you, because his hand is gone from your throat and your breathing is jagged. It hurts with each inhale, unable to find solace. Unable to find any good with this situation.

Until your body starts to betray you again. Your hips buck as your walls clamp down around his thick cock.

“You greedy little bitch,” he tuts, slipping from your sopping cunt with a sickening squelch. You hear his hand moving against his cock, leaning back in his knees as he keeps your legs open. “You lost the right to cum when you kicked me in the chest.”

You whimper despite your best efforts. Hips bucking up into nothing, desperate for release.

“Please, please,” you beg. “I’ll be good. I can be good. Please, oh fuck. Please.”

You sound desperate. You don’t recognise yourself. You almost cry in frustration, the pleasure subsiding and turning into that god awful ache that won’t go away.

“That’s it, beg like the greedy little cockslut I know you are,” he says. Praises. “Tell me how badly you need my cock. How badly you need to cum. How good I make you feel.”

You cry out in frustration, a broken sob falling past your lips. “I need your cock so badly. Please, please let me cum on your cock. You make me feel so good. Fuck, make  it stop hurting please. Please, fuck, oh please.”

You feel him at your entrance once again, thrusting into you without warning. Your arms strain as you pull against the handcuffs, metal biting into your wrists. His thrusts are fast and rough, grunting as he seeks his own high. His fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, using you for leverage.

You gasp and moan, body floating. Mind wandering. It feels so good– he feels so good. Taking and taking and taking without a care for you and your own needs. He’s giving you what you asked for. What your body craves, but he’s not going out of his way to make you cum again. That’s all on you.

You feel it building, your toes curling in your boots. Your legs hiking higher up his back, trying to angle him where you need him. Feeling his cock press against your cervix has you seeing stars, has your body reacting before you even realise what’s happening. Your orgasm crashing into you so violently, so desperately. You don’t even feel his thrusts grow sloppy. You don’t hear him telling you he’s “gonna flood this greedy little cunt.” You don’t feel him biting down on your neck, but you feel him push your head to the side. His fingers hooked into your mouth, hand pressed against your cheek as he pins you in place. As he cums without a care in the world for you or how he forced his way into your pussy.

He doesn’t even bother to uncuff you as he slides out of you. Doesn’t care to do anything except leave without so much as a look behind him. He does, however, stop to pick up his knife. 

God forbid he leave you with a fighting chance to escape. 

[breathing-in-waves]

The Thunderbolts movie is really trying to pull me out of my 7-year fanfic writing hiatus, huh?

[lobeliamaximoff]

beautiful smiling babies

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: All Chapters so far: In case anyone wanted to read more while I wait for an email inviting me to Ao3 so I can post it a little more normally. Part 1

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742300681378119680/here-it-is-my-durgetash-fic-please-be-gentle-i?source=share

Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742348442586775552/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-2?source=share

Part 3

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742753057329250304/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-3?source=share

Part 4

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742802992051453952/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-4?source=share

Part 5

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/742935988047872000/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-5-6?source=share

Part 6:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/743025724762587136/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-7?source=share

Part 7:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/743074689178648576/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-8-content-warning?source=share

Part 8:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/743206604452904960/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-10-enver?source=share

Part 9:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/743308542219567104/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-11-enver-gortash?source=share

Part 10:

https://www.tumblr.com/rinwellisathing/743422173799137280/youre-awful-i-love-you-part-12?source=share

[shrinkthisviolet]

Chapters: 1/10 Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Barry Allen & Original Female Character(s), Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells & Original Female Character(s), Tina McGee & Original Female Character(s), Barry Allen & Cisco Ramon & Caitlin Snow & Original Female Character(s), Iris West & Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s) Characters: OC: Morgan Wells, Barry Allen, Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells, Tina McGee, Iris West, OC: James Bennet-Evans, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow Additional Tags: starts at:, Episode: s01e08 Flash vs. Arrow, ends at:, Episode: s01e14 Fallout, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, (the comfort...takes a while tho sorry), after all this is the barry & morgan angst fic!, Canon-Typical Violence, Title from a Gracie Abrams Song, (specifically 'i miss you i'm sorry'), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, minor appearances by Team Arrow in chps 1 and 2, (because 1x8) Series: Part 6 of reaching up to touch the sky Summary:

“He sounds like a nice young man.”

“He is!” Morgan beamed. “He’s sweet and thoughtful…I get why Iris became friends with him. He…kinda reminds me of Ronnie, honestly.”

Barry and Morgan might still be in the early stages of friendship, but there's no doubt that they trust each other, if only because of their history as Flash and Sentry.

But what happens when that changes? When the trust shatters between them...Morgan's not sure how to feel, and Barry doesn't know what to do. Too bad the universe is intent on testing them anyway.

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @vexic929 @ironverseocs @raith-way @thechaoticfanartist

[skyland2703]

Made-Up Fic Title Prompt: Sentry Skull + "did you really think I was gonna stay?"

Title: “Did you really think I was gonna stay?”

Rating: T

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Billy Cranston/World of the Coinless Eugene Skullovitch, World of the Coinless Adam Park/World of the Coinless Eugene Skullovitch

Summary: some liked to sleep, he liked to play. The hallways of the castle, in the middle of the night, echoed with the sounds of his tunes.

And unknown to him, the ghosts danced~

The ghosts danced to the tunes of his grand piano, making merry in times when no living could bring themselves to smile.

The ghosts of all those who had lost their lives to Lord Drakkon and his tyranny, all of those tortured, destroyed souls who had finally found peace in their deaths. They liked seeing that at least someone in the entire palace could do something he liked, even if it was in the dead silence of midnight. Even if the little man couldn’t see them all, they knew he felt it.

There was always this one little ghost who never seemed to enjoy the music, though. The little boy who was barely sixteen when he was murdered by the tyrant— blonde hair, wobbly spectacles. Instead of dancing, instead of laughing, he would quietly go and sit next to the Red Sentry on the piano stool while he played the songs, listening quietly, not quite saying anything, almost as if there was so much he wanted to say, but stopping himself knowing his words would never reach the pianist.

Send me a made up fic title and I’ll tell you what I’d write to go with it~

[soubi001]

Can Odork be ripped out of power just like that paper if someone rips documentation on his right to rule? Not only is he lying to Loki about who he as a whole, he is also using Loki like a pawn in his diplomatic schemes (as is expected of royal hostages)?! Sir, you are one of the biggest red flags in the 9 realms you live in.

Loki's Silent Sentry (Part 3 of 4)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 (in progress)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (ofc)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor trying to be a better brother, Odin being a terrible father

A/N: I know this was only supposed to be three parts but you guys know not to believe me when I say stuff like that lol... enjoy 💚

You close your eyes as he pulls you tighter to him, you are sure he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. "Are you really here?" you ask in a whisper. You fear he will vanish like one of his illusions the second you let go of him.

"I'm here my love," he reassures you. He kisses the top of your head and you look up at him. "Follow me," he says in a low voice.

You smile and nod without caring where you are going, you will always follow him anywhere.

He takes your hand and leads you into the room he came out of. You can see he has been busy with his magic, his abilities have always thrilled and impressed you. The magically altered office is twice as large inside as it should be and is an exact replica of his chambers. You look around in awe and can't help but wonder if this isn't an illusion but one of his transportation spells.

He smiles with pride at your reaction and puts his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him again.

"How did you do all of this?" you ask. "Its amazing... you're amazing," you tell him as you turn in his arms to face him.

"I'm afraid the young corporal spent has a large portion of her time this week dutifully guarding my empty office," he jokes and you laugh with him.

"Gods, is that why you requested a new sentry?" you ask.

He smiles mischievously, "Sergeant Tones paid far too much attention to my comings and goings." He strokes your cheek slowly and says, "Now, enough about them," he leans down to kiss your lips and you kiss him back, gripping the fabric of his shirt. Without breaking the kiss, he waves his hand slightly and your armor suddenly vanishes. You smile against his lips, feeling the added weight disappear and his hands rest on the back of your shirt.

You look up at him and say, "I've missed you so much. Did your mother tell you?"

He nods and takes your hand, leading you to the sofa where you sit close together, his arm around your waist and your hand on his knee. "She told me," he answers. "There are only two people in this world I have ever been able to confide in, you and my mother." He pauses for a moment then says, "After you left the throne room, my mother and I went to her private library. I needed her to know how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I was still afraid my father would find a reason to send you away somewhere but she promised me she would protect you."

"She's been very kind to me," you tell him, smiling to reassure him that you are okay. "You're very lucky to have a mother like her."

He nods in agreement but you can see something is weighing him down. "Loki, what's wrong?" you ask in a worried tone.

"I hate this," he says after a moment. "I hate not being able to see you and when I do, I'm barely allowed to look at you. I hate being able to give you orders but not speak to you. I hate having to pretend that you mean nothing to me. I don't know how much longer I can stand to be without you."

You kiss him and you feel him relax slowly in your arms. "Our passing moments together will never be enough for me but I promise you, I savor every second I see you or hear your voice," you tell him.

He smiles at your response then you can see his attention shift and he says, "I need to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything," you remind him.

"Your paperwork for the transfer wasn't denied... I never submitted it to your captain," he admits, "And I was never going to."

You look at him in shock and he continues.

"I'm so sorry I lied to you. I know it was wrong and I swear on all the Gods that I've never lied to you before but... I just couldn't let you leave me," he says, you can hear the worry in his voice.

You can't help but let out a laugh and he shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sorry," you smile but he still looks concerned. "A part of me was desperately hoping you would somehow delay the transfer. I never wanted to leave you," you admit. "I was a fool for thinking if we were apart, I would be able to move on."

He smiles and kisses you again, his hands traveling up and down the back of your thin shirt. "Stay here with me tonight," he says between kisses. He doesn't say it as a prince ordering his sentry but you obey his request without a second thought.

You stand quietly in front of the queen's office, eagerly awaiting the end of her current meeting. She had informed you this morning that her last meeting was going to be with her youngest son. You couldn't wait to see him, even though you knew it would be brief and he would be unable to speak to you. Any second you saw him outside of the time the two of you stole was appreciated greatly.

It is almost three months since your new Sunday night routine with Loki began. He would slip through the palace with ease after he dismissed his sentry for the night and you would take a left at the top of the stairs after his mother released you.

While hidden away, surrounded by his illusion, the two of you could pretend everything was perfect. You love him with all of your heart and he loves you back just as fiercely. He would kiss you and hold you and tell you that you were his but the moment the sun came up, everything would change. You always did your best to hold back your emotions as you put your armor on and returned to your silent duties.

It devastated you every time you needed to leave him but you kept your pain to yourself. You were afraid to ruin the small window of time you had with wishes and false hope that things could somehow be different.

You follow the queen as she moves gracefully through the long marble halls of the palace, her dress flowing around her. You groan internally when a third council member stops to greet her, delaying your arrival at the prince's office yet again. She nods politely at his failed attempt at what you assume was a joke and kindly excuses herself.

After what seems like hours, you finally you turn the corner and his office is in sight, your heart races knowing you will see him even if it is just for a moment.

You can see his young sentry leaning against the wall behind her and remember how heavy your armor was when you first started. She hears you approaching and stands at attention. You signal for her to knock and announce the queen's presence which she does quickly, it is easy to see how nervous she is. You can't fault her for being anxious around the royal family, especially when you are terrified of the king and less than fond of the older prince.

The door opens and you hold back the smile that tries to slip free when he steps out into the hall. "Hello mother," he smiles at her and she embraces him.

"Good luck with your meeting," she says after taking a step back.

You look between the queen and Loki in shock when you realize she is talking to you. "I'm sorry your highness?" you say quietly.

"Prince Loki has something to discuss with you, Lieutenant Y/L/N. Corporal Glasgow will be temporarily assigned to me for the remainder of the day," she says.

You and the corporal exchange a quick look with a mix of surprise and confusion. It was not protocol to simply switch sentries, especially in the middle of a shift but neither of you were in a position to question the queen. The new guard bows to Queen Frigga and Prince Loki, then without another word they leave the way you came.

You find yourself standing in front of Loki, completely alone and unsure why. It was only Tuesday, had something happened that couldn't wait until Sunday? Your mind suddenly races with all the horrid things that keep you awake at night. Had someone discovered the two of you have been sneaking off together? Were you being sent to a post far from the palace? Had he finally gotten engaged to a woman his father and the kingdom would approve of? Both Loki and the queen were far too calm for any of these to be true but you couldn't push the thoughts away.

He motions for you to follow him and you close the door upon entering his office. Your fears subside momentarily when Loki pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes tightly as he whispers, "I have news."

"Good news or bad?" you ask hesitantly, pulling away slightly but his arms hold you to him.

He smiles in response, "Very good news my love." He takes your hand and the thoughts that had been swirling around your mind fade in an instant. "Come, let me show you," he says, you can hear the joy and excitement in his voice as he leads you through his office.

He pulls out the leather chair behind his large desk, "Sit." You pause before doing as he asks, sometimes it was hard to break protocol even when you were with Loki. You had never sat on this side of his desk before and hadn't realized that until this moment.

"Relax," he says with a light laugh. "I promise you, no one will barge in and find you sitting here."

"Sorry," you let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I'm still a bit worried that your father will banish me to Migard or somewhere."

He kneels next to you and takes your hand. "I would never let him send you away, you know that right?" he asks.

You nod, "I know." You clear your throat, pushing away that fear and ask, "What did you want to show me?"

He smiles so wide you can't help but smile in response. He gets up quickly and grabs the large book on his desk, picking it up he places it right in front of you. "What is this?" you ask, opening the cover. "Asgardian Marriage Law..." you read the cover slowly. "Loki, what-" you start to ask.

"I found it," he is too excited to let you finish your question.

You look at him for a moment, unsure what he is talking about when suddenly it clicks. "You found... you found a loop hole?" you ask, your heart beating faster.

He nods quickly and he repeats, "I found it."

You pace anxiously outside of the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for the grand council to convene. "Please stop, Y/N," Loki says as he leans on the wall across from the tall doors. "You are making me dizzy."

"Sorry," you walk over to him. "I'm just nervous. What if he says no? What if he gets angry again?" It was only a day ago when Loki spoke to you in his office but in that short time, your mind had invented hundreds of scenarios that filled you with dread.

Loki seems quite the opposite, he has never been more sure of anything as he holds his research calmly. He extends his free hand and you take it, "Y/N, if I know my father as well as I think I do, he will say no and he will be angry."

"That is not making me feel better," you frown but he chuckles.

"Do not give up on me now," he says. "I told you I will find a way to make you mine and I intend to keep that promise."

You smile at his words and move closer but before you can kiss him the large doors to the throne room are swung open. You pull away from Loki and swallow hard as your nerves ramp up again. He keeps hold of your hand and leads you into the throne room.

The room comes alive around you as the council members that line the room begin to whisper frantically to each other but you pay no attention to them. Your eyes are fixed on Odin, sitting atop the tall throne at the rear of the room. Frigga stands to his right and Thor, in his full dress uniform to his left. Loki squeezes your hand tighter and you are unsure if he is trying to calm you or himself.

The two of you come to a stop at the base of the stairs leading to the throne and Odin holds up a hand to silence the council. Loki bows briefly out of respect for his parents and you kneel as you've been trained.

After a moment or an eternity, you can't tell, Odin says, "Rise".

You stand but keep your head down slightly, knowing Loki is the one who needs to address the council. You are simply here because he wanted you to be, but this isn't where you belong and you know that.

"Why did you call for the grand council to meet?" Odin asks and you look at Loki who gives you a small smile before facing his parents.

"I've called you all here to discuss the marriage requirements for the second child of the king," Loki says.

"The laws are the same for all children of the crown," an older man to your left calls out. The crowd mumbles amongst themselves in agreement but Odin holds his hand up again.

Loki continues, "I am not speaking about the laws that my older brother is meant to follow. Prince Thor is heir to the throne, the next king of Asgard but I am not on the same path."

A few more hushed whispers are heard but it doesn't stop Loki. "There is no argument that the heir must marry someone who is of a certain status and has the approval of the grand council as well as the king and queen," he says and Thor nods, knowing that is his fate. "What I am bringing to the court's attention is that the rules for the second child, the spare, are not the same," he pauses for a second, "And they never were."

The council members all begin talking at once, denying Loki's claim that he is not to be held to the same rules as Thor. The throne room fills with voices and Loki looks around as if he is becoming lost. You squeeze his hand to get his attention and when he looks at you, you reach up and kiss his cheek. You know you shouldn't but he needs to know you support and believe in him.

As soon as your lips touch his cheek, he smiles but Odin stands up, causing the whole room to go silent in an instant. The queen gently places her hand on his arm and he slowly sits without saying a word but it is obvious your display of affection for Loki is not appreciated. After a moment, he waves for Loki to continue.

"And what are the requirements for the son who is not the heir?" Thor asks, you are surprised that he genuinely sounds curious.

Loki takes a deep breath and begins where he left off, "I am not suggesting that the second son or daughter of the royal family is free to many anyone. I am merely stating that the rules are not the same for the heir as they are for additional children."

Before Loki can answer, a woman you always found especially condescending says, "Does it matter? This soldier will never meet them."

Laughter spreads through the council and you look down at your boots as you feel your face flush. Loki squeezes your hand again and you look up, raising your head high.

"I would like to know, that is why it matters," Thor says simply and the laughter stops. He offers his younger brother an encouraging smile, "Continue, please."

Loki answers Thor's question, "The council is of course aware of the numerous rules that surround choosing a spouse for the heir, but the rules for the second son or daughter in the royal family are the same as those written for the children of council members."

Several low whispers begin to fill the room but Loki keeps talking over them. "It is true," he looks at you briefly before turning back to his parents. "Lieutenant Y/L/N does not currently have the rank to become my wife but in a few short years, she will."

"This can not be true," a voice off to your right says.

"It is, I am allowed to marry a soldier from an established military family who is ranked captain or higher. Y/N's family has served Asgard for generations, several members of her immediate family are high ranking officers in our army or royal guard and she is only one rank shy of becoming a captain herself," he explains.

"I wish to see this rule," Odin says. Loki nods and holds out the leather bound book he is holding. A young council clerk walks between members of the crowd to Loki. Loki opens the book, pointing to the page he marked and hands it to the clerk who delivers it to the king. Odin sits quietly, reading the passage again and again.

The whispers become louder until the council members are shouting amongst themselves. A few voices in favor of acknowledging the forgotten rule rise above the others and you dare for a moment to feel excited.

Odin raises his hand for silence once again and your heart sinks. He looks at his youngest son then at you and you can see in his eyes he is not convinced even though it seems some of the council is shifting their opinion.

Loki looks down at you and smiles but you can tell he is as nervous as you feel. "It's going to be ok," you whisper.

"I love you," he whispers back.

Before you can tell Loki you love him as well, you hear Odin stand from the throne. He holds the book open, looking down at the page at if it offends him. "This was clearly a mistake," the king insists, still looking down. "One which I intend to correct immediately," he says, looking up at you and Loki.

He rips the page from the book and crumples it in his hand, you can barely believe your eyes. "Thank you for bringing this unfortunate error to the council's attention. From this day forth, all children of the crown, regardless of birth order, must follow the same strict rules for courting and marriage. Spouses will be chosen from the family's of the high court as they always have been," Odin proclaims. "Soldiers will continue to be ineligible for marriage to a person of royal blood, no matter their rank or lineage," he adds, making sure you will never be able to marry Loki even if you become a general in the future.

"No! He can't do this," you think angrily. Your mind is spinning and your heart races. How could he take this away from his own son.

"You dare to tell me what I can and can not do!?" the king asks in a booming voice and you suddenly freeze.

