#then comes my mother with a steel chair of Make It Worse

[lavampira]

augh

[maimingaffairs]

Worship (aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

READ PART ONE HERE

this was a requested part two by @krentkova19 !! as per usual, this was finished very late at night so excuse the sub par quality. also thank u to literally everyone who has followed me, u all make my day so much, like wtf??

warnings: smut, fingering, vaginal sex, AFAB fem reader, the works. pls only read/interact if you’re 18+

word count: 6.9k

-

You never cared much for overcast days. When the promise of rain was imminent, it was different. When it was just grey to be grey, the day was gloomy and boring. Though, truth be told, most of your days for the past month had been gloomy and boring. There wasn’t much fun to be had or happiness to be shared while Aleksander was away, and this happened to be a time where he had been away for a while.

You laid in your bed silently and stared up at the thick bunches of fabric that laid draped over your bed as a canopy, trying to make shapes in the creases of the fabrics to pass the time, but inevitably your mind brought you back to Aleksander. In the near year and a half since you were meant to be engaged to another- which thankfully didn’t happen- and the two of you had only grown closer and closer. Many of your days would be spent in the Little Palace just following The General around. Not that he minded of course. The soft spot that he had for you had become undeniable to anyone around him, and especially to you. You’d like to think that your soft spot for him was the same. You falling in love with Aleksander was perhaps the most inevitable thing to come of your friendly relationship with him, but him falling for you in return? That had come as a shock to not only yourself, but many of the Grisha that resided in the Little Palace. Really, how could it not have, though? He was a man of few words most times, and when he did speak, his voice commanded respect from every listener. He was feared and respected all the same, a stoic man with an exterior much like an impenetrable steel wall.

A steel wall that you were able to permeate.

You. A completely normal and mortal princess of all things, ungifted and unblessed with the absence of Grisha ability.

You let out a dramatic sigh to yourself and you glanced out the window. It had to have been past noon now, you guessed, by the way the guards down by the doors were changing stations. Surely your mother would be headed to your room herself any moment now to berate you for waking up so late yet again, and you let out another sigh at the thought. You slowly sat up in your bed and leaned up against the headboard, letting your head loll slightly to the side as you stared at the wall ahead of you, contemplating whether or not you should at least pull yourself out of bed and dress so that your mother wouldn’t lose her mind for the third day in a row.

Finally you tossed your legs over the side of the bed and clambered out in a very clumsy and graceless fashion, dreading yet another day where you were without the presence of Aleksander. Your dress for the day had been laid out by your handmaiden the night prior and was now draped across the armchair in the corner of your room. Wandering over to the chair, you wondered if your parents would allow you to go riding by yourself. It’s nothing you hadn’t done before, but ever since the war had gotten worse, they’d been much more adamant that you don’t go off alone. Usually Aleksander accompanied you, and this made them feel more at ease. You stopped at your chair and wondered if your parents had any idea that you and their General were so close. It wasn’t like you hid it from them, but the topic had never arisen from either your father or mother. You slipped off your nightgown, still lost in thought.

Would it be so terrible if your parents were to definitively know about your relationship with Aleksander? You assumed not, especially because he was of such high rank, practically a revered household name in Ravka at this point. Even beyond, people told tales of the Darkling Ravkan General.

You tugged the new dress over your head once you had rid yourself of your nightgown and you huffed out a breath of annoyance when you glanced in the mirror next to you. You tried your best to reach around yourself and tie up the laces in the back, but to no avail. Just when you were contemplating going to find one of your handmaids, like clockwork, your door swung open and your mother hurried inside of your room.

“Oh, you’re awake. I’ll admit I’m pleasantly surprised.” Your mother remarked upon entry to your bedroom, and you watched as two of her servants followed behind her.

“Well, I wanted to do something today so I suppose it’s the least I could do.” You replied and turned your back to your mother, motioning to the laces on your dress. She approached you and wasted no time in lacing up your pale blue dress.

You held your hand up and let out a little gasp when she cinched it tightly, “Mother, please, I can’t breathe.” You complained and your mother simply scoffed, but she did loosen the dress just a bit, giving you a bit of relief.

“General Kirigan has found the Sun Summoner.” Your mother said slowly, still focused on tying your dress up properly.

You glanced at her through the mirror and raised your eyebrow, “Has he, now?” you asked softly, your interest piqued.

“Yes. They’re expected to arrive sometime today or tomorrow.”

This was music to your ears and you felt yourself grow excited at the promise of seeing Aleksander so soon. However, despite the excitement you felt, you didn’t react with more than a quiet hum and your mother finished lacing your dress in silence. When she finished, she moved away from you and then she sighed.

“Will you join your brother and I for tea this afternoon?” She asked and you gave her a nod. She placed a kiss on the side of your head before patting your cheek and she motioned to her servants and walked out of your room, her skirts swishing behind her. You waited for the sound of your door closing before you sat down at your vanity and picked up a brush, reaching up to brush through your hair. Normally you’d have someone help you with your hair, but you didn’t feel like company today. Not if it wasn’t him.

You took your time in untangling your hair and pulling some back into a couple small braids before you set the brush down a while later and looked at yourself in the mirror. You checked to make sure your hair was presentable and turned your head at the sound of a knock on your door.

“Come in, please!” You called, and the door swung open only part of the way before, as if someone was checking the room, and then it opened fully to reveal the face you’d been longing to see for just over a month now.

Your jaw dropped and he must have noticed this because a small smile spread across his lips and he reached behind himself to close the door and lock it. No words were exchanged as you rose from the stool in front of your mirror and you looked him up and down as you approached the tall man. He must have truly just barely arrived, because his boots were dusted with dried mud and his cloak was streaked with dirt at the ends. When you were only a foot away from him, you glanced up at his face with a big smile and from there, you tossed yourself into his chest. You rose up onto your toes to wrap your arms around his neck and without hesitation, he bent down to wrap his around your waist, the edges of his cloak falling around your shoulders, surrounding you with nothing but him.

He held you gently in his arms as if you were breakable, and this was a stark contrast to the way you were clinging to his neck like he was a lifeline. You enjoyed the quietness you could obtain only around him, and you buried your face against his kefta.

“Oh, Aleksander.” Your voice filled his ears like sweet music and he nearly let out a sigh as you spoke his name with devotion, and he only pulled you closer to him, so close that you were pressed tightly against his front.

“My sweet little girl, how I have so vitally missed you.” He whispered, and you nuzzled your cheek against his clothes.

He brought his hand up to the back of your head and he cradled your face against his chest with gentleness that he could only achieve when his hands were on you. The two of you stayed like that for a long time until finally Aleksander straightened himself back up and he lifted his hands up to your face, holding your cheeks in his cold palms.

“A month was far too long to be away from you. I am one for patience but this was one of the only times in my life that I felt time pass.” He spoke, his tone low.

You looked up into his dark eyes and you leaned your face comfortably into his palms, “As your Princess, I will never allow you to be away from my side for that long ever again.” You teased and scrunched your nose up at him.

The Darkling’s eyes traveled all over your face as you spoke to him and a peaceful smile settled over the empty canvas that was usually his face, “Hold me in your room and never let me escape then, My Princess. I’ll be your willing captive.” He whispered and leaned down once again, but this time it was to seal his words with a heart-twisting kiss.

His lips were warm and soft against yours and you could feel nothing but adoration as he held your face closer to his. You kissed him back with a certain fervor that had him instantly pulling away, practically breathless. You tried to chase his lips with your own, desperate to settle your own against them once more, but he lifted his head up straight and his lips became out of reach to you.

“There will be time for kisses later, my love. Please, will you come meet the Sun Summoner?” He asked eagerly and you gave him a slow nod, your head spinning just slightly, intoxicated off of his kiss.

-

Alina Starkov was her name, you learned as Aleksander led you through the Little Palace on his arm. You wrapped your arm around his as he held his hand against the small of your back and you let out a content sigh, relieved to have him by your side once again. The two of you came to a door at the end of a hallway and he tapped on it a few times before he pushed it open and tugged you inside.  

You could tell the girl who sat upon the bed in her melancholia wanted to protest his arrival by the way her mouth opened and her brows furrowed, but as soon as she laid her eyes on you, she fell silent. Her eyes were wide as they looked you up and down a few times and she rose from the bed and approached you with a certain respect. She came to stand almost three feet in front of you and she bowed her head.

“Your Grace, I didn’t realize you’d be joining General Kirigan.” She said with an apologetic tone to her voice.

Up close, you could properly see the girl. You were likely about the same age as her, but you could tell that she hadn’t lived the same sheltered, privileged life as you by the way she had a haunting sadness in her eyes. Her face was slightly gaunt and she looked as if she’d been crying. You unraveled your arms from the one arm Aleksander had around you and you tenderly took the girl’s small hand in your own. You raised it to your lips and placed a delicate kiss to the back of her hand.

“I’ve never met a Saint before. I should think that you’re a bit more important than I in this regard. Please, you may call me y/n.” You said in that soft tone that Aleksander adored so much. You lowered her hand away from your lips and let go of it entirely as she straightened herself out.

“I’m Alina. It’s such an honor to be meeting you, Your Majesty.” She breathed, and you shook your head with a little laugh.

“Y/n,” you corrected with a warm smile, “The General tells me you’ll be here for some time, so it’s only fair that we make you as comfortable as possible. I am a friend to you, not your princess.” You assured her and then you wrapped one of your arms around Aleksander’s once again and Alina’s eyes traveled down to your intertwined arms, and the man at your side only pulled you a little closer to him as he cleared his throat authoritatively.

“Miss Starkov, I wanted to bring the Princess in to meet you. She will be a friend to you while you are here. That doesn’t mean you should bother her when you are in need of something, but she will be good to you.” He stated and you shook your head and smiled at Alina.

“You can find me for whatever you need. I’m forever indebted to you for coming here. Your devotion to this country is appreciated, I have full faith in you, Alina.” You insisted and if you didn’t know better, you could’ve sworn that she had blushed just then.

-

Over the next few weeks, you had indeed grown to be a reliable friend for the Sun Saint and you’d spent much of your time helping her adjust to life at the Little Palace. Your heart ached for her often when she’d tell you of her childhood friend or how alone she felt, and you tried your very hardest to be there for her, giving her a shoulder to cry on. She seemed to be grateful that your shoulder was clad in only silks or laces rather than a bulletproof kefta, and you assumed it probably was more comforting for her to vent to someone who wasn’t Grisha.

The night was not young. In fact, it was probably close to or just past midnight by now, but you sat atop Aleksander’s war table in his room, clad in only a thin, blue silk nightgown that rode up around your thighs. He too, wore his nightclothes as he stood in front of a model of The Fold, and you sat off to the side, swinging your legs back and forth as you watched him. You didn’t say anything while he thought, you just observed him with a little smile on your lips. Eventually your Darkling turned his head towards you and mirrored your smile.

“Don’t you think you should be laying down, my sweet girl? It’s growing so late.” He said in a low voice as he reached out with one hand to lay his palm against your knee affectionately. You laid your hand on top of his and slid your fingers in between his and you gave him a short shrug.

“Well, the point of staying the night here in the Little Palace was to occupy your bed with you in it. Even if I laid down, I couldn’t sleep knowing you were so close yet not by my side.” You answered. It wasn’t the first time you’d slept in his bed with him, you were used to his late night spells of thought.

You looked down at your hand as it rested on top of his and you let out an affectionate sigh. His hand was much larger underneath yours and he slowly turned his hand around to grab onto yours. He leaned over a bit and pulled your hand up to his lips and he held it there for a long time.

“Such a stubborn little thing. I’ve spoiled you with nights spent in my arms. What a mistake I’ve made.” He teased and you squeezed his hand tightly before it was your turn to pull his hand to your lips. The sleeves of his robes only fell to just past his elbows and when you pulled his hand to you, the material fell away to reveal his entire forearm to you. You let out a very content hum and dipped your head down to now press a very slow trail of kisses down the side of his strong forearm.

He watched you with a little smirk and he gently pulled his arm away from your grip, leaving you with a little frown.

“I wasn’t done.” You remarked with a little pout.

Aleksander moved a few steps away from his spot and went to stand between your legs. Your pout disappeared and you wrapped your legs loosely around his waist as he laid his hands on your hips.

“I know you weren’t, darling. But sitting and watching your lips touch something other than my own was becoming torturous.” He replied smoothly and you rested both of your hands on his shoulders and looked up at his face. Even sitting upon the table, you still had to look up at him, and this did not go unnoticed by Aleksander.

You laced your fingers together behind his neck and pulled him down with the intention of kissing him when he quickly pulled back, your legs loosing from his waist and falling down to dangle from the table once more. He turned towards the door in the same movement and he cleared his throat.

“Alina.” He greeted simply, and you looked past his shoulder to see the girl standing in the doorway. She took a step inside of his bedroom and readied herself to speak just as her eyes settled upon you.

“Oh- no. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb the two of you.” She said apologetically, “I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t know where else to go.” She rambled and Aleksander held his hand up.

“It’s quite alright. Were you searching for y/n?” He asked and Alina nodded sheepishly a few times.

“I just assumed she would either be here or you’d know where she was.” She answered and took a few more tentative steps into the room.

Aleksander grabbed your long black bed robe off of the far end of the table and handed it to you and you thanked your lover quietly before slipping it on. He moved forward to gently lift you off of the table and you tied the robe shut as he set you on your feet.

“Is everything alright?” You asked Alina concernedly and you met the girl halfway, reaching out to rest a hand against the side of her arm.

“Just can’t sleep.” She replied with a small frown and you rubbed her arm gently.

“Shall I send for some tea to be brought up to you? To help you relax.” You asked and she nodded a few times.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you. I apologize for interrupting.” She murmured and you gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Please, anytime. You didn’t interrupt anything.” You insisted and the girl nodded once more and left Aleksander’s room.

You went to turn around, but were greeted by a pair of arms encircling your waist from behind. You leaned your back up against Aleksander’s chest and you closed your eyes, laying your arms down on top of his.

“You have such a kind heart, my love. You’d make such a remarkable queen.” He murmured and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Ah, but alas. Vasily is the next in line.” You teased and then let out a sigh, “besides. I’d rather be your queen than Ravka’s. Your queen of the shadows.” You mused. You traced your fingertips along the sides of his arms that were exposed and you felt him lean down until his lips were touching your ear.

“Your beauty does not belong in the shadows. It belongs in the daylight where all can see.” He whispered, and chills ran down your spine. You pressed yourself back against him firmly and you let out a soft sigh.

“Oh, but I belong with you. By your side. And if being by your side puts me in the shadows then so be it. Let me walk amongst the darkness.” You breathed.

He stretched his fingers outwards and he untied the loose bow that held your robe shut and gently pulled your robe open.

“But you’re so good, so sweet. The darkness is no place for you. You summon light all of your own. You may not be Grisha, but every room you walk into glows.” He argued and lowered his head even farther to attach his lips to the side of your neck. You tipped your head to the side to give him more access and you let out a soft sigh.

“But the darkness is where you stand. The shadows. I don’t want to light rooms up, I just want you. Let your shadows consume me, I want to be yours for as long as I breathe.”

He dragged his lips along the side of your throat and he pulled you back a little tighter, the edges of his teeth brushing across your skin.

“You have no idea just what you’re begging for.” He warned and bunched the silk of your nightgown up in his fists, pulling it up around your thighs.

“Then give me an idea. Show me what I’m begging for.” You pleaded.

His beard dragged across your skin with his lips and the feeling made you shudder, your eyes falling shut.

“Aleksander, please.” You added in a whisper.

He stilled completely at the sound of his name in your voice and he smiled impishly against your neck. He released the skirt of your nightgown from his grip and he quickly spun you around so that you faced him now and he grabbed onto your waist, pulling you forward so that you were only inches away from him.

“Please, what?” He replied, leaning down so that his lips barely brushed against yours as he spoke.

“Let me be yours forever, and I swear to always be devoted to you. Let me love you the way you insist you don’t deserve. I’ll follow you faithfully to the edges of the world and then some. Let me worship you and the darkness you walk in.” You whispered back at him.

You leaned up to close the gap between your lips and his, but he pulled back just enough to where you wouldn’t reach his lips and he smirked. He slid his hands around to rest against your lower back and he pulled you against him so that your body was pressed against his.

“You already are mine forever. You have been since the moment you befriended me. But it begs the question… how are you to worship me? I am no saint. I am The Darkling.” He countered, still wearing that devilish little smirk.

He reached up and pushed the robe off of your shoulders and watched it billow to the floor and pool around your ankles before he flickered his gaze to your pleading eyes.

“You’re right, Aleksander. You are no saint. You are my God, and I will worship you the way you deserve.” You whispered and reached up to grab at the neckline of his robes, “My Darkling.” You breathed.

Aleksander felt a strong wave of arousal throughout his body with your words and he reached up to toy with the straps of your nightgown.

“And what if I wish to worship you?” He asked, pushing one strap down over your shoulder.

“Then I’d call you crazy, I’m only human. There is nothing to worship. You are ethereal.” You said quietly as you gazed up into his eyes, which seemed to be getting darker by the second.

“Wrong. If you are to be my queen of the shadows, then you must accept that I will worship you as such.” He replied very plainly and you searched his face for anything as you stood against him. You lifted your hands up to rest against his chest as you released his robes from your grip and you let out a little sigh.

“Aleksander?”

“Yes?”

You paused and flickered your attention between his eyes and his lips and finally you let out the smallest of whines, audible to only your ears and his.  

“Please kiss me now.” You pleaded softly.

You didn’t have to even think about asking twice before his hands were up in your hair and he was dragging you to the big table in the middle of the room. He pushed you back against it so that your back was pressed into the rounded edge and he moved down to hungrily kiss you.

You melted completely against his lips and you cupped his cheeks as you kissed him back determinedly. Though you tried to take control of the kiss between you and him, he gave your hair a swift tug that had you moaning into his mouth and he easily assumed the control you had prior reached for. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was a heated expression of need and desperation. You felt his teeth graze your bottom lip and you faltered just a bit, almost falling to your knees, but Aleksander was quick to grab your waist and yank you away from the table. He walked the two of you back until your back smacked against the wall, and he finally broke the kiss.

He looked down at you and a sense of pride filled his chest at the sight of you. Your hair was tousled and your lips were puffy and swollen from the kiss. His kiss. He reached up to caress your face with the side of his hand and he hummed lowly.

“What am I going to do with you? Hm? The little Princess that wants to be surrounded by the darkness so bad. I wouldn’t have seen that coming a year ago. You were such a shy little thing and now you’re begging me to let you worship me as your God. Show me, then. Get on your knees for me.” He commanded and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

You slowly nodded and sunk down to your knees in front of him, tipping your head back just slightly to look up at his face. He gazed down at you with a sort of ardor and you felt your cheeks heat up. He reached down and slid his slender fingers into your hair and gently gave it a tug.

“Oh, how you look so pretty on your knees.” He cooed, relishing the blush that covered your cheeks.

You coyly reached up to loose him of his pants but he reached down and stopped you by grabbing your wrist gently. You confusedly looked up at Aleksander and he simply ran his fingers through your hair, his eyes still on your face. He gave you a little smirk and he pulled you closer to him by your hair until your cheek was pressed against his thigh.

“Sweet girl. So eager to please me.” He murmured and you closed your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his clothed thigh.

You rested your hands on your knees as he held your face against his thigh and you slowly opened your eyes. Your gaze moved upwards towards his face and you tipped your head backwards just slightly to see that he was already staring down at you. His eyes seemed darker and the look on his face was some hybrid between wonder and desire. You blinked a few times and very slowly turned your head to place a few little kisses against his thigh. He sucked a breath in through his nose and he flexed his fingers in your hair.

“Tell me you’re mine.“

His voice pierced through the silence and you reached up and you grabbed onto his other thigh.

“I am yours. Wholly.” You whispered, the words tasting sweet on your tongue.

He pulled your head away from his thigh gently, keeping his hand in your hair, and he tipped your head back so that you met his eyes once again.

“You want to worship me, Princess?” He asked in a languid tone.

You nodded eagerly and gave him a soft smile. Excitement streaked through your entire body and you reached up to lay your hands against his hips. He looked glorious towering above you, clad in all black. Aleksander was all but a predator. Everything about him was enticing, and everything about him was deadly. The death that painted itself upon his fingertips was an unspoken curse, and though his hands had seen more blood and violence than you’d ever imagine, they held you so affectionately. His eyes gleamed down at you dangerously and his jaw was set confidently as he gazed down upon your face.

“Then do it.” His voice was soft and it was inviting, but the vainglorious expression on his face was strange when juxtaposed with such a sweetness in his voice.

Your cheeks heated up and you averted your eyes away from his, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth coyly. His domineering presence above you made you suddenly very shy and you kept your eyes on your own knees for a while. When you finally willed yourself to look back up at him, nothing had changed. If anything, he looked amused now on top of everything else.

“Oh, sweet girl. Are you getting shy on me now?” He asked and released your hair, only to hook two fingers under your chin as he crouched down in front of you.

