#this page was truly a calm before the storm

[beloveu]

"I told him it was time to drink nog until we couldn't remember what a Krampus was." "It can be hard sometimes to find a moment to celebrate when you're lost in the cold... but it's easier with new gloves."

[florencemtrash]

Bedsides and Breakfasts

Summary: After Azriel comes home battered and bruised, he refuses to eat the meal you've made him... Why?

Warnings: Angst, character injury, fluff

Author's note: For context, Y/n is Helion's bastard daughter. In an earlier draft of my other (very long) fic, The Shadowsinger and The Inkbird, this was going to be a scene that takes place after Azriel gets hurt during the Battle on the Lake where Y/n figures out Azriel is her mate. I wanted to finish it up and get it out there because I don't want to say goodbye to that story just yet and I wanted to get back into writing so.... here ya go!

The Townhouse sang quietly as it worked. Its melodies lay in the shifting curtains that shook off dust into the wind. Its lyrics in the whistling teakettle. You liked these sounds as you moved about the kitchen, preparing your tea and a crust of bread slathered with butter and jam. 

When the Townhouse was empty, you didn’t need to fear your power — there was no one around for you to touch and steal memories from. Mor had tried to drag you out to Rita’s that evening — “Rhys says you’ve learned to keep your Clairvoyance at bay! Come dancing with us!” — but you couldn’t muster the courage or the energy.

Besides, you were awaiting a certain Shadowsinger’s arrival. 

“Won’t you come back and make me your home? You who’ve stolen my heart as simple as a whisper, calm as a storm,” You hummed to yourself. You swore the Townhouse sighed in contentment. “Do you like my silly little songs then?” You mused. 

The lights shone a little brighter, crackling the air with a flicker of energy. 

You were singing about Azriel — of course you were — and blushing all the while. He’d been the first to truly speak to you — the first to notice you — and the embrace you’d shared in Rhysand’s office had left you breathless for days. You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your neck as you’d buried your face in the hollow of his throat. The cracked leather beneath your fingers and the short hairs at the base of his skull you’d caressed as lovingly as any flower. It was the first time you’d ever been touched like that. Like you were something worth holding onto. 

When he was gone, the Townhouse felt too empty. You felt too empty. Even now, the edges of your patience frayed like a worn shirt without him. 

You spent the evening’s hours combing through every book you’d managed to lug over from the Library. It was quick, but taxing work as every touch against the weathered binding allowed you to absorb its knowledge without you ever having to lay an eye on the page. 

When the candle flickered dangerously close to your books and the dull throbbing behind your eyes had gone on for too long, you blew out the light and could do no more than curl up on the sofa before falling fast asleep. 

The whispers of shadows woke you. You couldn’t understand the words hidden within their overlapping voices, but their panic and relief were heavy in the air. You could almost taste their meaning on your tongue.

“Y/n,” Azriel moaned. He leaned heavily against the open door, forcing it open against the drag of the carpet. His sword clattered to the ground before his knees. “Y/n,” he called out again, more urgently this time. He prayed to the gods you were home. He’d flown through the night, tattered wings struggling to keep him aloft, to make sure he’d see you again… just in case.

Blood and iron burned your nose and your sleep-swollen eyelids split open. “Az—” Your knee slammed against the coffee table in your struggle to escape the blankets. “AZ!” 

Azriel was always greedy for the sight of you, and that familiar tug in his chest tightened as you rounded the corner and sprinted towards him. You tripped where the hardwood ended and the carpet began, throwing his arm around your shoulder. 

He smiled softly at you. Three months ago, you’d been too afraid to touch anyone. Now here you were half-supporting his weight as he staggered to his feet. He stole a few precious seconds to lean his head into the crook of your neck and breathe in your scent. For a moment, he believed it would be enough to heal him.

“How bad is it?” 

“Three arrows in the right wing, two in the left. Fae bane.” 

“Anywhere else?” You both stumbled down the hallway back from where you’d come. 

“I may have been stabbed a few times.” He offered the piece of information casually, like he was complaining about the price of eggs.

“What’s a few?” Your eyes were wide as the moon. Searching, searching, searching for wounds.

“Ten?” 

Your growl tore through the quiet of the night. 

Your hands were slippery with blood, and Azriel almost slid out of your fingertips as you deposited him against the table. You flung your arms out over the hardwood tabletop sending bottles of ink, pens, and sheafs of papers clattering to the floor before rolling Azriel onto the top and forcing him to lay down.

Under the chandelier, Azriel looked ghastly. The warmth was drained from his skin and the hollows of his eyes and the fullness of his lips were tinged purple from cold. His eyes drifted apart from one another.

“I need you to stay awake.” 

“I will.” His words were slippery as soap on porcelain, syllables sliding into one another as he promised you he would be alright and that he had suffered worse before.  

“Stay awake!” You commanded him and his eyes sharpened ever so slightly on your figure as you tore through the cabinets in the corner. 

Where is it? Where is it? Glass bottles clinked and tottered on rounded bottoms. There! 

You snatched one of the pale green bottles lining the back wall and bit off the cork top with a grimace, spitting it out onto the floor. You could taste the medicine inside coat your teeth with an acrid film. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” You slapped Azriel’s cheeks to keep him awake. “Drink this.” 

Azriel’s lips parted immediately and he accepted every bitter drop you forced down his throat. It wasn’t a cure, but it would help stabilize him long enough for help to arrive. In the time it took for you to call out to Rhys and light the candle that would wake Madja and call her to the Townhouse, Azriel’s cheeks had flushed with some more color. 

The sight did little to ease your worries as you worked on unbuckling the straps of his armor. Piece by piece they fell away with a wet thud on the ground. 

He grabbed your wrist before you could run in search of something to cut off the clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Elain had left gardening shears on the back porch. Perhaps the kitchen had scissors?

“Stay.” He begged. “Please stay.”

“Rhys and Madja will be here soon. I just need to get something to help you.” 

“Then stay.” His grip turned desperate, short nails digging into your forearm. “Stay and help me. Don’t leave me.” 

Azriel might have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain. His hand slid up the curve of your arm to hold your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. 

“I wanted to see you just in case.” His chest rattled with the effort, “Gods, I missed you.” 

He’d been gone weeks on the Continent, scrounging after every whisper of Koschei’s name as far as the eastern mountains. He’d scavenged and raged. Killed and tortured. And he’d missed you all the while. It was what had possessed him to fly all the way to Velaris, when he would have been better off breaking into the Day Court and throwing himself at the mercy of Helion — your father. 

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, angry and hot. “If you say another fucking word like you’re about to die, I will kill you myself.” You were not prone to violence, and Azriel felt some pride that he could elicit such an emotion from you. 