You look at Loki, his eyes filled with fear and realize you didn't think that, you said it out loud. Odin slowly takes a step forward and you fight the urge to turn and run.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚

@soubi001 @michelleleewise @harlequin-hangout @ace-of-gay @xorpsbane @mochie85 @sheris532 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @kkdvkyya @animnerd @peaches1958 @peachyjinx @theaudacitytowrite @lokiandbuckysdoll @winterfrostlovetriangle @high-functioning-lokipath @winniewings @pics-and-fanfics @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lulubelle814 @crimson25 @goblingirlsarah @janineb86 @chantsdemarins @simone818283 @tonystank8 @im-briana-stan @foxherder @chantsdemarins @catsladen @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[trainer-from-unova]

lab rats

𖤐 bandom blog: @princess-lvcifer 𖤐 english ao3 𖤐 spanish ao3 𖤐 edits 𖤐

ship: bob reynolds/afab!reader

summary: you and bob are imprisoned until you two have sex with each other

a/n: first time writing about sex pollen and fuck or die vibes, also english isn't my first language

cw: pre-canon, human experimentation, lab sex, consensual sex, oral sex, piv sex, semi-public sex, sex pollen, drugged sex, noncon drug use, implied drug addiction

word count: 2'5k

When she entered the cold, empty, white room padded all over, pushed by the security staff the only thing she was wearing was a plaster on the part of her arm where a doctor had pricked her minutes before and handcuffs on her wrists in front of her. Luckily the position of her arms meant that she was able to cover her most intimate parts. She didn't understand why she had been handcuffed, undressed and taken there, but she wasn't the only one — there was also Bob, also pricked in the arm, naked and sitting with his back against the soft wall. He stood up as she turned to look at the people who had taken her there, but they closed the door before she could say or do anything, and she turned again, looking worriedly at her partner.

"What are we doing here?" She asked, unable to stop her eyes from scanning him up and down, reaching for her partner's crotch for a second as he slowly approached her, though keeping his distance so as not to make her uncomfortable. She didn't feel embarrassed, it was natural thing to do that if you have a naked man in front of you, and he couldn't help but do the same with her breasts either, which she understood and didn't mind. None of the pyjamas they usually wore did justice to them, but at the moment she was more focused on why they were locked in there.

"I don't know," he replied. More than confused or nervous, he looked defeated — tired of being an abused lab rat, locked in there.

"How long have you been here?" She asked glancing around the place: there were cameras in every corner of the ceiling and something resembling a fire extinguisher, and of course the lights.

What they didn't know was that it was expelling sex pollen to provoke them into having sex, so that she would become pregnant. They wanted to try their luck and see what would come out of mixing their blood — hopefully someone as powerful or even more powerful than their parents.

"Two minutes or so," he replied catching his partner's attention, making her look at him again. "Why are you handcuffed?" He looked down, staring at the handcuffs at her crotch.

"I don't know," she answered lowering her gaze to take a quick look at them.

Her nipples became hard, she assumed it was because it was cold — not just because she was naked, but because it was cold in there. She wanted to hug herself, not to cover her breasts but to keep herself warm, but because of the handcuffs it was impossible. The other one did under the envious gaze of his companion, and he couldn't help but feel bad about it. An idea crossed the man's mind, and he dared to offer it aloud for he meant no harm, and he believed she knew him well enough to know he meant no harm.

"Um... Do you want me to...?" he asked opening his arms, assuming correctly that she would understand what he intended.

She looked at him doubtfully for a second, but she knew it was the best, if not the only option to warm up, so she swallowed and accepted the proposal, nodding her head in silence and moving closer to him. She raised her arms, folding them and putting her hands around her own neck, on her shoulders. When she reached him she stood shyly, resting her forehead on his right shoulder, and he leaned over her, wrapping his arms shyly around her.

They both closed their eyes and sighed deeply. It felt good, not only to share their body heat but also because it had been so long since they had last hugged and been hugged. She wished she was untied so she could return the gesture by wrapping her arms around him as well, and honestly so did he, but he understood her situation.

For some reason unknown to her, her insides ached — it was as if they were crying out to be filled, and that was the only way for the pain to pass. And for better or worse, something similar happened to Bob — the physical contact made his body too excited, and probably not helped by the sex pollen or the energetic drugs he had been injected with minutes before being locked in there. She noticed this, opening her eyes and looking down as she took a step back to look at the erect member pointing at her. He did the same, distressed and blushing.

"I'm sorry," he apologised nervously in case he had made her uncomfortable, "I don't know why, I can't help it. I'm really sorry," he said looking down in embarrassment.

"It's alright, I understand," she laughed softly, "I mean, I feel the same..." she whispered biting her lip, looking him up and down. When he looked up, confused and surprised by the information his partner had confessed, he was even more surprised to see the way she was looking at him. Now she was the one who was sorry, and her cheeks blushed as well. "I'm sorry," she said embarrassed, holding her hands to the top of her head as she turned and took a few steps around the room, "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said as he looked down at her buttocks. He was embarrassed again, he didn't know what was wrong with him — he wasn't normally like that and at that moment he looked like an animal in heat.

"Aw, how cute," suddenly said a sarcastic female voice, already quite familiar to both of them locked in there. She wasn't there, it was coming from the ceiling, probably from what looked like the fire extinguisher or the cameras. "You make a good pair."

"You!" she said angrily, looking up at the cameras on the ceiling as she lowered her hands. "What are we doing here?"

"We need to study all your side effects and how they affect every aspect of your body," said Valentina, and she wasn't partly lying — she was just omitting information, "so get comfortable and do what you want to do, you won't come out until you do it. Several times," she quickly added. It was part of the plan, and if she didn't get pregnant that day they would try another time until she did.

She looked down, her eyes wide as she took in the information she had just received. He was the same, only looking at her. When she turned around their eyes connected, but they quickly averted them out of embarrassment; not that they didn't want to do it, but they didn't want to be watched or recorded, and above all they didn't want to be forced or make the other feel awkward and uncomfortable.

"...What do we do?" he asked daring to look at her again.

"I suppose we have to do what we are asked to do," she said doing the same, confused and shrugging her shoulders.

"Do you want to?" he asked, now even more confused than she was.

"Do we have a choice?" She asked, now she was the defeated one. "Not the best conditions, clearly, but... Anyway, I think we're both in the mood," she said raising her arms to point to her erection, "so..." she said as she shrugged her shoulders again, slowly moving closer to him. "Good thing you're already erect, because I can't do much with my hands," she said putting her arms around her torso, reminding him that she was handcuffed and deciding to take the situation with humour, which was her best defence mechanism. "I guess they put them on me in case I resisted..." she whispered, rather to herself.

"God," he said, horrified at the idea. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah, well..." she sighed deeply, looking down at the floor. "Shall we begin?" She looked up into his face, then looked down at the member pointing at her. "The sooner the better, the sooner we get out of here."

"Um... It's been a long time since..." he said embarrassed as he watched her move closer to him, getting dangerously close.

"Don't worry, neither have I," she said averting her gaze to his lips, correctly assuming that the best way to break the ice between them was with a kiss.

Aware of where she was looking and what was likely to happen in a few seconds he hesitantly placed his hands on her waist, noticing how she stood on her tiptoes to move closer to him. He looked down at her lips as well, and slowly and shyly moved closer to them until they merged.

The kiss began as such; slowly and shyly, but as they did, it quickly grew hotter. Unconsciously she moaned and brought her hands to his shoulders, almost to his neck because of the handcuffs while he brought one of his hands to one of her cheeks, and with the other he pulled her closer to him. Before they parted for lack of air, she bit his lower lip.

"The pyjamas don't do you justice," she said as she slid her hands down his muscular chest, smiling playfully as she watched him.

"What did you expect?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"The pyjamas don't do you justice," she said as she slid her hands down his muscular chest, smiling playfully as she watched him.

"What did you expect?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"You said you were a drug addict so I assumed you were anorexic," she said as she bent down and drove one knee into the soft ground, "but I see you're in shape," she said driving the other, now with both knees driven into the ground and giving him a quick glance at his member before looking up and back at him with a playful grin. He did the same and lay back on the floor as she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

With each passing second the drugs and pollen were having more effect, and they no longer cared about being watched or anything else, they just wanted to satisfy themselves once and for all, following their most primal instincts. Probably later, when the effects wore off, they would regret it and feel more ashamed.

With the tip of her tongue she brushed from the lowest to the highest, sending a shiver down the young man's spine. When she reached the tip she sucked it like a lollipop, causing the young man to stifle a moan at such pleasure and bring his hands to his partner's head, grabbing her hair and pulling her head down wanting to feel more. At times she couldn't help but moan, and she noticed her own crotch getting even wetter, albeit in a different, more natural method than the one she was using.

When she got tired, which was often due to lack of practice, she would separate and he would massage it with his hand. Before reinserting it she dropped saliva which she collected in hee mouth to moisten it, to make her lips slide better. He clenched tighter as his breathing hitched. Out of curiosity while listening to him she looked up to see what state he was in, and saw that he was with his head up, staring at her.

"Oh, so you like to stare," she said with her mouth free, swallowing saliva and trying to wipe the corners of her lips with her hands as he leaned his head back against the floor. Tired of using her mouth so much and wanting to feel more, wanting to feel him again from the inside but in another part of her body, she lifted herself up and climbed over him, sitting on his crotch — literally on his cock, but not inserting it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, blushing as she rested her hands on his belly and began to rub herself against him, eliciting sighs from both of them. "Can I touch your tits...?"

"You don't even have to ask," she replied laughing at how shy and afraid he was at the thought of making her uncomfortable. She had to admit she found him adorable, and very attractive too.

He brought his hands to her breasts and massaged them until she lifted her hips a little, and assuming correctly what she intended to do but was prevented from doing by the handcuffs, he helped her by grabbing his member so they could merge once and for all as they most desired.

She brushed her entrance with his tip wet with his pre-seminal fluid and her own saliva, and she bucked her hips carefully to press the tip against her entrance, slowly entering. It felt so good, neither could help but moan in pleasure. As she settled in and became accustomed to his presence fully inside her she brought her hands back to his belly and began to ride him, feeling his hands on her hips, very close to her buttocks. He closed his eyes and then she slid down on top of him, bringing their torsos together again and resting her hands under his neck. She was so wet that sometimes they couldn't help but separate by accident, but when they came together again they merged with need.

To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her back and rolled her over, changing positions — now she was lying down and he was on top. She wasn't doing badly, but he could go much faster and be more effective in that position. He put his arms at her sides and she wrapped her legs around his back. His hips crashed against hers quickly and hard, making her moan more as they heard his hips crash against her buttocks, and most of all, the wetness inside her.

He had his head to one side, and he listened to her moans and gasps in his ear as he tried not to cum inside her, but it was very difficult; it felt too good to feel how hot and wet she was, and bringing him even closer to his own orgasm. She was the same way, beginning to feel a warmth inside her belly and down to her crotch while moaning loudly and endlessly as she spasmed, uncontrolled movements that caused her to pull her legs away from his back and arch her back and fingers. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, causing him to quickly spurt out of her and cum on her belly. Then, as he sighed, he lay exhausted beside her as they caught their breath and remembered they were being watched by the cameras on every corner.

"Sorry... for cumming in you," he said with bated breath and embarrassed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't worry, better out than in," she replied laughing tiredly, her breath also hitching and embarrassed, staring at the ceiling.

"Did you like it?" he asked turning his neck to his right to look at her.

"Of course," she said turning her neck to her left, still smiling, "isn't it obvious?" He blushed and looked away quickly.

"Me too," he whispered, and she thought that if she hadn't been handcuffed she would have held his hand.

"Um... Can I... cuddle with you...?" she asked, now shy.

"Oh of course, sure!" he hastened to confirm while turning on his side, wanting to make her feel good with the aftercare and warm her up again.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning closer to him.

[sorchathered]

A series of gifs to describe my absolute freak out over this

Sweet baby Jesus this was so hot 🥵, look at you leading the charge on the Sentry fics!!!

fatal attraction | r.r [dark]

pairing: robert reynolds [sentry] x f!reader word count: 3650 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], sex pollen, dark themes, violence/abuse, non con/dub-con, forced penetration, degradation, multiple orgasms/orgasm denial, biting, choking, knife play/blood, spanking/slapping,

summary: sex pollen, sex pollen, sex pollen. aka: in which you've been dosed

author’s note: ahh, marvel fandom, how i've missed you. you may remember me as baezen, your local carter baizen slut, or even buchonians, a terror to the fandom even back then. everyone say "we missed you, steph" 🤭

oneshot | masterlist

The scraping of metal against concrete alerts you to a new presence. Your strength has been zapped, barely able to lift your head off the small cot you’ve been lying in for days, weeks even. You lost track of how long you’ve been held captive. The minimal light you did see was from the overhead fluorescents as guards came by to check on you.

Food was scarce. They fed you minimally, knowing if you were well fed and hydrated the chance of you fighting back would increase. So they’d kept you borderline starved, dehydrated to the point your lips were cracked and your head throbbed. Any time they brought down water, it was only a small plastic cupful, never enough to satiate. Never enough to keep you going, but enough that it kept your body functioning.

Even when you asked for more, begged and pleaded with whoever had the job of giving you more water, they never followed through. Agreeing just to shut you up, the disappearing for god knows how long. 

The guard spoke lowly in a language you couldn’t translate. Whether it was because it was a language you didn’t understand, or because you were too tired to put in the effort to try harder, you weren’t sure. Judging by the harsh tone exchanged by the men stationed outside your room, it wasn’t good.

You were desperately holding out hope that the team would find you. That they’d bust through the compound wrecking all kinds of havoc. Every loud bang had you hoping that it was them, that they’d been able to track your location to its last known point.

The thick concrete walls stopped you from being able to use your powers. If you had more energy, more water, you knew you’d be able to reach out to someone. Bucky hated whenever you communicated with your powers, years of mind control was triggering whenever you spoke inside his head. He was out. Yelena also didn’t like it, the slightly older woman finding it creepy. Though you knew if it really came down to it, she’d get over it. She was a maybe. 

Alexei found it thrilling, often more intrigued by your voice being in his head. He got too distracted by the trick, going off on a tangent about how cool and different your abilities were. He was also out.

Ava was your best bet, but that was if you could penetrate the fortress you were held in. You knew it was more than concrete, something stronger that stopped your abilities from working at a distance or even up close.

You’d tried your first day in the cell. Trying to manipulate one of your guards into leading you outside, but he’d just grinned and slammed the door of your cell. Your cage. It had thrown you for a loop that he hadn’t been able to fall for your tricks. The one thing you could always count on was your ability to convince people to do something you wanted them to. Your mind was a weapon, and your captors knew exactly how to weaken you. Knew exactly how to make you doubt your abilities.

You hadn’t been part of the Thunderbolts for long, but the time you had spent with them had been interesting. This mission, the one where you’d been incapacitated and taken hostage, was up there as one of the worst missions. Most of them were decent, where you actually had enough intel and could subdue the intended culprits. Gone are the fucking days, though. 

You wished this mission had been like those – quick and easy, and a hell of a lot cleaner. 

There’s a whirring overhead, the small fan on the roof or your cell humming to life. You watch it spin, your eyes used to the darkness by now. The smell hits you first, a scent unfamiliar to you but you’re too tired to care. Too tired to do anything but continue to breathe in whatever the fuck they’re feeding into your cell. Too tired to try and hold your breath for fear of what’s to come.

At this point in time, whatever they had planned was only going to make you wish you were dead. For now, all you could do was breathe and hope for the easy way out.

It starts as a warmth to your skin. A low and slow heat that tickles your cheeks before bursting to life in your chest. The warmth coursed throughout your entirety, blossoming further down in your abdomen. 

The ache felt never ending.

The deep seated desire was lodged inside you and growing fervently. Bubbling just below the surface, desperate to be released.

You’d never felt like this before. Whatever you’d been dosed with coursed through your veins, causing you to writhe on the bed trying to placate the feeling. Urging it to subside, to give you any kind of reprieve. 

Every time you rubbed your thighs together the sensation amplified, sending you into a frenzy. It felt so good, but it wasn’t helping. It was only amplifying the sensation. You felt like your body was in overdrive and nothing was helping.

Your pulse raced, pounding in your ears. You panted, hands fisting the thin mattress on the cot as you forced your legs apart, fighting against whatever was in your system.

“Fighting only makes it worse.”

The voice was eerie, distant. You couldn’t tell if the person it belonged to was in your cell with you, or if it had come through the speakers on the wall. 

You’re gasping for breath as desire flows throughout your body. The voice is right, though. Fighting it only makes it worse, but attempting to soothe the ache just heightens everything you feel. You’re in a bind and not in a good way. 

Your eyes fly open as you feel a hand against your face, fingers stroking down your skin before they wrap around your neck. Your own hands fly to their wrist, trying to pry the fingers free. All it makes them do is squeeze tighter as their other hand forces your legs apart.

You gasp, unable to speak as your oxygen is slowly cut off. The person cups your sex over your tactical gear, roughly groping you, but the whole body ache you’re experiencing lessens slightly. Instead of a protest, your body reacts graciously, hips bucking against the person’s hand.

“I knew that was what you needed,” the voice taunts and lessens their grip on your neck. You gasp heavily, drawing breath into your lungs as the dizziness dissipates from your mind.

 It allows you a moment of clarity. The person is a man, he’s real, and he’s touching you. You want him to stop, want him to leave. You don’t know him, you don’t want him. But it feels so good. The ache is still there with a vengeance, but now you know how to soothe it. You can take care of yourself, right?

Wrong. 

The hand that was around your neck connects with your cheek, a loud slap echoing around the concreted cell.

“Fuck you,” you spit vehemently, launching yourself to your feet and taking a fighting stance. 

If you were in your right mind, you’d have seen his hand reach out. Feel it wrap around your ankle. You’re shoved up against the wall, the cot creaking as he climbs up onto it and uses his body weight to keep you pinned.

A whimper falls past your lips, his hand roughly gripping your face. You swear you can see a smirk on his face as he presses his body against yours, rolling his hips so you can feel just how aroused he is. You spit at him, disgusted, but your hands are useless. Your body is betraying your mind, so desperate for a release you refuse to give to this man. 

You force yourself to fight, to spit in his face and throw a punch. It takes all of your strength, but you do it. You fail to see the punch he throws back, connecting with your jaw. 

“Stupid whore,” he spits and you swear you can hear a smile in his voice. “It’s going to be fun breaking you in.”

You stagger along the wall, knowing this is the fight of your life, but your limbs are heavy and desire is calling to you like a traitorous bitch. You feel him grab your hair, slamming you into the concrete with a force that has you reeling. 

You feel sluggish, like you’re moving in slow motion. You know that’s not the case. You know it’s whatever is coursing through your veins, some kind of virus. If you had more of your wits about you, you’d know it wasn’t a virus. No virus makes you wildly, insatiably horny. 

Your fingers scrape against concrete desperately, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. A scream is caught in your throat as he drags your face along the wall, skin catching against the raised, jagged pieces that overhang the otherwise smooth wall. 

He laughs as you flail, tripping over your own feet as he throws you back down onto the cot. You barely have time to recover as he smacks you once more, this time on the other cheek. He tsk’s, gripping your hands in one of his and pinning them above your head. 

“I promise you’re going to enjoy this, kitten.” 

His lips brush over your ear and you pull it back before headbutting him as hard as you can, his legs either side of yours, keeping them pinned. 

He chuckles, your head having only connected with his jaw with nowhere near enough force to injure. At this point, you’re only hurting yourself. 

You feel the cold sting of metal pierce your stomach, the sharp point likely drawing blood as it slices through your shirt. The material is tight against your skin and you scream as it continues to dig into your stomach. It doesn’t feel deep enough to disembowel you, but it’s still not pleasant. The knife pierces and drags through your skin, moving higher, the blade slicing through your bra, nipping at your neck as the last of your shirt is sliced open.

You whimper as he bites the handle of the knife, his hand roughly groping your breasts as he hums, his hand gliding through the blood slickening your skin. It makes your stomach churn, but as he tweaks your nipples, you fail to care. Arching into his touch despite desperately not wanting to.

A pleased gasp falls past your lips and he chuckles once again, gripping the knife and shuffling back so he can cut your pants off you. He pins your knees to the cot, the blade pressing into the flesh over your pubic bone. You hiss as it pierces the skin and he drags it down, cutting away your tactical pants while narrowly missing your sex. 