You scrambled to think of anything to say to argue but you knew he’d see right through you. You weren’t even hardly as experienced as he surely was and though the two of you had been intimate a small handful of times before, you still needed guidance. You pressed your thighs together and looked up at him wordlessly, moving your hands to now hold onto the sides of his robe.

He seemed to understand what was going through your head and he leaned down to place a little kiss against your temple.

“New idea then. Why don’t you let me show you how to worship someone? How to worship a Queen.” He whispered against the side of your head and you closed your eyes, shivering.

You gave him a little nod and he smiled against your skin, pleased.

“Wonderful.”

He rid himself of the robe he wore and he reached out for you and laid his hands on your waist. His thumbs rubbed little circles into your waist over the silk of your nightgown and he gently tugged you off of your knees and he lowered himself to sit on the floor in front of you. He carefully turned you around so that you were no longer facing him, and he sat you between his legs with your back against his chest. You laid your head back against his shoulder and he reached around you and he grabbed the hem of your nightgown in his hands. He tugged it up around your waist and brought his fingers down to your inner thighs.

“You are the light of my life, do you know that?” He asked softly and laid his chin down against your shoulder as he stroked the soft skin of your inner thighs with the tips of his fingers.

You nearly shivered at his touch and you closed your eyes, relaxing against him.

“Do you know you’re the light of mine?” You countered in a whisper, and he chuckled in reply.

He reached out with one finger and traced it along your center, over your panties.

You reached up and wrapped your hands around his forearms and you bit your bottom lip, opening your eyes to look up at his face. He brought his entire hand between your legs and continued to touch you through your underwear. You let out a quiet whine and he pressed his lips against the side of your head.

“Tell me what you need.” He whispered and buried his nose in your hair. His fingers ghosted over your clit a few times and you let out a tiny gasp.

Your face felt flushed and you gently squeezed his arms where you held them.

“Need you to touch me.” You whined quietly and squirmed against him. He snaked one arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him before he swiftly pulled your panties to your knees.

You closed your eyes again and let out a shaky breath as he moved his hand back between your thighs once again. He brushed the tip of his middle finger against your entrance and he hummed pleasantly as he collected a bit of your wetness on his finger. Wordlessly, he pressed his thumb down against your clit and rolled it in slow, little circles. A breathless, relieved moan left your lips and he took this as encouragement to work his thumb a bit faster against you.

You pressed your fingertips into his arms and you whimpered, your lips trembling just slightly.

“More.” You begged quietly and he obliged with a little laugh. He pressed his middle finger against your entrance firmly before he slid it inside of you and you moaned at the feeling.

“Such pretty sounds. My pretty Princess.” He cooed and curled his finger inside of you, brushing his fingertip against your tight walls.

He slowly pumped his finger in and out of you and you bit the inside of your cheek, letting out quiet whines and whispery moans. Pleasure began to rapidly build in your body and you felt yourself tighten around his finger, and much to your chagrin, Aleksander pulled his hand away from you.  You let out a disappointed huff, and your eyes flew open when you felt his finger against your lips. You opened your eyes and looked up at his face before glancing down at his finger and he gave you a nod.

“Open.” He commanded softly and you did as you were told. He slid his finger into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, sucking on it gently.

“I wanted you to cum on my cock. Don’t act so disappointed, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” He assured you as you sucked on his finger and he grinned, tipping his head down towards yours, “Don’t you taste so sweet?” He asked playfully and you felt your cheeks heat up for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

He shifted behind you and you could feel his hardness pressing against your lower back. He pulled his finger away from your mouth and you slowly turned around to face him, your eyes searching his face curiously. He gazed back at you lustfully and he reached out and deftly pulled your thin nightgown over your head and tossed it aside. He admired your body for what seemed like hours before he finally rid himself of his own robe and he undid his pants.

He pulled his cock out of his pants and he beckoned you forward, patting his thigh with one hand.

“Come.” He instructed and you nodded obediently and moved forward towards him. You climbed onto his lap with your knees on either side of his waist, facing him and he looked up at you, his lips slightly parted.

You took this as an opportunity to lean down and kiss him slowly. One of his hands tangled itself in the hair at the back of your head and the other gripped your thigh as he kissed you back. His tongue darted out from between his lips as he licked into your mouth and you moaned softly into the kiss. He positioned you over him by the tight grip he had on your thigh, and with no warning, slowly pushed himself inside of you. Your mouth fell open against his and he relished the slow moan you let out into his mouth. Slowly, he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside of you until you had taken him entirely. You closed your eyes, your mouth still on his, and you brought your hands up to his shoulders, letting yourself get used to the stretch of his cock.

He patiently waited for a moment while you accommodated his size and when you finally gave him a little nod, he pecked your bottom lip a few times. He slowly pulled out of you and thrust upwards, back inside of you, and another moan tumbled from your lips against his.

“You always feel so good, my Princess.” He whispered and pulled away from your lips so that he could rest his forehead against yours, “You take me so perfectly. Such a good girl.” He praised and you squeezed his shoulders as he rolled his hips up against yours, starting with a slow pace that had you feeling every single inch of him inside of you.

“Oh, Aleksander.” You moaned and let your head fall onto his shoulder.

“Tell me again that you’re mine.” He whispered and you nodded once.

“I’m yours.” You whispered back.

He sharply thrust up into you and you cried out, digging your nails into his skin.

“Again.” He commanded, his fingers curling in the hair at the back of your head.

“I’m yours.” You repeated, and he once again drove his cock up inside of you sharply.

The moan that left your lips made his jaw clench and he turned his head to press his lips against your ear.

“Tell me who you belong to.” He breathed.

You shakily exhaled and he steadily rolled his hips against yours. You shuddered in ecstasy and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“You, Aleksander.”

He quickened the pace at which he fucked into you at and you squealed in pleasure, your arms sliding around his neck.

“You’re right. You’re fucking right, you’re mine. My sweet little princess. You belong to no one but me and the darkness.” He growled against your ear and fucked up into you harder.

You tossed your head backwards and you moaned out his name, your arms securely holding his neck. Aleksander leaned forward and pressed wet, sloppy kisses against your exposed chest and you moved your hips up and down lazily to meet his rough thrusts. Your climax was approaching hastily and you let out a few soft cries as you clung to him.

He must have been able to tell you were close, because he slid a hand between your legs and he rubbed steady circles against your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel you.” He pushed.

With the hand he had in your hair, he guided your head up so that he could see your face and he gave your hair a gentle tug.

“I want you to look at me when you cum.”

You nodded weakly and his own thrusts became a bit sloppy and less precise as you tightened around him and came closer and closer to your own release.

He let out a few grunts and drove up into you roughly a few times before you gasped. Your eyes widened as you stared down into his and pleasure engulfed your entire body as you came.  The intensity of your own orgasm hardly gave you the clarity of mind to realize that Aleksander came, too, until his head fell forward to rest against your heaving chest.

The two of you stayed on the floor for a few moments before Aleksander stood up and lifted you into his arms in one fluid motion and he carried you off to his bedroom. He laid you gently on his bed and he looked down at you, his features softening with adoration.

“You are mine. Just as I am yours. I swear it to you, Y/n. One day I will make sure you are queen of this country. Queen of the darkness. Queen of whatever you desire.” He promised and reached down to stroke your cheeks before he laid next to you. He gathered you in his arms and you let out a blissful sigh.

“I don’t need any of that. I just need you. My Darkling.” You murmured tiredly and you felt his lips touch the side of your head.

“And I just need you. My sweet little Princess.” He murmured reverently.

You contently hid your face against his chest and you nodded once, letting him sing you sweet praises until you fell asleep in his arms, letting his darkness surround you entirely.

Never once did Aleksander want to bother with a mortal, and he’d all but sworn that to himself for five hundred years. Until you. As you slept against him, his mind ran rampant at the thought that you might one day leave the world and him along with it and he shook his head to himself. He’d die before he let that happen. He’d find a way to keep you alive as long as him, even if it took the darkest and most forbidden of magic. The love he held for you was unimaginable and surprising, even to himself, and he found himself lowering his lips to the top of your head, vowing wordlessly into the silence that you’d be at his side always.

Forever.

[sparkmender]

Imagine a beautifully furnished apartment. Exquisite; there is art of every sort, from a dazzling crystal and steel chandelier over the conversation pit to hand-formed drinking glasses. The rug alone costs more shanix than you would have made in a year, back when you were briefly allowed to work, and came from some distant colony of Cybertron that you will never see.

There is an elegant table with a dozen comfortable chairs around it for guests, though only two of the chairs have seen any use. The kitchen is well-appointed. The holoprojector set up is of immaculate quality with clearer picture and audio than anything you had ever seen in your life. Music can be played whenever you might want it, though quietly so as not to disturb anyone. There is an office you are not allowed into, but glimpses say it is just as lavish and comfortable.

The outside walls are all glass. Each one a window that can be thrown open at any time to a balcony. None of the balconies have railings. You are not capable of flight. There are curtains in strategic places but you are not allowed to adjust them except to clean, and then you must put them back where they were.

There are no stairs to this apartment, which is closer to the stars than you have ever been. When you want to leave you must be escorted: there is one hidden elevator, for servants, but you are not a servant— at least not in title— so you don’t have a passkey to activate it. You are either gripped like a toy and must choke down hesitation and let yourself be carried out, or you must beg his assistant to look the other way and slip you his code so you can be outside for a small while. It is never the same code twice but his assistant never lies to you. You always go back.

Anything you want, you can ask for, if you know how to do that. You don’t ask for anything. Asking does not guarantee getting, and sometimes getting is worse than going without, so you don’t bother. He has enough to deal with.

There is a child. You don’t remember how. It is part of you, maybe, because where else would a baby have come from? You don’t remember. It must be from you. His assistant looks at you with pity. He does not look at you as much as he used to, when you were free-range and an unclaimed trophy. You try to look after the child, but he is dissatisfied and takes the little one with him to teach them things he says you don’t have to think about. The child grows up calling you nanny, and not mother.

No one else visits the beautiful apartment. Sometimes he doesn’t come home. Sometimes the beautiful apartment is not right and he rearranges everything on a whim and you end up bumping your ankles on things. Sometimes he destroys the hand-formed glasses and modern dishware and rants and raves for hours, or locks himself in his office that you aren’t allowed into.

You cry more than you cried under torture. You cry buckets and rivers and small seas, and there is no one to comfort you, and even his assistant is at a loss for words. It is not enough to be beautiful, too, to keep yourself painted and finely waxed and available at all hours to a lonely apartment. The pity from his assistant has turned to agitated concern. He breaks more things in the apartment and you know it will be your turn sooner rather than later.

So.

No. I won’t let myself ever be in that situation ever again. I have my home and it is full of love and good company, on a cliffside overlooking the sea. I have a garden and I put my hands in the dirt and I make noise whenever I want to. I can walk out the door whenever I feel like it and come back whenever I feel like it. I don’t have to be perfect. I can exist as I am and I am cherished for it.

Rattrap comes around when he feels like it, too. He isn’t anyone’s assistant, anymore.

[mrs-han]

Happy early birthday! Can you do the fake dating trope? For Jumin, definitely🥰

✨✨SISSI!!!✨✨

OUU, I LOVE THIS TROPE. I was too shy to write it cuz there are so many BRILLIANT renditions, but I’ll try!!

(I’m totally still working on your first ask, too >w<)

“Your mother is coming to visit?

Furiously rubbing his temples, Jumin grunted an affirmation. You had never seen him in such a state; it was very… un-Jumin-like of him to show an ounce of anxiety.

“She sent this. You can read it, if you like.” Sliding a thick paper your way, you pushed your hair back and started reading.

Jumin couldn’t help but smirk at your expressions — how they went from curious, to skeptical, to horrified.

“Jumin, she… she’s terminally ill…?”

“… It seems so.”

The nonchalant tone in his voice sparked something in you. Forcing the letter down, you pressed both palms against his mahogany desk. “How could you be so uncaring? This is your mother, not some stranger from off the street, Jumin.”

Jumin stared at you. Something inexplainable in his eyes — a flash of unknown darkness — made you stand down.

“Is it so important to you that I meet with her?” Jumin asked, drumming his fingers anxiously against the letter.

“… Well…” you clasped his hand, stilling his jittery movements. “As your friend? Yes. You do for family.”

His long lashes covered the conflicting look in his eyes. “All right. I’ll do it.”

You moved to release his hand, surprised he allowed you to hold onto him for this long. But you remembered something — something you had skimmed over previously. Snatching the letter, you began to read it again.

“No, I’m not engaged to anyone from the Christopher family.”

“… Okay, how did you know I was looking for that.”

“You are incredibly easy to read,” Jumin sighed. “Your eyes speak before your mouth moves.”

“… Nu-uh,” you murmured under your breath.

Pressing his tense back against the chair, Jumin closed his eyes. “I had forgotten who that family was until today. I certainly didn’t know I was engaged to any of them.”

Your eyes grew. “Did your mother arrange it when you were little?”

“She did so many things,” Jumin replied, his voice an octave above a whisper. “I originally had plans to get out of meeting with her, but.” His intense gaze in your direction nearly made you blush.

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be, Jumin?”

“You don’t know my mother the way I do.” Long fingers began fiddling with his tie pin. “Do you remember, when we met, you expressed that I was a hard-ass, or a tough, demanding, and uncompromising person according to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary?”

“… Yeah?”

“She is 1⁄1,000,000 times worse.”

Your eyes darted.

“She is worse.” Despite the situation, Jumin couldn’t help but notice how often he was grinning.

Specifically in your direction.

“Yikes,” you whistled, resting your chin in your hand.

Silence lingered… until you slammed your hand against the desk. “I have an idea.”

Eyes glancing from the table to your hand, Jumin suppressed another laugh upon noticing you were barely holding in your discomfort. “Yes, well?”

“Stay with me, here. What if I pretended to be your fiancée? That way, your mom won’t pressure you into marrying that Christopher chick!”

Jumin’s head rose slowly, steel-gray eyes trained on you the entire time. His face was illegible… it always was. Your nerves kicked in, but you proceeded confidently.

“There’s no harm in it! I’ll dress up, drape myself over your arm, make a nice show of it, and that’ll be —”

“No.”

You deflated. “… But I wasn’t done.”

“No.” Standing quickly, Jumin stepped down from his desk and moved to fetch a hidden bottle of whiskey.

Your cheeks flushed and your heart hammered recklessly in your chest — had Jumin just rejected you? Granted, the situation was a hypothetical one, but still…

Your feet remained planted on the floor; you felt ashamed to move, wanting the tile to open up and eat you alive. You inhaled “I mean, I know I’m not heiress material, but… I was just trying to help, I guess.”

Jumin set his glass down. “Wait, that’s not what I meant at all.” Nearly tripping over his loafers, Jumin rushed to your side, gripping your chin “Listen to me. My mother is a ruthless woman. Very cruel. She will go out of her way to insult you, even if all that is left of you is a coffin in the ground. I can’t expose such a person to you.”

You took a deep, calming breath. So that’s what it was. “Jumin, I’m grown. Besides, you’ll be with me, so it’s not like I’m gonna be left alone with her!”

Fingers pressing into your cheeks a little too much, Jumin’s eyes searched yours. “Why would you do this for me?”

With puckered lips, you answered as best you could. “Cu-th yerr mah fwen.”

Releasing you, Jumin dug for his handkerchief and blotted the spit on your lip. “That’s right. We are friends, aren’t we.”

“And since I consider the RFA to be family, you’re family too! And you do for family!”

Jumin raised his brows, unenthused. “… Great. Then. I’ll have clothes sent to your apartment for you to try. Feel free to express your opinions freely to me tonight, as I’ll be picking you up for a session on tea.”

“Oh, because your family loves brewing tea, right?”

“Correct. How comfortable do you feel in stilettos?”

“… Uh…”

“No harm in trying them, then.” As Jumin tapped delivery instructions onto his keypad at a furious pace, you reached for a chocolate candy from a tiny bowl on his desk, unwrapped it, and popped it into your mouth.

You did not expect for Jumin to grab your hand with a touch more tender than the cut of beef you ate the night of the party. “Mm — Jumin!?”

He lowered his head, warm lips pressing a kiss onto the back of your hand. You were in too much shock to register that he had placed another kiss on your knuckles.

You were still in a state of shock, the chocolate dangling on your tongue as Jumin leaned in, his chest barely touching your own as he swept your hair back with deft fingers.

The same lips that that had kissed your hand were now pressed against your ear; Jumin exhaled, the very sound frightening and exciting you. “Then. I’ll see you later, my dear.”

You had no time to react; Jumin pulled away just as quickly as he had moved in, throwing his jacket on and leaving the office.

You shoved more chocolates into your mouth and prepped yourself to follow suit. If this was what it was like being engaged to Jumin, then… well… there was no harm in liking it a little.

OKIE, imma have to break this down into parts cuz the idea I have is pretty substantial. I don’t want Tumblr to yell at me like HRRBLRR, LIMIT REACHED.

Hope you liked dis first part!! and omg I swear I will continue writing this. I suck at writing parts, but imma DO DIS.

[bayisdying]

Lucky Penny - Chapter Eight

A/N: We've made it to the mission. How will the Dagger fare in my universe? Read on and find out! As always feedback is much appreciated and encouraged 🥰

TW: mentions of suicide

"Maverick, it's time to pick your team. Let's start with the Foxtrots." Cyclone's words sent a rush through the pilots standing in attention. This was it, what they had been waiting for.

"I have selected Phoenix and Bob and Payback and Fanboy."

Lucky internally screamed, that was worst case scenario for the foxtrots, she knew they were all damn good but that didn't stop her from wishing they'd all be safe on the boat.

"Your wingman?"

"For the wingman, this pilot has shown a level head and coolness under distress. That is why Coyote will be the wingman."

Coyote smiled at her, and she tried to return one. This was getting worse and worse. Maverick was sending all her friends on this mission.

"Your team leader?"

"This pilot has proven their ability to fly this mission and lead the team to success...."

Hangman smirked, of course he thought it would be him.

"...and that is why I've decided that Lucky will be team leader."

Time froze. It took her a few seconds to realize that instead of Rooster or Hangman he had picked her. She noticed everyone looking at her and wanted to panic. She knew it was a possibility that she would fly the mission, but team leader? Leading a team full of people she cared about? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as Cyclone once again explained the mission parameters. It was a mere buzzing in her ears.

Their blood would be on her hands if she failed.

----

"Mr. Steele, we are calling you to come and get Baylie from school."

The words echoed in his head as he drove to the elementary school. They hadn't elaborated in the voice-mail but he had a bad feeling he knew what had happened.

When he walked into the front office he saw his little girl sitting there her little hands balled into fists. He didn't even notice the fact that there was a little boy there holding an ice pack to his face and two very angry looking parents shooting daggers at his eight year old.

"Mr. Steele thank you for finally joining us." The principal, an older woman named Heather, said with a little too much bite for his liking.

"Sorry ma'am, I was busy at work getting ready for opening." He answered as he sat down in the small, plastic chair besides Baylie who immediately reached a hand out to him. He took it and squeezed three times for "I love you."

"We left a message for Mrs. Steele as well, will she be joining us?"

William shook his head "Delilah is actually in Chicago right now for a work assignment." That comment resulted in sour looks from the other adults.

"That's probably why your daughter has such an anger issue." The mother of the boy spoke up. "Her mother is never at home and she's stuck with you all the time."

William did not respond, he simply held his little girls hand.

"Your daughter punched Drew here on the playground at morning recess. She states it's self defense."

"Because it was." Baylie murmured.

"We do not support that behavior here, and she will be suspended for three days."

Thats when the papa bear snapped, "did you even ask what happened to lead up to it?"

"Mr. Steele.."

"Baylie what happened lucky girl?"

"Drew was being mean to me and Katie, pushing us down and making fun of us. We told him to stop and he didn't...so I punched him to get him to stop."

"Did not!" Drew countered from behind his ice pack that was slowly melting.

"Our Andrew would never, we raised our child with manners."

He felt his daughter shift in her chair and he had to take deep breaths to calm the red he was seeing.

"Oh trust me ma'am, we are raising Baylie with manners too. We are just also raising her to be able stand up for herself and others and from what she tells me your son seems to like pushing other kids around. He should have known one day there would be consequences to his actions "

"That's quite enough, Mr. Steele please take Baylie home and her three day suspension starts tomorrow. She may return when the three days are up. Thank you for coming in."

"I'll take her home but until you do something about this boy bullying my daughter and other kids, you aren't going to make her miss three days of school for standing up for herself. See you tomorrow morning."

He took Baylie's backpack in the hand that wasn't holding hers and walked out of the school. Very proud of the fact that his little girl had a mean right hook.

-----

As Lucky got ready and went over her pre-flight checklist she felt sick to her stomach. Yes, she knew this mission like the back of her hand. Yes, she was a damn good pilot. But that nagging feeling of impending doom had a strong hold on her.

They would all make it home, she would make sure they did. No matter what that took.

"Lucky you good?" She turned to see Rooster standing there watching her.

"Yeah Roos, I'm good. Sorry for stealing your spot. Mav should have picked you."

He shook his head with a soft laugh "nah, he picked right Lucky. You're a better leader and a better pilot."

"Flattery will get you nowhere Bradshaw."