Luckily for you both, Azriel didn’t get a chance to say anything else, and you didn’t get a chance to murder him before Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, and Madja were bursting through the front door and following the blood-red trail to the dining room. 

Azriel squeezed your hand once more. “Stay with me.”

“Where else would I go, Az?” You whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before the others crowded close. 

You stayed at the head of the table, one hand always holding onto Azriel’s. He swallowed his pain, the faintest groans slipping from his lips as arrows were pulled out inch by bloody inch. It was no easy thing to endure, not even for Azriel. Wicked barbs lined the arrow shaft and caught onto the delicate membrane of his wings no matter how Madja twisted, pushed, and pulled. 

One particularly harsh wrench had Azriel crying out, his nails digging into your arm and drawing blood. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, feeling your skin break beneath his nails. His skin was tinged green now. A sickly sheen covered his face and fell over his eyes. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. Just look at me.” You grasped the sides of his face. “Look at me.” 

Once again, Azriel was ready to listen to your commands. His eyes never left yours, not once, until the last of the faebane-tipped arrows dropped onto the table with a menacing ring of metal on wood.

Feyre closed his wounds as best she could, but the flesh inside would take longer to heal. For now all they could do was carefully wipe the blood from his body and carry him up to his bedroom. 

You lingered by Azriel’s side long after he fell asleep, fingers twitching with nerves as you counted every slow and steady breath of his. 

“Y/n.” Feyre gently touched your arm. “He’ll be alright.”

You nodded, still watching Azriel sleep. Then, to your mortification, you burst into tears. Your clothes were drying stiff with sweat and blood — none of it yours — and the red handprints Azriel had left along your arms were turning to copper rust. 

She shushed you, softly tugging at your arms. 

“He-He asked me to stay,” you said between gulps of air. 

“He’d want you to be clean and well-rested, Y/n. Don’t let him wake up feeling guilty.” 

If it weren’t for Feyre, you would have remained glued to the floor of Azriel’s room until you became one of the faces trapped in the wooden floors. You let her lead you across the hall to your own room where she filled the tub with warm water and soap. 

“Shit,” you mumbled. Your fingers shook so much you couldn’t undo the buttons of your dress. Shadows, loose and long as stalks of grass, wound around your back, plucking the buttons undone without a word. 

“He’ll be alright.” Feyre repeated this phrase many times as you scrubbed off the night’s events and turned the water copper brown. The magic of the Townhouse whisked away the grime almost as quickly as it appeared until you sat in a sudsy bath, milky and clean.

“What happened to him, Fey?”

“From what Rhys and I can tell, Koschei had over a dozen archers lying in wait for when he returned to Prythian. We’ve already warned Helion.” 

You nodded. Your head felt heavy on your neck, like a doll with a snapped neck. 

“He nearly died.” Once the words were out in the open, fragile and pure, you broke down again, knees drawn up to your chest in the tub. 

“But he didn’t.” Feyre smoothed back your dripping hair. “It will take more than arrows and faebane for Death to steal him from us, Y/n.” 

Gods you hoped that was true, or else your heart might give out every time Azriel walked out the door. 

You returned to his side the moment you were clothed, hair still dripping onto his gray bed sheets as you leaned forward from your chair and held his hand. He slept on his stomach, wings flared out and peppered with white gauze like a patchwork quilt. Beneath the drape of his blankets you knew more gauze covered his chest and stomach, dotted with blood like blooming roses. 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you awoke to a deep ache in your back and a faint choir of voices in the air. 

Shadows. 

They kissed your cheeks, cool and soft, urging your eyelids open. Azriel was already awake and sitting up in bed with a grimace. One hand clutched his side and a leg hung over the edge of the bed, like he intended to stand. When he saw you, his hazel eyes widened. First in alarm. Then in guilt. 

“Az?” Your voice felt crusted with smoke and sleep and you did what you could to straighten the crook in your neck and your spine from the odd position you’d fallen asleep in. ““You’re not supposed to be sitting up.” Your bones cracked obnoxiously as you moved for the first time in hours, and the guilt in his gaze deepened. 

You pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the gauze scratch your skin, but he did not budge. 

“Az, you need to lay down. What were you even doing up?” 

Azriel’s eyes flickered off to the side. “I was… I was trying to move you to the bed.” 

You swallowed your yawn and blinked in disbelief. “Azriel, you’ve just been shot and stabbed. You need to lay back down.” 

He grabbed your wrists, tugging you forward until you almost collapsed against his chest. “There’s space on the bed. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“The chair is fine, and you are hurt. Now, please—” He did not move. No matter how you reasoned with him. No matter how you tried to shove him back beneath the covers.

“I will lay back down under one condition.” 

You frowned. He was much more stubborn when he was injured. “What condition?” 

“Sleep on the bed. There’s plenty of room.” 

“Az—” 

“Please.” His hands slipped into yours, fingers pressing against the pulse of your wrists. “Y/n, I will be comforted with you beside me.” He held up his finger before you could sleep. “And not in that gods-awful chair. You’ll wake up crooked.”

“I’m not a stalk in a storm,” you grumbled, because it only seemed appropriate that you should fight him on this. Otherwise, you’d have to admit that the thought of melting into his bed set off fireworks in your stomach, exciting and terrifying at the same time. You’d also have to admit the scent of mountain air embedded in every inch of his room brought you comfort. You could lay your head on his pillows and sleep for an eternity. 

I shouldn’t be here. But you let him tug you closer to him. You slid your legs over his waist, calves catching on the waistband of his pants and dragging in a way that had your heart leaping into your stomach until you were safely on the other side of him. 

Azriel’s bed was massive — over 12 feet across to better accommodate the span of his wings. You moved as far away from him as you could without eliciting offense and stared at the window. 

Your muscles clenched as he shifted closer to you, wings rustling against the silk sheets and whispering as he got comfortable. Every time he so much as shifted, your back prickled, as though you had eyes there that shifted to soak up every inch of him. 

He’s hurt and I’m taking up space and—

He reached out his arm and his fingertips brushed against the curve of your back. You stiffened like you’d been struck by lightning. If Azriel were awake, he would have apologized and wrenched back his hand as if burned. But he was fast asleep and the touch was a natural movement he made in his dreams where he was imagining that you were closer to him. So close that he could breathe down your neck and feel you melt beneath his touch. 

You didn’t sleep, as much as the lull of his breathing threatened to sink you into sweet and comforting dreams. The sky was but a lighter shade of black when you were slipping out of bed with barely a whisper. Miraculously, Azriel did not awaken, and his shadows ghosted over the floors drowsily.