Still, your body is on fire, aroused by even the possibility of that happening. Of his blade knicking your most delicate flesh. You moan loudly, unabashedly. It only seems to spur him on even more.

He groans appreciatively, maneuvering you so he can pull your clothes off. Leaving your pants bunched at your ankles, but ridding you of your shirt completely. As he either forgets to pin your hands down, or skips over it completely, you take the chance to claw at him. Raking your nails down his face.

His fist connects with your face again. “Get me some handcuffs for this slut,” he growls as you cradle your face, continuing to fight him off as best as you can. It’s clear he has you at a disadvantage, your body continuing to crave a release it seems will be by his hand. Or his cock.

Metal clangs as he catches the restraints, cuffing one hand to the metal frame of the cot before forcing your other into it as well. You buck your hips, desperate to try and continue to fight. Desperate, desperate, desperate.

You’re dripping with arousal. Blood and sweat and grime coat your skin. The ache flowing through your body is crippling. You feel exhausted, beaten and bruised. You know this is only going to get worse, but you’re not in any position to do anything about it. You can’t fight anymore, so you submit.

He drags his fingers through your slickened folds, spreading your lips and robbing his fingers over your swollen clit. You whimper and buck your hips, a desperate “no, please,” falling past your lips.

“I’m only trying to help,” he says condescendingly. “You want me to help, I know you do. I can smell your arousal.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, your whimper betraying you as you feel the knife pressed against the underside of your breast.

He tuts disapprovingly. “You know you want this. Be a good girl and take it.”

He moves the knife to rest against the base of your throat, your pulse spiking and body stilling in response. He seems to like that, you think. Your stomach churns as his hand returns between your legs.

“Stop,” you plead but it’s futile.

He ignores you, slipping two fingers into your soaked cunt. You moan lowly in response, trying to fight the pleasure that relieves the painful ache. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but you know it’s pointless. You know he’s going to take what he wants, and you try to find a happy place to disappear to. You try to steel your mind to block out the assault that’s taking place, but your mind isn’t the weapon it usually is. The pleasure coursing through you renders you powerless to his ministrations. The way his fingers fuck into you, grazing over that spot inside you that has you writhing and gasping. 

“You can cum, kitten,” he goads you. Your body is convulsing in response, pleasure bursting through you and relieving the pain you'd been feeling. 

You moan heartily, feeling it rip through your chest and burst from your lips. 

The ache is still there, still heavy on your soul. A constant reminder that he did this to you, that he’s the one bringing you pleasure despite the hell you’re in.

He adds a third finger, continuing to fuck into you. Stretching you, bringing you over the edge a second time with no chance of protest before your moans were tearing their way from your throat yet again.

You panted heavily, nipples painfully hard. With each breath the tip of the knife dug into your skin a little bit more, but you felt wild. Overwhelmed. Your body was on fire and he was the extinguisher. He was also the ignition source, the reason you were even in this predicament at all. 

“There she is, my complacent little whore,” he praises, stroking your face appreciatively. “Shame what happened to your face.” He tuts disapprovingly, gripping your jaw as he turns your head from side to side. 

You grit your teeth, anger flaring that quickly subsides as he readjusts his hold on the knife. The blade pierced your neck a little more, a little deeper. It’s close to your windpipe, any deeper and you know it’s game over. You know it’s a slow, painful death as you choke on your own blood.

It’s smarter not to fight. 

It’s smarter to just take whatever he gives you next.

“Please,” you whimper. “It hurts so much.”

He’s slowly rubbing your clit, alternating between rolling his fingers over your sensitive, swollen bundle of nerves and slipping his fingers back inside your needy little cunt.

The pleasure starts to build again, the ache turning into something more. Something feral. Primal. 

You whimper as he withdraws his fingers, the blade no longer pressed against your neck. You’re about to complain, about to beg, but you hear the sound of his zipper being tugged down. You feel the bed jostle as you assume he’s removing his pants. His weight no longer pins your legs to the bed and you take the chance to pull your knees to your chest before kicking out at him, hearing him grunt as he lands heavily on his back on the cold concrete floor. The knife clinks as it falls from his hand, disappearing into the darkness.

“I’ll fuck the fight right out of you, whore,” he snarls, his hands gripping your ankles before he straddles your legs again. “You start to cum, I stop. Let the pollen drive you fucking insane. You’re just a little toy for me to play with. I tried to help you, I did. You won’t submit to me and let me take it? I’ll force my way into your needy little cunt. I’ll fuck you with my knife and gut you from the inside out. Is that what you want, hm?”

You shudder, swallowing hard as arousal pools between your legs again. The ache is back with a vengeance, but his words start to sink in.

Pollen. That’s what you’ve been dosed with. That’s what came in through the vents. No wonder you’re wild with desire. Feral with it.

He slides his hand up your torso, spearing your blood around your body. Dipping his fingers into the wounds he’s caused you, making you cry out. His laughter is wicked, fingers sliding around your neck and squeezing as you clamp your legs shut, refusing to give him access. He grunts, wedging his knee between your thighs. Spanking your pussy as he forces your legs open. 

“You’re going to take my cock,” he growls and you feel your head spinning once again. His grip on your neck tight, making it harder to draw breath. Your heart is hammering away in your chest, hips bucking as you feel him pinch your clit harshly.

“Please don’t, please don’t.”

It’s useless. You don’t even know why you tried. You’d only wasted valuable breath. 

You pull at the handcuffs, trying to twist your body away from him, but he’s everywhere. The tip of his cock spreads you open and he’s seated inside you with one harsh thrust. You’re seeing stars, whimpering and struggling and gasping for breath. Praying to whatever God might be listening that someone will come and save you, because it’s obvious you can’t save yourself.

He’s thick and heavy and stretching your needy cunt more than his fingers ever could. Reaching places inside you that have you trying to blink spots from your vision. And he takes you with force, without a care for how you’re feeling. You deserve it, after all. You’re just a warm, wet hole for him to use, just like he told you.

You feel yourself fading, feel yourself struggling to hold onto reality, but it seems as though he wants you conscious. Wants you aware of everything he’s doing to you, because his hand is gone from your throat and your breathing is jagged. It hurts with each inhale, unable to find solace. Unable to find any good with this situation.

Until your body starts to betray you again. Your hips buck as your walls clamp down around his thick cock.

“You greedy little bitch,” he tuts, slipping from your sopping cunt with a sickening squelch. You hear his hand moving against his cock, leaning back in his knees as he keeps your legs open. “You lost the right to cum when you kicked me in the chest.”

You whimper despite your best efforts. Hips bucking up into nothing, desperate for release.

“Please, please,” you beg. “I’ll be good. I can be good. Please, oh fuck. Please.”

You sound desperate. You don’t recognise yourself. You almost cry in frustration, the pleasure subsiding and turning into that god awful ache that won’t go away.

“That’s it, beg like the greedy little cockslut I know you are,” he says. Praises. “Tell me how badly you need my cock. How badly you need to cum. How good I make you feel.”

You cry out in frustration, a broken sob falling past your lips. “I need your cock so badly. Please, please let me cum on your cock. You make me feel so good. Fuck, make  it stop hurting please. Please, fuck, oh please.”

You feel him at your entrance once again, thrusting into you without warning. Your arms strain as you pull against the handcuffs, metal biting into your wrists. His thrusts are fast and rough, grunting as he seeks his own high. His fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, using you for leverage.

You gasp and moan, body floating. Mind wandering. It feels so good– he feels so good. Taking and taking and taking without a care for you and your own needs. He’s giving you what you asked for. What your body craves, but he’s not going out of his way to make you cum again. That’s all on you.

You feel it building, your toes curling in your boots. Your legs hiking higher up his back, trying to angle him where you need him. Feeling his cock press against your cervix has you seeing stars, has your body reacting before you even realise what’s happening. Your orgasm crashing into you so violently, so desperately. You don’t even feel his thrusts grow sloppy. You don’t hear him telling you he’s “gonna flood this greedy little cunt.” You don’t feel him biting down on your neck, but you feel him push your head to the side. His fingers hooked into your mouth, hand pressed against your cheek as he pins you in place. As he cums without a care in the world for you or how he forced his way into your pussy.

He doesn’t even bother to uncuff you as he slides out of you. Doesn’t care to do anything except leave without so much as a look behind him. He does, however, stop to pick up his knife. 

God forbid he leave you with a fighting chance to escape. 

tagging some people who showed an interest in sentry fics: @hangmanapologist @cumholland @sebsxphia @sorchathered @attapullman

[pascalispretty]

each man's mad desire

General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus Acacius is a conqueror. You invite him to conquer you.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: marcus fucks a nymph, predator/prey, knifeplay, blood, thigh riding, rough sex, sorta consensual-non-consent? Reader very explicitly wants him and invites him to hunt her down. Marcus has an unfashionably huge dick.

A/N: I swore I wasn't going to write for another character from an unreleased film, yet here we are. I loved studying Classics, so there are easter eggs within for those familiar with mythology. "Nymph" is more Greek than Roman, but it's also the better-known version of the word. Barcinus is a completely made-up cognomen for him (from the Latin name for Barcelona). Ichor is a Greek concept, but too delicious not to borrow here. Big dicks really were considered unattractive - it was a sign of barbarism to have a big penis. Title from Book IX of The Aeneid. Painting is 'The Charmer' by John William Waterhouse. (ao3)

The battle is won, the men are settled, and General Marcus Acacius is restless. He wears the efforts of the day in the blood and grime and sand coating his skin, the ache in his muscles. The city is retaken. The barbarians have been slaughtered or captured. He knows he should rest.

And yet, he wanders.

The camp is close by the beach. As he walks, the sound of the army behind him fades away, drowned out by the sound of the sea. The inviting aroma of the campfires and roasting meat is replaced by the smell of salt. There are sentries out here, somewhere in the night. He pays them no mind; he wishes to be alone. Grass turns to sand underfoot and still Acacius walks on. At the edge of the sea, he pauses briefly.

Across the Great Sea, to the east, stands Rome. It’s veiled by darkness and distance, but he turns to look for it anyway. He misses it the way a loyal son misses a beloved father. Word of a great victory will travel before him, the whispers moving faster than any army can.

When he returns home, he hopes he will be warmly welcomed. Those seeking to ride his skirts into Imperial favour will doubtless fall over themselves to praise him, at least. They will preen and flatter, and he will nod humbly and thank them.

“The Gods were with me.” It is always his answer, when asked of his victories. It is a clean answer. Men praise him for his piety; they do not imagine the lives he has sacrificed, the atrocities he has committed, the horrors of sacking a city. The Gods were with him; he does not have to speak of loosing his men like feral dogs upon innocents, of slaughtering barbarian sons so they cannot grow up to seek their vengeance on Rome.

Acacius turns and walks down the beach, leaving the camp behind him. The silvery light of the stars and moon light his path along the coast. He simply enjoys being away from all others, the crash of the waves and his own footsteps the only noise he can hear. The ground to his right begins to rise, soft grass yielding to rock. He has no sense of how long he has walked for when the beach before him suddenly ends. The shoreline curves sharply inward, creating a rocky inlet.

He has no desire to turn back now. Perhaps the path reemerges on the other side. He follows the curve of the stone inward. Ahead, he can see the path sloping down towards the waterline, leading towards the dark mouth of a cave. The tide is coming in; the water at the entrance to the grotto must be at least knee-deep.

Acacius is turning to leave when he notices her.

The inlet in the rock forms a pool at the entrance to the cave. Even in the silvery moonlight, the water looks beautiful and clear. It should not surprise him that a maiden might come to bathe there, away from prying eyes.

For it is a maiden that stops him in his tracks, fixes his boots to the stone. Her back is turned to him; she is perched atop a rock, her bare feet dangling in the saltwater of the pool. Now that he is aware of her, he thinks he hears her singing over the sounds of the waves, a melody he does not recognise.

An honourable man would depart. Acacius can only see her back, but she must be noble. Her dress is so white it is almost blinding, even in the starlight. Her feet are bare, but he spies a pair of finely-wrought sandals on the rocks beside her. Certainly a noble lady then.

His mind is made up to leave.

And at that very moment, she turns.

***

You had not expected to be discovered. Perhaps you might have toyed with him if you had. You could have disguised yourself as a maiden in need of assistance, a princess cast ashore by a shipwreck. There are endless amusements to be found among the mortals.

Yet he has stumbled upon your grotto quite by accident, and from your first glimpse, he intrigues you.

Marcus Acacius Barcinus.

Something whispers his name to you; you know it as soon as you see him, just as you know he has dark hair threaded with grey. You allow a smile to play on your lips.

To his credit, this man does not move. Confronted with something so nakedly celestial, other men have lost their minds. What is it for a man to look upon the face of the divine? They do not always survive it. This one seems strong. He may yet survive you.

“Hail, noble General,” you start, turning in your seat on the rock so you may face him more directly. He is a handsome one. His lovely dark eyes drink you in from head to toe.

“You know me?” He manages after a moment. Not mad then, not yet anyway. You laugh, and he seems startled by the sound.

“I do.” Sliding off the rock you step into the water, your stola clinging to your skin. “General Marcus Acacius Barcinus, son of Gaius Acacius. Your piety is known.” He is always attentive with his sacrifices. You can smell the burning flesh and spilled wine dedicated to the heavens from here, in honour of his latest victory.

You take a few steps towards him. He’s still atop the rocky crest, almost looking down on you. You near the base of the slope, your skirts drying the moment they leave the water, and halt again. The mouth of the grotto is to your back; you can hear the lap of the waves echoing against the rocky walls.

“And which noble goddess do I have the honour of addressing?” He asks. You have many names, too many to sift through. A mortal wrote you into a poem once; you give him the name the poet gave you.

“I had not thought ever to look upon a nymph before.” There is something in the way he says it; a tone of disbelief colouring his voice. It’s as though he expects to wake up in his tent at any moment. In the dark violet light of twilight, the blood on his skin looks brown and rusty. You can almost taste the iron on the air.

“Are you content merely to look?” You ask him, a sly smile on your lips. You already know he is not. This man is a conqueror, and he is looking at you with all the intensity and desire of a man set upon conquest. He does not speak for a long moment. Perhaps he is afraid of offending you, of saying the wrong thing and finding himself transformed into a pig or sea foam.

You walk a little closer to him, emerging from the water. Closer now, the smell of him drowning out the salt of the sea. He reeks of man, of blood and sweat and such pure vitality you nearly stagger. He’s so breathtakingly alive. If all mortal men are thus, you understand why your sisters seek them out and take them to bed, even bear their children.

“I admire a man who knows how to take what he desires. A conqueror in all things,” you continue, feeling the warmth of his gaze as he watches the sway of your hips. Once you are an arm’s length away from him, you reach out. You cannot help it. He’s such a marvellous specimen of manhood, the kind that ought to be honoured with a kingdom or a divine son or his form traced in the stars.

He does not stop you when you rest your palm against the leather of his cuirass. It’s warm to the touch, whether from the heat of his body or a day of the sun beating down upon it. The black leather has a gilded woman’s face across the front; Minerva perhaps. It gives you pause. If he values Minerva and her strategies above Mars and his frenzy, he may not enjoy your games.

Nevertheless, you will not let the tastes of mortal men unnerve you. He watches you as you undo the knot at one shoulder, and wordlessly reaches to help you. Together, the two of you free him from his heavy armour. As he sets it down gently against the rock, you nearly choke on him. You can hear the thrum of his heart, smell the salt of his sweat, the iron in his blood.

You have never starved. Yet this conqueror of men is like being blessed with a feast and realising for the first time that you have been dying of hunger all your life. Freed from his heavy leathers, you step so closely to him that your glimmering white dress brushes against his filthy red tunic. You reach out to cup his jaw, enjoying the way his skin feels to your touch.

He swallows thickly, his lovely eyes searching your face.

“I want you.” He says it simply, though you know it must have taken courage. Men have died for such insults before. You let a smile curl around your lips.  

“Mars himself had my maidenhead. I do not submit easily to the advances of men.” Standing on tiptoe, you lean in until your lips nearly touch the shell of his ear. “If you want me, you will have to take me.”

It’s all the prompting you give him before you turn and run.

You run down the beach, back the way he came. You have more powerful kin who could outrun him with ease, if they chose. Minerva could be a continent away in moments, if she chose. You do not have their same powers; you might be fleeter of foot than a mortal woman, but you cannot transform yourself into a swan and fly back to the heavens.

Behind you, you hear Acacius’ feet pounding against the sand. The noise blurs with the roar of his heartbeat, thumping harder as he chases you. You run faster, pulling your skirts up with one hand so they cannot tangle around your legs. It has been far too long since you felt this exhilarated. Off in the distance, you can see the lights of his camp, the torches and bonfires burning brightly in the twilight.

You lose yourself to the chase, paying the distance no mind as you race down the beach. Sand flies up beneath your bare feet, gritty under your toes as you run. Something in you wants to turn around, to see if the handsome general is still close behind you. You can hear him well enough to know he is behind you, but not well enough to gauge the distance.

You don’t look. You only run.

Even though you had invited the hunt, desperately hoping to be caught, the hand that catches your waist surprises you. He seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the sand, pinning you beneath his muscular bulk. The feeling of being trapped sends a perverse thrill racing through you, something warm stirring in your belly.

Though he has caught you, you do not give in so easily.

You thrash underneath him, trying to throw him off you. Acacius is unyielding. His large hands grip your arms; his knees squeeze at your sides. You get one arm free and bring it up. You’re not sure what you intend to do; you don’t want to break him. Scratch him, perhaps? You never get the chance to find out.

Before you see him move, he seizes your arm and pins your wrist beneath his foot. One hand flies to your throat; the other draws a dagger from its sheath and holds the point against the swell of your breast.

For a long moment, you cannot breathe. The large hand at your throat squeezes just enough to threaten a loss of air. The foot on your wrist makes the delicate bones there grind together on just the right side of pleasure-pain. And oh, the blade at your heart. The tip pierces your skin and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or vomit from the shock.

You have never been so still in your life.

When has anything mortal ever pierced your skin? When has anything mortal managed to cut through the skin of your kith and kin? You have vague memories; bandaging Mars’ side after the great spearman Diomedes struck him outside Ilium. You watch in horror and awe as a bead of ichor seeps from the pinprick wound. Mars has made you bleed before, but you never thought a mortal might draw your glittering, golden blood.

You look up at him, your conqueror. He is panting hard, but his face shows no exhaustion; only determination. His eyes are nearly black with desire, and his lovely black and grey curls are damp with sweat. Gods, you want him. You want him to hunt you down as he would a deer, to throw you down and take you like some common mortal whore.

Watching you closely, Acacius eases his grip on your throat. A man used to gauging the weakness of his enemies has seen right through you in turn. He knows you do not need air to breathe. He knows he has done something astounding in the knife at your breast. He holds it steady as he reaches beneath the skirts of his tunic, pulling at the strings of his underthings. He pulls it free with a grunt and discards it beside you in the sand.

Free from its confinement, his manhood pushes against the skirt of his tunic. Something low in your belly twists in anticipation, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your blood feels as though it’s boiling beneath your skin as Acacius grips the fine cloth of your stola in one filthy hand.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon,” he tells you, in all sincerity. You tremble underneath him as he pushes your skirts up around your waist, another bead of ichor welling up around the tip of the blade.

You gasp as the metal shifts, and his eyes flick to your face. Almost lovingly, his hand wraps around your throat again.

“Do you yield?” When no reply is immediately forthcoming, he presses his advantage. The hand at your throat and foot at your wrist push harder; more glittering blood beads at your breast. The surface tension finally breaks, sending the blood dripping down towards your neck.

“I yield.” In an instant, he relaxes his hold. The foot on your wrist disappears, as does the blade. The hand on your throat remains, tipping your head up so he can kiss you. He kisses like his master, Mars; hard and demanding. You return the kiss with bruising intensity, nipping at his lower lip. It seems only fair that you make him bleed a little, in turn.

His beard prickles against your skin, and you answer it by sliding your hand into his curls and pulling roughly. Acacius groans against your mouth, crushing himself closer to you and forcing your legs apart with his knee. His muscular thigh presses against your bare cunt, the pressure sending liquid fire dancing through your body. You rut up against his thigh eagerly, your slick smearing against his skin.