He chuckles "trust me I know, but it's the truth. You'll bring everyone home, because you love everyone going up with you."

She smiled. "Thanks for the pep talk pal, but I'm pretty sure I should get this ole' gal ready to fly." She pats her jet lovingly.

"Yeah, and I got to go be Dagger Spare #2"

She rolled her eyes as he walked away. She completed her last checks, then climbed in her cockpit to start her routine. Taking the pictures from her pocket and taping them to the dash. She looked at the three pictures, committing them to memory. One was her mom, dad, and her their first Christmas together. One was Mickey and her the first time he took her to Miami to meet his family, they hadn't known his tìa had been taking pictures, they were dancing in the street all smiles and clearly in love. And the last one was her and her childhood best friend Kaitlyn when they were in ninth grade, right before the other girl had passed away.

William Steele may be her guardian angel, but he hadn't been her first.

-----

It had been a dreary Feburary day, and Baylie was dreading the walk to school. She got all her winter gear on, and headed out into the cold, she walked the three blocks to Kaitlyn's house. But as she turned the corner all she saw were red and blue lights, dangerously close to her friends house. She picked up her pace, wanting to be nosy before Kaitlyn came out and scolded her. As she got closer she saw her friend's parents standing with a cop in their front yard.

When Amy Carter saw Baylie she half-ran to the girl and wrapped her up in a bear hug. Baylie returned the hug too stunned to speak.

"Did you know?" Amy asked.

"Know what?"

"That Kaitlyn was going to kill herself."

And her world crumbled around her, right there in the middle of the street, on a dreary February day warmly tucked in her best friend's mom's arms.

-----

She blew a kiss to the sky and prayed to her angels to keep her and her team safe.

"Daggers check in."

"Dagger One ready." Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

"Dagger Two ready." Javy's voice followed hers.

"Dagger Three ready." Phoenix said matter-of-factly.

"Dagger Four ready." Rueben's smooth voice soothed her only a little.

"Daggers are ready for take off."

-----

During one of her leaves, she went back to her hometown to see her Momma. The mission she had flown hadn't gone as expected and while nobody was hurt it had still scared her.

From the second her plane landed, she made a beeline to the cemetery on the outskirts of town. Muscle memory led the way as tears blurred her vision.

She made it to his headstone first and fell to her knees. Wishing that instead of cold stone she was hugging the man who would know what to say to make her feel better.

"I don't think I can do this anymore Dad." She said between sobs. "I wish you were here to tell me what to do. Mom wants me to turn in my wings and I just don't know anymore."

She sat there, wishing he could answer her back. After sitting there a while longer she makes her way three rows back and four rows right.

"Hiya Katie Bug. I've missed you." She smiles sadly at the black marble stone bearing her friends name and too close to each other dates.

She looks to the right and sees the newer stone. "I didn't forget you Momma Amy, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral."

-----

"Are you guys ready?" She asked. "Because after this there's no going back."

The others checked in as ready.

"Set your timers, and let's kick ass."

As they increased speed and started the grueling course, Lucky only had one thought.

"We are all making it home."

-----

Kaitlyn Carter was sunshine in human form, had been since the very first day of kindergarten when Baylie first met her.

The two were inseparable, where one was the other was sure to follow close behind. Other kids would tell you they were quite the duo. Kaitlyn was quiet, shy, and and never got in trouble. Baylie on the other hand, she was a menace. Loud, didn't know a stranger, and not afraid to speak up which usually ended her in trouble.

The told everyone they were actually sisters, separated at birth. So Baylie always felt like she should have known that her other half was drowning in sorrow. Perhaps she did, perhaps she had ignored the warning signs. She always felt guilty, though she knew Katie would never blame her.

-----

They made it to the compound, Lucky let her bomb drop and said a small prayer.

"Bullseye" She heard Bob's excitement through the comms.

"Alright Nix, here comes the climb."

"Following your lead babe."

A few minutes later she heard Mickey's voice exclaim, "bullseye, we got a bullseye!"

Lucky was starting to feel the effects of the climb, just a little further, then it was a dogfight all the way back.

The second her jet came screeching over the mountain the first SAM came right for her.

"Dagger One evading."

Soon enough all four Daggers were ducking and doing through the air. There were too many voices to keep track. Lucky was solely focused on trying to shake the SAMs but they just kept coming, and she eventually had to send out a choked up "Dagger One out of flares."

She heard her fellow Daggers respond with urgency, but more importantly she saw the missile coming at her. She closed her eyes and hoped that her Dad and Katie would be there waiting for her.

"Hey Lucky, save a dance for me at your wedding." Coyote said as he put himself between the missile and her plane.

"No Javy!"

She could feel the explosion behind her, and she instantly wanted to throw up. She never wanted anyone to sacrifice themselves for her. It should have been her.

"Did anyone see a parachute?" She asked.

"No."

"Lucky he's gone."

"Daggers you are ordered to return to the ship immediately."

"Come on Lucky, let's go back to the ship." Mickey said, and his voice reminded her that what she was about to do would hurt him the most, but she knew what she had to do.

"I'm so sorry my love."

She turned the jet around and went back for her friend, she couldn't save Kaitlyn all the way back then. But she was for damn sure saving Javy.

-----

A/N: I AM SO SORRY. I CAN HEAR YOUR HEARTS BREAKING. NEXT CHAPTER IS KIND OF WORSE SOMEHOW. MY BAD. LOVE YOU.

Forever: @kloofspeaks @notyoursbutlewis @roosterscockpit @callsign-milano @callsignthirsty @callmemana @likelyrowdy

Discord: @callsign-dragonbaron @mtnofgrace @persephonesportal @askmarinaandothers @cycbaby @callsignscupcake @mrsjaderogers @biehnybaby

[anchanted-one]

Legend of Lightning Chapter 56. Survivor’s Nightmare

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/113641888

TW: This Chapter, and the next few, will deal with severe depression

????

Vajra Devarath knew the house that rose from the fog. He had come here many times, both to meet his best friend Gabril Kees, and to—as subtly as possible—spend as much time as he could near his sister, Sonni.

She could play seven instruments, and had one of the best singing voices he’d heard, rivalling even those he would later hear on Coruscant and Alderaan. In fact, they had entered a competition in the city, where he had danced while she played.

They had been the talk of the district for ages afterwards.

He could hear her pristine voice emerging from the house, full of her usual zest for life. He could not make out what she was saying, even as he entered through the front door. She was sitting on a lawn chair in the backyard. There was a small crowd around her; her brother Gabril, with whom she shared a house, and their mother Sorayi. On her right was Barnie Smithers, one of the young half-Zabrak men whose tractor Vajra repaired from time to time. The family dogs, Huilil and Mantil were excitedly panting as they circled the people.

He almost stumbled when he saw the bundle in Sonni’s arms. She was holding a newborn child, who was fast asleep as everyone watched it with utter fascination.

Sonni looked up at Vajra as he approached.

She said something, but Vajra frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I said, you let us die.” Her expression turned to cold hate. Everyone’s did, as they turned to face him. The dogs started to growl and bark. The sky turned an infernal red, and Vajra fell under the assault of a burning heat. Every single blade of grass in the garden sizzled as the moisture was burned out of them. “The last thing I ever saw in this world, was my Natshya dying in my arms.”

“I thought you were my friend,” Gabril said through gritted teeth. His voice was hoarse. “I thought you were a Jedi! How could you let us die like that!?”

“Don’t be mean, children,” Sorayi said, looking at Vajra with disgust. “I suppose it’s our own fault for expecting anything from him.”

“If you couldn’t save us, at least you should’ve had the decency to die with us,” Barnie spat on the floor beside Vajra’s left foot, but it evaporated before it even reached the floor.

“I-I-I-I—”

He jumped as the door behind him burst into splinters. “You what?” Ila Joril shrieked. “You’re ‘sorry’? Sorry doesn’t cut it!” Other villagers began pouring into the once-idyllic garden, clambering over the fence or bursting in through gates.

Their skin grew dry before charring as he watched in horror. Cracks appeared, and blood peeked out before the bodies were cooked alive. The smell invaded his nose.

He couldn’t move. “I didn’t know!” The heat was a thousand times worse than Tatooine for those around him—those he cared for—but he was, cruelly, the only one spared from the agony. It was his cocktail of overwhelming emotions that made his voice tiny, rather than having his throat burned to a crisp. He swallowed and tried again. “I didn’t know!”

His teachers grasped his hands, trying to pull him into the ground with them. The other townsfolk jumped on top of him, climbing onto his back, clawing at his face and hair, trying to turn him in a hillock of burnt corpses. Their hands squeezed around his shoulders, neck, waist, and wrists so tightly that he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back… and didn’t even want to. He deserved this.

As a scrabbling young child he couldn’t identify covered his head, its fingers formed a slit that, to his vision, turned the red sky above into a Sith Lightsaber.

It descended upon them, killing all the condemned. Vajra was, of course, left unharmed.

“No!” he whimpered. “Why did you do that! Take me too!”

The fog around him shifted to reveal a totally different landscape.

He was in a wooded valley between several large mountains. The skies were a dull, steel grey. There were many wrecked wagons in front of him, and many dead people and animals. Most bodies were separated from their hands and heads. They all had the same bluish-grey skin as him, and some whose bodies were more intact had four arms. A head close to his feet looked up at him with three dead, black eyes. Its mouth hung open, the final moments of fear etched onto its face. Columns of smoke rose from the ground, as if attempting to form a bridge between the heavens and land. Strangely, it created the illusion that he was in some macabre cathedral built to worship destruction.

A giant loomed before them, laughing so hard he might have just heard the funniest joke in the world. A man with blood-colored skin, and eyes of molten red. His elbow-length hair was black as dirty oil, and his pointy teeth caked with plaque. His Lightsaber covered the whole sky.

An old man knelt before him, bent, broken.

Lightning fell from the sky, and the giant was gone in the second it took Vajra to blink. The old man fell to the floor, his body turning into ash.

As Vajra cowered, the eyes of all the dead moved in their skulls to lock onto him. They said nothing, but he felt the cold rage, the contempt.

A man and several women walked upto him, carrying their heads in their hands.

They deposited their burdens in front of him before collapsing. The black eyes were fixed on him, and they bespoke agony, despair, and distaste.

Vajra was shocked to find that he didn’t feel anything looking at the severed heads of his family.

“Traitor,” they whispered with unmoving lips. They spoke in Raudra, as they had in life. “Coward.” “You abandoned your family, and fled your home.” “There is no place for you among us anymore.” “You will die as you have lived. Alone and afraid.” “It would have been better if you’d died with us!” “Why did you have to leave, my child? Weren’t you happy with us?”

That question threw him off. Hadn’t he been happy? Hadn’t he loved his family with all his heart? Then why could he feel nothing for them? Was it because… yes. It had to be.

He really was garbage.

The ground under him split, and the dead of Uphrades returned with their grasping dead fingers. They bit his legs with mouths that emitted more smoke than an industrial chimney.

He woke up with a howl.

*

[residentdormouse]

hi! this is a sign to talk about glen bateman. tell me about your headcanons, or explain your favorite scenes, or just gush about how great he is! whatever you have to say, i want to hear it. :)

Open Floor to talk about Glen?

Are you sure about that?

Eh, doesn’t matter. Too Late. No take backs; already off…

Going to have to do Headcanons. Favorite scene? All of them. Gushing? Would never end and would drift off into incoherent screeching. This is me controlling myself...

So going off of the 2020 version, because let’s face it, that’s the one that hooked me, (Goddamn it, Kinnear, I blame you…) Glen sees a future image of Fran in his dream. He doesn’t know who this is. It means nothing to him. Hell, Mother Abagail was just ‘some lady from a commercial’; no reason this woman would be any different. Figment of his imagination. His mind working around a (family) life he had opted out of long ago.

(Kids? Hard pass.)

But then Stu comes, and everything hits. Mother Abagail. Fran. Just what this means.

He is somehow doing impossible things. Things he would have discredited only a month prior. He wasn’t lying when he was giving his speech to Harold; he was (is) a man of science. He believed what could be seen. What could be proven. He married a physicist for fucks sake. “Hard science.” Maybe this stuff could exist, but he sure as shit wasn’t taking it on blind faith. Give him something, or get the hell out of here.

(And it’s dream prophesies with the steel chair…)

So now for things that aren’t explicitly stated. Headcanon.

In light of this revelation, Glen would be left to wonder what else could have been ‘more’. Mother Abagail was the “most vivid dream” he ever had, but Fran’s must have been pretty damn vivid to paint what he did. What else had he dreamt that had a deeper meaning? Places? Events? Maybe it was an image leading him to a paint spot that put him on the path to run into Stu? Or a trip out that would have brought Kojak to him? Potentially even before that…

I imagine he had quite a few nights on the road lost in thought over this. Because, that’s what Glen does, thinks. Comes up with theories.

It is very probable that he’s seen a few things he naturally passed up as coincidence. The world ending up like this, society causing its own downfall, that didn’t surprise him. Pretty sure, he knew something like this would happen. But was that from his studies of humanity, or because he already had vague notions in his head of this outcome.

(Both? I don't know...)

With no proof, a dream of destruction like this would have just been a nightmare. With knowledge now, it could have been preparation. Along those lines, did he know his wife would pass early? So much loss, did it subconsciously affect his decision about kids? About his future path? Maybe not, but maybe…

And its possible this wasn’t all just in the past either. In this version, Glen recommends sending Tom as a spy, because he thinks he could do it. But Glen’s interaction with Tom - limited, at best. I’m sure there’s moments that wouldn’t have been screen worthy, there’s been a fair passage of time here, but nominations were coming from groups in. Fran’s group had Dayna. Larry had Judge Farris. Tom was with Nick. Why was Glen the one to bring it up? I think he might have seen something that led him to feel more confident in this recommendation. I think he had a feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Tom would make it out.

(Even though he desperately wanted somebody to say anybody else.)

I don’t know, this could be completely off base, but these are things I think about. Repeatedly. Because this damn character will not leave my mind. And hey, worse things to think about, am I right?

Glen Bateman > Real Life Bullshit.

Sign me up for the Glen show, all day every day.

[ferinehuntress]

　⊰ ⸻ ⊱　Blood seeped from her scratch marks against her waist, but nothing that would hurt her like the stab wound. It brought her a small sense of clarity, feeling the brush of a hand against her back that didn't belong to her two mother figures. The Hallucinations slowly faded after the course of the shimmer moved through her system and her reactions became quiet. Caitlyn sat back down in the chair, staring at her hands. They were gone and the tears fell from her eyes. But her ocean blue eyes hardened, a cold grasp against her face as she backed out of the chair. She said nothing to Vi at first, as her hand curled into a fist.

It was unclear if it was the shimmer that heightened Caitlyn's aggression, or perhaps being in Zaun this long that her feral nature reached a peak of snarls. Her hand brushed up against Vi's back before moving toward the group of blood-soaked enemies. Her hand reached back and hit one of them across the face which woke them up.

The angry face came out, but Caitlyn's eyes pierced through them and held nothing but cold silence as she crouched down. "Who do you work for?" Caitlyn spoke calmly, too calm, as she reached down and picked up her blade that had been dropped. The man just laughed and sat in silence. Caitlyn flipped the blade in her hand the Damascus steel shimmering in the neon lights of The Last Drop. "You know, I am asking nicely. You seem to not understand the gravity of the situation you have stumbled into," Caitlyn said as she tapped the knife down against the ground. "First, you're the one who stabbed me. I remember your face, I heard what you said. I'll get big money for that one's head, if not from the loose cannon, from the chem baron of the northern reach," Caitlyn spoke as she picked up the blade and placed it under his chin.

"That was your first mistake, was stabbing me. And I'm not the one you have to worry about," Caitlyn spoke as she moved her blade away. "Your second mistake was coming into the Last Drop. I don't think the Barkeep likes the disruption to her property. You are lucky you didn't break the door," She rested her arms against her knees. "Your third mistake was thinking you could play this game against me. Not a smart move, bold, but not smart," Caitlyn declared, as she reached for his jacket.

"See, you don't have to tell me anything, you already told me everything I need to know," Caitlyn said, as she grabbed what she needed from his jacket pocket and took a step back.

"I can't promise you'll live, it's not my choice to make. Theirs consequences for your actions, and right now, I'm in the perfect right to kill you," She leaned over, placed her hands on her knees, and stared down at him with icy eyes and narrowed. "I bet you if you don't die here, your Chem Baron is going to have your head, and maybe that's a worse death than the one you get here," After her talk she walked away from them, allowing Vi to decide if she wanted to beat him to a pulp or throw him out. She sat down back at the counter, her cold mask still one in the presence of the bumbling idiots.

The hallucinations never get any easier. This was a thought that Vi regarded Caitlyn with as she heard the detective mumbling names and whispering sorrowful apologies. The mercenary's fury was only supplied with more fuel to burn the more she hears the hushed worries of her former partner. This rage was directed towards the three she now had tied up, bringing her attention to the one who was awake. The man glared up at her, and Vi's burning hot gaze leveled back at him. He spit at her, which she easily side stepped. This bastard bit her shoulder.

Vi didn't even question him. No, the moment he showed that he was conscious, awake, he made a grave error. She cupped the back of his head and slammed his fist into him again and again. Into his chest, his stomach, his face, until he was puking blood and spitting teeth. Her shoulders shook with unrestrained anger, watching him slump out of her grasp and fall forward, held only by the chair and the ropes. Drool and blood mixed as it dripped from his lips, and Vi watched with quiet anger as it splattered on her floor. She should beat him again for that. The shorter woman shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, pulling herself up. Swiping the blood against her shirt, she walked over to Caitlyn and sat down next to the woman who was now hunched over, whispering indecipherably. Vi pulled a bottle of scotch free from the countertop and popped the bottle, drinking straight from the Bilgewater export's neck. The hardened mercenary relishes the burn as it slips down, her eyes stinging as she chugs the sting. The glass bottom hits the counter as Vi places it down, and she brings her hand to Caitlyn's back, hesitantly resting her blood soaked bandaged hand against her shoulder blade.

She says nothing, letting the hallucinations wash over Caitlyn as the Shimmer courses through her system. Vi will be a physical comfort if needed, but nothing more. She's not sure which will happen first-- if Caitlyn will recover from the crippling hallucinations, or if another thug will awaken.. And Vi didn't promise to be so gentle with the latter.