You were no stranger to dawn as you padded down to the kitchens. You hummed to yourself, cracking eggs over a well-greased skillet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers tossed in. They bobbed up and down in a sea of yellow like ducks on water. Potatoes browned to your right, their skins crackling and spitting grease as bacon popped and sizzled beside them. 

You ate as you went, plating the final meal for Azriel, who—if you knew anything about him—would be waking shortly after the first rays of sunlight split his shadows in two. 

You slipped back into his room as quietly as you’d left, and then nearly leapt out of your skin to find a dark mass of shadow covering the bed. 

“You’re awake,” you said blankly. 

Azriel propped himself up onto his elbows, back rippling as he forced his stiff and swollen wounds to stretch until he could sit up in bed. 

“Where did you go?” There was but a faint slur to his words. “You weren’t here when I woke up.” 

“I was making breakfast.” You dragged over the ottoman from the foot of his bed as a makeshift table. “Did you brush your teeth already?” Not that it mattered. A sour mouth wouldn’t keep him from a meal if he was hungry. 

The flash of fear in his eyes was so subtle, so brief, that you missed it. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Well that doesn’t really matter. Madja said you should eat first thing. Oh!” You plucked a purple glass bottle from his bedside table. “And she said to drink this with a meal.” You pushed it into his hands, reluctant as they were to take the stoppered bottle from you. 

“I can’t imagine eating right now.” He said, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed out and he swallowed hard. “The smell… it’s… I can’t stomach it.” 

You frowned at that. He liked your cooking. It was only due to circumstance that you hadn’t been able to cook for him in months. 

“Can you please try?” you begged. “Just a bite.”

His skin turned pallid and the dark marks beneath his eyes stood out. He picked up a fork with a trembling hand, stuck it into a potato, then dropped it as if it burned. Suddenly, he regretted asking you to stay the night. Guilt ate away at his stomach, twisting it like spaghetti on a fork. 

You sighed in dejection. “I’ll bring it back downstairs.” You said. You began collecting the silverware from where you’d left them by his side. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, catching your wrist in his hand. 

You smiled softly. “Try and get some rest.” 

“Will you be back?” His words caught you by the door. 

“You won’t even realize I was gone.” 

He doubted that very much. Still, he settled back in bed, rolling onto his stomach to keep its rumbling at bay. He was quite hungry. 

You closed the door behind you, carrying the untouched plate of eggs and potatoes. Cassian stopped his whistling as he made his way down the hall, a teasing smile playing at his lips until he caught sight of your dejected expression. 

“What’s got our resident Librarian frowning? Did someone misplace a book in the House?” 

You didn’t rise to Cassian’s jests. You cast a sullen glance back at Azriel’s door like it was personally responsible for everything, and shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten since he’s been back and I’m starting to get worried. I read up on Illyrian anatomy weeks ago and he should be fine enough to eat by now.” 

Cassian leaned down, taking a careful sniff of the plate before grabbing hold of a butter and rosemary roasted potato and plucking it in his mouth. It was cold and the butter had hardened into a greasy slick, but it was still good. He told you as much as he walked with you back to the kitchens, stealing slivers of potato as he went.

“It’s nice to know my cooking’s not at fault.” 

Cassian jerked back in surprise and sudden understanding. “You made him that?”

“Yes. I know the House has its own will, but I like to cook. And it still feels strange having food just appear out of nowhere.”  

Cassian fought with all his might to keep the cheeky grin from his face. 

Poor Azriel, forced to go hungry because he was still too much of a sheepish fool to tell you about the mating bond let alone accept it. 

He clicked his tongue. He loved his brother to the grave and back, but Azriel had a horrible habit of getting trapped in his own mind. Cassian had hoped you would help with that, given you suffered similarly. 

“I wouldn’t take it too personally. Azriel’s a picky eater. Always has been.”

That was a complete and utter lie. Growing up in the Illyrian war camps meant you either starved or ate whatever gray-brown mush you could get your hands on. Rhysand and Azriel had been quicker to move on from the rugged Illyrian lifestyle, and Rhysand especially had used his High Lord privileges to cultivate a refined and expensive taste, but if they were hungry and limited they didn’t give two shits what went in their mouths. 

“I didn’t realize you could afford to be picky in a war camp,” You grumbled. You dropped the plate’s contents onto a skillet, patiently waiting for the House to light a toasty fire. There was no need to let good food go to waste.   

You thought over it, some minor irritation settling in that the Shadowinger had rejected the food you’d worked to make. It really didn’t make sense that Azriel would be so particular about food. Or anything for that matter. He’d always struck you as the practical, bare-bones sort, and you knew him well enough now to know that was true. His very job required it of him. But then again you couldn’t remember the last time he’d accepted any food that you’d offer-

You froze. Oh. Oh.

The first night he’d visited your apartment in the Day Court, he’d refused your tea and cakes before leaving abruptly. You’d agonized over that night for months, trying to figure out what you might have done to scare him off. But he’d been so kind and shy afterwards and then the whole matter of Koschei had arose and you’d never given it much thought because he just seemed so familiar and... Oh. OH-

“BASTARD!” You spat out in shock. The skillet dropped to the stove with a sharp cry that had Cassian blinking. He’d never seen you like this. So…agitated.

Had you always been this dull? A year ago you might have been able to blame it on your naïveté, but you weren’t so socially misinformed now and yet this was a bit much. And… oh you couldn’t wrap your head around your own stupidity to even begin to think about a mating bond with…

A mating bond with Azriel. You… you were his mate. He was yours. And you were his. And suddenly the pieces of it were falling into place so quickly you thought you might be crushed beneath the weight. 

Mate.

Even the thought of the word crashed around your mind incessantly, like an anxious dog trying to settle down to sleep. Yet it all made such perfect sense. The way Azriel always found you when you were in danger or grieving. The awful days when Azriel had been away and you’d felt like a piece of your body had been severed. The way that the world felt right when he was beside you. Maybe it was the bond, maybe it was just something born out of love, or maybe they were one and the same. It was impossible to tell but it didn’t change anything.

Mate.

Cassian glanced sideways at you and said cautiously, “We’re both bastards, Y/n. I don’t think that’s much of an insult coming from your mouth.”

Your eyes snapped to his, suddenly remembering that he was in the kitchen with you. You brandished a fork in your hand like a weapon, pointing the pronged end up at him like he was a piece of meat to be skewered. You were shorter than him, but the sharpness in your eyes made him pause.

“You.” Such a simple word, yet it sounded so threatening. “You knew didn’t you?”

Was he sweating? The room felt warm.

“I don’t know what-“ You snatched his wrist and with your magic, you stole the information from him that you needed. It was as easy as plucking a flower from a field. 