Acacius notices your movements, breaking off the kiss to stare at you. The raw lust in his eyes makes you keep going, rocking your hips desperately against him. His thigh flexes between your legs, and you groan loudly. Without taking his eyes off you, his hand drifts to cup your breast, tantalisingly close to the tiny wound on your unblemished skin.

“Are you going to stab me again, slayer of men?” You ask him, tauntingly. You wouldn’t mind if he did.

“No, dear mistress. I’ll watch you debase yourself on my thigh.” Oh, you want to keep him. Your sisters have kept mortals before; you remember well the fuss around sweet Hylas, cunning Ulysses. Your conqueror finds your nipple through the fine material of your dress, the flesh stiffening beneath his fingers as he toys with you.

Your hips roll easier, faster as you sink deeper into your pleasure. Every glide becomes slicker as you soak his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve so blatantly sought your own pleasure, and you welcome it back eagerly. That familiar tension is coiling tightly in your belly and sends you spiralling higher with every movement.

Acacius watches you with fascination. His own pleasure is forgotten for the moment, though you suppose he is enjoying this. Something divine rubbing against him like a cat in heat; no man alive would believe him if he told them. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps and you clutch at Acacius’ wrist to ground yourself. He’s so solid and warm to your touch; his vitality is unlike any aphrodisiac you have ever known.

It’s not long before you come with a cry, your nails digging into Acacius’ skin as you shudder against him. The fire in your belly burns through you, the heat of it radiating out to your fingertips. It leaves you boneless beneath your conqueror. He seizes the advantage, pulling your legs wider apart to slot his other leg between them.

You struggle. Why not? It amuses you to make him manhandle you into place. He pulls your legs wider with one hand. With the thumb of the hand at your breast, he presses just below the cut. The burst of pain makes you hiss. Cowed, you let him pull your legs apart, his eyes feasting on your cunt. You must look a mess, swollen and soaked.

Acacius lets go of your leg and pulls up the hem of his tunic. He’s big, unfashionably so for his countrymen. Beads of fluid leak from the reddened tip, and he swipes them away with his thumb. He settles himself between your thighs, and you gasp when he notches the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. Without warning or reprieve, he forces his cock inside you.

You throw your head back against the sand, stars exploding against your closed eyelids as you dance along the knife edge of pleasure and pain. A deep groan rumbles out of Acacius’ throat as he presses deeper, working against your tight muscles to seat himself within you. He’s unrelenting, his length thick and twitching as it fills you.

There’s no other word for it; you wail up at the star-strewn sky, pleasure flooding through you. Your body feels too small to contain the fire being stoked inside you, deep in your core. You pull at Acacius, nails clawing, dragging him down to kiss you. His lips meet yours in a messy crash, all tongues and teeth as he finally seats himself fully within you.

He barely allows you a moment to adjust. He retreats almost fully, his cock nearly leaving you completely, before sliding back in with one fluid stroke of his hips. You’re shaken by how willingly your body accepts him, colouring any pain with so much pleasure you barely notice the discomfort. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Acacius’ incursions become sharper, harder, as he finds his rhythm. Your hands slide under the hem of his tunic to clutch at his back, your nails leaving behind tiny red crescents in his skin. Every breath you take is shared by him, your mouths so close together you can taste the wine lingering on his tongue. The two of you move together, your moans melting into one another as you fuck like animals in the sand.

It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge again. Bliss wipes all words from your mind; you can only lie there and let your release crash over you. The ichor in your veins feels like it’s singing. Acacius looks down on you in awe, and it only drives you higher. You want to keep him. The Heroic Age is too far past; the world is lacking for heroes. Perhaps you and Acacius can make a few; handsome, strong boys, half-god children who reflect their father’s divine favour.

“Would you give me sons, Acacius?” You ask, breathless at his onslaught. Your foreheads are pressed together still; you cannot see the look on his face. He groans sharply, his hands clutch tighter at you. Is that a yes? What greater blessing to a pious man than a son born to a goddess.

He certainly shows no signs of stopping. He fucks you with the same vigour he fights with. You feel like you’re floating, high above your own body, lost completely to pleasure. Jupiter himself could command you to stop, and you’d be unable to obey. You grow restless beneath him. His hand has slackened around your throat, so you lean down to lick a line across his neck. The taste of salt and iron explodes across your tongue, so delicious that you have to force yourself not to sink your teeth in.

Acacius grunts above you, forcing you back down against the sand. His hips are stuttering; a sign that he’s close to his own release. You want to cry, want to prolong this as much as possible, but you know he has limits. Your sisters have pushed mortal men too far before; you will not make the same mistake, not with so delicious a playmate.

Instead you spur him on. Your nails dig harder into his back, making him groan sharply. His short, desperate thrusts make your eyes roll back into your skull as he touches something deep and private within you, unknown to anyone else.

“I- I must-” He starts, words failing him as he chases his release. You pepper his face with kisses, nip at his kiss-swollen lips.

“You must,” you agree. “I want you to fill me up.” You’re both breathless, barely any air between your bodies to breathe. One of your hands slides into his curls, pulling at them. You guide his head down until your lips are at his ear again.

“I could give you a son,” you whisper. “But only if you finish inside me. Claim me; mark me as yours. Conquer me.”

He tips over the edge with a loud groan, his hips stuttering as he comes. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he does, filling you with his seed. Perhaps something might catch; he seems virile enough. You cradle his head against the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, his body heavy as he relaxes on top of you.

“Noble Acacius,” you murmur fondly, stroking his curls. “Marcus. What do you make of your new conquest?” He is quiet for a long moment. The crash of the waves fills the silence, the tide drawing closer. Soon, the two of you will have to move.

“I shall never know another victory like it.”

Taglist:

Tagging some people who might be interested: @iamasaddie (per their request for Acacius filth) @avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 16.4k

The guards at the River House barely had time to react as Eris winnowed into the courtyard, his usual composed demeanour replaced with an urgency that radiated off him like heat from a flame. His fiery hair was dishevelled, and his sharp features were drawn tight with exhaustion and determination.

Two Illyrian sentries stepped forward, wings flaring slightly in caution. "State your business, Eris Vanserra," one of them said sharply, though his grip on the hilt of his sword remained steady.

"I don’t have time for pleasantries," Eris snapped, his amber eyes blazing as he strode past them with a commanding air. "I need to see Rhysand. Now. Tell him it’s about Kaia."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before one of them nodded, stepping aside and sending a mental note to their High Lord. Eris didn’t wait for formalities or introductions; he shoved the heavy doors open and stormed into the River House, the sound of his boots echoing off the marble floors.

Inside, the tension in the air was palpable. Rhys was already in the main room, standing hunched over a table scattered with maps and reports. His hair was tousled from days of restless searching, and dark circles rimmed his violet eyes. Cassian sat nearby, sharpening a blade, his face grim and his posture radiating barely contained frustration. Azriel leaned against the far wall, his shadows shifting in a restless, agitated dance, his haunted expression betraying how close he was to breaking.

Eris didn’t bother with decorum. "Rhysand!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Rhysand’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Eris’s wild appearance. "What are you doing here, Eris?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Cassian and Azriel straightened, both watching the Lord of Autumn Court with barely veiled suspicion.

"I found her," Eris said, his voice sharp and urgent, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run the entire way. "I found Kaia."

The room froze. Rhysand’s expression turned from wary to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Cassian stood abruptly, his blade clattering to the floor, and Azriel pushed off the wall so quickly his shadows scattered in confusion. "What did you say?" Rhys asked, his voice dangerously soft as though he didn’t dare hope.

"I found her," Eris repeated, more slowly this time, his voice steady and certain. "She’s at the Forest House with a healer. She’s alive."

Rhysand staggered back a step, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support. His violet eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "Alive?" he whispered, as though testing the word on his tongue.

Cassian let out a string of curses, his wings flaring wide, while Azriel simply stared at Eris, his face blank but his shadows curling tightly around him, a storm waiting to erupt.

"She’s injured bad," Eris continued, glancing at each of them in turn. "Her wings... they’ve been damaged, and she’s weak. But she’s alive, Rhysand. She’s safe for now."

Azriel’s voice broke the silence, low and razor-edged. "Take me to her. Now."

Rhysand straightened, the shock on his face hardening into resolve. "Cassian, alert the others. Azriel—" he stopped as his brother began striding toward Eris without hesitation. "Go. Now."

Eris didn’t need further prompting. He held out a hand, and Azriel grasped it without a word. In a flash of flame, the two were gone, leaving Rhys, Cassian, and the heavy weight of relief mingled with dread in their wake.

Azriel and Eris winnowed into the Forest House, the cold air of the autumn woods immediately replaced by the warmth of the small, dimly lit structure. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptic wafted through the air, and the crackling of a nearby hearth filled the silence. Azriel didn’t take a moment to orient himself—his focus was already on the figure standing rigidly outside a closed door.

Lucien.

The Autumn Court emissary leaned against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His russet eye glimmered in the low light, while his mechanical eye rotated subtly, scanning the hallway with precise attention. At the sound of their arrival, Lucien’s gaze snapped toward them.

"Finally," he said, his tone a mixture of relief and tension. His usually sharp and calculated demeanour was tempered by something softer—an almost sympathetic edge.

Azriel was on him in an instant, stepping so close their noses were nearly touching. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice rough, strained. His shadows lashed around him, crackling with his barely-contained fury and desperation.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gestured to the closed door beside him. "In there. The healer is with her."

Azriel moved toward the door, but Lucien stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait," he said firmly, his golden eye locking onto Azriel’s. "She’s stable, but she’s in bad shape. You need to be prepared for that before you go in there."

Eris, standing a few feet back, observed the exchange silently, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his wings flared slightly, the tips twitching as though he could barely restrain himself. "Move," he growled, his voice low and lethal.

Lucien held his ground, his gaze steady but not unkind. "I’m serious, Shadowsinger. You’re not going to want to see her like this—not without bracing yourself first."

"I’ve been searching for many weeks," Azriel hissed, his voice shaking with emotion. "Many weeks without knowing if she was alive or dead. If you think for one second that I’m not going in there—"

"Azriel," Eris cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Let him speak. For her sake, not yours."

Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, and he lowered his hand. "She’s been through hell," he said quietly. "She’s scared, she’s hurt, and she’s weak. The healer’s doing everything she can, but... just don’t expect her to run into your arms the moment she sees you."

Azriel’s throat worked, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. But he nodded, swallowing hard. "Move," he said again, though this time his voice was softer, less edged.

Lucien stepped aside, and Azriel immediately reached for the door handle. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Eris and Lucien stayed behind, neither speaking as the door closed softly behind him.

Azriel stepped into the room, his heart pounding so violently it echoed in his ears. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a lantern on the bedside table. The healer, a middle-aged woman with soft features and a calm, steady demeanour, glanced up as he entered but said nothing, her hands moving carefully over the small figure lying on the bed.

Kaia.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. His daughter looked so small, so fragile, cradled in the mound of blankets. Her usually vibrant skin was pale, almost translucent, and her dark lashes rested against cheeks stained with tear tracks. Her tiny wings, his pride and joy, were bandaged and bound tightly against her back. Even through the layers of gauze, he could see faint traces of blood seeping through, and his stomach churned violently.

Kaia's little body barely stirred as the healer adjusted her position, whispering soft reassurances. The sight of her there, so still, so unlike the lively, curious child he knew, nearly brought him to his knees. He had imagined this moment—finding her—so many times over the past two weeks, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"She’s stable for now," the healer said softly, her voice breaking through his haze. "But weak. She’s been through more than any child should ever endure."

Azriel nodded mutely, his throat too tight to form words. He stepped closer, his footsteps almost silent, and sank into the chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing his fingers over her tiny hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and his heart fractured further.

"Kaia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb ran softly over her knuckles. "I’m here, sweetheart. Daddy’s here."

Her eyelids fluttered faintly, and for a moment, he thought she might wake. But she only whimpered softly in her sleep, her little face scrunching in pain before settling again.

Azriel inhaled sharply, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He couldn’t protect her from this, couldn’t take the pain away. And that knowledge gutted him. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless.

"She’s been sedated to help with the pain," the healer explained quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "She needs rest above all else now. Physically, she has a small chance of recovery. But emotionally... she’ll need you. Both of you."

Azriel nodded again, his jaw tightening. "I failed her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve found her sooner. I should’ve—"

"Stop," the healer interrupted, her tone surprisingly stern. "Blaming yourself won’t help her now. Focus on what you can do moving forward. She needs you strong, not consumed by guilt."

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Kaia’s forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her tiny form. "I’m so sorry, baby," he murmured. "But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again."

For the first time in weeks, Azriel let his tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he kept his head bowed over his daughter. He would stay by her side now, no matter what it took. No matter how broken he felt, she would never feel alone.

Azriel sat there for what felt like hours, his hand never leaving Kaia’s. The room was silent, save for the occasional sound of the healer preparing fresh salves and the soft, shallow breaths of his daughter. His shadows crept out, brushing lightly over her form as if they, too, were trying to comfort her in their own way. They whispered to him, a thousand sounds he couldn’t quite make out, but their presence was grounding.

The door creaked open behind him, and Azriel tensed instinctively, his wings flaring slightly. When he glanced back, his shoulders relaxed only a fraction. Rhysand stood in the doorway, his face as pale and drawn as Azriel had ever seen it. Behind him, you hovered, your hands clutching the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of you. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face tear-streaked, and you looked like a ghost of yourself. You locked eyes with him, and in an instant, everything came crashing down. You pushed past Rhys, crossing the room in hurried steps until you stood at Kaia’s bedside.

“Kaia,” you choked out, your voice trembling. Your hands hovered over her as though afraid touching her would break her further. Azriel reached out, gently guiding your hand to rest on her arm. She didn’t stir, but the warmth of her skin under your palm seemed to ease some of the tension in your body.

"She’s alive," Azriel said softly, his voice hoarse. "She’s alive, Y/N."

A sob tore from your throat as you leaned over, pressing your forehead to her tiny hand. "My baby," you whispered, your voice cracking. "My sweet girl."

Rhys stepped fully into the room, his violet eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his usual composure shattered. He reached out, brushing a hand over Kaia’s bandaged wings, his jaw tightening as he took in the blood-stained gauze.

"This should have never happened," Rhys said quietly, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed her. I failed you both."

Azriel looked up at his brother-in-law, his expression hard. "Don’t," he said, his tone sharp. "This isn’t on you, Rhys. It’s on me. I’m her father. I should’ve been faster. Smarter. I—"

"Enough," you cut in, your voice trembling but firm. You lifted your tear-streaked face, looking between the two men. "This isn’t the time to point fingers or wallow in guilt. Kaia is here now. She needs us to be strong for her, not broken."

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both sat by Kaia’s side. Rhys lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before stepping back toward the door.

"I’ll let the others know she’s safe," Rhys said quietly. "They’ll want to see her, but... later." He glanced at Azriel, his expression softening. "Take care of her. Take care of both of them."

Azriel gave a faint nod, his focus returning to his daughter and the mate he swore to protect. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in his chest. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And as he held your hand tightly in his own, he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure his family healed—together.

-----

It had been two weeks since Eris and Lucien had found Kaia, and you and Azriel hadn’t left the Autumn Court since. Moving her back to Velaris was out of the question; her condition was too fragile, and the healers insisted she remain where she could be closely monitored. The forest house had been converted into a sanctuary of sorts for your little family, though it hardly felt like one with the constant weight of worry hanging over you.

Kaia was still weak, her small body fighting to recover from the injuries she’d endured. Her wings remained heavily bandaged, the cuts along their stems slow to heal, and she was often too tired to do more than whimper softly when you or Azriel were near. The sight of her like this broke something in you every time you looked at her. Your vibrant, mischievous toddler, who had once chased butterflies and giggled endlessly, now lay quietly on her bed, her golden-brown eyes dull and filled with exhaustion.

Azriel rarely left her side. He sat by her bed for hours, his shadows constantly swirling around her, as though trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. He barely slept, and when he did, it was in the chair by her bedside, his hand always resting lightly on hers. His face was gaunt, his hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his shoulders seemed perpetually hunched under the weight of his guilt.

You weren’t much better. The two of you hadn’t spoken about what had happened—not really. The shared grief and fear seemed to have built a wall between you, one neither of you dared to break through. You spent most of your time tending to Kaia, whispering soft lullabies to her as you held one of her favourite teddies, the same one you’d clung to in those harrowing weeks she was missing.

The healers came and went in quiet intervals, bringing fresh salves and herbs to aid her recovery. One of them had told you just the day before that her wings might never fully recover, and while they assured you she might possibly be able to live a full life, the thought of your baby losing even a fraction of her joy was unbearable.

Eris had been surprisingly accommodating. He ensured you had everything you needed, from food and clothing to extra security around the forest house. Lucien visited frequently, bringing small gifts for Kaia—soft blankets, delicate wooden toys, and once, a tiny music box that played a soothing tune. The gestures were kind, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your chest.

This morning, as the first light filtered through the tall windows of the room Kaia was staying in, you sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair. She was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings tucked in tight as he stared out at the forest beyond. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you knew he was battling his own demons in silence.

“She looks better,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—hoarse and quiet, as though it had forgotten how to speak.

Azriel didn’t turn to you, but his wings twitched slightly. “Not enough,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, though the words stung. Instead, you turned back to Kaia, your hand lingering on her small shoulder as you whispered, “She’s strong, Az. Stronger than we think.”

At that, he turned, his gaze locking on yours. There was something haunted in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache you felt in your own chest. “She shouldn’t have had to be strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s just a baby.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Instead, you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside you on the bed.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the tall windows and the rhythmic sound of Kaia’s shallow breathing. You and Azriel sat side by side on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly stroking Kaia’s tiny hand as she slept. The silence between you had stretched thin, heavy with tension, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something cracked.

“Az,” you began softly, your voice hesitant. He didn’t look at you, his focus fixed on Kaia’s frail form. “You should go back to work.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his hazel eyes sharp and blazing with disbelief.

“What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. “You’ve been here for two weeks, Az. I know you’re worried about her, but Kaia is safe now. The healers are doing everything they can, and I’m here with her. You have responsibilities—things that need your attention.”

His wings flared slightly, the shadows around him stirring like a storm ready to unleash. “Responsibilities?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “What are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying you can’t just abandon everything else,” you said, keeping your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “The Night Court still needs you. Rhys needs you. We’ll be fine.”

Azriel shot up from the bed, his tall frame towering over you as he paced to the window. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“‘We’ll be fine?’” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even hear yourself? Our daughter nearly died! She’s lying there, barely able to move, her wings—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling. “And you’re telling me to leave her? To leave you?”

You stood, anger bubbling up despite the guilt gnawing at your heart. “I’m not telling you to abandon her, Azriel! I’m telling you to trust that she’s safe now. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” he snapped, his voice bitter. “How can you say that when you’re the one telling me to leave? What kind of mother—what kind of mate—says something like that?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I don’t care about her. I love her just as much as you do, Azriel, but I’m trying to be realistic. We can’t both sit here and hover over her forever. She needs us to be strong—for her, for each other.”

Azriel’s wings flared fully now, his shadows lashing out in frustration. “Strong?” he hissed. “You call this strong? You’re cold-hearted, that’s what you are. Telling me to go back to work while our daughter is lying there, recovering from the worst trauma of her life. How could you even think of sending me away? Do you not care about what I’m feeling? Do you not care about her?”

Your heart shattered at his words, tears springing to your eyes. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How dare you accuse me of not caring. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve said—has been for her. For us.”

“Then act like it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Act like you actually give a damn about what’s happening here instead of trying to shove me back into work like none of this matters!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you clenched your fists, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, who feels guilty, who wakes up every night wondering what you could’ve done differently. But you don’t get to stand there and call me heartless. You don’t get to throw that at me.”

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something broken. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. You turned back to Kaia, sitting on the edge of her bed and gripping her tiny hand as though it were the only thing tethering you to this world.