[jaskwritesthings]

cause the brainrot is real and i'm a sucker for a kid fic here's some more 'i'll never write it but bOY does it live rent free in my mind 24/7'

slutting it up all around hawkins, looking for the one has its consequences and steve harrington gets the call one day that the condom failed and he's about to be a father. it's not ideal, it's not a fairytale by any stretch, there's really no chemistry between them and it wasn't a memorable night for either of them, its awkward and stilted but they agree to work something out and be civil and kind cause neither of them have the best parents and they don't want the cycle to continue. so a slightly rocky friendship it is. and it's good, it's weird but it's good and there's plans and shit that would make nancy proud of him

and then the luck of hawkins strikes and she's gone, complications during childbirth, not common but just uncommon enough to be unlucky and isn't that just the fate of anybody who dares to hope for something good in this town.

so now there's a baby, a sweet innocent baby boy and no mother and steve is floundering like he just got tossed in the deep end for the first time and worse, her parents want nothing to do with it. it they call their grandson like he's a terrible piece of furniture they inherited and not the child of their daughter. a bad memory they say, not their problem they say and they wash their hands of it. and his parents are the same, it's all about reputation they say, appearances they say. they leave unsubtle adoption pamphlets lying around. but steve says fuck that, his life hasn't been about reputation and appearence for years now, not since barb died alone in his pool and nancy took him down a peg and monsters crawled out of the byers walls and he started giving a shit about the local nerdy pre-teen population.

so steve chooses his kid and winds up with a duffel full of clothes and a car that's thankfully in his name and a slammed door in his face and no son of mine ringing in his ears.

he's alone, except he's really not. he's steve harrington, babysitter supreme and there's a whole line of mother's who offer up their couches and spare rooms to him without hesitation. mrs henderson doesn't think twice about bringing steve into her home and her arms for one of her signature back breaking hugs. joyce helps him pick up what he needs from the store and gives him the employee discount with a wink. mrs wheeler teaches him what to do cause holly's not yet old enough that the old instincts have faded and she still has some baby books tucked away. lucas' mum is an estate agent and helps him find something in his tiny budget, he's pretty sure he shouldn't be able to afford anything in hawkins let alone one of the trailers but she makes it work and steve figures out where lucas and erica get the steel in their spines from.

his savings go with the snap of a finger but he's the proud owner of the cheapest trailer in the park, the one with enough holes in it to make him worry about the winter months before it hits, and the cheapest necessities possible but it's still comes up short but steve can survive in a sleeping bag on a arm chair that doesn't so much recline as it does break every time your pull the lever. everything he owns is an offering from someone's garage and the wonky wallpaper and lumpy paint is thanks to the kids helping decorate and plug as many of the rusted holes as they can find. It's not much but it's the first real home he can say he's ever had and it was made by those he loves and who love him.

family video doesn't pay enough, doesn't have enough hours to cover a newborn and a new home with all the necessities so he winds up at the plant. and it's shit, everybody knows he's 'harrington's boy' and everybody hates his father so they hate him. every two person job is suddenly a one man show and it's his show and the audience is heckling and booing him and steve doesn't fight back. because he gets it, he was exactly what they think he is once upon a time and he really hasn't paid for those crimes so he takes the licks and keeps his head down and does the work. and one lunch its dry crackers and cold coffee because diapers and a babysitter really cut into the tiny budget and steve won't let his kid starve or suffer with some subpar babysitter and someone starts poking fun at how his mother didn't pack him his lunch and steve tries to ignore them, keep his head down and just power through but then they're talking about his dad and the shit he's pulled around town and how much they hate him and hate steve by proxy and steve tells them to get in line behind him because fuck he hates his dad more than some no name plant worker with a grudge and then its all on the table, the newborn and the disownment and now there's pity in their eyes and

and then there's an apple dropped at his elbow and eddie's uncle in sliding onto the bench next to him asking if his kid is sleeping through the night yet and suddenly the table is full of guys commiserating over sleepless nights and how much everything costs and there's half a sandwich and a cookie and some carrot sticks appearing in front of steve and he keeps his head down to ignore the blur in his vision and nobody comments on the shake of his shoulders and wayne munson has an arm around his shoulder and a firm but comforting steadying grip on his arm.

when steve gets home that night it's not long before there's a knock at the door and its eddie, discount babysitting services just for you big boy and there's a bag of diapers and formula and its not much but its what eddie and his uncle could spare and its sweet and he's tired and suddenly he's hugging eddie who just lets him, holds him tight through it.

and so eddie quickly becomes a permanent fixture in his drafty trailer, caring for steve's kid while steve busts his ass at the plant to make ends meet. soon enough it's basically steve and eddie's home because eddie's clothes are over the third hand armchair that has no stuffing and his tapes are half opened next to the stereo and his toothbrush is next to steve's and steve can hear him making baby talk while he showers and steve keeps stepping on d4's from when eddie host's the party's d&d campaign and his chicken scratch handwriting says they need more bread and when steve says 'i'm home' eddie greets him with 'welcome home honey' and its stupid jokes about being a kept woman that force a breathy laugh from steve because there's an ache forming in his chest that throbs when eddie leaves and his fingers twitch to reach out and beg him to stay, stay forever.

but steve isn't going to do anything about it cause eddie's his friend, eddie watches his kid for him and tucks the bills he hides in eddie's jacket back into his wallet cause steve needs them more than eddie does and eddie sits with him at night watching movies that neither of them are really paying attention too and listens as he talks about all the fucked up shit they've been through. eddie who holds out the beer bottle or the joint and gets it. truly gets all of it cause he's been there too and steve can't help the guilt he feels about how glad he is that eddie went through it too, he shouldn't have had to but boy is steve glad he did and isn't that a terrible thought that keeps him up at night sometimes but it doesn't stop the relief of having eddie there beside him. they talk and they laugh and when shit gets bad and the shakes set in, its eddie's hand in his or his fingers massaging the back of steve's neck or their foreheads pushed together almost painfully as they remind each other they're here, they're alive and god damn does steve need eddie. he needs his friend and he just can't risk it all on wanting more when what they have is so damned important already.

but of course, hawkins luck strikes again. and one night they're watching alien again and eddie saunters in from the makeshift nursery that's slowly but surely evolving into a decent kids room and throws himself down next to steve, practically falling on top of him his back curled into steve's chest like he was made to fit right there and with his usual tired but happy smile and tells him the little one is finally down and he looks up at steve with blue-black bags under his eyes and a ridiculously pastel pink cloth over the shoulder of his band shirt and his hair's tied up in one of nancy's scrunchies because his hair ties disappear into the void which they make jokes about vecna and the upside down stealing everybody's left sock from the laundromat and all the hair ties and-

and steve kisses him. its light, its chaste, it's an awkward angle the burns the muscle in his neck to hold and eddie's mouth is slack in shock and oh shit oh shit oh shit

steve practically catapults eddie off of him and launches himself across the room already apologising and panicking. his breath coming too quick and sharp and oh god how the fuck could he ruined one of the few good things in his life? just like that. he's half expecting the door for the trailer to slam shut behind eddie… but it doesn't. cause eddie is there, in his space, hand on his chest, instructing him on how to breathe and he does. steve follows eddie's orders so easily now whether it's child care or breathing, he does what eddie tells him to do.

when he's breathing is steady once again, when the tears are cold on his skin, drying in the humidity of the trailer, eddie kisses him back. sweet and soft and a little hesitant as though he's worried it won't be welcome but steve wraps his arms around eddie and tilts his head just so and there, much better, perfect even.

[bonny-kookoo]

Under Your Skin (JJK x Reader) | 🔞

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Goth/Punk!Jeon Jungkook x Secretary!Shy!Reader

Genre: Tattoo artist!AU, Badboy x Sweetgirl AU, Idk what else

Tags/Warnings: Ultimate goodboy Kook, He looks grr but is actually sweet, shy reader, smol reader, Kookers is WHIPPED, Also a tease, Dom!Jungkook because how could I not, Sub!Reader, Babygirl!Reader, Its not heavy on the whole ddlg-stuff but yeah they be having some vibes y'know, don't come @ me don't I'm not forcing you to read it lol, anyways moving on, because smut, yes I mean it's my content, and yall nasty admit it, slight hair pulling, manhandling also only a little, oral (f & m receiving), praising, mentions of emotional and physical insecurities, but Kook be supportive so we good, back to the nasty, body worship yes pls, biting, fingering, because why not, protected sex because we keep it clean in this household, light-hearted sex, kook being a romantic goof, yeah I think thats it?

Summary: Jungkook looks like absolute trouble; like one wrong look could set him off, and turn him into an absolute murderer. But oh well, ever heard the phrase 'Never judge a book by its cover'?

A/N: you might have noticed me only putting one emoji up top. I have decided to from now on only mark my adult fics with emojis (which is basically almost every single one lets be real). Also; stop reading my fucking fics if any of the tagged/warned things make you uncomfortable. I'm tired of everyone clowning in my inbox telling me how disgusting ddlg/smut content is. You can't even tell me you 'read it by accident' because that's why I'm always putting the cut underneath my fics =) so pls go finish preschool and then we can maybe shake hands. Maybe not. Covid and all. Yeah.

On the outside, Jeon Jungkook seems like absolute trouble.

He's working at a tattoo and piercing studio, dresses in all black, clattering chains and heavy boots always alerting everyone around of his presence. His long black hair is never truly tamed, his nails painted black, and his face expressionless most of the time. He's a talented artist and well trained piercer, always visiting conventions to keep up with the newest trends, styles, and equipment there is. He takes his job seriously- and is proud of it, knowing that he had proven his family wrong by now. They had been worried about him; especially his mother had scolded him that he shouldn't throw his time away trying to make it in a world of art many had already failed. But last year, he had finally invited them over to his rather nice apartment, showing them that he was living a good life, with nothing to really worry about.

Jungkook had made it.

Well, not quite.

Because as of currently, Jungkook had a new mission, a new goal.

"Ah, Jungkook!" You say, eyes sparkling as you smile at him when he enters the shop he works at. You had recently started to work there as well, since Taehyung was absolute shit at keeping files in order and track of schedules. You hadn't applied for the job specifically, that's at least what his coworker had told him- he had known you prior already, and was aware that you had wanted a change these days.

And Jungkook had been painfully crushing on you ever since you started.

"Your schedule for the week is already here- I uhm.. didn't put it on your desk cause, I didn't want to intrude your space and all.." You say, giving him a small black booklet where you always noted down his appointments. He appreciated it a lot- knowing how much of a hassle it could be to move dates back and forth just to somehow make it fit. You always made sure that he had enough time in between multiple daily pieces in case something took longer or less so you could make sure to be able to move things accordingly. You didn't want him to get overworked, you had said. He had smiled.

"Thanks- and you can go inside, no problem." He says, and you nod. "I know you don't make a mess, like someone else here." He says, hinting at Namjoon, who was known to be quite clumsy- yet a mastermind when it came to designing pieces he struggled with. Jungkook stayed at your front desk for a bit, making you tilt your head a bit, as you tried not to stare. He always took so much care of himself, you would have had to be blind not to see how attractive he actually was. But then again, you didn't get your hopes up- after all, he was nice to almost everyone around. "You've never been in there, right?" He asks, and you shake your head. You haven't been in his space at all- too scared to invade his privacy and making him upset in the process. "I mean- you got time right now? I can show you around." He casually tells you, and you look at your computer screen in front of you. Everything had been filed for today- so you probably had a bit of time to spare.

"Sure." You said, taking your phone and standing up from your chair, making sure to lock the pc so no one would accidentally make a mess out of your tabs. Or worse; close them. God knows all hell would break loose.

Jungkook had to really force himself not to let out any noise as you walked next to him.

You were so tiny next to him.

He wasn't that tall to be honest- with Namjoon and Taehyung both taller than him, he knew he was average at best. And for the longest time, he'd had a thing for tall girls, all elegant and confident. He still liked their aesthetic, yes- but now that he spotted you, he could really see the appeal of having a shorter significant other.

You were so cute.

You carefully stepped inside when Jungkook lifted the curtain that was used instead of a door, surprised to see how.. organized everything was. A little.. off- some things seemed to be randomly put somewhere, but in general, it seemed like everything had their proper spot. "I like to have it like this." He comments, and you nod your head to that, finally spotting his tattoo-gun. It was made out of purple steel- polished, and changing its hue depending on how you looked at it. It was absolutely beautiful, even though you had a rather limited understanding of these things. "Was a present from Taehyung last year." Jungkook says, sitting down on his chair. "I never asked- are you inked at all?" He asks, leaning backwards as you stand there a little awkwardly. "You can sit down somewhere, don't be so tense." He chuckles, and you look around, before you sit on the stretcher across from him. You shake your head, and Jungkook isn't surprised. Your pink converse sway back and forth as you sit on the stretcher, legs too short to reach the floor anymore as you rest your hands underneath your thighs; hem of your dress revealing more of them than he can usually see.

"I don't have any tattoos yet, but I've been talking to Namjoon about it." You said, and Jungkooks saliva tastes a little bitter at that. He doesn't want to pout or give away that it's bugging him at all that you're not talking to him about it- but he fails miserably. "Namjoon actually said I should talk to you about it, since the style I want fits you best." You say, and he can't hide his smile, bunny teeth on full display as he leans forward a bit.

"You'd let me tattoo you?" He asks, and you shrug, before nodding. "What do you have in Mind?" He instantly asks, not even bothering to hide his excitement.

If only you knew that it's because of you; and not just because he's gonna be the first to ink you.

You've both agreed on a design you want, and Jungkook can't deny that he thinks it's absolutely perfect on you.

"Are you scared?" Jungkook asks you as he prepares everything, his sweater's sleeves rolled up, revealing his own body art to you, as well as some bracelets; one that you recognize as the wooden-bead bracelet you had gifted him last year for his birthday. It was weird to see him wear it.

"I.. no. Just nervous." You say. "I'm worried I might cry and make a fool out of myself." You say with a laugh, and Jungkook chuckles, placing a reassuring and warm hand on your upper arm.

"It's fine. I've seen grown man cry like kids on this stretcher before." He casually says. "Don't worry; I won't think any less of you just because of some tears." He says with a smile, and you nod, turning your head to look at his room's walls instead; covered in drawings, sketches, and pictures of finished works he was most proud of. "Do you want anything to hold onto?" He asks, as he starts to shave the skin of your thigh to make sure he can work as best as possible. He's so into his work, so concentrated on doing everything perfect, that he doesn't even take much into account that you're laying in only your panties and oversized sweater; skirt neatly placed on a chair in the corner of the room, to get it out of the way.

"It's fine" You mumble, although you really want to. So instead you curl your fingers around the fabric of your sweater- something that doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, who decides not to comment on it for now. He simply throws the one-time razor away as well as the tissues used to clean your skin, before he carefully places the tracing paper onto where he seems fit.

"I think it would look great right here." He says lowly, carefully removing the paper to reveal the lines he's gonna trace with his gun in a few minutes. "You wanna look at it again?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Alright." He says, before he gets up and walks out his room; only to return with your small squishy and round unicorn plush that's usually sitting on your desk. "To hold onto." He winks, and you chuckle at that.

Jungkook really pays attention.

"So, Taehyung has told me you're a bit younger than me." Jungkook says to start casual chit-chat, trying to help your nervousness as his tattoo-gun starts to buzz to live. "Only a Year if I remember correctly." He says, and you nod.

"Yeah.." You say, and can't hide your dissapoinment flooding your voice. Jungkook, until now, only had relationships with girls older than him. He's even said before that he just likes having someone older than him around- which made you even more nervous around him.

"You sound upset about that." He chuckles, and gently holds onto your thigh as you jump a bit when he first presses the tip of the gun down. "Sorry. I'll be gentle." He lowly tells you, and you swallow.

Not the time Y/N, not the time.

"Uhm.." You say, fingers digging into the squishy plush in your hands. "I.. there's someone I like, but he.. only likes older girls, so.." You say, and Jungkook glances at you. You're already interested in someone? He continues to trace the lines, wiping afterwards to get the excess ink and blood off. "But I mean, then again I don't think I have a chance with him anyways." You chuckle, and Jungkook can't help but shake his head. Even if you're interested in someone else, he shouldn't let you have thoughts like that.

"Highly doubt that." He says. "If he doesn't see you, he's blind." He tells you, and you giggle, glad that he's able to make you feel a bit better about everything. "I'm serious." He says, and you nod at that, watching his inked arm flex every now and then as he draws with absolute concentration; black facemask hiding half of his face. You can see the way his eyebrows furrow, eyes fixated on his work as he moves with absolute routine. "Do I know the guy?" He casually asks, before he dips the tip of his gun in the tiny pot of ink again.

You don't know what to say.

He looks at you for a second, and decides not to dig. "You don't have to tell me. Sorry if I seemed nosy; didn't mean to." He apologizes, and you shake your head to let him know its fine. It's quiet for a moment afterwards, only the buzzing of his gun and your occasional whine of pain. "Sorry; it'll hurt a bit more now since I'm getting close to your inner thigh- that's always a little more sensitive." He comments, and you really hope he doesn't pay much attention to your panties.

When you can see his eyes stick to them for a second, you really want to just disappear.

He doesn't comment on it though. What is he suppsosed to say? He really doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, and considering that you already have a crush on someone else, he doesn't want to get himself in too deep as well. He simply works away, finally finishing the thin and delicate outlines of your piece- the first step, before he will see you again for color and shading. He finally connects the last line, and doesn't think twice about what he says next.

"Good girl."

It takes a second that feels way too long for the both of you to register the words, and Jungkook quickly occupies himself with turning off his gun and cleaning up your skin and his workspace to get the awkwardness out of his room. You try to instantly stand up, but his palm holds onto your leg- silently ordering you to stay put, which you do. He rubs something over the piece, before he gently lifts your leg to wrap it. "I'll give you a bottle of lotion for it. Leave that bandage on for.. I'd say until tomorrow morning at least. Afterwards, apply the lotion everyday to help it heal properly." He lectures you with a gentle voice, before letting you sit up.

"Thanks." You say, grinning eagerly at the now hidden artwork on your leg. Jungkook chuckles.

"We're not done yet, but I'll take it." He says. "I uh.." He starts, as you jump off the stretcher and go to take on your skirt. "uhm, you up for some fast food?" He asks, a bit hurried, before he can chicken out again. And he hates himself for a moment, because you had literally told him just half an hour before that you already had interest in someone else. But maybe you were too innocent to get his innuendo, maybe you wouldn't get that he was asking you on a date-

"Like a date?" You ask, and he really wants to hit himself.

"I mean, if you want it to be?" He says, swallowing as he averts his gaze, a sight very weird. His hand runs through his hair, chain around his neck and piercings on his ears clattering against each other and making sounds as he moves, his combat boots nervously tapping the floor a little. "It doesn't have to be.. I know you're already-"

"I'd love to." You say however, now fully dressed again, as you grin with your bright sparkling eyes.

And Jungkook feels like he's won the lottery.

It's your third time laying on Jungkooks' stretcher like this- waiting for him to work on your art, finishing it today. But the energy is different.

Things are different between you two in general.

After some casual movie dates and rounds of overwatch, Jungkook had admitted to you that he had a crush. It was rushed, while he was driving, so he didn't have to look at you and instantly get hit by your reaction. But then, you had told him that you felt the same- and the two of you agreed to let things process from then on. Whatever would happen; you would let happen.

And Jungkook was starting to flirt with you.

It was a little weird to get close to him like that. While everyone seeing you two was a little taken aback- with your dresses and skirts, and colorful and almost childish personality, he seemed like the absolute opposite- quiet, all dark and dangerous while carrying your milkshake so you could put your phone away into your purse.

"Alright doll, let's finish this." He said with newfound enthusiasm, winking at you as you laughed at his demeanor.

"You seemed more excited than me!" You say, and he chuckles. "You're really desperate to have me gone?" You say in a playfully upset tone, and he simply huffs out a breath, before cockily looking at you for a second.

"That's not true." He says. "I'd just rather have you laid out somewhere else than in my studio, that's all." He casually says, and you shut your mouth at that, cheeks red as he laughs at your cute display of embarrassment. He routinely prepares your skin, before he starts his gun. "Too much?" He asks, and you know he's not talking about the pressure of his ink filled gun on your skin.

"No-" You start, and he now seriously speaks to you, voice a bit muffled through his facemask.

"Please tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable." He says. "You're not upsetting me if you tell me I'm going to far." He says, and you nod, knowing that he now needs a proper answer. Jungkook is way more attentive and romantic than people may think he is. He's a gentleman pulled out of a dictionary- careful and gentle with you, and always keen on getting to know you for you, and not for the person you like to portray yourself as. He wants to know what you like, what you don't like, what you dream of, and what you hate about yourself.

"Don't worry- I will." You say, watching him work on your skin. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums a reply to let you know he's listening. "Is it okay if I sleep?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Didn't I tell you not to stay up for too long before I left yesterday?" He teasingly retorts back to you, and you pout at him- with no hard feelings behind it. He had left last night after eating with you for dinner at your place; and he did indeed tell you to go to sleep a little earlier since he knew you would have an early shift today, opening up the store. "I'm really tempted to say no." He says, eyes now on your skin again as he dips the tip of his gun in a pot of color. "You know, as punishment for not listening." He mumbles, and you almost don't catch it.

Almost.

"Jungkook?" Taehyung stands in his doorway, finally finding him sitting at his desk. "Oh?" He says in a surprised tone, spotting your sleeping figure on his coworkers lap- head resting against the inside of his shoulder, with your arms around his middle.

"Yeah?" Jungkook asks, not at all shy or fazed by the fact that Taehyung is looking at you. "What is it?" He asks again, as Taehyung smiles, giving the younger man his small booklet that you usually give him every morning.

"Nothing left for today." He said. "Just wanted to tell you good work and send you home." The older one explains, zipping up his own jacket. "Guess she'll be coming with you?" He asks teasingly, but Jungkook doesn't bite the bait at all.

"Yeah. Don't burn the house down while we're gone, you two. " He says, slipping the booklet into his pocket before he pats your back. "Come on doll, let's go home." He tells you, waking you up at least enough to put on your shoes and lead you out the store to his car.

He buckles your seatbelt as the engine comes alive, radio playing its tune softly in the background as he drives you home. "You awake doll?" He asks, and you nod your head, turning towards him with barely open eyes. "You haven't had anything proper to eat today, so I'll make us some ramen at my place, ok?" He asks, and you nod, before your eyebrows scrunch up. "What is it?" He chuckles, and you now grow more awake.

"Wait- but if we eat at yours then you're gonna have to drive me home late." You say, and he shrugs. "Noo, Kook, what if you crash the car because you're sleepy?" You tell him with a whine, genuinely concerned for him, as he has the audacity to laugh. "Kookie, it's not funny I swear to god-!" You say, and he apologizes.

"I mean." He starts, casually dropping what he had wanted to ask you for a couple of weeks now. "You could always just stay over." He tells you, and you look at him, meeting his gaze at the red light he stops at, his head turned towards you for a moment until the lights turn green again.

"We.. would have to stop at mine so I could get some stuff though.." You mumble, and Jungkook looks at you with newfound enthusiasm, setting his turning lights to enter a different road.

It's in a parking lot that you first unintentionally confront him with your biggest insecurities and flaws.

You've tripped over a stray stone you didn't see laying on the ground, leading you to fall onto your hands and scraping your knees open. Just like any normal human being, you dust yourself off, instantly hoping that Jungkook inside the shop hadn't seen you fail at something so basic as walking. You had carried some of the items you two had bought into the car while also returning the shopping cart while he had payed- and by the look on his face, he had definitely seen you.