Fuck. Cassian groaned at the same time you did. You knew now. Not that you really needed confirmation from Cassian. Still. It was rather embarrassing to learn you were the last of… well everyone to know, even if it was your fault for not noticing the signs. In your defense you had been preoccupied with other matters…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You muttered, heating up the remaining food with a great deal of force before setting down a fresh tray, plate, utensils, and mug of tea on the countertop.

You keep muttering to yourself, your joy disguised by your embarrassment and no small amount of shock. Cassian watched nervously as you prepped the plate. 

You’d no sooner growled, “Move,” before Cassian leapt to the side and you set off out the door and down the hallway back to Azriel’s room.

She knows. One shadow whispered in his ear. Azriel felt his heart skyrocket and his stomach plunge to the cradle of his hip bones. 

She seems… upset.

Upset was a mild word. You were alight with every emotion possible — fury, fear, anxiety, excitement, love — and Azriel struggled to tease them apart. It was like he’d been hit in the chest by a tangle of snakes, each a writhing, living, ever-changing thing. One moment you seemed nervous, the next angry. 

“You.” Your knuckles were pale as they gripped the tray. Sunlight molded to your form like a crown, and it became all the more apparent that you were Helion’s daughter — his bastard daughter, but daughter nevertheless. 

He scrambled into a seated position just in time for you to drop the tray in his lap with a clatter that sent fork and knife skittering over the dish.

You looked down at the tray, then up at his eyes, wide and molten as amber. “You didn’t tell me.” You didn’t need to elaborate any further. 

“I didn’t think—”

“You’re right. You didn’t.” You blinked, suddenly shy. “Did I not make it clear enough that I liked you? That I loved—love you? Or perhaps you don’t… perhaps you don’t want me.” That was a possibility you hadn’t thought of in your excitement to see him again. 

Oh gods, you hadn’t thought of that possibility had you? You’d just aggressively thrown food at him, expecting that he would—

Azriel gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him again. Your cheeks were warm and painted with color. 

“I always worried I was reading into actions that meant nothing to you. But, never think for a moment that I don’t want you.” He smiled then, a shy, secret smile reserved for you. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

Now your cheeks were burning, but Azriel did not mind feeling this kind of heat on his hands. He let go of your chin, twirling a fork with his fingers like it was a knife. It was one of his few nervous ticks whose knowledge was reserved for the people he trusted. For the people he loved. 

“Being with me will put you in more danger than you know.” 

“But I expect it will bring me more happiness than I could have ever imagined.” You raised a hand up to his face, twisting away a stubborn curl of hair that fell over his forehead. “And you forget who my father is,” you reminded him. “Maybe it is I who will put you in danger.” 

“Maybe,” Azriel whispered. His breath fanned over your cheeks, soft and sweet. 

You picked up the fork, lifting it up in between you. 

“Eat.” You commanded him. 

Azriel smiled, plucking it from your fingers and stabbing a potato. He sighed. “I never could deny you anything, and I would never want to,” he said, before chewing carefully. Cautiously. 

You blinked in surprise, instinctively taking a step away when you felt something new and warm begin to burn in your chest, like someone had taken a drop of the molten hazel in Azriel’s eyes and dropped it into your heart. 

“Oh.” You breathed. 

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “An unusual feeling, I know.” He placed the tray beside him and he’d no sooner opened his arms before you’d buried your face in the crook of his neck. You wanted more of that warmth in your chest. You wanted to slip into Azriel's skin as close as possible to his beating heart. To feel the mating bond wrap around you both like a curtain to block out the rest of the world. 

Azriel groaned in pain, but would not let you leave his embrace. No pain had ever been worth so much. 

You forced him to finish eating, even though all he wanted was the taste of you on his lips. “Later,” you promised him. When he was healed and whole there would be more breathless kisses and urgent touches, but for now he had to content himself with eating his meal and drinking his draught. But he would not be denied the press of your skin against his as you slipped beneath the covers and curled up beside him. This time, you fell asleep quickly and your dreams came over you like water. 

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ��� x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner. 

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had. 

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress. 

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded." 

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love. 

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most? 

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health. 

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides.  Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion. 

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized. 

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep. 

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters. 

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs. 

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence. 

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused. 

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did. 

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe." 

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness. 

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie. 

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet. 

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements. 

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth. 

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served. 

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging. 

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged. 

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss. 

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light. 

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost. 

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease. 

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind. 

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.” 

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 9, Unselfish - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex (nothing on page), fluff.

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: Despite Jade's interference, you and Bucky spent a pleasant, intimate afternoon together. Secrets were revealed. Steve's in love with you-- who knew?! And Bucky's hella insecure about it, but you reassured him that he's the one you want. You share your phone passcodes (so cute, I could gag) and are in a good place, but Steve's asked Bucky to take point on Jade's training. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Let's call this part "The Calm Before the Storm," shall we? I think it's the final peaceful moment before shit begins hitting the fan with increasing severity. I am sorry for what is to come.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows

The following morning, you and Bucky made your way out of the Tower to an adorable Midtown café you’d been coming to since you first began spending time together. The interior consisted of high windows, exposed brick walls, comfortable seating, and plants everywhere. You made your way up to the loft to commandeer one of the oversized plush armchairs for the two of you while Bucky placed your orders.

“Peanut butter coffee shake,” he said when he arrived, handing you your order as he snuggled down into the chair next to you. With the hand that wasn’t holding his large black coffee, he adjusted your legs until they were draped over his lap and he began running his fingers along the length of your thigh.

“Thank you,” you murmured, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. You'd told him you hadn’t minded waiting in line with him, or even going to get the drinks yourself while he got the seats, but he scoffed.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my girl wait in line when I’m perfectly capable of doing it, myself?” he retorted. So, you’d accepted his chivalry.

“So,” you began after a few moments of companionable silence and sips of your respective beverages, “we should talk about Steve’s request. You taking on Jade’s training.”

Bucky slung an arm over the backrest of the armchair. “Nothing to talk about, doll. I’m gonna tell him I won’t do it. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

You offered him a soft smile, grateful that he was taking your feelings, however ridiculous and unfounded they might have been, into consideration. You’d been giving the matter a lot of thought, however, and as far as you were concerned, there was only one course of action he could take.

“I really appreciate that, Buck,” you said, lifting a hand up to caress his jawline, “but I think you should do it.”

He gaped at you, surprise and confusion plainly evident across his face. “Is this one of those boyfriend tests Sam’s always making me watch videos of on that clock app?” he asked, looking around as though searching for a camera that might be recording him.