Azriel remained by the window, his wings drooping slightly as the shadows around him stilled.

You stayed seated at the edge of Kaia’s bed, your hand gripping hers so tightly you worried you might hurt her, but you couldn’t let go. The silence in the room felt unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings sagging slightly as though the weight of everything had finally settled onto his shoulders.

“I’ve hit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the heavy air.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look at you fully, his shadows curling around his feet as if trying to comfort him.

“I never thought I’d feel this way,” you continued, your voice cracking as tears burned your throat. “I never thought I’d hit rock bottom like this. That I’d feel so—so empty. So... hollow.”

Azriel turned then, his hazel eyes meeting yours, the anger from before replaced by something softer, something achingly vulnerable. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. “Do what, Azriel? Speak the truth? Admit that I’ve lost everything I thought I had? I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

His wings flared slightly, his shadows stirring as he stepped closer. “We’re still us,” he said, his voice desperate, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ve been through worse—we can get through this.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel that way,” you said softly. “Do you know what it feels like, Azriel? To look at your mate and feel like they’re just... ordinary? Just another person in the room? Not the one you’re supposed to lean on, to trust with everything, to feel whole with.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the pain flash across his face, the way his wings drooped even further. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.”

You let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that Kaia is lying there, barely holding on, and I feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I’ve failed myself. And now... now I feel like I’ve failed us too.”

Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You haven’t failed, Y/N. You’re still here. You’re still fighting—for her, for me, for us. You haven’t failed.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your cheeks relentless. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It doesn’t feel like I’m fighting anymore. It just feels like I’m surviving.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against yours as his wings curled around the two of you, creating a cocoon of warmth and shadow. “Then let me fight for you,” he said, his voice raw. “Let me fight for us. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. "I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Don’t say that," he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t say that."

Your shoulders shook as you let out a bitter laugh, the tears falling freely. "I don’t want to feel this way, Azriel. I don’t. But look at us. Look at what we’ve become. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t know who you are either."

He reached for you then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were glassy, his voice breaking as he said, "I’m still me, Y/N. I’m still yours. Please, just... tell me how to fix this."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I don’t know if you can."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his shadows flickering wildly around him. "I won’t accept that," he said, his voice fierce despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I won’t accept losing you. Not you, not Kaia. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you believe in us again."

You pulled away from Azriel’s trembling hands, stepping back as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. His wings twitched, his shadows writhing around him as if mirroring his turmoil.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and desperate, but you shook your head, tears blurring your vision.

"I can’t do this right now," you whispered, your voice breaking as you turned toward the door. "I need space, Azriel. I need to breathe."

He stepped toward you, panic etched into every line of his face. "Don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "Not like this. Please, Y/N, we can—"

But you didn’t let him finish. You took one last look at him, his expression shattered, his wings slightly drooping, before you winnowed away without another word.

"Y/N!" he shouted after you, his voice filled with anguish, but by the time the sound of his plea echoed through the room, you were already gone.

-----

The River House was quieter than usual when you winnowed into the foyer, the cool stillness only broken by the faint sound of papers rustling in the nearby study. Rhys and Cassian were walking out, deep in conversation, when they spotted you standing there.

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, surprise etched on his face. "What are you doing here? We were just about to—"

His words faltered as he saw your tear-streaked face, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself tightly. Rhys stepped forward, his face paling.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Is it Kaia? Is she—?"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, shaking your head vehemently. "She's... she's fine." Your voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over as you tried to steady your breathing.

Cassian let out a sharp exhale, relief flashing in his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Then what is it? Why are you here? Did something happen at the Autumn Court?"

You tried to answer, tried to form the words, but the weight of everything—the past weeks, Azriel’s words, your own breaking heart—came crashing down. A choked sob escaped your throat as you covered your face with your hands.

Rhys closed the distance between you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. "Y/N, talk to me," he urged softly. "What’s going on?"

But all you could do was cry, the anguish too overwhelming to explain. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Cassian, whose jaw was tight as he watched you crumble. "Let’s get her to the sitting room," Rhys said quietly.

Cassian nodded, stepping aside as Rhys guided you gently toward the room, his concern written in every line of his face. Neither of them pushed you to speak again, giving you the time to collect yourself as they exchanged uneasy glances, silently wondering what had happened to leave you in such a state.

In the sitting room, Rhys guided you to the couch, his touch steady and gentle as you sank down, curling into yourself. Cassian sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of worry.

"Y/N," Rhys began softly, sitting beside you. "Please tell us what happened. If it’s not Kaia, then... what’s wrong?"

Your voice broke as you tried to speak. "I—I can’t do it anymore," you whispered, staring down at your trembling hands. "I can’t stay there with him. I can’t pretend like everything is fine."

Rhys stiffened slightly. "With Azriel?" he asked carefully, his tone measured, though concern laced his words.

Cassian sat up straighter, his brows knitting together. "Did he—"

"He didn’t hurt me," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Not physically. But his words..." You trailed off, another sob escaping your lips as the weight of Azriel’s accusations hit you again. "He said I was heartless. Cold. That I didn’t care about Kaia, about him."

Rhys’ eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "What?"

Cassian looked furious, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his composure. "Azriel said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands. "I told him he should go back to work, to get some air, and he just... he lost it. He called me heartless for even suggesting it."

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "He’s been on edge for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"That’s no excuse," Cassian snapped, his voice low but seething. "He has no right to talk to her like that, especially after everything she’s been through."

You sniffled, looking up at them through blurry eyes. "It’s more than that," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I... I told him I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, like I wasn’t even his mate anymore. And he didn’t..."

Cassian cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room. Rhys sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tight as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

"Y/N," Rhys said gently, his hand resting on your knee, "you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out. Azriel is... he’s struggling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just—"

"He’s not the male I fell in love with," you interrupted, your voice cracking. "And I don’t know if he ever will be again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words lingering like a dark cloud. Cassian finally stopped pacing, his expression softening as he looked at you. "You’re exhausted," he said quietly. "You’ve been through too much. Maybe staying here for a while... away from him... is what you need."

Rhys nodded, though his face was tight with emotion. "You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Y/N. And when you’re ready to face Azriel, we’ll be here for that too."

You nodded weakly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. "Thank you," you whispered, though the ache in your chest remained, a reminder of the fracture that now lay between you and your mate.

Cassian leaned back against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between you and Rhys. His hazel eyes softened as they settled on you, still curled up on the couch, your eyes red and swollen. Letting out a deep breath, he broke the tense silence.

"Rhys," Cassian began, his tone firm but not unkind, "I’ll take Nyx to see Kaia."

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Cass—"

"No arguments," Cassian cut him off, holding up a hand. "You need to stay here with Y/N. She needs you more than Azriel needs another body standing around in the Autumn Court." He glanced at you again, his expression softening further. "You’ve both been running on fumes, but Rhys... you can’t just leave her right now."

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his violet eyes conflicted as he looked at you. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, glancing back at Cassian.

"Positive," Cassian replied firmly. "I’ve already been back and forth. Nyx will be happy to see Kaia, and I’ll make sure everything is handled. You stay here. Focus on your sister."

You looked up, your voice weak but filled with gratitude. "Cassian..."

He waved you off, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t even start. You know I’d do anything for Kaia—and for you. Az and I may want to strangle each other half the time, but he’s still my brother. We’ll keep this together."

Rhys hesitated a moment longer before nodding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he finally said. "Take Nyx. And... thank you, Cass."

Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod before stepping closer to you. He crouched down, resting a hand on your knee. "You focus on yourself, alright? Kaia is safe, and I’ll make sure she knows how much her mama and dada love her."

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, "Thank you, Cassie."

He gave you a warm, lopsided grin before straightening. "Get some rest," he said firmly, looking between you and Rhys. "Both of you."

As he left the room, you and Rhys sat in silence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air. But for the first time in weeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

You shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as Cassian’s footsteps faded from the room. Turning to Rhys, you wiped at your tear-streaked face, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Where’s Feyre?"

Rhys looked over at you, the question catching him slightly off guard. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, his violet eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. "She’s upstairs with Nyx," he replied softly. "She’s been keeping him distracted... keeping herself distracted."

You nodded, the mention of Feyre grounding you slightly. "I—I’d like to see her," you murmured, your voice wavering but determined. "I just need... I need to talk to her."

Rhys tilted his head, studying you for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course," he said gently, rising to his feet. "I’ll let her know you’re here."

Before he could leave the room, you grabbed his wrist, your grip weak but desperate. "Rhys," you said, your voice trembling. "Thank you... for staying."

His gaze softened, and he placed a hand over yours. "Always, sister," he said quietly. "You’re not alone in this."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the staircase, leaving you alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. You tried to steel yourself, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on your chest.

Moments later, soft footsteps approached, and Feyre appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry and relief as she saw you. She crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you on the couch and wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"You’re here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Feyre held you tightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as sobs racked your body. She didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry against her shoulder, her hand gently stroking your hair. It wasn’t until your breathing began to slow that she finally spoke.

"I was about to come see you," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your swollen eyes. "I couldn’t stay in Autumn anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I’m suffocating, Feyre. Azriel... he’s so angry and distant, and I—" Your voice faltered, tears spilling over again.

Feyre cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "You’ve been through hell," she said firmly. "Both of you have. It’s not fair for either of you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded weakly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. "I told him to go back to work," you choked out, your voice trembling. "I thought... I thought it might help him focus on something other than the guilt, but he... he called me heartless, Feyre. He said I was cold."

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and you could see the fury flash in her eyes, though she kept her tone even. "Azriel is lashing out because he’s hurting," she said softly. "But that doesn’t make it okay. You’re hurting, too."

"I feel like I’ve lost him," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "After everything we’ve been through... I feel like he doesn’t even see me anymore. Like I’m just... there."

Feyre’s arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close. "That’s not true," she said firmly. "Azriel loves you more than anything. He’s just drowning in his own pain right now, and he doesn’t know how to reach out. But you two will find your way back to each other. I know it."

The conviction in her voice made your chest ache, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. You stayed like that for a while, Feyre holding you as the fire crackled softly beside you.

Eventually, Rhys entered the room, his presence calm but heavy. "I sent Cassian off with Nyx now," he said quietly, glancing between the two of you. "They’ll be at the Autumn Court by nightfall."

You nodded, your hands clutching the blanket tightly around you. Rhys’s gaze softened as he looked at you. "You should rest," he said gently. "You’ve been running on empty for weeks now."

Feyre squeezed your hand. "I’ll stay with you," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her side. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys lingered for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping back, leaving you and Feyre in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

-----

Cassian landed heavily outside the Autumn Court’s forest house, Nyx held tightly against his chest as he adjusted his grip on the boy. The moment his boots hit the ground, he could already sense Azriel inside.

Kaia was here. Healing. Recovering. And Azriel hadn’t left her side.

But Cassian hadn’t come for Azriel. Not really.

The guards at the door let them through immediately, and Cassian pushed inside, the warmth of the fire doing little to thaw the ice settling in his veins. Nyx wiggled in his arms, eager to be let down, but Cassian held him close, rubbing a hand along his back to keep him calm.

It was Azriel who came into view first. He looked rough—exhausted, shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed even more than usual. The moment his gaze locked onto Cassian, the Spymaster straightened, as if preparing for whatever storm Cassian was bringing with him.

Cassian had half a mind to rip into him right then and there.

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

But Nyx stirred in his arms about being to old to be held, and Cassian swallowed the anger, pushing past Azriel without a word.

Lucien was standing just outside the bedroom where Kaia was resting. He gave Cassian a nod before stepping aside, letting him through.

Cassian exhaled slowly before opening the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kaia was curled up beneath thick blankets, a healer sitting nearby, quietly monitoring her condition. Her tiny wings were wrapped in soft bandages, her face turned toward the pillows.

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

The little girl stirred slightly, blinking up at them with sleepy eyes. Her lips wobbled, and for a moment, Cassian thought she might cry.

But then Nyx wiggled out of his grip, stumbling toward the bed, and Kaia’s little fingers reached for him immediately.

Nyx climbed up beside her carefully, curling into her side, one of his hands resting against her bandaged wing as if he could protect her from whatever had hurt her.

Cassian exhaled, his chest tight. He turned, stepping back toward the door where Azriel still stood, watching from the shadows.

Cassian met his brother’s gaze, the anger from earlier flaring up once again.

Azriel could feel it. He knew exactly how pissed Cassian was at him.

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

But Azriel had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Azriel stood motionless in the doorway, shadows coiling at his feet as he watched Nyx curl around Kaia like she was the most precious thing in the world. His daughter—his baby—was alive. That should have been enough to ease some of the storm raging inside of him.

It wasn’t.

Not when he could feel Cassian’s burning stare from across the room. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, raw and broken, telling him you’d finally hit rock bottom.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t thought about anything except keeping Kaia safe.

But you had left.

And now Cassian was here, standing in his home, barely holding himself back.

Azriel braced himself for the inevitable as Cassian finally turned away from the bed, stepping toward him. His brother’s wings flared slightly, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back whatever was brewing inside him.

“Outside,” Cassian said, his voice a low growl.

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he didn’t argue. Without a word, he turned and walked past Cassian, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, damp air of the Autumn woods.

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

Azriel barely had a second before Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his leathers and shoved him back against the wooden exterior of the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian seethed.

Azriel didn’t fight back. He just stared, his hazel eyes cold, unreadable.

Cassian shoved him again. “She came back to Velaris in tears, Az. She left here broken. And you let her.”

“She told me to go,” Azriel said flatly. “So I let her do the same.”

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Tell you that you pushed your own mate away when she was barely holding on?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Cassian that it wasn’t that simple. That you had told him to go back to work like Kaia would just magically be fine without him. That you, who had fought for her just as fiercely as he had, were now acting like you could just—just move on.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

And it hadn’t been what you needed to hear.

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, but his expression remained furious. “She’s grieving, Az. And instead of holding her through it, you made her feel like she was the only one hurting.”

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose. His shadows twisted around his boots, restless.

“She still loves you,” Cassian added, his voice quieter now. “But you need to fix this before she starts believing otherwise.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. He had never doubted your love for him—not even for a second.

Cassian’s grip on Azriel’s collar tightened, his knuckles going white. His breath was hot with rage, his chest heaving as he stared Azriel down.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cassian hissed. His wings flared, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Azriel remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him, reacting to the anger radiating off his brother.

Cassian let out a bitter, humourless laugh. “You think this is just about you? About your pride? Your pain?” His voice rose, his rage spilling over. “You have no idea what she’s feeling right now. No fucking idea.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “I lost her too.”

Cassian shoved him hard, slamming him back against the wooden wall. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you didn’t?!” he bellowed.

Azriel’s wings flared, his own anger finally sparking to life, but Cassian didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“She sat in her room for two fucking weeks, Az. Two weeks, holding onto that teddy like it was the only thing keeping her together, crying herself to sleep, and you weren’t there!” Cassian’s voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “You chose not to be there.”

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

Cassian shook his head, disgusted. “She begged me not to tell you how bad it was. Because she still—still wanted to protect you. And you—you stood here, let her walk away, and fucking watched as she shattered.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows were writhing now, slithering across his boots, up his arms, reacting to the storm inside him.

“I’ve seen her broken before,” Cassian growled, voice low and raw. “But never like this. Not even after she lost her wings.”

Azriel’s entire body locked up. A deep, old pain flickered behind his eyes, but Cassian wasn’t done.

“She needed you. And you made her feel like she had no one.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell, fast and uneven. His shadows had gone completely still.

Cassian released him with a sharp shove, stepping back. His voice was thick with fury and disappointment. “You need to fix this, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight, his hands still clenched into fists.

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with one last glare, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Azriel alone in the cold, with nothing but his shadows and the weight of his mistakes.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he stepped back into the dimly lit room where Kaia and Nyx were. His anger still simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to push it down, to focus on what mattered—on them.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows over the room. Kaia lay curled up on the plush bed, wrapped in thick blankets, her tiny form barely visible beneath them. Her wings—still bandaged, still healing—rested limply against the mattress.

Nyx sat beside her, his small hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered something Cassian couldn’t hear. His expression was heartbreakingly solemn, far too serious for a child his age.

Cassian sighed and walked over, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Nyx looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. “Uncle Cass?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Cassian hesitated. No. Nothing is okay. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Nyx.

So instead, he forced a small, tired smile. “Yeah, kid. Just had to talk to your uncle Az.” His voice was rough, thick with lingering frustration.

Nyx studied him for a moment before nodding. He turned his attention back to Kaia, his fingers still brushing through her dark curls. “She was whimpering in her sleep,” he murmured. “I think she’s hurting.”

Cassian’s heart clenched. He carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his large hand resting near Kaia’s tiny fingers. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. Even in sleep, she looked fragile.

“Hey, sunshine,” Cassian whispered, leaning in slightly. “Uncle Cassie is here.”

Kaia stirred at his voice, her little brow furrowing. She let out a quiet whimper before shifting, her tiny fingers reaching blindly in her sleep. Without thinking, Cassian slid his hand into hers.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Nyx looked up at him again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is Auntie Y/N coming soon?”

Cassian’s chest ached at the question. He knew Nyx had been missing his aunt, and Rhys had been trying to keep him distracted, but it wasn’t the same.

“She’ll come soon,” Cassian promised, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what was happening back at the River House. No idea if Azriel had finally pulled his head out of his ass and gone after his mate.

Kaia stirred again, her grip on his fingers tightening. Cassian instinctively reached out with his other hand, brushing her hair back gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

She let out a small sigh, shifting a little closer to Nyx, her breathing evening out once more.

Cassian glanced at Nyx, whose eyes were still on Kaia, filled with the same fierce protectiveness his father had.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Nyx asked, voice small.

Cassian hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, kid. She’s tough.”

Like her mother.

Like her father—if Azriel ever got his shit together.

Nyx nodded solemnly before snuggling closer to Kaia, his own little hand resting over hers.

Cassian let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Kaia’s hand. Not yet.

Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again.

Eris strode into the room with his usual effortless grace, though there was an edge to his movements—a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since the night he had carried Kaia, bleeding and limp, through the forests of the Autumn Court. His amber eyes flickered over the space, first landing on Nyx curled beside Kaia, then shifting to Cassian, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, Kaia’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Cassian barely acknowledged him, his jaw clenched tight, his attention still on the sleeping girl.

Eris exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he glanced around again. “Where are her parents?” His tone was even, but there was something pointed in it, something layered beneath the words.

Cassian lifted his gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Y/N’s at the River House,” he said gruffly. “Azriel—” He let out a humorless huff. “—he’s probably still brooding somewhere. Who the hell knows.”

Eris scoffed. “Typical.” He took a few slow steps into the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over Kaia once more. “I expected at least one of them to be here.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around Kaia’s little fingers, but he kept his voice steady. “Y/N just got back last night. She needed time.”

Eris hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Kaia. “And Azriel?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared. He knew exactly what Eris was doing—pushing, needling, waiting to see if his words would strike a nerve, Nesta told him when she got back from Day that you and Eris used to be a thing so if this was the point Eris was trying to prove...

“He’ll show up,” Cassian muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

Eris merely lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I just find it interesting,” he said, voice almost casual. “That the moment his daughter is found—alive, though barely—he suddenly disappears.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, but before he could snap back, Nyx spoke.

“Uncle Az is coming,” he said quietly, his small voice firm despite the exhaustion lining it.

Cassian and Eris both looked at him, finding the young boy staring at Kaia, his little hand still resting protectively over hers.

Nyx looked up then, his violet eyes eerily serious. “He’ll come,” he repeated.

Eris let out a slow exhale before turning back to Cassian. “He better.” His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if he doesn’t, I don’t think Y/N will ever forgive him.”

Cassian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

Eris lingered by the door for a moment before stepping fully into the room, his sharp amber gaze locked onto Kaia’s small form. His usual mask of indifference was thinner today, barely concealing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerously close to concern in his expression.

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. “How is she?” His voice was quieter than before, the usual sharpness dulled.