He wasn't laughing, or hiding his grin, or anything alike. He looked concerned, taking his card back from the cashier before walking out the store, jogging towards you, who sat in the open trunk, ready to get laughed at. Even though somewhere deep in your mind you didn't think he would, past experiences had led to you now having that fear, no matter with whom. "Are you okay?" Jungkook asks, looking at you as he squats down to take a look at your bleeding knees. He reaches into one of the shopping bags, taking out a water bottle and a pack of tissues, before he wets it, one hand holding your leg by the backside of your knee, while the other carefully cleans the small wound. "You gotta be careful Baby." He chuckles a little- nothing like the laughter you had expected.

"I'm fine." You say, not looking up at him.

"It's okay to cry, you know?" He says, and you stay quiet, trying not to breathe too much as you desperately hold them back. "I won't laugh." He promises, deciding not to look at you as to give you a bit more space.

"People will stare though.." You quietly murmur towards him, and he finishes his job, before he goes to throw the now used tissue away in a nearby trashcan. When he returns, he's taking his jacket off, the item way too large on your form as he throws it over you, pulling the hood up as you look at him for the first time since your little accident, eyes sparkling with unshed tears when he pulls the sides of the hood towards him a little. "There." He says, a reassuring smile on his face. "Now no one can see you but me." He tells you. "And I will never, ever, laugh at you." He promises, and pulls your head against his chest, as you start to let go.

He really hates to see you cry- but he's glad that you're letting him in enough to let him see you this way.

Jungkook is frustrated.

He tries not to really show it, because he doesn't want to blow up in your face like that, but then again, you're kind of the reason he feels the way he does. Because even though he thought you both had a genuine connection, you're yet to let him touch you.

And not just hugging and holding hands.

It's not that he's impatient- its because he knows you, at one point, wanted him that way as well. But something happened, something he didn't notice, that made you take ten steps backwards from him. You seemed to be retreating, giving up, and he has no idea what he had done to make you react that way.

As far as he knows, he had done everything right.

But then he sees them; the messages sent back and forth between you and Hana, a returning customer at the shop- well known to flirt with everyone around here. Jungkook himself had actually considered hooking up with her once a year back, simply to make her shut up, but then again, he wasn't into one-night-stands. And she had never truly been his type anyways.

'Ah yeah, just re-schedule that then, I don't mind at all! Just make sure we have enough time together, since we haven't had time to catch up on things recently, if you know what I mean.' She had sent, a week ago; exactly the timeframe you had started to distance yourself. He knew he shouldn't look into it, but then again- this was his business too. He had the right to know.

'Sure? I can give you an appointment at around 4 PM then, so you'll be the last one. Would that be okay with you? Again, sorry for re-scheduling on such short notice.' You had written, and Jungkook can't decide if you had been oblivious to her implication (which was bullshit), or if you were simply too polite to call her out. But it's the next messages that make him fume.

'Again, no troubles. As I said, I only care that its Jungkookie, I don't really trust anyone else with my body that way ;). 4 PM is perfect, you guys still close at around 6 PM right? He's got skilled hands, I'm sure we don't need much more time, if you know what I mean.' she has the audacity to write.

But its your answer that makes him fume.

'Good to know.'

"Jungkook?" You say, looking at the screen, as you suddenly dash forwards, trying to shut the screen off- as if that would make any difference. But he catches your wrist with ease, holding it in his palm as he looks at you.

"Do you think I'm sleeping with her?" He asks, and you try to escape his grasp; and he lets you, staying at your workspace however as he keeps you locked in place with his gaze. "Y/N." He urges, making you look away from him.

"It's none of my business." You say, shrugging. "I.. No, it's-" You start, but he cuts you off.

"No, finish that sentence. 'No' what?" He says, and you've never heard him talk like that.

"I just.. didn't think you'd.. do that." You meekly say, murmuring it as he tilts your head gently upwards to look at him; his face now more relaxed as he softly smiles.

"That's good that you think that way." He tells you. "Because I don't do that at all." He says. "She likes to start drama all the time- was probably bitter I turned her down so much. You know what?" He suddenly says, turning towards the screen as he clicks to change the account, opening his own Inbox as he starts to write an E-Mail.

'Appointment is cancelled, be glad I'm not suing you for defamation. JK.'

"Jungkook-" You say, trying to get him not to send it- but it's already gone. "Why would you do that? Just because I misunderstood?" You whine, and he chuckles, shutting down the system as he looks at the clock, signaling that it's closing time.

"No." He says. "But because I don't want her around anyways, and this gives me a proper reason." He tells you, ruffling your hair as he looks at you. "You coming?" He asks, and you nod, taking your bag and coat before following him out the shop.

In the car, you finally speak up. "Jungkook?" You ask, and he hums out a reply. "Do you.. think I'm attractive?" You ask, and he clears his throat at the unexpected question.

"I- what?" He asks, unsure what you mean.

"Just.. Namjoon said, that he thinks you.. see me as a friend only? Because I'm nothing like the girls you dated before.. If I misunderstood something here then Oh my god-" You start to ramble, and Jungkook laughs suddenly.

"You think I'm not into you?" He asks, and you shrug. "Of course I want to fuck you doll." He casually comments, and you can't help but feel your cheeks redden. "Wait- did you really think I didn't?" He asks, face showing genuine horror as he looks over at you.

"I mean.. you never really initiated anything so I thought.." You started, and he groans out.

Thank god you're staying the night.

"Looks so pretty, does it?" He hums out, palm running over the tattoo on your thigh, delicate lines and well-placed shadings complimenting the colors perfectly. "You know why I love it most?" He starts, hand suddenly gripping the flesh for a moment, before he pulls you closer on his lap by the small of your back. "Because that's mine." He says, before he leans in, placing an open mouthed kiss against your pulse. "The ink that's under your skin, the design, the idea-" He mumbles against your skin. "And the body it's drawn on." You whine at his tone, dark and low, as he urges you back and forth on his clothed thigh- your panties suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Isn't it like that, baby?" He asks, and you nod, furiously, and he chuckles. "Hm, you seem out of breath baby.." He grins at you, like a predator.

"Jungkook.." You whine, not knowing what you're asking for.

He wordlessly moves, helping you lay down on his bed before he crawls over you, his lips instantly attached to the skin of your neck, hands helping you out of your dress wordlessly, as he can't help but let his gaze linger on your body for a moment. "I can't believe that-" He says, pulling off your overknee socks. "-you'd ever think of yourself anything less than perfect." He says, placing a gentle kiss to the colorful image now forever placed under your skin by his skilled hands. He continues to display his affection over your skin, wandering over your stomach up to your chest, where he playfully bites just above your breast. He struggles with the front of your bra for a second, unsure how to open the undergarment without breaking it, as you help a little; letting them spring free. But only for a moment.

Because in the next, he's got them in his hands, palms gently moving over them, feeling their softness as he groans. "You're so sweet." he comments, as he finally kisses your lips, smile interrupting him every now and then. "So soft." Another kiss. "So delicate." Another one. "And all mine, yeah?" He asks, and you nod, smiling as he grins back, the expression making him look so young and carefree you can't help but wonder how anyone could ever think he's a bad man.

He's anything but.

He's so careful touching you, so delicate in moving his palms over your skin, as if its the most divine thing he's ever felt. He's still smiling, as if in a trance, while he can't stop kissing you. Your hands move into his hair- way softer than you thought it would be, and he groans into your mouth at the feeling of your fingers running over his scalp.

There's no urgency in anything he does.

He slowly moves again, hands opening your legs for him as he sits back on his heels, playfully pulling you closer by the backs of your knees, making you giggle. "You sound so sweet baby." He tells you, innocently, as if he's not currently placing his hand onto your center, ring finger collecting your already leaking wetness before he spreads it, moving his thumb over your most sensitive bundle of nerves while his ring finger enters you slowly. You whine at the feeling, not enough to get you as riled up as you'd like to be. Also; this is the first time you're genuinely experiencing foreplay. You don't know what to do- and Jungkook seems to pick up on that. "You good?" He asks, and you nod.

"I.." You say, breathless as he tilts his head, smile still present on his lips. "What should I do?" You ask, as his eyes widen.

"You?" He wonders, before he stops for a moment. "Don't tell me- this is your first time?" He asks, now genuinely worried he might've gone too fast.

"No.." You admit. "But uhm.. no one's ever, like.. you know, what you're doing.." You say, and that's when it clicks for him.

What kind of guys did you date before him that never gave you any attention like this? He's upset by it, but also weirdly cheered on by that simple fact; it gives him even more reason to make sure you'll get the most out of it. "Ah, I see.." He humms out, letting another finger stretch your entrance for him. "..well, I'm not like that." He explains, before he moves, face now close to your center- and you're unsure what he's going to do. "Trust me." He says, mumbles out, before his tongue places itself flat onto your clit, licking painfully slow as you move your hands over your mouth, trying to keep your noises in. "nuh-uh baby." He scolds, free hand pulling yours away. "Let me hear you." He demands, before he places his mouth back where it was.

Your mind is completely blank at this moment, the only thing you can really concentrate on being Jungkook, working you up so quickly you feel dizzy. It's new, and it's a little weird- but it's more than anything you've ever experienced before. And it brings you towards your end so suddenly you suddenly gasp out, back arching off the mattress as you grab at the sheets below, one hand grasping for Jungkooks, who lets you ride out your high to its fullest. "So pretty." He comments after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling at your blissed out state.

"Kook-" You say, moving as you sit up, less shy now that your brain is still clouded by pleasure.

"Ah- you don't have to." He tells you, but you shake your head, and he lets you. He slips out of his clothes, finally bare, and you would've taken time to look at all the different pieces of art decorating his body- if it wasn't for his cock, red and ready in front of you. Usually, you would've let your insecurities and doubts get the best of you. But this was Jungkook. And you wanted to really believe that nothing you would do could ever be judged by him. So there was no hesitation as your hands reached out for him, gently moving, before you took him in, your lips wrapping themselves around his tip, before you moved downwards, fitting as much as you comfortably could. Meanwhile, Jungkook himself was steadying himself with one hand on the mattress, while the other was buried into your hair, his own head thrown back as he closed his eyes.

Of course he had fantasized about this every now and then; but he had never thought you'd actually be comfortable doing it. And even if- nothing he could've imagined would've ever compared to the real deal happening. There was something absolutely mindblowing about the way that you handled him, your sweet and pretty presence looking so divine doing such a sinful act with him. He had to pull you off by your hair, gently, because any more, and he would've been a goner. "G-Good god baby." He chuckles, pushing you a bit so you were on your back again, reaching for his bedside table to search for a condom. "I swear to god if I- HAH!" He tells you in victory, hands making quick work of opening the foil package and wrapping the safety over his length. "I swear I would've run out butt naked to buy one if I wouldn't have found this." He says with a grin, making you laugh.

"That's weird." You comment, and he chuckles, entering you slowly as to not hurt you, his breathing labored as he still kept the lighthearted energy going.

"You think?" He asks, and you nod, giggling as your eyes close, the feeling of him filling you up too good to keep them open. "Hm no." He said breathlessly. "Would've probably put on some pants maybe." He says, before he starts thrusting. "Doesn't matter if it means I'd get to fuck you." He says, and you giggle again.

"Kook!" You scold him, and he still continues to thrust into you, exhaling forcefully as he kisses your neck.

"What?" He whines high pitched as if to imitate you.

"Be serious!" You tell him, but can't help your own smile either.

"Oh, why though?" He says. "We're making love, not war baby." He whispers into your ear, and you still laugh at it.

"I can't believe you!" You complain playfully, moaning out when he suddenly thrusts with more force, obscene noises now interrupting you two as he picks up his pace, clenching his jaw.

"And-" He starts. "I can't believe how fucking good you feel." He presses out, hand now reaching between the two of you as he brings you towards an earth-shattering orgasm, making you mewl as you can feel yourself bursting. "Good girl!" He praises, watching as you squirt all over him, his own orgasm hitting him soon after as he grunts out, finally slowing down until he stills completely, his mouth attached to your neck to place gentle kisses and teasing bites near your pulse point.

"I love you." He mumbles out, and your eyes sting.

Because yeah, you love him- you absolutely do, but hearing it from him, hearing it in such an honest and warm-hearted tone, having this final proof of his own feelings towards you, makes you emotional. "Baby, why're you crying?" He chuckles out of breath, wiping your tears as you smile, and finally look at him with glossy eyes.

"Cause I love you too." You say. "So much."

And he can't help but grin at you.

You really are the sweetest thing.

You watch as Hana walks out of Taehyungs studio, arm wrapped up in clear foil as she walks towards your counter, pulling out her purse. "Taehyung agreed on 345." She says, until Taehyung yells another number out of his studio, making her eyes roll. She wasn't supposed to come back- but Taehyung had agreed to finish her piece at least. "Alright, here you go." She says, watching as you counted the money. "Does Jungkook work today?" She asks, and you nod. "I'm just gonna go say hi then. You can finish the receipt yeah?" She says overly sweet, and you're about to tell her that Jungkook doesn't want anyone entering without his permission, but he's already walking out his studio, black sweater and silver necklaces on full display as he walks towards you. "Jungkookie!" Hana exclaims, but her face drops almost chomically as she watches Jungkook walk up behind you, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder as he looks over it onto your screen.

"Oh, looks like I'm done for the day. You need anything Hana?" He asks innocently, one hand on your desk while the other rests on your chair behind your back.

"I- just wanted to apologize for uhm.. the emails. I didn't know you'd read them." She says, and you slowly close all programs, while Jungkooks humms out something.

"Yeah, I figured." He says, before he shakes his head. "As I said, I'm letting it go. No hard feelings." He says, shrugging, before he walks towards his studio again, stopping in his tracks for a second. "Ah, baby, can you text Jin-Hyung and ask him if we can come now? I'm actually starving I swear." He says, and you nod with red cheeks, pulling out your phone.

"Huh." Comes from Hana, as she takes the receipt from you. "I honestly.. would've never thought." She mumbles, before she simply leaves, without any more words.

Yeah. You would've honestly never thought either.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi.com/bonnykookoo. Thank you for reading.

[elidereads]

You Came For Me (NSFW Elriel Fanfic)

image source

Summary: The night after Azriel rescues Elain from Hybern Elain goes to his tent to make sure he's okay.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: This is my first fanfic. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she shivered remembering the things she was trying to forget, the feelings she wanted to scrub away. She couldn’t make herself trust that she was safe. She tried to focus on Nesta’s steady breathing and failed. Sounds that had once assured her of her safety now felt meaningless. Nesta had always been her safe haven, the only person who wouldn’t fail her or leave her. But the last time they had slept in this tent Elain learned that she was not safe. The cauldron could find her anywhere.

Not that it was Nesta’s fault, really she only had her own stupidity to blame. Her heart and mind warred with themselves, trying to decide what feeling made her cringe more, fear or shame. If she had allowed herself to see what everyone else saw, that Graysen now detested her, then she could not have been so easily lured. But last night she hadn’t wanted to accept that his affection could be anything but true. Even now a part of her brain defended him, reminding her that Graysen had been the one to lead her to the cauldron, is was the cauldron acting alone. She felt an internal embarrassment for continuing to defend Graysen to herself, that she allowed her stupid heart to create some hope that wasn’t there. She was pathetic.

Everyone in her village had grown up hearing terrifying stories of the Fae above the wall. She had always believed them to have godlike strength. Nothing could, or would, break them. Often she envied them. She was always the meekest of her sisters. Everyone assumed she lacked an opinion on anything, just doing whatever her sisters, mostly Nesta, wanted. In reality she lacked confidence in herself, she always told herself that letting her sisters lead made them happy, why should she push back. But she could imagine herself gaining everyone’s respect by becoming Fae or revealing some secret magic. Now, that secret dream made her feel even more pathetic. She had become Fae and had gained no one’s respect. She was still told what to do more often than she was asked her opinion. The lack of any transformation into the strong female she had imagined she truly was only added to her shame. No, even as Fae she was pathetic and boring. Perhaps Graysen had tired of her before her transformation, he just now had an easy excuse to end their engagement.

How many times did she need to suffer embarrassment in front of these people she barely knew? Starting with Graysen making the very public proclamation that he did not want her. Then, she made herself a further fool by wandering off and getting herself captured. In some ways it would’ve been easier if she had died in captivity. Then she could have been spared everyone’s pity that was so palpable she could almost see it hovering over them as they looked at her. But no, because of her stupidity she had to be rescued forcing Feyre and Azriel to risk their lives to save her.

Azriel.

Although now she thought very courageously about her death she had to acknowledge that that had been a very real fear just a few hours ago. She would swear she felt the world shift when she saw Azriel appear in the tent in Hybern’s camp. She had never felt relief like that. His presence had a way of making her feel like the person she imagined herself to be, certain, fearless. He looked at her as if he knew her. Well maybe not her, not the her that everyone saw, but the her she wanted to be, the heroine in her daydreams.

She exhaled loudly and rolled over, trying again to fall asleep. Mother, she was pathetic, creating some romantic scenario in her head where Azriel was the one person who saw her. He was probably the angriest with her. He suffered the most injuries attempting to rescue her. Would he resent the fact that he was injured before the battles had even begun? All because Elain couldn’t let go of her fiancé. What if Azriel’s injuries hindered him in the battle? What if because of Elain’s rescue he couldn’t fight as well and he …

Elain sat up quickly.

No she couldn’t think this way. She would have to speak to him, ensure he was fully healed before he could be allowed to fight. Surely the others had thought of this but if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t allow it. If there was a time for Elain to speak up it would be now. Well not now, not in the middle of the night with everyone sleeping, but now in there proverbial sense. Would he be angry with her if she was the reason he couldn’t fight? It didn’t matter. She was sure he was angry with her anyways.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She slowly pulled back her blankets and set her feet on the ground. Keeping her eyes on Nesta the whole time, making sure she didn’t stir. She pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself as she moved towards the entrance of her tent. A part of her brain was warning this was a very bad idea. If she was worried about everyone being mad at her then she should definitely not make it worse by wandering the camp at night. Again. But another part of her brain, likely the sleep deprived part, was urging her on. Telling her a conversation with Azriel was the only way she would be able to calm down and get any sleep. She slowly pulled back the tent flaps and, with one more glance at Nesta, Elain slipped out.

She was almost positive Azriel’s tent was to the left of theirs and Cassian’s to the right. Too soon she and began to doubt herself. Was he sharing a tent with Cassian? Or Mor? Possibly even both. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t even knock and announce herself because how did you knock on a tent. She would just need to go right in.

She began to turn back to her own tent suddenly Azriel was there at the opening, catching her off guard and leaving her standing there speechless, like an idiot.

“Elain?” Azriel seemed to exhale her name after a few seconds of silence.

“How did you know I was here?” A perfectly appropriate greeting.

“My shadows. They patrol while I sleep. They told me you were outside my tent but I didn’t … are you okay?” Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over her, looking for a source of harm.

“Yes. I’m okay. I just … I wanted to see you. To apologize.” Azriel gave her a look of surprise as a wind whipped through the camp causing Elain to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Come in. Please.” Azriel quickly opened the tent further and stepped to the side so that Elain could get out of the cold.

At first his tent seemed smaller than hers, but she saw that was due to the amount of things he had inside. Not that he was messy, but he had a desk covered in neat piles of paperwork. Armor on a dummy in the corner and an impressive display of knives lied out on a small table top. A fire burned near the middle of the tent, immediately warming Elain as the tent flaps closed.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again.

Elain turned away from his things scattered throughout the tent to look at him. “Yes. I promise you I am okay. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to … I hope I didn’t wake you. Were you asleep?”

“No I wasn’t asleep. I was reading.” He motioned to his desk of papers and Elain caught him wince as he lifted his arm.

“Please sit down. I’m sorry I made you get up. Are you okay?” Everything came out in a rush. Gods. What was she thinking coming here and bothering him in the middle of the night. She touched his arm, gently guided him to a chair and sitting herself down across from him.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” She noticed how he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“You’re not okay you’re hurt.” Elain reached to touch his bandage before catching herself, leaving her hand hovering between them. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some tea?”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Please. I would like to help.”

Azriel paused, ready to repeat his no, before seeing that accepting the tea from Elain would help her more than himself.

“Some tea would be great. Thank you.”

Elain busied herself bringing water to a boil over the fire and, after Azriel’s shadows brought her the dried tea leaves, making a pot for the two of them.

“Cups?”

“Over there. There are drawers under the table with the knives. They should be in there.”

“Thank you.” She located the cups as the tea steeped in the pot. As she poured the tea she realized how calm her body not felt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. She suddenly felt exhausted and very ready to sleep.

“Here.” She set Azriel’s cup on the table in front of him. She blew on her own and began to take a sip before thinking better of it and setting it down. Finally, with nothing else to busy herself with, she looked at Azriel. He was already looking at her.

She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sorry.” She decided to lead with the phrase she couldn’t stop repeating. “My foolishness put Feyre and you in danger. I will never forget myself for that.”

Azriel closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault the Cauldron tricked you.”

“If I hadn’t been such a fool about Graysen it wouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.”

Azriel shook his head. “It is not foolish to believe the best about the person you love.”

Elain grimaced. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t?” He responded, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” she blushed. “Perhaps a part of me does but no … not anymore. I see the situation for how it is. How everyone else sees it.”

Something in that statement made Azriel pause. He looked away from her, as if considering something. “Does it matter how everyone sees it?”