You chuckled, taking his hand and rubbing comforting circles into the mound above his thumb. “No, I promise it’s not. I’ve just been giving it a lot of thought, and I can’t justify asking you not to do it. I don’t love the idea, I won’t lie about that, but if Jade’s going to become the best Avenger she can possibly be, she’s going to need the best teacher. There’s no one else more suited to train her than you, and that’s just a fact. I don’t have to like it, but her ability to be a good teammate, to ensure that she knows what she’s doing and keep you and the others safe on missions? Well, that trumps my feelings on the matter.”

Bucky took your joined hands and raised them to his lips, pressing a kiss to the pulse point of your wrist. “Are you absolutely sure? If you have any doubts, I’ll tell Steve he can train her, himself.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, baby, really. I may not trust her as far as I can throw her, but I trust you. That’s good enough for me.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, kissing your temple. “You’ll tell me the second she does anything that makes you uncomfortable, alright, sweets?” he asked. “I won’t be able to live with myself if anything I’ve done inadvertently makes you unhappy. Promise me, okay?”

“I promise,” you said, smiling back at him as you rested your head into the crook of his shoulder. “I only ask that you be transparent with me, you know?” Bucky gave you a questioning look, silently asking you to elaborate. “Just, like, let me know if she says or does anything inappropriate, tell me if you’re going to spend any one-on-one time with her, that sort of thing. Is that cool?”

Bucky nodded as he ran his fingers up and down your upper arm. “Yeah, that’s easy enough,” he said. “But I really don’t think you gotta worry about it, doll. I mean, what’s a girl like her gonna see in a guy like me, anyway?”

You pulled your head back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, a note of defensiveness creeping into your voice. “What, you think she’s too good to be interested in you? Because if so, what does that mean you think about me?”

Bucky put his coffee cup down on the table in front of you and positioned himself so that he was looking you directly in the face. “No. Not at all, sweetheart. I mean, she doesn’t know me. Not like you do, not even close. All she knows is what she’s seen in the media. The Winter Soldier. The assassin, the killer. She doesn’t know Bucky Barnes. You know me. You know who I really am. You see me. She can’t.” He said the words as if it were so obvious, so apparent, that there was no way Jade could be truly interested in him simply because she didn’t know who he truly was, that it made you question why you were letting yourself get so worked up over it in the first place.

“Listen,” he said, reaching a hand up to cup the side of your face and brush back your hair, “I hate that you’re getting yourself so upset over this. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I just don’t trust her, Buck,” you murmured, leaning into his palm. “She’s manipulative, plays fast and loose with the truth, and she’s made it perfectly clear to me that she wants to sleep with you.”

Bucky pulled his head back slightly. “When did she say that?”

Shit. You hadn’t meant to divulge that nugget of truth. Might as well come clean; cat was out of the bag now. “When I was doing her Tower tour,” you told him with a sigh. “She was telling me that she was going to sleep with you, find out if your super soldier stamina could make her come for hours, and then let me know all about it.”

Bucky began laughing, and when you glared at him, he raised his hand in surrender. “I’m sorry, but it’s kinda pathetic of her, don’t you think? I mean, she’s acting like she’s hot shit, like she’s god’s gift to men, and she has no clue she’s talking to the only woman alive who's actually been on the receiving end of my ‘super soldier stamina’ . I sincerely hope you told her you weren’t in need of her offer, since you already knew for yourself. Every day, and usually more than once, I might add.”

You snorted. “I might have mentioned it, yeah,” you muttered, ducking your head to hide your embarrassment behind your hair.

Bucky leaned his head back. “That’s my girl,” he laughed heartily. He pulled you closer to him until you were sitting in his lap. “No wonder she’s been such a bitch to you. I bet she didn’t expect you to bring her down a peg. Serves her right.”

You put down your own coffee and wrapped your arms around him, snuggling your body as close to Bucky’s chest as you could get. “Thank you,” you said. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“Hey,” he said, stroking your hair, “I’m only telling you the truth. "I love you, and only you. I don’t want you ever doubting that.”

“I don’t, and I won’t,” you assured him. “And I love you, too. So fucking much.”

“Too bad we’re not back at the Tower,” Bucky joked. “Stark’d be getting another dollar in his jar.”

“No worries there,” you said, holding up your wrist to show him the silver bangle you always wore. “In addition to keeping track of my location, vitals, and being a distress beacon, Tony also programed it to count every time I swear, so FRIDAY never misses a thing.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “So, you’re saying that last week, when we were in the bathroom at that bar…”

“And I kept begging you to ‘fuck me harder’ against the sink?” you giggled. “Yup. Every single one of those counted.”

“God, how much money is in that jar by now?” he asked with a laugh.

“I honestly have no idea,” you told him. “A lot, I’d wager. It’s been almost a year and a half.”

Bucky leaned in to kiss you. “Told you I love that filthy mouth of yours,” he whispered into your lips. “What are you going to do with all of it?”

“Hmm,” you hummed. “Maybe you and I could take a long vacation, go somewhere, just the two of us.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a smile building across his beautiful face. “Where’d you have in mind?”

“I dunno,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. “I’ve always heard Tahiti was a magical place.”

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[outtoshatter]

Inspired by @christinesficrecs, I'm going to do a few author spotlights! No one can stop me. I am going to shower love upon my pals and boost other writers in this fandom.

Up first we have @halevetica! She has so many options for readers!

Multi-Chapter Fics:

Leave Me in Ruins | 66K+ | 48 chapters tags: friends with benefits, slow burn, miscommunication

Summary: Derek finds himself in a difficult spot when he mistakenly sleeps with Stiles. The two agree to forget it but Derek can't. Before long, its becoming a regular thing, now Derek has to deal with the issue of falling even more for Stiles or losing him all together.

Stiles never dreamed of waking up next to Derek, but it's now a regular thing. However, he has to keep his emotions in check so Derek doesn't realize how he truly feels all while keeping their 'relationship' a secret from the pack and fighting the new big bad in town.

Like it or Not | 80k+ | 56 chapters tags: fake dating, enemies to lovers, mutual pining!

Summary: Stiles works as the editorial assistant at Vogue. He loves everything about his job except for his boss, Derek Hale. Derek Hale is the worst and Stiles hates him. But when Derek drags him to the yearly awards dinner within the company, he is forced to play boyfriend for the night to make Derek's ex jealous. Things couldn't get much worse…or so Stiles thought.

Same Old Song and Dance | Rated: E | 125k | 91 chapters tags: Alpha Derek, hunter Stiles, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers

Summary: Raised in the hunter life after his father was killed, Stiles hates werewolves. So when he lands a contract to kill the alpha of the pack that killed his father, he's elated. Until he runs into complications. The alpha is smart and strong and playing a game Stiles can't figure out. When secrets are revealed and new enemies made, Stiles must decide for himself what side he's on and who he can trust.