Cassian shifted in his spot, still holding Kaia’s tiny fingers in his much larger hand. He hadn’t let go since he’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he planned to anytime soon. His hazel eyes, weary and shadowed, flickered up to Eris before he glanced back down at the sleeping girl.

“She’s alive,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “But she’s weak.”

Eris took another step closer, his keen gaze raking over her small frame. Her face was pale, exhaustion lining every delicate feature. Even in sleep, there was a tightness around her eyes, a subconscious flinch every time she shifted too much. The bandages along her back, where the healer had worked tirelessly to repair the deep wounds at the base of her wings, were fresh—evidence that her injuries were still healing.

Eris’s jaw tightened. He had seen the blood, had held her as it soaked into his clothes. The sight of her now, fragile and unmoving, made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

“And the wings?” he asked after a moment.

Cassian’s fingers curled slightly around Kaia’s hand, his other clenching into a fist on his thigh. His voice was low when he answered. “We don’t know yet.”

Eris didn’t move, didn’t react outright, but Cassian saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his expression turned even graver.

Silence stretched between them before Eris finally spoke again. “And Y/N?”

Cassian let out a long, tired breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not great.” He didn’t elaborate, but Eris didn’t need him to.

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood by the window in the sitting room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared out at the Sidra. The water was dark beneath the early evening sky, its surface rippling with the wind that had begun to pick up. Normally, you found solace in this view, in the steady, unchanging flow of the river. But today, it felt hollow.

The house was nearly empty—Rhys was somewhere, likely still pouring over paperwork, and Feyre had yet to return from wherever she had gone. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant sound of someone moving upstairs broke the silence.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. It had been hours since you winnowed away from Autumn, from Azriel. Hours since you’d stormed out, leaving him standing there. You had thought coming home would bring some kind of peace, that being here—away from everything—might help you breathe again.

But all you felt was emptiness.

Your eyes flickered to the small pile of Kaia’s things in the corner of the room. A few of her favourite books, a stuffed animal she’d left behind last time she was here. A blanket she used to curl up with on the couch. The sight of them made your throat close up.

She should be here. She should be running around, laughing, filling the house with her little voice. Instead, she was in Autumn, healing. And you weren’t there.

A lump formed in your throat, and you clenched your jaw, forcing down the sob threatening to rise.

You barely heard the footsteps approaching until a familiar presence settled nearby. Rhys didn’t say anything at first, just watched you, his violet eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice quiet. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

But Rhys wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he said, “but I need you to.”

You swallowed hard, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to say.”

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the first honest thing you had admitted in days. Maybe weeks.

Rhys hesitated before moving forward, wrapping his arms around you. The moment his warmth enveloped you, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped before you could stop it, and you clung to him, your body shaking as you buried your face in his chest.

His arms tightened around you. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart.

Your sobs wracked your body, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs, the kind that left you gasping. Rhys held you tightly, his hands steady against your back, but it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside of you.

“Why do I always fuck up?” you choked out against his chest, your voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw, gut-wrenching pain. “Why is it always me?”

Rhys flinched at your words, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. If anything, he only held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you from unravelling completely.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I should have known,” you whispered brokenly. “I should have done something—”

“Stop,” Rhys cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Y/N, you didn’t fail.”

You let out a bitter laugh against his chest. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Rhys pulled back slightly, just enough to cup the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes searched yours, filled with something raw, something unbreakable. “Because you love too much,” he said softly. “Because you love so fiercely that when something happens to the people you care about, you take it all onto yourself.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “But I was supposed to protect her.” Your voice cracked. “She’s my daughter, Rhys. And I wasn’t there.”

Rhys’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “And yet, she is still here. Still fighting.” His voice dropped to something even softer. “Because she has a mother who would burn the world down for her.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and your lip trembled. “I just…” You shook your head, your voice breaking entirely. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rhys sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fix it alone.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We will get through this. You and Azriel will get through this.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle, letting yourself breathe. But even as you clung to your brother, the weight in your chest remained, heavy and unyielding. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you believed him.

You pulled away from Rhys, your hands slipping from his tunic as you took a shaky step back. The warmth of his embrace lingered, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache spreading through your chest.

He watched you carefully, his violet eyes scanning your face, waiting, bracing. He had seen you angry before, devastated before. But this… this was something else entirely.

Your throat was raw from crying, but your voice came out steady—too steady. “I don’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right. “Y/N—”

“I mean it,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Azriel and I… We’re not the same anymore. And I don’t know if we ever will be.”

Rhys’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“I’ve spent years believing in us. In our bond. No matter how bad things got, I always thought we’d make it through.” Your voice wavered, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “But now? Now I don’t even know who we are.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. “You’re grieving, Y/N. Both of you are. You’ve been through hell, and—”

“I know what I’m saying,” you interrupted, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I know how I feel.”

Rhys’ expression darkened slightly. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

You let out a bitter laugh, void of humour. “I’m not giving up. I’m realizing that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be saved.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Rhys stared at you for a long moment before running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Does Azriel know you feel this way?”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t think he cares.”

Rhys’ expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it? He looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.” Your voice broke, but you pushed through. “And I can’t keep fighting for something he doesn’t want to fight for.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you and Azriel have spent centuries building a life together. You’ve survived wars, loss, everything. Don’t let this be what breaks you.”

You shook your head, your vision blurring. “I think we were already broken.”

Rhys reached for you then, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “Just… don’t make any decisions right now,” he murmured. “Not while everything still hurts.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this pain would ever go away.

Sobs tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. Rhys lowered you both to the floor, his arms wrapping around you, anchoring you even as you shattered.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by another choked sob. Your chest ached, your entire body trembling as you buried your face against Rhys’ shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rhys. I—” Another sob ripped through you. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His grip tightened, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles against your back. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t.

Every breath came out shaky, uneven, the grief clawing at your throat like it was trying to consume you whole. The weight of the past weeks—losing Kaia, the helplessness, the distance between you and Azriel—pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tears soaked through Rhys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He just held you, rocking you slightly, his own breathing uneven as if your pain was his, too.

Your fingers clutched at him, desperate for something, anything to keep you from falling apart completely. “I feel so empty, Rhys.” The admission came out in a broken whisper. “Like there’s nothing left of me.”

His arms tightened around you. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”

You let out a gasping sob, shaking your head. “I don’t feel like me.”

Rhys swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then let me hold onto you until you do.”

And so he did.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—as you sobbed into your brother’s arms, the storm inside you refusing to settle. And still, Rhys held you, unwavering, refusing to let you drown.

-----

Azriel sat in the chair by Kaia’s bedside, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since Cassian had stormed in, not since Nyx had curled up beside Kaia on the bed, keeping her company while she rested.

He barely even blinked.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. The only sounds were the soft breaths of the children and the distant crackle of a fire from the sitting room. But even that warmth couldn’t reach him.

Not when the only warmth he had ever known had left.

His shadows curled restlessly around him, mirroring the storm inside him. He knew where you were. Could feel the bond, muted and distant but still there. Still holding. But he didn’t know if you would come back. Didn’t know if he deserved for you to.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

“Az.”

Cassian.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “What.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dragging a chair closer before sinking into it with a heavy thud. He didn’t speak right away, just sat there, watching Azriel with an expression Az couldn’t decipher.

Finally, Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “She’s at the River House.”

Azriel didn’t react, didn’t let the flicker of relief show on his face. But Cassian knew him too well.

“She’s a mess, Az,” Cassian continued, voice softer now. “Rhys had to carry her to bed. She hasn’t slept. She’s barely eaten. And—” He exhaled sharply. “She thinks it’s over.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, locked onto Cassian’s. “What?”

Cassian hesitated, but then, with brutal honesty, said, “She told Rhys she doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a sharp exhale, his wings twitching, his body going rigid.

Cassian’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “You need to go to her, Az.”

Azriel shook his head, looking away. “She told me to go. To leave.”

“And you actually listened?” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when do you give up that easily?”

Azriel’s fingers dug into his knees. “She said she’s hit rock bottom.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “She said she never thought she could look at me and feel nothing.”

Cassian’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look surprised. “Then prove her wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Cassian huffed. “Maybe not right now. But she needs you, Az. And you need her.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s eyes drifted back to Kaia, still fast asleep, her small frame curled up beneath the blankets. Her little hands clutched the stuffed dragon Nyx had given her.

His daughter. His mate. His entire world was slipping through his fingers.

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

Cassian stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met,” he said. “Use that. Go fight for her.”

Azriel didn’t move as Cassian left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He just sat there, staring at his daughter, his mind spinning.

And then, finally, he stood.

Azriel winnowed straight into the River House, his boots landing silently on the polished wooden floors of the foyer. The moment he arrived, his shadows recoiled, sensing the heavy weight of sorrow clinging to the air. It was quieter than usual. No laughter, no chatter. Just the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper inside the house.

His heart pounded as he took a step forward, his wings tucking tightly against his back. The dim candlelight flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows that danced with his own. He could feel you. Somewhere in this house, you were here. Broken. Hurting.

And he had caused it.

A figure moved in the doorway ahead, and Rhys appeared, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. His violet eyes raked over Azriel, assessing, exhausted.

“You finally grew a pair,” Rhys muttered, pushing off the doorframe.

Azriel ignored the jab. His throat felt tight as he asked, “Where is she?”

Rhys exhaled through his nose, studying him for a moment before jerking his chin toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Her room.”

His room. Theirs.

Azriel swallowed hard, nodding once before moving past Rhys. But before he could reach the stairs, his brother’s voice stopped him.

“She hasn’t slept in days,” Rhys said quietly. “And she won’t talk about it, but I know she thinks this is the end.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

Azriel didn’t respond, just started up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was eerily silent, and with each door he passed, the weight in his chest grew.

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling into the hallway. He could hear your breathing—uneven, strained.

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, one of Kaia’s stuffed animals clutched in your arms. Your eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked with dried tears. You didn’t even look up when he entered, your gaze locked onto some invisible point on the floor.

Azriel felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.

He had seen you strong. He had seen you furious. He had seen you in pain.

But this—this hollow, shattered version of you—he had never seen before.

And it terrified him.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click making you flinch.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Y/N.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the stuffed animal. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, to fix this. He had always known how to mend broken things. Swords. Strategies. Wounds.

But this?

This was you. His mate. His love. And he had broken you.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He crossed the room in three steps, sinking onto his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. You tensed at his touch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the back of your hands. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you to tell me how.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you said, “I don’t think you can.”

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

Your words hung between you, heavier than anything he had ever carried. His wings drooped slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as if he could somehow anchor you to him, to this bond that now felt so fragile, so breakable.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t accept that.”

You let out a hollow, humourless laugh, finally looking at him. Your eyes were dull, lifeless. “Then you’re a fool.”

Azriel flinched.

“I have nothing left, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Nothing. I lost my mother. I lost my sister. I lost my wings. And now—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I almost lost our daughter. And you—” Your hands slipped from his grasp as you pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You weren’t there. You shut me out. You let me break alone.”

Azriel’s throat felt raw, his shadows writhing around him in distress. “I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admitted. “How to make it better.”

“I didn’t need you to fix it!” Your voice was suddenly sharp, filled with something closer to anger now. “I needed you to be here! To sit with me in the fucking wreckage instead of running off like that would solve anything!”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flexing slightly. “I thought—” He exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought if I just kept searching, if I just kept moving, then I wouldn’t have to face it.” His hands dropped into his lap, and he met your gaze, raw and open. “I was terrified, Y/N. I have never been more afraid in my entire life.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyes shining with fresh tears.

“I failed you,” Azriel said, barely above a whisper. “I failed our daughter. And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

And then, you whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted violently, panic clawing up his throat.

No.

He refused to believe that.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t say that.”

You looked away, your fingers gripping Kaia’s stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping you together.

Azriel reached for you again, his hands cradling your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you,” he murmured, desperate, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks. “I love you more than anything, and I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought you might believe him.

But then your eyes filled with more tears, and you slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time, Azriel.”

And those words shattered him completely.

Azriel stood frozen, your words echoing in his head like a death knell.

He had faced wars, endured centuries of pain, lived through the worst kind of suffering, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Like his very soul was being torn from him.

You turned away from him, your back shaking with barely restrained sobs. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry. You were just…done.

Azriel took a step forward, but something in your posture made him hesitate. He had pushed you too far. He had let you break apart alone, and now, when he finally wanted to piece things back together, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to mend.

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

But you shook your head. “I can’t right now, Azriel.”

His wings drooped further, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to plead, to tell you that he would spend the rest of his life making this right. But you looked so exhausted, so broken, and he knew that pushing any further would only widen the distance between you.

So he stepped back.

“Okay,” he murmured, though it felt like the hardest thing he had ever said.

He turned toward the door, hesitating only for a second, hoping—praying—that you would call him back. That you would tell him to stay.

But you didn’t.

And so Azriel left, feeling more lost than he ever had before.

Azriel barely made it down the hall before he heard Rhysand’s footsteps behind him.

“You bastard,” Rhys bit out, his voice low but sharp.

Azriel exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before turning. He didn’t get the chance. Rhys was already there, grabbing him by the front of his leathers, shoving him back against the nearest wall.

“I told you to fix it,” Rhys snarled. “Not to make it worse.”

Azriel didn’t resist, didn’t push back. He let Rhys hold him there, let him release the fury Azriel knew he deserved. He felt like a ghost of himself, hollow and lost, his own shadows recoiling from him.

“She doesn’t want to fix it,” Azriel muttered, voice rough. “She—” His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys’ grip tightened, his violet eyes burning with anger and something deeper—something almost desperate. “Then make her believe there is.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, looking away. “I don’t know how.”

Rhys let out a harsh breath and released him, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Az,” he said, quieter this time. “She’s drowning. And you—her mate, her husband—just walked away.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

“You fought for her once,” Rhys said. “Fought like hell for her. Are you really going to let it end like this?”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent two weeks searching relentlessly for Kaia, had given everything he had left to finding their daughter. But somehow, in the process, he had lost you.

And now, standing here, feeling like the biggest failure in existence, he realized—he couldn’t let that happen.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

“I won’t,” Azriel said, voice filled with quiet, unyielding determination. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Rhysand held his gaze for a long moment, searching, assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod, stepping back fully.

“Good,” he said. But there was no relief in his voice. Only expectation. “Then fix it.”

Azriel inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His feet moved before his mind had fully caught up, carrying him down the familiar hall toward your shared room. The door was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. He had no idea what he would find on the other side. No idea if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him, shoulders hunched. Your hands clutched one of Kaia’s teddies, holding it against your chest like a lifeline. Even from across the room, he could hear the quiet, broken sniffles.

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. You didn’t react, didn’t even lift your head.

He took another step. And then another. Until he was standing just behind you.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I know I’ve made everything worse. And I know I don’t deserve it, but—please. Look at me.”

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

And when your eyes finally met his, filled with so much pain, so much anger, so much exhaustion—Azriel felt like he might break apart entirely.

Azriel didn’t move, barely breathed as he took you in. The dark circles under your eyes, the redness in them from days—weeks—of crying. The way your lips trembled, like you wanted to say something, scream something, but didn’t have the strength to.

And then, in a voice so hoarse and tired it nearly destroyed him, you whispered, “Why are you here, Azriel?”

He opened his mouth, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

To apologize? To beg? To tell you he loved you, even if right now, you weren’t sure you could believe it?

“I—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat.

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

“You left me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let me sit in that room alone for weeks while our daughter fought for her life. You let me feel like I had to hold everything together while you buried yourself in your own grief.”

Azriel flinched. He wanted to argue, to say that he had been searching, that he had been doing everything he could to bring Kaia home, to keep himself from completely shattering.

But you weren’t wrong.

And he knew—knew—that the worst thing he could do right now was try to defend himself.

So he didn’t.

“I know,” he admitted instead, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping busy, trying to fix it. But I wasn’t fixing anything. I was just running.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And now you decide to come back?”

Azriel’s throat tightened. “I should have come back sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, and when you looked away, Azriel felt something in his chest cave in.

“But I’m here now,” he continued, voice raw. “And I’ll stay. If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, your voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the space between you, you asked, “What if I don’t know if I want you to?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He had never felt fear like this. Not in war, not in battle. This—this uncertainty, this possibility of losing you—it was worse than anything.

But he nodded. Because this wasn’t about him.

“I’ll wait,” he said, meaning every word. “As long as it takes.”

Your throat was tight, raw from the sobs that had wracked through you before Azriel arrived. You had told yourself—sworn to yourself—that you wouldn’t ask. That you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still cared, that you still needed to hear it from him.

But the words slipped past your lips anyway, fragile and desperate.

“How is she?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his wings shifting behind him. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked hollow. Like whatever had been keeping him upright was barely holding on.

“She’s…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s getting better.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not an answer, Azriel.”

His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “The healer says she’s improving, but it’s slow. She’s in pain. Her wings…” He broke off, shaking his head. “She won’t fly for a long time, if ever.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

A quiet, strangled sound left you, and Azriel took a step toward you, instinctively reaching out. You flinched back.

He froze.

You didn’t mean to do it. You knew he wasn’t the enemy, that he wasn’t the one who had hurt her. But the space between you felt like a canyon, one neither of you knew how to cross anymore.

“She asked for you,” he said softly. “Every minute.”

Tears welled in your eyes, burning hot as they slipped down your cheeks.

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. “She’s strong, just like you.”

Your voice broke as you whispered, “I don’t feel strong.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Like it physically pained him to hear you say that.

“She needs you,” he said after a moment. “And I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Come back with me.”

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

The sob burst out of you before you could stop it—raw and jagged, ripped straight from your chest. Your hands trembled too much to grip it properly. The weight of everything, of Kaia’s pain, of Azriel’s voice, of the unbearable hollow ache inside you—it was too much.

A gasp tore from your throat, and then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your shoulders shook violently as the sobs wracked through you, your breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Your hands covered your face, as if that could somehow hold you together, but the moment you closed your eyes, all you could see was Kaia.

Your baby, broken.

You bent forward, pressing your forehead against your hands, trying to breathe, trying to think past the agony that had settled deep in your ribs. But all you could do was sob harder, the sound echoing through the room.

Azriel was in front of you in an instant, kneeling, his hands hovering, unsure if he was allowed to touch you. “YN,” he whispered, his voice tight, pained.

You shook your head frantically, curling in on yourself, your hands fisting into your shirt as if you could claw the grief out of your chest. Your breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you might not be able to breathe at all.

Azriel’s hands finally found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. You were drowning, lost in the unbearable weight of your daughter’s suffering, of everything that had been shattered between you and the only person who was supposed to understand.

“I c-can’t,” you gasped between sobs, shaking your head, your vision swimming. “Azriel, I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands tightened slightly, warm and firm, as he moved closer. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours now, his breath steady despite the anguish in his voice. “You’re not alone.”

But you had never felt more alone in your entire life.

Azriel didn’t hesitate this time. The second he saw you breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of everything, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. His wings curled around you both, shielding you from the world, as if that alone could keep you safe from the pain tearing through you.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t have the strength to. The second his warmth surrounded you, you collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that your entire body shook with each ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, love.”

His hands moved slowly, one stroking up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as if you might shatter completely if he let go. His touch was gentle, reverent—so achingly familiar that it only made you sob harder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking you slightly, his voice barely more than a breath. “I know, YN. Just let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers curling into his tunic as you buried your face in his chest. His scent surrounded you—night-chilled mist and cedar and something distinctly Azriel—and it only made the ache in your heart worse.

“I c-can’t do this,” you gasped between sobs. “I can’t—Azriel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hand sliding into your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re the strongest person I know, YN. You have always been strong.”

You shook your head against him, your body still trembling. “Not anymore.”

His grip on you tightened, his wings pressing closer, wrapping you in warmth. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You are still you. Even if it feels like you’re falling apart, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

Your sobs slowed just slightly, your breathing still uneven, but no longer the desperate gasps of before. His fingers traced slow, steady circles against your back, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

“I need her back,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible.

Azriel swallowed hard, his chin resting atop your head. “I know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back, love. I swear it.”