“A few weeks, even days ago I would have said no. It only matters what we, or I, felt but …” She gestured in a direction that she believed was south. “Before today I thought everyone was wrong and didn’t understand what we had. Now it appears I was the only one wrong. When the majority of the people in your life disagree with you, at some point you have to admit it’s probably you who’s wrong. Don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t say anything from a few seconds, continuing to stare at something on the ground, before responding. “That logic makes sense.”

They lapsed into a brief silence where Elain attempted to drink her tea again. This time only slightly burning her tongue before turning back to her next question for Azriel.

“How bad are your injuries?”

“They are fine.”

“I could see you grimacing as you sat down. Please Azriel, be honest with me.”

He raised his head when she said his name and met her eyes. “They are bad, but I have had worse. Rhys, however, has already implied that he doesn’t want me in the battle if it starts tomorrow.”

Elain started to apologize again but he waved her off.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to listen to him. I will be fine.”

That caused her to gasp. “You cannot fight tomorrow. Not if it’s not safe.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I don’t think battles are ever considered safe.”

Elain did not return the smile. “You know what I mean. You are already injured from rescuing me. You’re already vulnerable. If you were to hurt yourself more, I couldn’t…” She trailed off, not being sure what it was she “couldn’t”.

“I will be fine. I have seen many battles and survived.”

She felt her anger grow, both with herself and his casualness. “You shouldn’t have rescued me. You are more valuable than me. Your life means more than mine.”

His grim smile quickly changed to something close to a glare. “My life means nothing compared to yours.”

Instinctually she reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort in any way she could. “How could you say…” But when her arm touched his she was too overwhelmed with images to speak.

They reminded her of the dreams she had been having. Ever since she was Made every night she dreamed like she never had before. Dreams that were as vivid as Feyre’s paintings. Sometimes that how they started. She would be looking at one of Feyre’s paintings and not realize she was dream until it came to life or pulled her into it. Some of the dreams were filled with light, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of a new day. Some filled with shadows and whispers, hidden objects that she could never find clearly.

Surprisingly the dreams of the sun were the ones that preceded her worse days. Days filled with anxiety and unease that made her long to go back to sleep but also made her afraid to. These are the days she spent her time in the garden. Dedicating complete focus to her plants and flowers, working through meal times and until the night was so dark she could no longer see the roots. It wasn’t until day turned to night that her heart stopped racing.

But now she was sure she was not asleep. She could feel Azriel’s arm and hear the crackling of the fire in his tent. Smell a combination of musk and sweat that she noticed whenever he was close. But what she saw was out of place with the war time tent.

Golden, barely-there sunlight coming in through the windows. Another fire in a different hearth. Windows left open, light grey curtains blowing in the breeze. A garden could be glimpsed through the windows full of red roses. A soft moan that sounded vaguely familiar. Was it her own? She looked around to see white sheets were gripped in her hands. She felt a heat climbing through her body starting at her core. She felt something between her legs. She moved her gaze down her body. Heavy breathing moved her peaked breasts up and down as she tried to find air. Scarred hands on her hips. A head of dark hair between her legs. Another moan. She couldn’t help but move her hips in time with his tongue.

Her dreams had never felt this real.

“Elain?” She heard someone call her name, but she wasn’t sure who. She could still feel a tongue moving between her legs, bringing her to the edge of something she had never felt before. Her body began to shake at the feeling, getting closer and closer to a feeling that wasn’t familiar with but was desperate for.

Then her body was truly being shaken.

“Elain!’

Her eyes fluttered. Had she closed them? She tried to focus on why she was shaking.

“Elain? Are you okay?” The scarred hands were no longer on her hips but on her arms. Holding her firmly, shaking her gently. Azriel’s head was no longer between her legs but looking her earnestly in the eyes.

“I … yes. I think. I’m okay.”

“Did you have another vision?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Have you been having many?”

“I’m not sure. I have dreams every night, but I’m not sure if they are visions. They aren’t like this.” She motioned to the air as Azriel lowered his hands.

“What was this one of?”

She hesitated.

“Even if it doesn’t make sense it may be important, for the war.”

“It was of us.” She couldn’t help but answer.

Azriel gave a brief pause, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. “Who do you mean by ‘us’? You and me?”

Elain nodded.

“What were we doing?”

A description of the images flowed out of her. “We were in a house, I’m not sure where. It was peaceful and beautiful. There was a garden outside. We were in bed.” She could feel a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks. Why did she answer his question. She could have deflected. She must not be fully awake.

Azriel’s cheeks began to blush as he sat up straighter. “Oh. And what were we doing in bed?”

Was it a repercussion of the visions that they had to be spoken whether she willed it or not?

“We … your head was between my legs and you were…”

Azriel stood up suddenly, effectively cutting her off. “I got it Elain. Thank you.” He quickly walked over to the fire and angled himself away from her.

After a few moments of taut silence Elain braced herself and stood. “I don’t know why I said all that. I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you. I will go now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

But before she could make it more than a few steps Azriel was behind her. Placing his hand gently on her arm, quickly dropping it as she turned around to face him.

“It’s okay. I know what it’s like being a seer. Some visions must be spoken.”

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Are you a …”

“No.” Azriel cut her off. “But my mother is, I know what it’s like.”

“Did all of her visions come true?” Elain asked, pink staining her cheeks again.

“I cannot remember if all of them did, but I believe most. Although, not often in the way she suspected.”

“Oh.” Elain breathed. The air filling with tension and words left unsaid, until Elain had to say something.

“I would not be upset, if this one came true.” She surprised herself speaking so boldly, but she supposed the vision of the possible future gave her courage that her feelings would be reciprocated.

“Elain.” Azriel repeated her name in a rough tone she hadn’t heard him speak before.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

His scarred hands were on either side of her cheek, pulling her towards him.

Her hands found his shoulder blades, pulling him to her.

A few touches they had shared before. His hand on her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder. Their fingers brushing. Always they had been gentle, reverent even.

This time their lips clashed. A different kind of reverence, as if their bodies were made to worship one another’s.

The line between sin and sanctification had never been so thin.

With Graysen Elain had been always been demure, unsure of herself. She had rarely felt much pleasure of her own and had the vague impression that he didn’t expect her to have any.

With Azriel she felt uninhibited, she could be herself with him. Elain Archeron, the naive, mortal girl and Elain Archeron, the high fae, the seer. Either way Azriel knew her and accepted her. It drove her confidence now.

Her hands moved to his chest, broad and firm. She had been held against it many times when he winnowed her, but she would never forget how it felt earlier today when he rescued her from Hybern’s camp. Now she allowed herself to give into the temptation she had felt so many times before and ran her hands over it. Unbuttoning the top of his tunic.

His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, urging her to open them for him. She did so eagerly and when their tongues met they both exhaled quiet moans. His hands moved down her hips, over her ass, gently squeezing before moving further down to the backs of her thighs. He bent slightly to get a hold of them and life her up. Pulling her closer to himself, so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. Her hands moved from his chest to circle his neck, one hand threading through his hair.

She felt his pause. His uncertainty in what she wanted next. She pulled his mouth away from his only far enough to speak. “Take me to bed.” Azriel emitted a louder groan before moving his mouth back to hers as if to claim her. After a few steps he was gently lowering her to the bed before positioning himself on his elbows above her, ensuring no weight was put on her. But she didn’t want to be treated so gently. She wasn’t afraid of the weight of him, of this. She pulled his neck down towards her as she lifted her hips up to his. Her body responding on it’s own.

Azriel shifted to one elbow so that he could move a hand to her cheek, gently, down to her neck. His hand circled her neck and he squeezed, lightly. Now it was Elain’s turn the moan, the idea of being at his mercy making her come undone. He squeezed harder before releasing and moving his hand down her body, pushing down her loose nightgown until her breasts were exposed. He broke their kiss to look at them.

“Gods.” He muttered before moving his mouth to her neck. Kissing and nipping until he reached her breasts. She arched her back, begging him to take them into his mouth. He looked up at her as his mouth hovered over her right nipple. His breath causing it to tighten, nearing pain. He kept eye contact as his tongue darted out. Barely licking the peak. Elain trembled and moaned his name.

“Azriel.”

It was his undoing. His mouth covering her nipple, a hand moving to the other. He sucked and bit until she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him, then he moved to her other breast and repeated his worshipping. She felt ready to explode from the feeling on her breasts alone, not to mention the hard length she could feel through his pants when she rubbed against every time his teeth closed around her nipple and she couldn’t help but rub against him.

“Take off your clothes.” She managed between breaths. She knew she was shaking too much to manage removing them herself, not to mention she wasn’t sure how to remove them from his wings.

He removed his mouth from her breast and lifted his head up so that he could look down on her and meet her eyes. He paused, as if he wanted to capture the moment like he was afraid that when he moved to take off her clothes she would suddenly disappear. She gently placed her hand on his cheek, hoping to offer reassurance through her touch. He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips but raising himself to stand at the end of the bed.

He made quick work of his clothes and she pushed her own night gown the rest of the way off her body. The soft blues of her gown melting into the dark greys of his clothes at the end of the bed. She barely had an opportunity to take in his hard length, standing straight at attention.

Then he was on her again. Without the barrier of clothes every inch of their skin is touching. Elain had never felt so alive. Like her skinning is on fire and freezing at the same time. Every inch of her taut and screaming for more of Azriel. In any way. In all ways.

He leaned forward to leave another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses between her breasts, her stomach, above her sex. When he was between her legs he looked up at her. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” He didn’t wait for her reply before his mouth was on her. He wasted no time kissing her legs, her thighs. Suddenly his lips and his tongue were between her legs, her sex, exploring her, feasting on all her. “Gods Elain.” Azriel moaned into her, causing her to write more. “What do I taste like?” She had to ask, had always been curious. Her question caused Azriel to moan again, she felt the vibrations in her core. His tongue dove into her, as if he was trying to distinguish her taste. “Sugar.” She laughed gently at his general assessment. Something, anything, sweet. She wondered how he would taste.

His tongue was unrelenting. Licking her up and down. Moving between her folds. Pushing into her. There wasn’t a spot of skin between her legs that his tongue didn’t touch. Over and over. Her hands moved to his hair, gripping it hard enough that she was sure he must be in pain. But he didn’t relented. She couldn’t help as her hips began moving on his mouth, riding his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her ass, helping to lift herself onto him. She didn’t spare a thought for the fact that they were only in a tent, did not stifle her shouts with the fear of being overheard. She became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was about the explode. Her body barreled towards some kind of release, but there was some a part of her mind that seemed to hesitate, fearing there was something she wasn’t doing right, that her sounds were too loud or her writhing too much.

As if sensing her hesitation Azriel moved his hand from her ass to her clit, rubbing it while his tongue moved inside her.

She saw stars.

Her hips bucking into him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. He continued to lick and suck her until she had all but stopped moving. Once he saw that she was exhausted he left one chaste kiss on her before moving back up her body until they were eye to eye. They held their eye contact until Elain lifted herself up to kiss him on the mouth, tasting herself as she did. “You’re right, like sugar.” She offered, surprised that her own voice was deeper and scratchier than usual. Hopefully that wasn’t an indication of how much she had been screaming.

Her declaration pulled another groan from Azriel as he moved to kiss her more deeply. After a few tangles with their tongues she pulled away, bringing her palm to rest on his cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Never?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. “No. Never.”

He kissed her again, at first gently, before she was lifting herself to deepen the kiss. To take more of him in. She wasn’t done devouring him, having him. Tension began to find it’s way back into her body, her veins. The satiated bliss she felt just moments ago being replaced with the need for more. One hand remained on the back of Azriel’s neck, gently holding his mouth to hers while her other moved down his body. Over the planes of his broad chest, down to his solid stomach, further down until she could feel course hairs and then her hand found what she had been looking for, had been so curious about. The touch of her hand caused Azriel to hiss.

“Are you okay?” She began to feel embarrassed that her inexperience had somehow hurt him. She and Graysen had had sex yes, but there was no extra touching aside from what was needed. She had been content with what it was, but the orgasm Azriel had already given shattered all illusions of satisfaction she had had with Graysen. She now knew how much she had been missing.

Azriel moved his hips so that his hard length was again touching her hand. “With you I am always okay.”

Her lips turned up in a smile as she kissed him again, capturing his moans with her mouth and she touched his length with her fingers, her hands. Running them up and down him. Marveling at how hard he was, with skin smooth as silk. She wrapped her hand around as much of him as she could and squeezed, pulling another moan out of Azriel. He bucked into her hand once, twice. “Fuck Elain. Fuck.” He moved his mouth to her neck and bit down on the skin between her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as the pain and squeeze him harder.

Suddenly he was pulling her hand away from him. “If you keep doing that I’m going to explode.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” She went to move her hand back to him, but he caught her wrist.

“It just depends on what you want.” Azriel didn’t make it a question, not wanting to push her in any direction she didn’t want to go. He wanted to be sure it was completely her decision, her call.

“I want this. I want you.” She had felt that draw towards him, that longing, ever since he first showed up at her father’s estate. Cassian had been the Illyrian who had caused her paused, caused her palms to sweat and her legs to tremble with fear at his presence. But upon seeing Azriel in the doorway she had felt a calm wash over her and had somehow known that if Azriel was with Cassian, then she had nothing to fear.

“Have you ever?”

“Yes. With … yes I have.” She didn’t want to ruin this by speaking Graysen’s name. She didn’t want any thoughts of him in her mind ever, much less in this moment.

Azriel nodded, understanding, before lowering himself, lining himself up with her.

“Stop me if it hurts.” She nodded but he before he moved he looked her in the eyes and repeated himself. “Ask me to stop.”

“You won’t hurt me in any way I don’t want you to.”

He kissed her as he pushed into her, slowly, only a inch but still causing her to gasp. He pulled out slightly before pushing in further. Her gasps mingling with his moans. On the next push her eyes fluttered close, a pain mixing with the pleasure. He moved his left hand to where they were joined, his right staying by her head where is elbow was propped. He moved his thumb between her legs, above where they were joined, he rubbed her until she began moving on him, arching into him, wanting more.

Then he gave her more.

He pulled out nearly all of the way before sheathing himself inside her fully. Pushing her legs wider to accompany his hips. Her hips arching up further to meet his as she let out a loud moan. When he had allowed himself to picture this with Elain he had imagined going slowly. It was an image he had tried to stop himself from thinking but one what often came to him in the time between waking and dreams, when he didn’t have full control of his consciousness. But now that he was inside her, her perfect tightness surrounding him, all rational thoughts were gone and every instinct he had took over. He kept himself from unleashing completely, but only barely.

He squeezed her breast as he moved inside her. She pulled his hair. The sounds coming from her mouth were better than anything he could have imagined. No matter how much he wanted this to last all night he knew he would not last much longer. He raised one of her legs slightly, so that he could push deeper into to her and also be closer to her. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Grazing his teeth down to her pulse point, he bit down, claiming her in all the ways he knew how.

The sudden pain of his bite mixing with the wild pleasure she felt every time he reached a spot deeper inside her pushed her over the edge. She clenched around him, bucking wildly to ride out that final explosion of pleasure, moaning her first coherent words.

“Azriel.”

The feeling of her coming around him, the sound of her moaning his name, brought Azriel over his own the edge. He spilled himself inside her, glad for her clenching walls milking him till he was thoroughly spent.

He stayed on top of her after, catching his breath. Hearing her labored breathing in his ear, feeling her breaths gently moving his hair. He gently kissed her cheek, ending their passionate fucking with something so sweet she struggled to catch her breath.

Then he moved, pulling himself out her. She groaned at the absence of him. He got up and walked over to his wash basin. Dipping a cloth into the water before returning to her and gently wiping her between her legs. After he was finished he tossed the cloth back towards the bin. It landed on the floor near by and he didn’t bother picking it up. Instead he turned back towards her, taking her in as she lay bare in his bed, starting at her toes and ending with her eyes, as if committing her to memory. Then he brought his hand to his face, as if wiping at the shadow of hair covering his jaw. Finally he sighed, seeming to reach some internal decision, and picked up her nightgown from the floor and holding it out to her.

She frowned as she took it from him, hoping that he would lie down next to her instead.

But he caught her disappointment, as he seemed to catch all of the emotions written on her face.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never that. But if Nesta wake and you aren’t there, there would be hell to pay.”

She smiled at that truth. “Do you think I can get in without waking her?”

“I will put you in your bed with my shadows. She will never know.”

Elain pulled on her nightgown and picked up the blanket she had wrapped herself in to come to his tent before turning to face him.

For a moment they both looked at each other. Trying to read each other.

Finally Azriel broke the silence.

“Was that like your vision?”

She blushed. “Yes. Well. It was similar but we weren’t in this tent, we were somewhere else and I didn’t see us do everything.”

He offered one of his rare smiles. “Good. So we don’t have to be worried this was the last time.”

“No.” She agreed, returning his smile. “We certainly don’t need to worry about that.”

[novelconcepts]

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora. 

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head. 

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all. 

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia. 

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs. 

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture. 

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot. 

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song. 

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this. 

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind. 

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure. 

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get. 

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share. 

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek. 

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face. 

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm. 

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand. 

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.���

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page. 

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt. 

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat. 

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon. 

[slytherinsnekxvii]

i've been thinking about sirius black and grimmauld place and how much he hates it. so, here have this little fic i wrote about my take on that, just to get myself back into the swing of things now that real life has let up a little bit. warning for awful parenting that might hit a little too close to home before it goes off the rails, walburga and orion saying some really horrible things, and a stinging hex:

By the time Sirius gets his Hogwarts letter, Regulus has mastered the art of performing. He's much better than Sirius was—is—and Sirius wonders how much of that comes from Regulus seeing him make the simplest of mistakes and face the consequences. He wonders when he realised that he's being made an example.

He draws a knee up to his chest, idly twirling a quill between his fingers as his stomach grumbles. He ignores it. He's been sent to bed without supper enough times now that it hardly matters. He scratches two more lines of I will be obedient into the parchment and he thinks about Regulus some more.

He doesn't like the kid, sometimes. Envies him, even. There are things he does that Sirius finds maddening. Regulus has never spoken an original thought his life, follows every instruction given to him, willingly backs himself into corners and he refuses to put up a fight, unless he's the one who started it and knows he can finish it. What makes it worse is that these are lessons that Sirius taught him and couldn't learn himself.

Keep your innermost thoughts close to your chest and if you must speak them, do it aside, address no one but yourself.

Follow orders. Let yourself be manhandled and coerced into position by those who can see the bigger picture.

Never turn your back to your audience.

Turn the other cheek and follow through.

It's bothersome. They have a perfect little heir right there, but they ignore him just to try and force Sirius to be what they want him to be. It's a waste of everyone's time, since they all know that round pegs do not fit into triangular holes. It's suffocating, since they try to do it anyway, shaving away at the bits and pieces that won't fit, hacking at the parts of him that don't mold to fit the shape that they've carved for everyone carrying the Black name. It's unfair, that he's stuck here like this, going to bed without supper, writing lines, of all things, and riding out the effects of a nasty session of "Occlumency training", which he is certain is just an excuse to rifle through his mind and give him a headache.

I will be obedient. I will be obedient. I will be obedient.

His hand moves on its own, the letters appearing on the page ever-so-slightly wobbly as he writes without bothering to look at the words. It's infuriating, the way they echo in his head over and over, and over, again.

He lifts his head when Kreacher appears before him with a crack, his horrid little house-elf face twisted into that familiar, ever-present cross between a grimace and a scowl. "What?" he asks, and somehow, the elf's expression sours even more.

"Mistress wants her lines," Kreacher says. "Mistress says Kreacher is to collect them from Master Sirius."

"I'm not done yet," Sirius snaps, and bites his tongue when the house-elf turns up his mouth in disapproval. He takes his time carving the last few sentences into the parchment, and while his penmanship is probably the greatest it's ever been, he still scowls at the paper even after it's been handed over.

Kreacher scowls back at him and disappears. Sirius rubs his ears and wonders if the elf Apparates that loudly on purpose.

I will be obedient. I will be obedient. I will be obedient. The stupid words spin around in his head, and he scowls harder as he considers that he could probably fill an entire sheaf of parchment in his sleep.

See if I ever turn out like the bloody show dog you want, he thinks, vehemently, and shoves aside the bits of stationery on his desk so he can collapse face-first and not think. There's another crack, and he startles, forcing himself upright as Kreacher stands before him, with his little, twisted house-elf face and little, twig-like house-elf arms crossed.

"What?" he bites, again, and when the elf's expression takes a turn for the worse, he leans back in his chair and doesn't bother shaking off the vindictive satisfaction that crawls up his spine.

"Mistress wants to see Master Sirius in Master Orion's study. Master Sirius is a bad boy," Kreacher tells him, and he fights the urge to slam his fist on the desk, or worse, into Kreacher.

"Why?" Sirius asks, and he knows exactly why, they only ever want him for one reason, they never call on him for anything else, at all, ever, but he still asks. He's not actually expecting anything different, but he does it, just to be difficult.

"Master Sirius has been a bad boy," Kreacher says.

"Right, yeah. Thought as much, really," Sirius tells him, and makes no move to get up from his seat.