One shots:

Cute Together | 4k Summary: When Stiles gets stuck on a ski lift he meets Derek, who is scared of heights. He helps keep Derek calm until they can get rescued which leads to Derek teaching Stiles to ice skate. Along the way he helps Derek's two friends get together.

Promise | 3k Summary: Derek is stuck in the airport after his flight gets cancelled on Christmas eve when he meets Stiles Stilinski. Stiles is a friendly stranger that convinces Derek to have a little fun while stuck in the airport. His night with Stiles has more of an effect that Derek thought it would.

Feels Like Home | 4k Summary: Derek has spent years trying to quell the storm in his chest. The one that makes him feel lonely, like he doesn't belong. When searching for that feeling of home in New York where, he lived with Laura, he runs into Stiles Stilinski, who insists on Derek staying with him while in town. Derek shouldn't be shocked to find that Stiles feels like home.

Things to look forward to (aka works in progress!)

Shatter my Reality | 32k so far | 23 chapters to feast on! tags: mutual pining, jealous Stiles, ~magic~ Stiles, Stilinski twins! Summary: Months after the nogitsune, Stiles starts to see his own face around town. He dismisses it as PTSD. That is, until Lydia starts having a feeling that Stiles is going to die. As the pack scramble to find out what is going on, Stiles is forced to face a ghost from a past he didn't know he had and a future that seems to threaten his place in the pack.

Tangled Crowns | 23k so far~ | 14 terrific chapters to enjoy! tags: royal au, prince Stiles, prince Derek, magic Stiles! Summary: Flattery. Derek's life is full of it. Fake smiles, fake compliments, fake people. It's exhausting.

Desperate for a night away from the high expectations and rigid life of royalty, Derek escapes to a small tavern where he meets a sweet, attractive, genuine man who only gives him the name "Mischief". He has Derek swooning by the end of the night, and Derek doesn't swoon. Their night together, the first and only real connection Derek has had in years, if not his whole life, ends too soon, and he must return to his responsibilities.

Stiles isn't ready to give up on the mysterious, handsome "Samuel" that he met in the tavern, convinced they have a connection. He finds himself risking family secrets and even the peace of his own kingdom just to keep that connection even when it seems impossible. As circumstances force them together despite betrayal and aching hearts on both sides, Derek must fight both his heart and Stiles while Stiles struggles to prove to Derek that everything between them is real.

Go check out Halevetica's AO3 page and enjoy! Don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos, maybe even drop a comment!

[blackdragoness]

PAC: WHAT MAKES YOU STAND OUT?

1) Pile 1 - 10 of Pentacles

2) Pile 2- Page of Wands

3) Pile 3- 5 of Pentacles

--------------------------------------------------------------

Pile 1 - 10 of Pentacles

💍WIFEY💍

What makes you standout:

- wifey material

- stable

- patient

- kind

- sustainable

- efficient

- workaholics

- might come from a great family or upbringing

- endurance

- "you better shape up, cuz I need a man but my heart is set on you" sandy from grease

- temptation

-personable

-charismatic

-public speaking

-might be great with animals

-high standards and high morals

Tarot Cards:

You are the TOTAL PACKAGE. Hot Mami Tamale 🔥This is why you are wifey material. You are the calm of any storm. You are a great problem solver. I'm channelling alot of masculine energy. A lot of men think about you. You may be surrounded by men a lot either in a work environment or friend environment, etc. Men know they can rely on you to complete tasks that may be too heavy for other women to carry. You may have many suitors. Early on you may doubt your self worth because many of your suitors may not take you seriously at first but then fall madly in love as time goes on. You may be extremely attractive whether you care to admit it or not. This is why men don't take you seriously at first. They think you are nothing but a trophy and a good time. That is until they open up Pandora's box and find out all there is to know about such a beautiful alien creature that you are lol. Men realize you are not one to play with because you aren't afraid to walk away from anything that doesn't serve you. You may be "the one that got away" for a lot of people. This is not a love reading but I am channelling alot of romantic feelings from the opposite sex (not gender specific). You may be perceived as someone who never struggles in romance as you have lots of romantic offers. You always seem to glow up and level up every time you close a chapter in your life. A lot of people from your past miss you and wish to reconnect. What makes you standout is how people react to you. People notice the various reactions you evoke in those you interact with. Even those who are widely known for being the Eeyore of the crew will crack a smile or laugh during an interaction with you. You make everything seem effortless. I'm hearing legacy. Those who chose this pile are destined to leave behind a legacy. It could be positive or negative, but it's your choice to write your own story. Whatever it be, it will be what your bloodline is known for for generations to come but also be what you guys are skilled at. People don't realize what you meant to them until you walked away but things seemed to be effortless for you once you walked away and chose yourself. You stand out for your self love and your love for others. You want everyone around you to succeed and thrive. Everyone feels more inspired and motivated when you are around. You are many peoples muse. Keep shining bright like a diamond hunty.

Channelled Movie: Land Before Time

Channelled Song: You're The One That I Want - Olivia Newton John & John Travolta

--------------------------------------------------------------

Pile 2: Page of Wands

⭐SUPERSTAR⭐

What makes you standout:

- limitless potential

-innovative

-breathe of fresh air

-unorthodox

-thinks outside the box

-talkative and communicative but in a way that grabs your attention for a long period of time

-leadership qualities

-initiative

-strong aries vibes

-lone wolf

-menace to society

-catalyst for change

Tarot cards:

If you chose this group, the thing that makes you stand out is that you have an undercover celebrity vibe about you. What makes you stand out is that you do not see just now truly magical you are to other people. Whimsical. You seem like a fairy when people first meet you and they wonder why you settle for the life you choose. You might live a very simple mundane and minimalistic lifestyle. Nothing wrong with that but you stand out to people because they think you should be living more lavishly. It's like if someone who looked like Jennifer Lopez decided to settle for a basic 9-5 career while rocking Shein's and being okay with that. Granted, she would still slay but do you see why you stand out? You look like something that waltzed right out of a Disney movie. "if there was anyone who would make it big from this small town, it would be that girl!" A lot of people see you as a celebrity in the making. Like you could be a model, an actress, a super star! But you are at peace with working a basic job making minimum wage. You make people want to invest in you. However, there's Something about a lack of motivation and being stuck in between two worlds. Indecisive energy. This may keep you awake at night. Wondering about your stability and your future. You are a rollercoaster! When people meet you, they aren't prepared for the rollercoaster of emotions you take them through. You are hard to comprehend and understand. Some of the things you do may at face value seem completely disrespectful and inhumane. But as time goes on and people pick apart the incident, they come to understand the innocence of your actions. As much as people hate it, they can't resist it. People can become very addicted to you and lose sleep over you. People can develop very jealous feelings towards you wondering if you are entertaining others or if their partners are secretly entertaining you. Lots and lots of birds in your life. Lots of talk. Lots of chita-chatta. You stand out because you are very humble. You are okay with the simple and mundane things in life. A lot of people think you could be famous or widely known for the ideas you come up with but you don't seem to care for the recognition. This is why you stand out. You are very talented and skilled in many things yet you do nothing with it. You are someone who shines bright without even trying. you may not like the spotlight or being the center of attention but when you do open up and share parts of your world with others, they feel so warm and gooey like warm honey lol. People don't understand why you aren't utilizing your talents. But it's only because they are addicted to your honey! They wish they could have it 24/7 but they disregard the fact that you are a human being as well. You may like a lot of time alone. Inner peace. Boundaries. You see the world differently. You choose to develop and master your talents in private and use them only when needed. Fame is not what you are after. It's skill. But not many people understand that or know. You may not even know that yourself. That is why you do not care to show off your talents.