Your hands fisted tighter in his tunic, as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from completely unravelling. His steady heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a quiet rhythm that, for the first time in days, gave you something to hold on to.

And even though the pain was still there, even though the ache in your chest felt like it might never fade, you let yourself sink into his warmth, into the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood you.

You sniffled, your breath still uneven as you rested against Azriel’s chest. His warmth, his steady presence, was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But it wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when your heart still ached with a desperation so deep it felt like it might consume you.

“I need to see her,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Azriel tensed slightly beneath you, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “YN…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your face was still streaked with tears, your eyes swollen and red, but there was no hesitation in your voice. “I need to see my daughter, Azriel. I need to hold her.”

His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She’s still healing,” he said carefully. “She’s fragile, YN. Moving her could—”

“I’m not asking to take her away from there,” you cut in sharply. “I just want to be with her. I just—I need to see her.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, searching your face as if trying to gauge whether you could handle it. Whether he could handle it. But you knew him—you knew that he wanted the same thing. That despite everything, he was still terrified of seeing her like that, of feeling helpless when all he wanted was to fix it.

But he wouldn’t tell you no. He couldn’t.

“I’ll take you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take you to her.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as your fingers gripped his tunic once more.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he whispered, “Hold on to me.”

And as he winnowed you away, your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts fear and hope battling within you. Because in just a few moments, you would see her again. And you didn’t know if you could bear it.

-----

Cassian sat in the chair beside Kaia’s small bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The dim glow of the faelights cast long shadows across the room, flickering softly against the delicate features of the sleeping child beside him. Nyx sat on the edge of the mattress, tiny fingers gently brushing over Kaia’s hand, his little brows furrowed in concern.

“She’s so small,” Nyx whispered, barely loud enough for Cassian to hear.

Cassian’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew all too well. Kaia looked impossibly fragile, her wings carefully bandaged, her skin still pale from blood loss. Even in sleep, she winced slightly, the pain still present even through the healer’s efforts. It made something sharp twist in his chest.

He reached over, smoothing a hand over Nyx’s dark hair. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Like her mother. Like her father.”

Nyx nodded solemnly, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaia. “When will she wake up?”

Cassian sighed, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “Soon, bud. The healers said she needs rest.”

Nyx was quiet for a long moment before he said, “Mama would sing to me when I was sick.”

Cassian’s chest ached. He knew that, too. Feyre had done the same for him when he’d been recovering after the war. He swallowed hard, glancing at Kaia before looking back at Nyx. “Do you want to sing to her?”

Nyx hesitated, then gave a small nod. His voice was quiet, soft, a child’s lullaby barely above a whisper. Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the melody settle over him like a blanket.

Then he heard the distinct shift of air behind him—the subtle sound of winnowing. His eyes snapped open, and he turned just in time to see Azriel and YN step into the doorway.

And the second YN saw her daughter, Cassian saw the breath leave her lungs.

YN didn’t move at first. She just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the tiny form of her daughter lying in the bed. Azriel was beside her, his hand hovering near the small of her back, as if ready to steady her if she collapsed.

Cassian watched as her expression crumbled. She made a sound—half a sob, half a breathless whisper—and then she was moving.

“Kaia,” YN choked out, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

Nyx quickly moved aside as YN fell to her knees beside the bed, her shaking hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her daughter, as if she were afraid that any contact might shatter her.

Cassian saw the tears spill freely down her face as she finally—finally—placed a hand over Kaia’s tiny fingers, her touch impossibly gentle.

“She’s okay,” Cassian murmured, his voice softer now. “She’s healing.”

YN let out a shaky breath, her other hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair away from Kaia’s face. “My baby,” she whispered.

Azriel still hadn’t moved. He was standing a few steps away, his shadows curling around his shoulders as he stared at Kaia, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but Cassian could see the tension in his jaw, the storm in his hazel eyes.

Kaia stirred slightly at her mother’s touch, her little brows furrowing, and YN let out a quiet sob, pressing a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Cassian stood, giving Azriel a look before motioning to Nyx. “Come on, bud. Let’s give them a moment.”

Nyx hesitated but nodded, casting one last glance at Kaia before taking Cassian’s hand. They stepped toward the door, and Cassian briefly clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he passed, grounding him. Azriel didn’t react, just kept staring at his daughter.

As Cassian and Nyx left the room, he heard YN whispering Kaia’s name over and over, like she was trying to convince herself that she was really here. That she was safe.

Kaia stirred beneath YN’s trembling hands, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her little body shifted against the blankets. Her brows furrowed as if sensing the weight of exhaustion and pain still lingering in her small frame.

YN sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening around Kaia’s hand. “Kaia?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Azriel stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat as he watched their daughter’s lashes flutter. It was the first real movement she had made since they’d arrived.

Kaia’s tiny fingers twitched beneath YN’s, and then, sluggishly, her eyes cracked open.

“Mama…” The word was faint, barely more than a breath, but it shattered something deep inside YN.

She let out a sob of relief, brushing her fingers gently over Kaia’s warm, flushed cheek. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Kaia blinked sluggishly, her little lips parting as if trying to form more words. Her gaze, unfocused and glassy, shifted slightly, searching.

Then, in a broken, hoarse voice, she whimpered, “Dada?”

Azriel made a sound—one that was almost a strangled breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his shaking hands hesitating just above Kaia’s tiny body.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together. “I’m right here.”

Kaia’s small fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for him, and that was all it took. Azriel’s hands gently enveloped her tiny one, his shadows retreating for the first time in weeks as he pressed a trembling kiss to her palm.

YN let out a watery laugh between her sobs, smoothing Kaia’s tangled curls. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

Kaia blinked up at them both, her little body weak, but the warmth of her parents surrounding her seemed to settle her.

Then, in the softest, sleepiest voice, she whispered, “Home?”

YN bit back another sob, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Soon, sweetheart,” she promised. “Soon, we’ll go home.”

Kaia’s lashes fluttered as she drifted back into sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against YN’s as they clung to each other, holding onto the one thing that mattered most.

One more part left...

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 4

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 6k words (whoooooopsie!!)

(Extra special thank you to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and entertaining my texting at 2am when plot inspo hits! 🤭🫶🏻)

Aftermath - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Master List

f1.gossip.source posted

1,384 likes liked by user349, lando, user000, and others f1.gossip.source Charles LeClerc was seen walking into Monaco's La Tavernetta Thursday evening with his girlfriend and little sister in tow. The three arrived together early in the evening and stayed for several hours tucked away from prying eyes a back room. Also in attendance at the impromptu dinner were Arthur and his partner Jade, brother Lorenzo and strangely enough, Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen. user088 once again, @/missleclerc and max in the same place, without lando... >>>user8127 lando over here in the likes though. wonder if his invite got lost in the mail? user112 has ANYONE seen her and Lando together in the last few months??? Are they even still together???

The restaurant that Max picked out turns out to be one of your favorites.  La Tavernetta is a small, hole-in-the-wall Italian place that you’ve been coming to for years with your family where the owners know you by name and always greet you with a hug and freshly baked bread, straight from the oven. The place is small but cozy with the smell of onions and garlic hanging heavy in the air. As you weave your way though the closely situated tables, all covered in freshly starched white linen and silver flatware, photos of the large family that’s owned the place for generations stare down at you like sentries from another world. With candles dotting each table and the overhead lights turned down to a dim glow, the mood in the restaurant is calm and serene, an atmosphere that has your frayed nerves smoothing out around the jagged edges. It’s almost as if Max picked this place out with you in mind after the day you’d had. 

Your group tonight is big, something that you’re not used to anymore because of how isolated Lando’s kept you recently. Max had gone ahead to meet Daniel while you had gotten ready before Charles and Alex had stopped by the apartment to pick you up. Lorenzo, Jade and Arthur complete the group and meet you in front of the small building. By the time the group all tumbles into the private room the owner always sets aside for the LeClerc’s, you’ve found yourself seated near the corner of the table, nestled between Max on one side and Lorenzo at the head. 

Several of bottles of wine and appetizers are ordered the moment everyone is seated. Max catches up with his former teammate as you chat with your brother but when your favorite bottle of white is placed in front of you, he pours you a glass without even pulling his attention away from his friend. The way he’s attentive to you without being overtly showy about it has something twisting in your chest. 

“Thank you, Max.” You murmur before taking a sip of the wine, savoring the way the tang of the dry wine bursts across your tongue. 

Max turns to you then, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins back at you. It settles something in him, seeing you lean back in your chair, allowing your body to relax in the warm back room of the small restaurant. Your body language is totally different than it was earlier in the day and Max is surprised to find himself reading you so well. He shouldn’t be, with how well he used to know you, pre-Lando. He could tell how you were feeling when you were younger just by a quick scan of your posture and it made his chest squeeze when he realized he was slowly getting that ability back. 

You allow yourself to be a little lost to the chatter to the room after everyone orders their dinners, the lively discussion between Charles and Daniel drowning out the anxiety that has started to creep up the back of your neck as the evening wears on. You had left your phone at home but the last time you had looked at it, Lando had started texting you again and they weren’t much nicer than anything he had sent you earlier in the day. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Max senses the tension growing in your body by the way your shoulders stiffen just the slightest. He’s determined to make sure you have a good night, he was the one who suggested this whole thing after all and he knew that you were probably thinking about what Lando was doing, spinning in circles when you didn’t answer him like he expected. 

“Do you remember that time you snuck out of your hotel room when Cha and I were racing in Italy?” Max asks in an attempt to distract you. He leans in, shoulder gently brushing your bare skin, simply so you can hear him better over the din of Charles and Arthur arguing. No ulterior motive whatsoever. 

Heat floods your cheeks, gasp flying from your lips as you laugh despite yourself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You hiss indignantly, but there’s no venom in your tone. 

Max smirks at you over his gin and tonic, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m pretty sure you do. You snuck out of the hotel to hang out with us because Pascale grounded you for being sassy the day before.” 

“You two were always leaving me out and I was tired of it.” You sniff, smile teasing the corner of your mouth. 

“You took the bus across town by yourself!” Max laughs. 

“I was an independent child, what can I say?” 

“You were nine!” Max chuckles, unable to ignore the spark of fire that has lit into your eyes as you replay the memory in your head. Yep, he thinks, there’s the girl that had no fear and took no shit. She’s still in there. He didn’t break her.

 Rolling your eyes, you grin into your wine glass, enjoying the way Max’s gaze feel as they skate over your skin. “I managed, didn’t I? You guys didn’t question it when I just turned up at the track either, so really was it that surprising?” 

“You told us Maman forgave you and dropped you off in the carpark, Little Dove!” Charles scolds from his seat opposite you. “Of course we didn’t question you!” 

He’d been watching the interaction between you and Max since everyone sat down and he makes a mental note to thank the Dutch driver. The way he gently coaxes you out of your shell is something he hadn’t been able to do himself lately. He’d been surprised to watch Max be totally in tune with the way your mood shifted before he brought that story up, had been watching fearfully when he saw that flicker of anxiety settle over your features. But he hadn’t needed to step in because as quickly as Charles clocked it, so had Max and he’d stepped in before your own brother had even had a chance. 

“I’ll never forget the look on Pascale’s face when she spotted your little brown braids trailing behind us after the end of the practice sessions.” Max muses, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“I don’t think I’d ever seen her so angry.” Giggling, you nudge Max’s shoulder with your own. “And then you came to my defense, telling her how clever I was for figuring out the bus system in a country where I didn’t even speak the language.” 

“I mean, was I wrong? It was a rather impressive thing for you to pull off.” 

You preen at the compliment, leaning a bit further into the warmth of Max’s body. “No, no you’re right. I was an impressive child.” 

Max opens his mouth to say something about how you’re still impressive, not even attempting to hide the fact that he’s shamelessly flirting with you when the temperature of the room suddenly drops to just above freezing. The air goes still as someone clears their throat in the doorway of the small private room your group is tucked away in. 

The sound sends a chill down your spine and you drop your hand below the table, instinctively grasping at the warmth that’s pressed up against your knee. Max feels your fingers reach for his thigh, sucking in a breath at the sudden touch from you. His hand drops below the table, covering your hand with his without a second thought. 

From across the room, Lando grinds his molars together as he clocks the subtle movement from Max. He quickly recovers though, yanking that practiced good boyfriend mask right back into place. “Baby!” He says, a sigh of relief tumbling from his mouth. “I’m so glad I found you, I’ve been worried sick.” 

“How did you find us?” Jade wonders from her spot to his left.

 “Monaco is a small town, news travels fast.” He mumbles under his breath. Not even sparing Jade a glance, Lando crosses the room to grab a chair from the corner before plopping it down right between Lorenzo and yourself. 

There’s not much room in the corner of the small room and Lorenzo is forced to move over several inches to avoid being impaled by one of the chair legs Lando now sits on. Leaning over, Lando presses his lips directly to your cheek in an overt display of affection you’re simply not prepared for. Max’s blood boils at the way you flinch away from his touch and it takes every ounce of control he’s honed over the years of driving in F1 to keep from punching Lando outright. 

“I guess my invite got lost in the mail, huh?” His tone is light but you can sense the edge of anger in his voice with the way his words are just a touch too clipped. 

“We didn’t think you’d want to come after the texts you sent her earlier.” Max fires back, giving your hand a squeeze under the table. 

Beside him, Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his chair, glancing away. Tension crackles in the air, a live wire of electricity ready to explode at even the slightest spark.

“What kind text messages?” Arthur’s eyes go sharp at Max’s tone of voice. 

Lando waves a hand, dismissing Max’s comment. “I was worried about her, that’s all. I come home after a week away and all of her stuff is gone, treadmill, clothes, Peloton bike. Everything! No note? What was I supposed to think when she wouldn’t answer her phone?” 

Max doesn’t miss the challenge in Lando’s eyes and he takes a steadying breath. “Maybe you should have taken the hint that she was finally done with you?” He spits. 

Lando swallows hard, eyes going dark as he stares down his on-track rival. You can see the mask slipping and you know he’s almost at his tipping point. The room is silent around you, no one daring to push Lando further than Max has already done. “Well if that was the case, I would hope she’d be adult enough to talk to me first instead of just abandoning a three year long relationship.” 

“Lando, we can talk about this tomorrow.” You lean forward, blocking his line of sight to Max in hopes of quelling this pissing match the two men seem to have fallen into. “Now is not the time to do this.” You can sense the frayed rope of control that Lando is barely holding onto and desperately maneuver to diffuse the situation.

“I don’t think this should wait.” He says simply, dismissing your request with a wave of his hand. 

“And I think you should respect her wishes and discuss this later.” Max stands then, sending his chair scraping loudly against the wood floors beneath him.

Your eyes go wide when Lando stands too but Max is much taller than the British driver and you’re trapped in the middle. 

Oh fuck. 

It’s your turn to stand now, drawing strength from the way Jade and Alex are both looking at you from across the table. You can do this, you tell yourself as you put yourself in between Max and your ex-boyfriend. “Lando.” Your tone is surprisingly firm and Max nearly smirks. Yep, there’s that fire he knew you never lost. “Now is not the time. I’m trying to have a nice dinner with my friends. I will call you when I’m ready, alright?” 

Lando’s eyes bounce from yours to Max’s and then to Charles before finally flickering back to yours. You manage to hold his gaze despite everything in your body screaming to look away. From the set of your shoulders, Max can tell you’re not going to back down on this and the pride that surges in his chest catches him fully off guard. 

“Fine.” He huffs, knowing that tonight is a lost battle. “But this isn’t over.” He growls before shoving his chair back so hard it clatters against the wall. 

When Lando finally sweeps out of the room, you collapse into your chair, breathing a sigh of relief. You’re not entirely sure how you managed to finally stand up to Lando’s bullying because if this scene had gone done even just a day earlier, you’re fairly certain that it would have ended much differently. Max settles down in his chair again and is surprised to feel the warmth of your hand find his. He glances over at you, gaze meeting yours as the chatter around the table picks back up. There’s so much hanging between you in that moment that it’s almost suffocating. You mouth a quick ‘thank you’ as he nods in reply, his thick fingers tangling with yours underneath the white linen tablecloth as he gives you another reassuring squeeze. 

Across from you, Charles smirks into his wine as he watches the entire exchange before he turns his attention back to what Alex is telling him, comfortable enough knowing that you’re in good hands with Max. 

missleclerc posted

23,018 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, mamanleclerc and others missleclerc its always a good night when no one throws a punch ;) mamanleclerc i quite like La Tavernetta, can we please not get the family permanently banned by throwing punches? why is this an accomplishment? user9382 lando in the likes of the gossip post, but not here. uhh... >>>user029 and no one throwing punches? was there tension at dinner??? maxverstappen1 for the record, i kept my hands to myself. for the most part, at least. >>>missleclerc MAX. >>>maxverstappen1 :) >>>user928 MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN WHAT. DOES. THIS. MEAN. >>>user029 max being messy in the comments. i am HERE for it.

Lando goes radio silent after the night at the restaurant. An outsider might think it was just him respecting your wishes and think that he was doing it in an effort to give you the space you had asked for but they would be wrong. You knew better though. You knew what he was doing and you were determined not to fall into his trap again. You knew that Lando was giving you the silent treatment as punishment for making a fool of him in front of everyone. You knew and you while there was a haze of anxiety that hung around you for the first two days as you waited for him to grow tired of the punishment, eventually you settled down. 

There as a race the weekend after the dinner and most of your circle left Monaco for Austria. Everyone except you. You weren’t ready to go to a race yet, not with the knowledge that Lando would be there and you’d have to inevitably answer questions on why you weren’t splitting your time between Ferrari and McLaren like you usually did when you attended races. You also knew your resolve in resisting Lando was strong when he wasn’t physically near you but if you allowed yourself to get too close too quickly, you’d waver and allow him back in. You couldn’t do that to yourself. 

So instead of going to Austria like your brother had asked you, you stay at home and throw yourself into your work. You don’t have any shows coming up but there’s always demand for your art and since leaving Lando, you’ve felt more inspired than ever to dive into a new study. Landscapes have always been your favorite and your go-to but something in you feels pulled to do something different. You’ve always been heavily influenced by the impressionists but something feels too soft about them for the mood you’ve been in since standing up to Lando. Like you need to do something bolder, more out of your usual style and for the first few days that you’re alone in your studio, you spend most of your time experimenting. 

Eventually though, something starts to take shape. It’s Saturday afternoon when the inspiration accidentally hits you. Like most of your work, you don’t quite know what’s happening or where it’s going until you’re knee deep in a painting. The low hum of the engines playing on the TV you have set up in the small sitting room on one end of your studio serves as the perfect backdrop for your current inspiration. Half-way through Q2, you take a step back to study the canvas you had prepped earlier in the morning. The sketch that stares back at you has your head tilting to the side, observing it like it’s a foreign object that you didn’t just spend almost an hour sketching. 

It’s going to be bold you decide, splashes of navy and red and yellow are in order, colors that are totally outside your wheelhouse normally but you can tell this is going to evolve into a series that is totally different from anything you’ve ever painted before. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon working on it, locked away in your studio alone while Taylor Swift pours out of the speakers that you had insisted Charles and Arthur install for you when you first rented the space a few years ago. It feels like home here, more so than any place you’ve ever lived. There are paintings everywhere, some more completed than others. A large drafting table sits under the giant bay window that faces north, providing you with all day sunlight that is perfect for working in. A small seating area is tucked away in the corner near the kitchenette where you have a small electric kettle and microwave for those times you don’t want order out or go home to eat but need food. The floor is a light hardwood, contributing to the perfect light and airy ambiance you crave when you’re working. 

You work late into the night Saturday, completely forgetting to even glance at your phone or worry about what Lando was up to. It’s the first time in over a year that you’re not concerned about what might happen if you lose yourself to your painting and accidentally ignore him. The feeling is so freeing, so liberating, you almost don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re tempted to spend the night on the couch in your studio but know if Charles finds out, you’d have hell to pay so instead you call your mother on your way home to make sure you’re safe. 