"Mistress wants to see Master Sirius in Master Orion's study," Kreacher repeats, and Sirius scoffs at him.

"And what are you going to do about it?" he taunts, and the elf Disapparates. Sirius sneers a bit at the wall, sticks out his tongue as he mocks, "Master Sirius has been a bad boy." He scoffs, idly kicks at the leg of his desk. "Master Sirius has been Sirius. Master Sirius isn't Regulus."

He collapses onto the desk again, lets out a quiet, frustrated scream as his leg picks up the speed and kicks even harder. He takes a deep breath as the woods shudders beneath him and eventually gets his limbs back under control. "Master Sirius doesn't want to be told what to do," he mumbles into the wood. "Master Sirius is a person. Master Sirius doesn't want to be controlled," he continues, quiet, and is glad that his moping is drowned out by the sound of Kreacher Apparating into his bedroom once again.

"Mistress says Master Sirius is being difficult. Maater Sirius must come to the study at once," the elf says, and Sirius doesn't even bother to lift his head. "Master Sirius must come! Mistress insists!"

"Or what?" Sirius asks, tone as bitter and spiteful as his little eleven-year-old tongue can manage.

"Mistress says that Master Sirius must come to the study at once! Master Sirius is being a very bad boy! Horrible boy! Spiteful child!"

Sirius feels his eye twitch as he listens to the elf slowly dissolve into histrionics, wonders if he's listening to Kreacher, or his mother. "Master Sirius is just fine!" he says. "Master Sirius doesn't have to listen to you or be obedient or anything!"

"Master Sirius must go to the study!"

"No!" Sirius exclaims, and he does bang his fist on the desk, noticing far too late that Kreacher has gone silent. The realisation strikes him when his hand leaves the desk and a hand circles his wrist, grip ice-cold. "No..." he says, quiet, and horror takes him as he involuntarily tries to tear away from the hold. If anything, it tightens.

"You would disobey your parents, Sirius Orion?"

"I—" Sirius gasps, and forces himself to be as still as possible, as steady as he can manage even though he still finds himself shaking by the time he finds it in himself to continue. "No, Father, I—"

He won't hit you, Sirius thinks. He would never stoop so low, and he isn't holding his wand. He wouldn't hit you. He wouldn't. He would never. Not with his bare hands. Not without his wand.

His trembling ceases a little, and he starts to speak again. "No, Father, I—"

"Quiet. Your mother is calling for you, you wretched child. Why have you not attended to her?"

"I'm sorry—"

"Apologies mean nothing without action, young man. Do better," Orion stresses, and Sirius bends, head bowing as he prepares to reiterate his apology.

"I—"

"That was not an invitation to speak, Sirius Orion."

"Yes, Father. S—" he bites his tongue and tries not to listen to his heart slowly beating its way out of his chest.

"This is no behaviour to be exhibited by my heir. You will get up, and you will come with me to attend to your mother."

"Yes, Father," Sirius says, and swallows the fire building behind his tongue and under his fear.

The grip around his wrist loosens, and he moves it a little, just to make sure it's still there, still attached, still working and prepares to get up even as he hates himself for listening and his father for making him.

"Quickly, Sirius Orion. Your mother is waiting."

"Yes, Father," he says, and in his mind, he kicks himself for the meekness in his tone.

When he stands up on marginally less shaky legs, Orion moves to clap a hand on his shoulder to steady him and the sheer anticipation of the touch forces Sirius to stand at attention. He straightens his spine until it can go no further without snapping, and when Orion's hand actually lands on his shoulder, he has to concentrate to avoid flinching under the touch.

Orion taps his shoulder once, twice, and then grips it with the same force he'd used on Sirius' wrist. "Go on, then."

Sirius starts to move. Orion does not let up, steel grip still locked in place as it directs Sirius throughout the house. They pass Regulus' door, and Sirius fights the urge to sneer at it, with its stupid, pretentious sign protecting his stupid, pretentious baby brother who's probably asleep with a full belly and not a care in the world with Kreacher at his bedside to bend to his every whim. Stupid, lucky performer sticking to his script... poor little contest crup doing tricks for the judges.

Orion's grip on his shoulder tightens and Sirius hisses as he bends under the pressure. "I said, quickly, Sirius Orion. You would make your mother wait even longer for you than you already have?"

"No, I—" Sirius continues, tripping over his own feet as the his own movement ceases while his father continues to push.

"She's been patient all this time and you would leave her to sit alone and unattended to?"

"Father—"

"Ungrateful child," Orion rebukes and Sirius chokes.

"Yes, Father."

They enter the study quietly, Sirius standing at attention once more while Orion rounds the large desk to take his seat. Walburga crosses and uncrosses her legs in her nearby armchair, and clears her throat. She sits up, handa placed carefully atop each other in her lap and it's an image he's familiar with. She elegantly rolls her wand between her fingers and Sirius reminds himself to tread carefully, don't make a mistake, she's armed, even if this the most demure he's ever seen her.

"Siri."

"Yes, Mother," he answers.

"Why did you not come when I called?"

I didn't want to, I hate you, I hate you both, he thinks. I was scared, he thinks. "I don't know, Mother," he says.

"That isn't an answer, Sirius Orion. If you didn't know, you could have done as I asked of you and inquired it of me when you arrived."

You didn't bother to ask. You ordered, he thinks. "Yes, Mother," he says.

"Why did you not come when I called?"

I'm here, anyways, aren't I? "Kreacher was annoying me," he lies, or well, sort of. Kreacher had been annoying him, but that wasn't why he'd disobeyed. He bites his tongue when he watches their expressions shift.

"Kreacher... was annoying you," Walburga asks, tone flat.

"Yes, Mother," Sirius says.

"So, rather than banish him and do as you were told, you chose... to disobey me?" The uptick in her voice is dangerous, but her position remains the same and Sirius falls into the trap.

"I—sorry, Moth—agh!" The Stinging Hex hits his hand and he shakes it the appendage rapidly as he waits for the pain to abate. "Yes, Mother," he croaks, when his hand graduates from acute pain to slight numbness.

"Do better next time," Walburga tells him, rolling her thirteen inches of elm between her fingers. "Apologies are worthless, I know your father would have told you that much."

"Yes, Mother. I won't keep you waiting again, Mother," Sirius forces. You'll drag me kicking and screaming next time, he thinks.

"Words, again. Powerful, yes. Useful, yes... but that's only in the hands of those whose actions are able to prove it. You've not done so, Siri," Walburga continues, quiet, and this is how Sirius knows he's gone and done it.

His hands move to clench on their own, and his aching left convinces him to clasp them behind his back instead. His legs itch to move, to run away, to go anywhere but here. He wishes he had his broom.

"You disobey. You refuse to listen. You ignore our teachings. You blunder and stumble and do all manner of upsetting things, Siri. We feed you and clothe you and we provide a bed for you to rest your head when the night comes, and yet... you continue to act so horribly. You speak out of turn, you do everything in the exact wrong manner. If I didn't know better, I would think you were doing such awful things on purpose. To spite your father and I." Her eyes meet his and Sirius can't help it, he looks away. His father's lip curls and still, he refuses to look at her.

"You are a horrible child, Siri. Wicked and ungrateful and awful. You aren't worthless, though. You're the product of your father and I, after all. And you aren't incompetent or stupid. You can be taught, Siri. All you must do is listen, and obey. You can be trained and we will make you the wizard you were meant to be as our heir. You need not do anything but obey."

Sirius takes a breath, the cool air sticking in the back of his throat as he feels the hackles on the back of his neck raise. "I—You don't—"

"Don't... what, Sirius Orion?" his father asks.

Nothing, he thinks. "It's—I'm a person! You want an heir that you can teach and train and make, have Regulus! I don't—" he starts, and his eyes widen as he listens to the words spilling out of his mouth with no permission of his and no control over them at all.

"You are a wretched, horrible creature! Awful boy! Spiteful child! How dare you?" Walburga screeches, and Sirius winces, his own mouth clamping shut. "We are your family, your parents. You would disgrace your own blood in such a way? Horrible, awful child! Incompetent! Lazy! Stupid! Never learns! You are an awful creature! Terrible boy! Unworthy! I can hardly believe you came of my loins! We have been nothing but good to you! Awful child, waste of blood, Sirius Orion, how dare you?"

She's sprung out of her chair, elm wand held high in her hand as a weapon, and Sirius ducks even as he shouts.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't, I didn't, I was only angry," he pleads. "I won't do it again," he tells them, quietly, and as his mouth quivers, he tastes salt.

"See to it that you don't," Orion says, frigid even as he rests a hand on his wife's waist to steady her and glares at his firstborn. "I'll not have such an outburst taking place again."

Tell that to your wife, Sirius thinks bitterly, sniffing as quietly and unnoticeably as possible to stave off the rest of the tears he hadn't realised he was crying.

"Yes, Father," Sirius says.

"Get out," Orion tells him.

"Yes, Father," Sirius says, and with that, he turns around and leaves. Quietly, with some sort of dignity so they don't have another thing to hold over his head.

He passes Regulus' stupid door again, kicks it and watches as not even the sign shakes.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he cries, quietly, as he continues down the hallway, with his voice warbling and his fist pounding against the wall as he goes. Regulus' face flashes through his mind, and then his mother's, his father's, his own. Coward, he spits, inaudible, and the word is coated in every bit of venom he's capable of. "I hate you," he says to the empty air, and not even he can tell who he's trying to address.

[pyroclaststan]

Therapy Session: Grief Counseling

CW: grieving, loss, suicide mention, post-Heartbreak

“Ortega,” the therapist says softly, in that tone you’ve learned to brace yourself against: the one that means he is about to approach something you don’t want to talk about; he is about to breach a wall you’ve kept up—a door long kept closed. “Today is an important day, isn’t it?”

You fake the thoughtfulness on your face. You’ve never needed a calendar or planner to keep track. You know what day it is.

All too well.

“Is it?” you ask with feigned confusion, hoping the defensive frustration you feel doesn’t leak onto your brow. “What day is that?”

He does not take the bait, his notebook has too many notes about you to fall for that ruse.

“The anniversary of your best friends’ passing,” he treads softly, voice calm, light expression of concern. Your hand grips the chair, your temper building. You won’t hit this man—you won’t make another mess—no matter how badly you want to. “It’s 2018, so that makes five years now.”

Your teeth want to break from the pressure you apply to grit them. “Yeah, it has been.” You both pretend your voice isn’t as strained as it is.

“Would you like to talk about that?”

He knows damn well you wouldn’t. For every five steps you take forward in working through this, it seems you take six steps back once you have to speak of it. Like cracking open a bone of composure to get to the marrow of grief inside it.

But you promised yourself, your mother, and your friends you would try. That you would take the time to heal, do the work to unravel the complicated strings life tangled in you, and move forward. Your best efforts to be an unstoppable force always seem to circle around to collide with this immovable object: your deepest regrets and biggest failure.

What was supposed to be a sigh comes across more of a groan as you gather your hands in your lap, knuckles white with the effort to contain yourself.

“Today has been five years since the day two of my best friends killed themselves.”

It makes you want to spit blood and vitriol: they didn’t kill themselves, they were murdered—made to kill themselves by an enemy none of you were prepared for. But you can’t announce to the world that there are villains out there who are capable of such things. You can’t tell everyone that sometimes the most powerful weapon someone can wield against you is yourself.

You do not hear the sound of breaking glass or a brief moment of an anguished scream.

The only bones you got to see were the steel ones left behind by the building that served as their grave markers.

Bile is the only taste you can recognise when you think about that.

“You were thirty-one at the time. How old were they?”

“A was twenty-eight. K was… I don’t know. But young, too. Too young for that.” You grimace. “It somehow feels worse that I didn’t know. That I knew nearly nothing about either of them compared to how close we were. But now they’re dead and I’ll never know anything more.”

He waits patiently for you to carry on, or to compose yourself, whichever you can manage. You know the routine by now: he will engage, he will choose a topic relevant to what you’ve been working on, but he will not lead you. Your sessions are up to you at the end of the day—you’d like this to end, but that feels like backing down from a challenge. Not a healthy way to look at this but a workable one.

“Take your time,” he suggests patiently, taking note of your inner turmoil in how his eyes gauge your physical responses.

“I don’t know how to carry on from there,” you admit bitterly, “I can barely even say that sentence without wanting to hit something or someone.”

He doesn’t even bat an eyelash at that admission. He knows you won’t hurt him, or maybe hopes. You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been a loose cannon in this office before; the unending grace of this man your only salvation.

“If I may,” he waits for you to give a nod. “I suggest letting your emotions be present. Don’t quiet them, don’t lock them away, don’t chide them. Do not view them as lesser because they react in ways you do not wish them to. Simply… let them flow.”

You close your eyes hard, running your hand down your face, free hand gripping the chair arm even harder.

“Just—“ he cuts in, a small wary smile, “not in a way that requires physical harm to befall either of us. Or my furniture, again.”

You look away pointedly at that. He did have to replace a chair, a vase, and a side table after your last big outburst. There had been big progress made, though.

“What was it you said? Last time we talked about… this particular subject?” A tired look cast in his direction.

“Grief is a marathon, not a race. It is not constant, but it is enduring.”

“Enduring,” you do not bother to hide the bitter look that word gives you. “I want it to stop enduring, I want it gone. I want to get up and have an entire day without thinking about where I went wrong, or an entire week without a day that tells me to lie in the dark and think too much.”

“Do you still love them?” An innocent question that slaps you.

“Of course I do!” you yell, “Why would you think I don’t?” A small arc of electricity jumps over your balled fist.

“And would you ever expect that love for them to just… dissipate? To just go away once you’re done talking about the loss of those people you loved?”

“No.” A hard word through gritted teeth.

“So why then, do you expect grief to pass away when it is a product of that same love?”

You still. And over the five seconds of silence that pass, you age. You are tired.

“I… I don’t know. I just want it to stop hurting so much.”

“Even if the reason that it hurts so much is because your love for them was so great?”

He waits, you wait. You miss the sound of silence breaking with the soft thumps of a foot against a building.

“So what is it I want then?”

“You know I can’t answer questions for you: I’m not you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, upset you’re not a calmer, kinder person in the face of scrutiny and pain.

“So what can I do then? What will make this hurt more bearable?” The look you give is pleading, hurt, broken.

You don’t want to survive Heartbreak every single day, you want to live now. You want to wake up with a breath of fresh air and move on, move forward. It takes a moment of deep breaths before you tell him as much.

“The methods we develop to survive will not help us once it is time to thrive. There will be good days and there will be bad days, as there are with any part of life. But now will be you learning how to make these good and bad days of grieving no different than any other. Now will be learning how to swim on the days the waters are shallow, and how to tread water on the days they are deep, and to understand that drowning is a natural part of life but so is saving yourself.”

He takes off his glasses, setting them carefully on his side stable, and leans forward now, grey eyes staring at you as he folds his hands together.

“What makes you move? What urges you to go on, everyday, no matter the stress and issues of your job or relationships?”

A shuddery breath of air colder than before fills your lungs, and the ache reverberates in your mods and in your bones. It is the same cold that you sat with in front of their memorial in the early mornings, and the same chill that settled on your shoulders during sunsets when they were still here.

“I know… that they’d want me to. Both of them. I know that whether they were gone for a day, or gone for,” you swallow hard, “for years, they’d give me shit for sitting still. They both had so many secrets, so much hidden, but they stepped up into the spotlight despite that. Because there was nothing more either of them wanted than to make a difference. To keep moving forward no matter what it was they were dragging or leaving behind them.”

“So you honour them. Honour their work.”

Your eyes blur ever so slightly as tears gather in your waterline, urging you to let go.

“Being the only one with these memories is hard. Being the only one to carry this weight is hard. But staying still, and taking for granted everything they worked for… that’s harder. Like they’re frowning at me from somewhere, or sitting heavy on my shoulders. Squeezing my heart right out of my chest when it gets hard to breathe alone.”

“Then you’re not the only one, are you?” He leans back now, his hand allowing his chin someplace to rest. “I’m not going to ask if you’re superstitious, or if you believe in ghosts, but I will say: you are not alone if you are carrying their wills with you. Every day, when it feels harder than any other to get up, you do it. And when you do so, do it with the knowledge that they’re pushing you out of bed. It doesn’t necessarily need to be their shadows doing the pushing, it can be their love. They loved you as much as you loved them: they would want you to carry on, even if it’s just day-to-day.”

“But every day, day-to-day, it just feels like I’m full of pain and confusion and bitterness and anger. And it feels like everyone else is carrying on like normal.”

“You can’t make everyone else change, or remember, just like you can’t control what they do. Isn’t it enough that you do? That you can?”

“Is that enough? To only do enough?”

“Sometimes that’s the best we’ve got before we figure out the healthiest way forward. And it matters more that you’re moving forward than how well you’re doing so. Grief is a marathon, Ortega, but love runs alongside it. It wouldn’t hurt so much if it didn’t.”

“So this is just the way things will be? And eventually, you’re saying it’ll get easier?”

“This is the way things are, and while it may not get easier—losing someone never is easy—you will develop ways to make it weigh on you less. There is no grand revelation, there is no trick, there is no magical point at which everything rights itself: there is only you. And you get to decide how much work you want to put into healing because it’s your life. You get to decide if you even want to heal at all. But I have to ask: if your friends were still here, which would they give you more shit about?”

A sad smile, unable to turn itself into the laughter it wishes it could; you’ve got none in you. “Are you even allowed to curse during these sessions?”

“Am I not allowed to use your own words?” His eyebrow raises, as does the corner of his mouth. “You tell me time and again that your friends, especially K, used to curse constantly. I would have assumed it would be an easier form of communication for you.”

“Easier… I don’t know if it’s easier.”

“But it’s more honest. Isn’t it?”

“It is. K… K didn’t talk much. Not for a long time. It was half secrets, half that they would get frustrated stumbling over their own words. I get that now: when I get angry, it’s so hard to let anything out or anything I do let out just makes me angrier. And A… A would always make jokes or deflect when things got too serious. I get that now, too. Not at everything or all the time but out of self-preservation—lightening the load just a little bit.”

You sigh, and it is a shivery thing, filled with more emotions than the hurt and sorrow you have become used to from these sessions.

“It’s upsetting that I understand them more now that they’re gone. I wish I could have said and done more when they were here.”

His smile is almost wistful, but mostly understanding.

“A great author once said, ‘It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.’ There is a great distance between you all, but I think there should be some peace in knowing that some deep part of you has crossed that boundary, and that even in the presence of loss, you’ve found understanding. It’s its own kind of closeness. Now, you readjust.”

Your hands feel numb as they cling to your shirt, just over your stomach. The tumbling and waves of digesting all of this making you almost feel motion sick, but the knot is loosening in the depths. He reaches over to his right, and closes his notebook, setting his pen atop it, and looks at you once more.

“Our session is coming to a close, but if I may offer one last item to contemplate?”

He waits for you to give him a sign of approval before he continues, and with a heavy swallow, you nod. Hoping for some grand revelation you know won’t come: he’s told you as much.

“Today is an anniversary. A keystone date. What an anniversary can mean is purely up to those participating in it: in this case, you. It can be a time of remembrance or celebration, and it can also be both. When you leave this room today, I’d like for you to think on that. To try and decide what days like today will mean for you, and what that will mean for average days going forward. Your feelings are all very real, very raw, and very valid, but what will you allow them to create in the space you give them? Something that will carry you forward, a support? Or something that will anchor you to the past, a detriment? Day-to-day can be enough. It doesn’t need to get better all at once, because nothing in this life does.”

You think about it, mulling it over and wetting your dry tongue as if you could taste the truth of it. It’s up to you now, it’s always been up to you, and that is the scariest part.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“My pleasure as always, Ortega.”

[consumeconstantly]

A rose by any other name would(n’t) smell as sweet

Summary: “Please. Just buy me flowers once. Just once, that’s all I’m asking.” Marinette sits on her the cold metal of an outside chair at her favorite cafe. He never does. Not during her life. (But perhaps in death--)

________________________________________________

Marinette is not a trophy wife, although her husband would certainly like her to be.

She is an independent go-getter who builds a fashion empire from the ground up, takes in kids off the street and cares for them like they’re her own, and an ex-heroine who does just as much as a civilian as she did in a super suit. Some will argue that she does more. Marinette is the kind of woman that others aspire to be; care and love built into a frame made of steel, ambition, and values tempered by years of experience. Mothers point at her and tell their daughters and sons that they should emulate her, then attempt to follow in her footsteps as well.

Almost nobody in Paris hates Marinette. 

But perhaps the man who sits across from her at the painted-black table despises her.

“I don’t want children,” she insists. “Not right now. When we do have kids, I want to devote my all to them right now. I can’t do that when I’m trying to branch out overseas.”

“But you’ll be such a good mother. And you’ve talked about having kids for ages. You mentor enough children as it is-- can’t you just divert some of the time and resources you spend on them and focus on us?”

Marinette stirs her coffee, spoon clinking against porcelain. She adds in one creamer. Then two. And a third, just for good measure. “Having kids and mentoring kids is different. And even when we do have kids, I’m not going to stop mentoring the ones that I’ve taken under my wing.”