Channelled Movie: Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile

Channelled Song: Anti-hero: Taylor Swift

--------------------------------------------------------------

Pile 3: 5 of Pentacles

🏍️RIDE OR DIE ALPHA🏍️

-charitable

-selfless , will take the shirt off your back to help someone in need

-Icy Queen vibes - you colddddddd AF bitch 🤣 I'd like to see a mf TRY!

-cut off game strong

-spiritual to the point where people think you are a little kookoo in the noggin

-out of touch, out of reach, out of sight

-known for overcoming deep struggles and being victorious

-Soldier energy

-experienced

-teacher, mentor energy

-moves in silence

-unexpected

-enigma

Tarot cards:

You stand out because of your resiliency and your indestructibility. Whoever chose this pile, you have been through the war field many times in your life. Wounded. Stranded. Deserted. Left out. Shamed. Abused. Manipulated. Betrayal. So much hate and malice thrown your way and still you rose. Gahhhh dayum Pile 3, y'all some muthafuckin' souljah's, lets just say that! Your world could have been flipped upside down And tossed around and yet you still rose from the destruction and created opportunities for yourself. Dayuuuummmmmm. This energy is huge and it's intense. Who tf are you? When people think of you they are AMAZED at your inner strength especially after they find out your history and all the battles you've fought. You are valiant. Chivalrous. Immovable. Courageous. Unstoppable. Warrior spirit. Phoenix rising. People may have seen you come out victorious from a very tumultuous time. It's shocking and astonishing. You see the silver lining in everything so even the sourest of life experiences, you are able to see the sweetness of it all. Real life influencer vibes. "N*gga, F*ck your twitter, bitches follow me in real life" -J Cole. In a league of your own. In your own world. Superhero vibes. Super Villain vibes. GOAT. Go getter. Midas touch. Alpha dawg. Regina George/Sharpay Evans vibes. Pristine. Prim & proper. Upperclass vibes. The popular girl in school. Girl next door vibes. Confidence on 30000x. Beyonce of your own world. Fierce. Magnetic. One in a million. Unique. Straight to the point. Cut-throat. No bullshit.

Channelled Movie: The Blind Side

Channelled Song: Scars to Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara

[yumicreatesworld]

Betrayal: Gift Rejected - Jake Sim

Summary: You confront Jake after discovering he sought advice from Yuna, your manipulative ex-best friend, for your painful condition. Her advice worsened your symptoms, and Jake’s betrayal stings deeply. Despite his attempt to reconcile with an expensive gift, you tell him you need time to consider if you can ever trust him again.

Pairing: boyfriend!Jake x girlfriend!reader (featuring ex bestfriend!Yuna)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 600

Genre: Contemporary, Romance

Warnings: emotional betrayal, medical issues, emotional distress, manipulation.

I got the idea for this Drabble from this prompt. Go check out their page!

“Thank you, I really hate it,” you say, pushing the velvet box back toward Jake. Your voice is calm, almost too calm, the kind that comes before a storm. You watch him flinch, his attempt at a placating smile faltering.

“Y/N, please, I thought—”

"No," you interrupt, shaking your head. "You didn't think. You went to her. Of all people, Jake, you went to Yuna."

His face crumples, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But the pain from your condition, the searing embarrassment, is too fresh. You can't forget the moment you discovered what he had done, the betrayal cutting deeper than the physical agony.

You had been dealing with thrush for weeks, the constant discomfort making even the simplest tasks unbearable. You trusted Jake to understand, to support you. Instead, he had sought help from the one person you despised more than anyone.

Yuna. The name alone makes your skin crawl. Once your best friend, she had charmed her way into your life, only to rip it apart. Her flirtation with your former boyfriend had been the final straw, leading to a painful breakup and the end of your friendship. Now, she was a well-loved doctor, her reputation untarnished by the manipulative games she played.

When you found out Jake had gone to her for advice, it felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath you. Worse, the 'advice' she gave him had aggravated your condition, leaving you in more pain than before. Yuna’s delighted laughter when you confronted her still echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder of her betrayal.

"I didn't know who else to ask," Jake says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help."

"You wanted to help?" you echo, incredulous. "By going to her? You know what she did to me, what she’s capable of. And you thought she would help?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but you hold up a hand, stopping him. "You didn't even tell me, Jake. You didn't think to ask me how I felt about it. You just went behind my back."

He looks down, the guilt plain on his face. "I thought... I thought if I could fix it, you wouldn't have to suffer anymore."

You laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "Suffer? You think I'm just suffering because of the pain? Jake, I'm suffering because the one person I should be able to trust went to the one person who delights in my misery."

Silence falls between you, heavy and suffocating. You stare at the velvet box, the expensive gift inside a testament to Jake’s misguided attempt to make things right. It’s too little, too late.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispers. "I just wanted to make you happy again."

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back. "I don't want your gifts, Jake. I wanted your honesty. I wanted your support. And you gave me betrayal instead."

He reaches out, his hand trembling, but you step back, shaking your head. "I need time," you say quietly. "Time to figure out if I can ever trust you again."

Jake's face falls, but he nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I'll wait," he says. "However long it takes, I'll wait."

You turn away, unable to bear the sight of his broken expression any longer. As you walk away, the pain of your condition flares, but it's nothing compared to the ache in your heart. You wonder if some wounds can ever truly heal, or if the scars left behind will always remind you of the hurt.

Only time will tell.

Part 2(a)

Part 2(b)

Hope y’all enjoyed!

[dk-wren]

Buddy Daddies & “Silent Night”

Happy holidays and Merry Christmas!

I’ve been busy working on other projects, so no time to write a fic for Christmas. However, I still wanted to do something, and thinking about the work I do outside of here, this is what I came up with. So, to celebrate the season, and the anniversary of Miri falling into the lives of Kazuki and Rei, I present a brief history of “Silent Night” and its relevance/connections to Buddy Daddies!