Sunday is another day spent in your studio and you get there bright and early. Charles calls you first thing, just to check in and he’s pleased to hear the absence of anxiety in your voice. He breathes a sigh of relief when you tell him you’d already been up to work out and are on your way to spend another day painting, so many ideas popping up over night thanks to that one painting you’ve nearly finished. You refuse to tell him what it’s of though, you’re a bit superstitious when it comes to talking about your work before its finished. All you tell him is that it’s different from what you normally paint and you have an idea for an entirely new series based on this one painting. 

The race plays through your speakers and you constantly are checking the running order while you put the finishing touches on the painting you started the day before. Normally, it takes you longer to finish a piece like this but for some reason, the inspiration hit you and you find yourself moving at a pace that is wholly abnormal for you. By the time the race finishes and Max, Charles, and Oscar are celebrating on the podium, you’re putting the finishing touches on one of the boldest pieces of art you’ve ever created.

Monday is spent in the studio again, starting on a second piece. Something bold and red and even bigger than your last painting but just as out of the norm for you. You spend all day working on getting the sketch of the new piece on the large canvas and only break once the sun is hanging low in the sky. Your stomach rumbling and reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast earlier in the day is the only thing that manages to pull you from your work. 

Someone holds the elevator for you when you finally make it back to your building as the sun begins to set over the water at your back and you jog to ensure they’re not waiting for you for too long. 

“Hey you.” A smooth, deep voice greets you the moment you step into the lift. 

“Max!” You’d give the Dutch driver a hug but your arms are currently occupied with a large bouquet of roses that had been delivered to your studio that morning. “Congratulations on the win yesterday! You drove so well.” 

Max takes matters into his own hands, pushes the button for your floor before slipping one arm around your shoulders in a casual show of affection. “Thanks, Dovie.” He grins down at you, unable to quell the flutter in his chest at the smile that dazzles up at him. “It was a good weekend, wasn’t it?” 

“From pole to P1? I think you could count that as successful, yes.” You chuckle, leaning into his frame a bit more than you normally would. You won’t admit it to anyone but you had missed Max while he’d been away. It feels entirely too soon to be having any sort of feelings for anyone, especially after what you’ve gone through with Lando recently, but you can’t help the undeniable chemistry you feel with your long-time friend. 

Max glances down at the large bouquet of roses cradled in your hands and lifts an eyebrow. “Roses?” 

You heave a sigh and roll your eyes, “Lando.” You say by way of explanation. “This is the fourth bouquet he’s sent since he left for Austria Thursday.” 

“But you hate roses.” Max says, rubbing at his stubbled chin with the palm of his hands. 

You’re surprised by Max’s words but he’s not wrong. “They’re not my favorite.” You admit, small smile playing on your lips.  

“Tulips are.” He says softly as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “That engineer Charles set you up with when he was at Sauber brought you roses for your first date and you laughed in the hotel lobby afterwards. You said how you hated how cliche roses were and that tulips were prettier and lasted longer. Pink ones though, not red.” 

You stand there for a moment, stunned, blinking up at Max. The date with the Sauber mechanic had been years ago, before Charles had even been at Ferrari. You didn’t even remember Max being in the lobby with you when you had said that. 

Max’s cheeks heat as you stare up at him, eyes narrowed a touch and soft smile on your lips like you can’t quite wrap your head around what he’s just said. Maybe he’s said too much, admitted he’s been paying too much attention to you for too long. He second guesses his words, wondering if he’s taken it a step too far, pushed you too far out of your comfort zone. He’s desperate for you to say something, anything to confirm that you’re not freaking out. 

The elevator dings once again, protesting at being held for so long at one floor. “You must be exhausted.” You murmur as you step out of the elevator, looking back at him. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I was going to make some salmon and veggies. Nothing fancy but I know I bought way too much.” 

Max rubs at the back of his neck, relief surging through him at your offer. “I would love to. Let me go change and I’ll bring down a bottle of wine?” 

“I’ll get everything in the oven.” You confirm before turning around and walking away, leaving Max staring after you, unsure of what the rest of the night is going to hold. 

“We could watch Drive to Survive.” You say with a smirk, tucking your feet underneath your legs as you settle down on the couch a few hours later. 

Max shoots you a look, wrinkling his nose. “Absolutely not.”

“I started the new season of Great British Baking Show the other night, I’m only up to bread week!” 

“So Saving Private Ryan is off the table?” Max jokes, plucking a green bean off of your plate before you can stab his hand with your fork. 

“Are you insane?” You laugh.

“Fine, British Baking Show it is, I guess.” 

“It’s The Great British Baking Show, Maxie.” 

Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at the nickname but he just rolls his eyes at you, watching while you flip through Netflix to turn the next episode on. A comfortable quiet settles over the living room then as you both eat the dinner you’d spent the last hour cooking. Max isn’t much of a cook so having a homemade meal that doesn’t come from his nutritionist is a treat, so he enjoys the salmon that you’ve seasoned to perfection. 

“How was your weekend?” Max asks after a few quiet moments. 

You turn to him, a bit caught off guard. You hate that your knee jerk reaction to the question is to compare it to what Lando would’ve done, which is not even bother to ask after your weekend at all. He did at first, of course. Lando had always been so attentive when you first started dating but like everything else in your relationship, slowly that attentive energy just stopped. You can’t help but wonder if that’s normal in long term relationships and maybe you had been asking for too much from your now ex-boyfriend. 

Shaking off the heavy thoughts, you smile back at Max instead. “Quiet but I got a lot of work done. I can’t remember the last time I spent so much time in my studio all at once.” 

“That’s good, anything special you’re working on.” 

You smirk, “I started a few new pieces. Finished one that I think turned out really good and got started on a second. I don’t usually finish pieces so quickly but I felt…” You pause, searching for the right word that doesn’t sound too cliche. “Inspired.” 

Cliche it is. 

“Can I see?” Max knows how protective you are over your art and knows he’s pushing his luck but as he looks at you settled on the other side of the couch from him, curled up and shoulders relaxed he thinks you might just let him in. 

“You can see the second one.” You say vaguely, not wanting to show anyone the one that took you most of the weekend to complete.  

Max narrows his eyes as he watches you place your finished plate on the coffee table in front of you. Plate discarded, you reach for your phone where it sits next to you on the arm of the couch before scooting over so you’re closer to Max. Your sudden closeness sets Max’s teeth on edge as the scent of your perfume washes over him. At first it smells like warm vanilla but there’s a back note of something spicy that he can’t quite identify but whatever it is, the scent fits you perfectly. 

Your arm presses up against his side as you lean over, passing over your phone where you have your photo gallery already pulled up. Max finds it difficult to concentrate on what you’re showing him at first, the scent of your perfume mixing with the warmth of your breath he can feel dust over his skin you’re so close. He’s not sure if you’re doing it on purpose but he thinks you might be trying to kill him when you lean into him even more, flipping through the gallery casually. 

“It’s not like anything I’ve done before.” Your silky voice yanks him out of his spiral and his eyes snap up to yours before quickly dropping back down to your phone. The painting in front of him is spectacular, vivid reds and yellow practically jumping off the canvas at him.

 “The phone doesn’t do it quite enough justice, I know, but you get the idea.” The nerves in your stomach have your voice wavering as you realize you care more about what Max thinks about how well you’ve captured your brother’s Ferrari coming in for a pit stop. 

“It’s…” Max reaches for the correct word to describe how impressed he is. “Dovie, it’s a masterpiece.” 

The flattery has a crimson blush creeping across your cheeks and you’re incredibly thankful for the golden twilight that keeps your living room fairly dim around you. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d go that far.” 

“Well I would. Has Charles seen it?” 

You shake your head as you watch Max zoom in on the painting to see the details better. Usually watching people observe your artwork for the first time is an exercise in wrecked nerves and anxiety but you find yourself strangely calm as Max continues to study the painting. 

As your phone is still in Max’s hands, a phone call flashes across the screen causing your heart to stutter to a near complete stop. 

LANDO CALLING 

Fuck. 

He’d left you alone for so long you had began to get a bit too comfortable, a bit to relaxed with the fact that maybe, just maybe, he’d given up on getting you back. You should have known better. 

“You don’t have to answer.” Max murmurs, noting that you don’t make attempt to move back to where you were sitting before you had shown him your painting. 

“Maybe if I do, he’ll finally leave me alone.” 

Both of you know that’s not even a possibility. 

“I’ll leave if you want me to.” He offers but you shake your head. 

“Please stay.” 

Max nods, watching as you draw your legs up towards your chin, tucking yourself up into a ball. He sucks in a breath when you lean further into his side for a bit of strength though. 

“Hi Lando.” You answer, your eyes darting away from Max’s. 

“Took you long enough to answer.” His voice is rough and angry, sending a shiver down your spine. Max can hear his voice clearly despite it not even being on speaker. “Had to make sure your date was out of earshot before you picked up, huh?” 

You sigh, not wanting to entertain the jealousy tonight but something sticks in your ribs at the fact that Max is over and you’re practically cuddled up on the couch with him. It’s almost like Lando can sense that you’re busy with someone else. Brushing away the guilt that you know is misplaced, you shake your head as if he could see you. “No, I was just watching tv and didn’t notice you were calling.” 

Lando hums as if he doesn’t believe you but lets it go. “Are you done throwing your tantrum yet? I just got back from Austria and you’re still not home. What do I have to do to get you to come back to me?” 

“I thought I made myself clear by moving all of my stuff out, Lan.” Beside you, Max shifts uncomfortably. He wants to be there to support you but he doesn’t know if he would be able to sit by and listen to you two get back together, not after the extra time he’s been spending with you lately. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself, hoping that you feel that spark that is undeniable between you, but he can’t help it. 

“Since when are you so confident with your choices, love?” His voice is taunting, as if Lando knows how easily you waver when it comes to him. 

“Don’t call me love.” You snap and Max finds himself reaching for your hand that’s resting on your knee.

“Oh, I like this new attitude you’ve got going on. A side effect from spending so much time with Jade and Alexandra I guess.” 

“Lando.” You sigh, suddenly exhausted by this entire conversation. “What do you want?” 

“I want us to sit down and have a discussion like two adults about what I have to do to get you back.” 

“I’m not coming home, Lando. We’re not getting back together.” 

Max hates the wash of relief that crashes over him at your words. Why is he rooting for your heart to break? He knows you love Lando still, despite how poorly he treats you. He doesn’t get it, not really, but he knows you do and he understands how hard it is to love someone who you shouldn’t. 

“So you’re really just going to throw away three years without even so much as a discussion?” He presses and Max finds himself leaning forward, hanging on your response. 

“I will meet with you in public to discuss whatever you want, but we are not getting back together, am I clear?” 

“In public?” He scoffs and Max’s stomach twists at the antagonizing tone of his voice. “So you can get more attention from this? I’m already getting eaten alive on socials over this, why the fuck should I allow you more good will from the public?” 

“Lando, if you’re getting backlash from how you’ve treated me lately, that’s not my problem. Maybe you need to do some self reflection.” You’re so tired now and so done with talking to this full grown man so carefully. He’s exhausting and you’re about at your breaking point. 

“This is your fucking fault!” He explodes before catching himself, almost like he realizes how far he’s pushed you. A sigh blusters over the line as you wait patiently for Lando to get himself under control. “Please, just come home and we can figure out how to move forward from this.” 

“No.” You say firmly. “I will meet you in public if you want but that’s all I’m prepared to do right now.” 

Max tries not to allow the anxiety to take over at the last two words of your sentence. 

“Fucking hell woman, why are you so difficult?” Lando shouts, forcing you to hold the phone several inches away from your ear. 

“Alright, we’re done here. If you want to have a civil conversation later, we can but I’m done Lando. Good bye.” 

Without even waiting for him to answer, you stab at the ‘end’ button on your phone and toss it on the coffee table where it clatters loudly against the wood. 

Max is quiet, unsure of what you need from him in that moment but he fights the shock that reverberates throughout his body when you lean back against the couch, settling your head in on his shoulder. He recovers quickly though, slipping his arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry you had to be there for that.” You whisper, idly wondering why Max always seems to be around when Lando pulls his shit. 

“You did so well handling that, schat. I’m proud of you.” With his free hand, Max reaches down and pulls your legs over his lap so you’re a little less balled up like a tightly wound ball of wire. 

“He’s so exhausting.” Is your reply and you just shake your head, trying hard to ignore the way your body responds to having Max’s hands on your legs. It’s a jarring juxtaposition, the way you feel when you’re talking to Lando compared to how Max makes you feel and it makes you nervous. 

“Are you going to hear him out?” Max asks carefully, fingers toying with the soft fabric of your sweatpants. 

You shrug, “I said I would but I don’t know what he could say to get me to change my mind.” 

It takes every ounce of tightly wound up control that Max possess not to heave a sigh at your words and he hates himself for the predatory way it makes him feel. “He’s no good for you, Dovie.” 

All you can do is nod, a wave of exhaustion suddenly sweeping over you. Max sees it, the way your eyes flutter shut for a moment longer than they should and adjusts his hold on your legs. “Hey, we don’t have to talk about it anymore, okay? Let’s just watch the rest of this show and take a break.” 

Pulling your legs out of Max’s lap, you readjust yourself so you’re once again leaning into him, the warmth of his body settling the frayed nerves that Lando’s caused to go jagged once again. “Thanks Max.” Is your only response right before your eyes shutter closed, allowing the exhaustion pull you under. 

missleclerc posted

23,498 likes liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1, mamanleclerc, and others missleclerc weekend snippets alexandrasaintmleux missed you this weekend pretty girl! >>>missleclerc i know! hoping i'll feel up to a race soon tho user928 the ferrari painting!!! omg!!! (liked by author) maxverstappen1 hope you like the replacement flowers, dovie. can't wait to see that other painting in person... >>>user9388 uhhhh... >>>user111 lando nowhere to be seen and then we get THIS??? Replacement flowers??? >>>user443 what in the grid love triangle is going on here? user928 your studio space is an absolute dream!!!

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[shrinkthisviolet]

Summary: Barry has a bone to pick with Morgan, and she's left reeling in the aftermath. James tries to support her, Tina provides some startling context, and as Iris's concern grows by the day, Morgan makes a series of crucial decisions.

In between, though, she still makes time for superhero-ing.

New to the fic? Read from the beginning!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @thechaoticfanartist @raith-way @ironverseocs @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @thatmagickjuju

[siconetribal]

Really, that the best he got to keep Loki? He's got Frigga in his side as is, no need for tyrannical thirds. The one who needs to know he is losing regardless, is Odin.

Loki's Silent Sentry (Part 6)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: You are not just a soldier in Asgard's Royal Army, you are Lieutenant Y/L/N, Prince Loki's personal guard, his sentry and you are not supposed to fall in love with him. If you followed your training properly, you should never have even spoken to him. As a sentry, you are expected to remain silent and invisible as you shadow your appointed member of the royal family or member of the court protectively throughout their daily tasks.

Rumors (that happen to be true) begin to circulate through the palace that you serve the younger prince of Asgard both outside and inside his chambers. There is little you can do once word of your off duty activities spread through every maid, cook, gardener and seamstress in the palace. You soon find even the soldiers in your own company are now questioning how exactly you had come to earn your seemingly quick rise to lieutenant.

As the annual Winter Solstice Ball approaches, you come to the heartbreaking realization that your relationship with Loki must come to an end if you are both to fulfill your duties.

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Thor trying to be a better brother, Odin being a terrible father... oh look fluff-ish... then more angst lol sorry 💚

Loki rests on his back comfortably on the thick rug in front of the fireplace in his bedroom. You lay with your head on his chest, he plays absent-mindedly with your hair as you both read. A light thud draws your attention away from your book, Loki had closed his and tossed it softly next to him. He looks towards the fire, lost in thought but his fingers still move through your hair.

"Loki?" you ask, closing your own book. He doesn't respond so you tap his chest gently. "Loki?" you ask again.

"Hmm?" he hums, looking at you. "Sorry love."

"Where did you just go?" you wonder.

"I was just thinking," he answers vaguely.

"I can see that," you giggle. "What were you thinking about?" you as as you prop yourself up on your elbow.

He sits up and you move so you are sitting next to him. "I am just curious..." he pauses as if he is deciding if he should ask you or not. "Were you allowed to choose your own path or did your parents force you onto this one?"

"Being a soldier?" you clarify.

He nods, "We've never discussed why you joined the army. I was wondering if it was something you truly wanted or if it was simply expected of you?"

"I'm not sure where this is coming from..." you say but he doesn't offer a reason. "My parents never actually told me that I had to go into the army but it was also never discussed that there were other options." He nods at your answer.

"When I first signed up, I did it almost entirely to make them proud of me," you tell him as you rest your head on his shoulder.

He kisses the top of your head, "Do you ever wish you had chosen to do something else?"

"No," you answer after thinking for a moment. "For a few reasons actually," you tell him with a smile.

"And what would those be?" he asks as he begins playing with your hair again.

"Aside from the fact that I have no idea what else I would do..." you tell him honestly. "I started to understand what my grandfather meant when he said there is no greater honor than to serve the royal family and protect the realm. I take a lot of pride in being a soldier for the royal guard."

He nods again but still looks a bit distracted so you add, "Besides, if I had chosen a different career path, I never would have met you."

At that he smiles and says, "And that would have been tragic." He guides your lips to his and you kiss him back.

When you pull away you can't help but ask, "Why are you asking me about this, Loki?"

He shrugs but you know there is a reason, "Tell me what is on your mind."

"I shouldn't dwell on it," he says quietly.

You touch his check lightly, "Do wish you were allowed to choose what your path is?"

"Sometimes," he looks down, his hand slowly moving up and down your back.

"If you could do anything, what would you do?" you ask him.

"If I wasn't a prince..." he says slowly. "If I wasn't bound by my royal duties? Spending my days in endless meetings about taxes and trade routes and other things that hold no interest for me?" he almost says it at if he is asking himself.

You nod for him to continue as you listen intently. He shakes his head and you shift so you are facing him. "Loki, tell me. If you weren't a prince, what would make you happy?" you ask.

"I love books," he says finally and you smile cause you know that. "I think I would want to share my love of them with others. To show them the vast number of amazing worlds they could visit and the vivid characters they could met. With the right books, history can come alive and poetry is its own language," he says, you can hear the excitement in his voice.

As much as it makes you smile to see him so passionate, you feel a twinge of sadness as Loki looks away from you and says, "I would love to teach literature. But... that is just a dream."

You hug him tightly, "If it means anything, I think you would have been a wonderful teacher."

He kisses your cheek and although he smiles, you can tell there is something he still hasn't told you. "Loki, how often do you think about this?" you ask him.

"I never used to but recently my thoughts wander more and more often, especially when I am in a particularly boring meeting," he says. "But it is not only just about being a teacher."

"What else do you think about?" you ask as he wraps his arm around your waist.

He strokes your cheek with his other hand and tells you, "Sometimes I envision a life where I have no royal blood, where I am just another Asgardian. We live together in a cozy home on the edge of the city with just enough land for a small garden." He kisses your lips softly and then he adds, "I imagine a life where I can love you freely and openly."

"Silence!" Odin's booming voice rips you from your memory and you look towards Loki as the chattering of the council members comes back into focus.

"Loki, you can't mean that," you tell him, you still feel shocked by his statement to the council.

"I do," he says. He puts his arms around you and pulls you flush to his chest. "I promised you that we would be together."

You feel at a loss for words so instead you reach up and kiss him, whispering that you love him between kisses.

Odin yells again and the throne room finally goes silent. You look towards the king but neither you nor Loki let go of each other.

"You cannot and will not do this," Odin orders Loki.

"I never wanted to do this," he tells his father. "I honestly never thought it would come to this. I thought you would see reason but it seems I was wrong."

"Brother, are you sure you want to risk this?" Thor asks. "Once this is done, it cannot be undone."

"I understand that," Loki responds but looks down when he notices you seem slightly confused. "If I renounce my title, there is no law that will allow me to ever become prince again."

"If you do this..." Odin walks slowly to the edge of the steps, "You will no longer be my son."

"If you force me to do this," Loki answers defiantly, "It is because you failed me as a father."

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