“That’s not fair to our kids, though.”

“I don’t understand how it’s not.”

“Love and patience aren’t limitless. Even though you’re trying to help everyone, you can’t do that.”

She set her spoon to the side of the cup. “It’s true that I can’t help everyone. But I want to try. Besides, we have plenty of time before we ever have to worry about kids.”

“We don’t, Marinette. You’re almost thirty five, now.” He gestures to her face, which has gained a few number of wrinkles and sunspots. What can she say? Marinette embraces the process of aging, and stopping herself from laughing just to prevent a few lines seems like more trouble than it’s worth. “Not exactly a spring chicken.”

Calmly, Marinette sips her cream and sugar laden coffee. Despite needing the extra caffeine boost nearly every day, she’s never been able to stomach having the drink straight. “How many times have we had this conversation? I’m starting to feel like a broken record.”

He sighs. “And every time we have this conversation, both of us just get older and older. You know that the longer we wait to have children, the more likely they are to have… difficulties.”

“And if they do, we will love them just the same,” Marinette says, firmly. “Now please, can we stop talking about this? We haven’t had a date in ages.”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” he accuses.

“No, because you keep refusing to meet me. Why don’t we talk about something else?”

“What else is there to talk about? You won’t consider having children, and you won’t stop seeing Jason.” With a scoff, Marinette’s husband pushes back the seat, metal scraping against concrete. “If you want to have a good date, you need to be willing to talk about our issues.”

Marinette rests her head in a hand, closing her eyes as her husband storms off. The migraines have been getting worse, lately. She finishes her cup of coffee, and the server comes over with two slices of cake and a bouquet. 

The server looks at the deserted seat nervously. His cup is left untouched, and the napkin lays rumpled. “Mme? What should I do with these?

She taps her nails on the table top. “Pack the cake in to-go containers please. You can leave the flowers with me.”

With a bowed head, the server nearly throws the bouquet at Marinette and quickly moves away to pack the slices up. Marinette shifts, taking the flowers and staring out at the streets of Paris silently. When they first started dating, the bouquets always had roses and tulips. Over the years, the tulips began to disappear, and the roses started getting replaced with forget-me nots. The silver-white of her ring sings against the blues and violets in her lap.

The small bouquet of flowers in her lap won’t be given today.

#

“Hey, Jace.”

Jason stills on the other side of the line. “Again?”

Marinette stays silent. He’s over to her apartment in five.

“I don’t understand why you’re married to the guy,” gripes Jason, letting himself in with a key Marinette made for him years ago. “He’s a complete and utter ass.”

Jason’s eating the cake Marinette bought for their anniversary. She still buys the cakes year after year, knowing that they’ll never make it through to the dessert round. Even though Marinette can’t bring herself to eat the cake without her husband at her side, Jason has no qualms about it; after three failed anniversaries and countless dates gone awry, Marinette started buying his favorite flavors. 

Marinette fiddles with the silver band on her finger. “I love him, Jason.”

“So?” He tosses the cardboard boxes in her trash, then proceeds to wash the dishes in her sink for her. Marinette doesn’t let herself go that often, but she always has a hard time feeling okay when she and her husband are fighting like this. 

She stares at a photo of her wedding day, the sheer elation in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks and ear-splitting grin. In comparison, her husband is demure. Almost unemotional. “Love makes you do crazy things.”

Ceramic and metal clink together. He places a bowl in the drying rack, then makes his way over to where Marinette sits on the couch. Her eyes are red, but at least she’s not crying anymore.

“That’s a line for romance novels, not for real life. He’s abusing you, Juliet.” Jason tightens his arm around Marinette’s shoulder, providing her support. The only reason they met was because Marinette ended up getting involved with a modern day retelling of Romeo and Juliet as the understudy. When the lead actress suddenly lost her voice, Marinette had to sub in. 

“Juliet…” Marinette muses. “Does that make him my Romeo?”

She pushes away from Jason, moving to stand near a litany of dried bouquets. The latest addition still looks alive. Marinette caresses one of the petals with her thumb, then makes an indent with her fingernail. Forget-me-nots dry quickly. Roses take longer.  

“No.” Jason’s eyes go dark, and for a moment, Marinette sees a flash of Lazarus green before he banishes it away again. “Not him. Never.”

#

“Please,” Marinette cries in the middle of the night, hand chasing an invisible phantom in her dreams. 

Her husband stares at her from his spot on their bed. 

“Don’t leave me--”

His hand lifts, ready to shake her out of the nightmare. 

“Jason.”

Marinette’s arm falls back onto her chest, tears in the corner of her eyes. Her husband throws the covers off himself, dresses, and walks out of their apartment. 

When the door slams behind him, a dried petal falls to the ground.

#

“Hey,” Jason murmurs, hand pressed against Marinette’s forehead. “You’re not running a fever or anything, but you don’t look too hot.”

Marinette waves him off. “I’ll be fine. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night. Paris Fashion Week is coming up, and you know how important that is.”

“Not as important as your health.”

“A little cold never hurt anybody.”

Jason looks Marinette in the eyes. “More people die from the common cold every year than you might expect. Don’t say things like that.”

Her body softens, leaning into Jason’s warmth. “You know me. I’m tough as nails.”

“I know.” His voice lowers. 

#

“You bastard!”

Jason Todd is a person well known for his bouts of anger. Most of the time, his resentment is dry and cynical. Quick to burn, but easy to put out with the right tools. 

Today, his voice is wet with rage, oil-soaked and smoky. 

“Please sir, calm down. This is a hospital.”

He does not calm down, but he does get quieter. His voice switches from explosions to a blizzard. “How could you do this to her? She loves you.”

The man draws into himself. “Does she? Did she ever?”

“This is no time for your self pity. She’s dying, and it’s your fault for not noticing. If she got treatment earlier--”

“Don’t push the blame on me, Jason. Marinette spends more time with you than she does with me.”

“And why is that? Because you never show up when she needs you, because you forget every single important date, because you keep making her cry. She wants nothing more than to spend time with you. She doesn’t love me. Not like she loves you.” Jason’s hands are balled up into fists, and he’s this close to throwing down with the bastard who has the privilege to call himself Marinette’s husband. “You probably didn’t even notice, but she buys flowers for you every single anniversary that the two of you have had together. Every single anniversary for the past ten years. Up in your apartment.”

Jason pushes the other man up against a wall, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “Every single time she’s come home from one of your god awful dates, she cries. She used to ask why you never gave her flowers, or why you weren’t spending time with her. She doesn’t ask for things like that anymore.”

Scoffing, Jason body checks the man and moves towards the door of Marinette’s hospital room. 

Marinette does not get better.

Her husband does not attend her funeral.

#

On the day of their anniversary, a single red rose appears on her gravestone.

@jasonette-july-2k20

[ravennm84]

Career Advice

Hi everyone!!  This story was inspired by a news anchor that I saw on TV, and thought to myself “what would happen if Alya asked that woman for an internship and showed that woman the Ladyblog.” There wasn’t originally going to be Alya redemption, but I decided that the girl needed some love too. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Alya was practically vibrating in her chair as she sat in the reception area of TVi News. She had heard from Aurora and Mireille that there was a summer internship opening and that she should submit an application. She had spent an entire week working on her resume with her mom’s help, citing her blog as experience. Her mother had told her that she might want to double check all her stories before going in, but already knew that she’d be fine. After all, she was an awesome reporter.

There were four other people in the room with her, and she was definitely the youngest. Two of them looked like they were university age and the other two probably attended lycee. That meant that they likely had a bit more experience than she did, but Alya was confident that her blog would set her up for the win. Not only that, Lila had put in a good word for her with the higher ups of TVi News. All she had to do was nail the interview and the internship was hers!

It was about an hour and two interviews before her turn came. Holding her head high; she grabbed her tablet and portfolio, straightened her skirt, and walked in as smoothly as she could in her heels.

The person conducting the interview was Claudia Ramonte, a no-nonsense kind of woman that always seemed to be on a deadline. She preferred people always be on-point and despised people that wasted her time. She was a legend in the industry, she had been an investigative journalist for over 20 years before going into semi-retirement by helping run the company and hiring new journalists. It was said that she had an eye for who had talent and who was just playing journalist. And if you fell into the latter or made the mistake of insulting her craft, you could kiss any hopes of making it big in the industry goodbye. So as soon as Alya shut the door behind her, she put on her most professional smile and extended her hand to her.

“Mme. Ramonte, Alya Cesaire, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gave her a slight smile as she shook her hand. “When I saw that a kid in college was applying for the internship, I thought that you were either an idiot or you had a pair of steel balls. Show me which one it is.”

A little taken back but her forwardness, Alya’s hand shook slightly as she pulled her resume from the file and handed it to her. “As you can see, I’ve been running my blog, The Ladyblog, for close to a year and a half now.”

“Everyone and their mothers have blogs nowadays, Cesaire.” The woman scoffed as she tossed Alya’s resume onto her desk and turned to her computer, typing quickly. “Every candidate I’m interviewing today has at least two blogs, multiple news articles in their school newspapers, or videos from their college news or radio stations. What is it about your blog that makes you think that you are more qualified than any of them?”

Alya faltered for a second but wouldn’t be deterred, she was an awesome reporter and she would get this internship. “I’ve conducted multiple interviews with different celebrities; including Ladybug herself, other heroes of the Miraculous Team, the daughter of a diplomat who is also Ladybug’s best friend…”

“So have others, Cesaire.” She sounded bored, as she continued reading something on her computer screen.

Squaring her shoulders, Alya kept going. She refused to back down when she was so close to her internship. “I have also done extensive work on recording akuma battles and have compared my footage to other sites. None of them get as close or in depth as I do.”

“And why do you think that is, Mlle. Cesaire?” Her voice going cold

Alya blinked, not expecting the question. “Um… well-”

“Reporters and journalists are not to engage in dangerous situations that are considered life threatening. Whether someone is part of a staff or freelance, they are not to enter danger zones on their own, which you have apparently done numerous times. I will admit that when it comes to journalism, it is never without risks; but no story is worth your life.”

“But there’s no real danger, Ladybug always-”

“A terrorist is a terrorist, Cesaire.” The chill in the woman’s voice gained a hard edge. “And the attacks that have been done by the akumas have, on more than one occasion, shown the potential to be fatal. Should there be even a single time that Ladybug and Chat Noir not pull through, that could result in thousands of deaths. If you think that any credible news source would allow their people to do what you’ve been doing; then you’re more than an idiot, you’re a reckless idiot.” 

Then she turned one of her computer screens towards Alya, which was queued up to the Ladyblog. “And from what I’ve seen from your blog in the two minutes you’ve been in my office; you are not only reckless, but mediocre in your work as a journalist. I have looked through multiple posts and have yet to see a single credible source mentioned. So tell me, how can you think that you are qualified to work here if you cannot follow the most basic rule of journalism and check your sources?”

“I can assure you, everything I post is completely true!” 

“And I’m just supposed to take your word on that? Hardly.” She turned the screen back to herself, then started playing the first interview she had done with Lila. Mme. Ramonte played it for only 15 seconds, in which Lila claimed to be Ladybug’s best friend after she had saved her life, before pausing the video and looking at Alya. “If Lila Rossi, the daughter of a diplomat, had been saved by Ladybug, there would have been multiple articles and recordings of the incident. I just did a cursory search and the only link that came up connecting Rossi and Ladybug is your own blog.”

Alya was speechless. She wanted to say that Lila was telling the truth, but what reason would there be for Mme. Ramonte, who continued playing Lila’s interview, to lie? She stopped the video again a few seconds later, after the tale of saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from being run over by a plane on an airport runway. The look the legendary journalist gave her was that of total disgust and anger. 

“Do I even need to list all the things wrong with

this story?” When Alya didn’t say anything, Mme. Ramonte went off on her, practically ranting. “Firstly, Jagged Stone has been quoted multiple times as being allergic to animal fur, and would not own a cat. Second, no one would allow a minor onto a airport runway, as it would be seen negligence and possibly as an act of terrorism. Even if she had saved some cat from being run over and Jagged had been grateful, no self respecting musician would write a song about a minor that was not their daughter, as doing so could have him labeled as a pedophile. You are very lucky that M. Stone has not seen this interview, because if he had, you would have been served with lawsuits for slander. So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything to keep me from saying that you are nothing more than a wannabe-journalist that isn’t fit to work at a news stand?” 

She wasn’t even sure how to respond. Alya had been so sure that her blog was perfect, but after what Mme. Ramonte had said and how she was looking at her, she really did feel like an idiot for believing what Lila had said. Especially since she should have known better.

She now remembered when she flew to Spain with her parents when she was younger and how far away the landing strip was from the airport. There was no way Lila would have been able to see a kitten from that far away. Alya also remembered how she wanted to go outside and play, but her father told her that only authorized personnel were allowed outside at the airport. Then there was Marinette, the designer had mentioned how she couldn’t do certain designs for the rock star because he had fur allergies from when he was a kid.

Oh no, Marinette has been saying for months that Lila was a liar. Ever since she had seen Lila’s interview. And since she designs for Jagged Stone, she would know that Lila was nothing but a liar. She was also the one that got me my first exclusive with Ladybug, so she’d probably know that she was lying about that, too. And I had the nerve to tell her that she was just being jealous… I’m a terrible friend and an even worse journalist.

Looking back up at Mme. Ramonte, she was barely able to hold back tears as she shook her head. “No, Madame. There is no excuse for such shoddy journalism, it doesn’t even deserve to be called that. I apologize for wasting your time.”

The woman’s features softened slightly, but not by much. “You’re still very young and have a lot to learn about journalism, Cesaire. If I ever see you in my office again, I’ll expect more from you than any other candidate. That means looking out for your safety, knowing what is okay and not okay to publish, and checking your stories through multiple, reliable sources. I would also recommend killing your blog and starting new, the Ladyblog will become toxic to your career if it continues. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Alya couldn’t help but stare at the woman across the desk from her. Despite not deserving it, Mme. Ramonte had given her very sage and constructive advice that just might save her career in the long run. If she killed her blog now, started a new one or two, and followed her advice; by the time she finished lycee, she might be able to use them as proper references for her future career.

“Thank you, Mme. Ramonte. I won’t forget this.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Cesaire,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going to remember this and I will be telling other news sources about your blog as well, to make sure you never repeat these mistakes again. So, if you are really set on being a journalist, don’t just prove it to me, prove to everyone that you are better.”

“Still, thank you. Have a nice day, Mme. Ramonte.” Alya stood from her chair but paused before she turned to walk away. “So you know, I think I’ll be doing one final post on the Ladyblog, to admit my mistakes and all the things I reported incorrectly on my blog, along with the sources to back it up. Sort of a final expose to rid myself of the bad energy from my blog, so I’ll be able to move forward.”

The woman gave a nod of approval. Before waving her out of the office. 

Alya kept her head high the entire way out of the building while doing her best to remain calm, or else risk attracting an akuma. As a bit of a cleanser, she sent a text to Marinette.

To FashionGurl: You were right about Lila. I’m so sorry for not listening to you. Can we talk on Monday? 

A few minutes later, she got a text back.

To FoxyJournalist: You can come by today if you want to talk.

To FashionGurl: Sorry, I’m going to be busy. I have a new story to write about that liar, one that will have multiple sources, showing everyone exactly the kind of person she is.

To FoxyJournalist: Can’t wait to read it!!

~oOo~

What followed for Alya was a very long weekend writing out every story/lie that Lila had ever told her and the class, research into Lila’s old schools, staking herself out in front of the Italian Embassy until Ambassador Rossi came out so she could introduce herself, and then a long conversation at a cafe with the very angry and distraught mother. There were a lot of questions, show-and-tell with the videos on Alya’s blog and news reports from Lila’s old schools, and then the recommendation that she go to speak with M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier. 

Monday morning saw Alya going into the bakery before school, telling Tom and Sabine the truth about Lila, and then grovelling at Marinette’s feet for being such a terrible friend. One thing she did not hesitate to show the Dupain-Chengs were the records and news reports she’d found pertaining to Lila’s old schools. Tracking Lila’s social media, Alya had found three schools and discovered the kind of mayhem the girl left behind. 

One school had a perfect student named Gaia, much like Marinette, bullied until she was expelled. Another school showed another popular girl named Alessia had “fallen” down a flight of stairs and broken both of her legs, a few ribs, and one of her arms. Even though there were multiple eyewitness reports that Lila had pushed her, the Italian girl moved before she could be brought up on charges. The report from the most recent school made all of them sick. A girl named Ludovica had been stalked, harassed, and bullied over social media beginning the day Lila joined the school until the day the girl committed suicide. A quick backtrace on the account showed that it had been set up by Lila Rossi.

It was quickly decided that Sabine would be going to the school to have a word with the principal and teacher. Alya gave them a thumb drive with a copy of all the information she had found, she had multiple copies, so that if they decided to pursue legal actions, they had evidence to back it up.

At school, Alya went to class while Sabine took Marinette M. Damocles' office to speak with him and Mme. Bustier, since the woman was decidedly absent from the room. She had barely sat down when Lila entered the classroom, spouting off some story about meeting Ryan Reynolds over the weekend. Alya barely suppressed her snide grimace before hiding it with a smile.

“Really, Lila? That’s amazing! Did you get any pictures? I would love to post them on my blog?”

Now that she was watching, she saw the girl flinch when asked for actual evidence before putting on a sugary sweet smile. “I didn’t get a chance, my phone died.”

“Oh that’s annoying. Where did you see him?” She asked, pulling up the movie star’s Twitter account. “Because you were here in Paris over the weekend but according to his social media, he was visiting his home town in Canada this week.”

Alya definitely saw the girl scowl that time. “Oh, he just said that so he could come here without anyone knowing. He’s researching a role here in Paris and I was showing him around until my mom called me home.”

“Didn’t you just say that your phone was dead?” That got the classes’ attention, as they had just heard the girl say that was the reason she hadn’t taken any pictures. Lila was about to spout some new excuse; but Alya, who was now channelling her inner Mme. Ramonte, raised a hand to cut her off.

“Don’t even bother coming up with another lie. I know you’re full of crap and it spills out of your mouth with every word you say. And before you try to accuse me of lying, taking Marinette’s side, or bullying you; I think you should know that I spent the majority of the weekend looking into everything you’ve told us.”

The entire class watched the Italian girl’s olive skin turn a sickly white. But Alya wasn’t finished, this girl had been attempting to do the same to Marinette that she had done to Gaia, Alessia, and Ludovica. And as her BFF, she was not going to stand aside and let that happen. “I have piles of evidence that you were never in Achu and have never met Prince Ali, you were just playing hookie. I’ve got evidence that you are perfectly healthy and have never suffered from any of the diseases or ailments that you’ve claimed to have since returning to school. I’ve also got evidence that you have never met any of the celebrities that you claim to know. That includes Ladybug.”

Not so surprising, Lila attempted to turn everyone against Alya by turning on the tears. “That’s not true! I would never lie about all of that. You’re just saying that because you’re mad at me for not getting the internship!”

When the class looked back at Alya, they were surprised to see her grinning like a fox. “Did I forget to mention exactly how I know you weren’t in Achu? Or how I know you're perfectly healthy and don’t know any of those celebrities you’ve claimed to be close to?” 

She paused, mostly for effect before going in for the killing blow. “Your mom and I had a very in depth conversation yesterday when I ran into her outside the embassy. She wasn’t happy about your interviews on the Ladyblog, and she was confused as to why you were claiming to be Ladybug’s BFF when you’ve been telling her for months that she and Chat Noir were a couple of lazy, incompetent, and downright terrible heros; which was why the school was closed.”

If it were possible Lila paled even more before turning to run out the door. The door swung open just as she was reaching for the handle, and was met with an upset Mme. Bustier. “You are needed in the Principal's Office, young lady.” To the surprise of everyone there, Lila attempted to shove her way past their teacher. But the woman was faster and grabbed the girl by the arm in a firm grip before escorting her out of the room.

When the first bell rang a few minutes later, M. Harpele came in to act as the substitute until Mme. Bustier was finished with her meeting. 

Marinette returned to class before their teacher did, smiling bright as the sun and visibly more relaxed than anyone had seen her in weeks. She sat down beside Alya and gave her a tight hug while whispering “thank you” over and over.

“I take it things went well for you instead of Lila?” Alya grinned.

Marinette giggled. “She tried convincing her mom that all of us were akumatized and were trying to ruin her life, but she wasn’t buying it. Especially when M. Damocles showed Mme. Rossi her school records. Mom demanded that Lila give a formal apology and confess everything to the class, or she would get the Board of Governors involved. When Mme. Rossi found out that Lila tried to get me expelled, she lost it and started talking about a catholic reformatory school in Italy. Lila looked like she was going to be sick when she heard that.”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s what she deserves.” Alya shrugged before looking Marinette in the eye again. “I’m really sorry, girl. You’re my BFF, I should have listened to you when you told me Lila was a liar.”

“No, I don’t expect you to listen to me every time. I just wanted you to check things out and make sure that you weren’t being taken advantage of.” Then her brow creased. “I’m curious, what brought all this on?”

“Let’s just say that I just got some much needed career advice.”