Brief History:

"Silent Night" was first performed in 1818 at the St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria. The lyrics were written by Father Joseph Mohr, which were originally adapted from a poem he had written two years previously, while the melody was composed by Franz Gruber. The song was originally written in German for two voices and an accompanying guitar, though an organ accompaniment was composed several years later (presumably along with an arrangement for a choir since it is traditionally performed in Austria during Christmas Eve Mass).

In Buddy Daddies, Miri is heard singing the first of six verses, which is probably the most well-known verse. When translated to English (first in 1858), and what I gather as the most common/used translation, or the one I am most familiar, only three verses are translated (verses 1, 6, and 2, in that order). Since its original performance/publication, "Silent Night" has been translated into over 300 languages and dialects.

Connections to Buddy Daddies:

(Just to be upfront, this is more my interpretation. I also want to acknowledge that there are a lot of religious elements in this song, which I do not feel I can adequately address/discuss. Though I may be wrong, I also don't think the religious elements are really at play in Buddy Daddies)

First things first, it is more than a little ironic how the first time "Silent Night" is heard in Buddy Daddies, or when Miri enters the hotel in ep. 1, an instrumental version is heard in the background, and in ep. 12 during Miri's Christmas recital (also kind of in ep. 11 when Miri is practicing), a gunfight precedes or succeeds this song.

That being said, it works since those moments then act like the calm before or after the storm. While there will always be some craziness or hecticness in raising a four/five year old, the moments that Kazuki and Rei spend with Miri, especially after these fights, act as moments of comfort or reassurance that their family is all together and they have each other.

The final line we hear Miri sing, and of the first verse, "Sleep in heavenly peace," arguably represents Kazuki and Rei's wish for Miri: that she is safe, has nothing to truly worry about, and knows she is loved. Their drive and desire to let Miri sleep soundly at the end of every night is what causes them to choose their family over the organization and to fight back knowing that the organization disapproves of such "attachments" or the idea of Rei, Kazuki, and Miri being a family. While this scene is not connected to one of the times "Silent Night" is heard in Buddy Daddies, this comfort of having each other and being able to rest easy because of this feeling is also clearly seen in the ep. 3 after credits scene. The events of ep. 3 is the first time Kazuki, Rei, and Miri all seem to acknowledge that they are a family and will be staying by each other's side in the long run, which may then be why Rei quickly falls asleep as they are all relatively on the same page about their relationships to one another (and everyone he loves, whether or not he fully processes this yet, is safe next to him).

In having Miri sing this song at the end of ep. 12, the lines "All is calm, all is bright" also stand out because that is how Kazuki and Rei are seeing their future now. They've done everything in their power to walk away from the organization for good, and they did it without losing their lives. Now, their sole mission is to look after Miri and raise their daughter to be the best person she can be. The two walking into Miri's concert and standing in the back (not just because they were late, but because of their injuries) may give them some time for reflection about what they did that day and how that provided them the opportunity to successfully go after the future they've dreamed of.

Not directly related to the song, but during my research, I also found that another big accomplishment for lyricist Joseph Mohr was his role in building the first school in one village and setting up a fund that would help to cover the cost of education so that children from poorer families could still attend/be educated. His work as a priest could be interpreted as him having an affinity for providing for or working to better the lives of children. Considering how much Kazuki and Rei do to look after Miri's happiness and well-being, the personal life of the lyricist of "Silent Night" then adds some more depth into this song being featured throughout Buddy Daddies given Mohr's connections to looking after and taking into consideration the needs of growing children.

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.

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Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this quick little exploration into "Silent Night." There were more things I wanted to include in the history section, but I felt it would have been too much or gotten too long. I hope the little bit I included was enough though and not too boring.

Happy holidays, everyone!

-Dakota Wren

(P.S. gonna slide this announcement into the bottom of my post, but you know how I wrote at the top I've been busy working on "other projects?" Well, that's because I am currently planning to do a celebration week leading up to the 1 year anniversary of Buddy Daddies premiere. If all goes according to plan, I will have something posted each day from Jan 1st-Jan 7th. If I need to switch to plan B, then expect a mega-post or multi-posts throughout the day on Jan 7th. So while I don't have any new content for the holiday season, expect some relatively soon with the new year. Thanks for reading and again, happy holidays!)

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Prompt: "I'm not going anywhere."

Song: Anchor - Novo Amor

For Tolya x Reader please!

Maybe He Was All Blessings - Tolya Yul Bataar

You know I got you doll.

Content Warnings: Canon Compliance Violence and Threat. The Fear of Loss And Abandonment. Not Proof/Beta Read.

Hurt/Comfort? Hurt/Comfort.

Things were not going to plan. Between The Darkling's advances and now the heist going so very wrong as the poison fills the room and your lungs.

You stumble against the wall hard, and your eyes dart across the room, Kaz is still attempting to find a way to break through the containment, but you know it's futile. Durast enforced there is no time to try this fight, it's wasted energy.

"Tolya?" You call out, but he has already fallen to the ground, consciousness. You want to reach him. You want to use all the energy you have left to be closer. You need to, but your head is spinning and everything feels heavy.

You drag in a laboured breath and the spinning doesn't stop. "Tolya?" You try again. But everything is moving too fast now, the room is a blur and your heartbeat is pounding.

You can hear him though, in the back of your mind. "If you don't slow that down, your heart will run away from you lapushka," his voice whispers.

He only said it once, when the sea was quiet and the night long and dark. He said it without thinking, and did not linger on it. Tolya was true in that way, honest and truly himself, but there is a way in which he gently holds the world back sometimes. Never out of anything less than patience. Boundlessly kind and endlessly hopeful.

You wished yourself wiser than to let your mind linger on such a passing endearment. You are so sure it could have no deeper meaning, nothing more than a moment in the quiet where the word from a poem felt like the right thing to calm your nerves.

Tolya's friendship had always been the thing above all else that grounded you. For no matter how badly things were going, or how much you filled with doubt, he stood strong and steady. Sometimes his strength had you convinced he was made of more than flesh and bone and blessings. Maybe he was all blessings. Or maybe he was truly made like all the trees that stand even through the storms, through the wars, consistent, ever growing, ever nurturing, never failing.

Your feelings for Tolya were your own, and you cared not to make them any one else's matter, especially Tolya's as you'd convinced yourself long ago there would be no world in which he could feel the same. But that didn't matter. Not truly.

For what you had with Tolya, the understanding, the companionship, the comradery, it meant more to you than a romance ever could. What the both of you have runs deeper than any bond you've ever known. And you could swear, Tolya made you understand what it mean to be seen, truly seen. You hadn't thought that possible of anyone who stayed. But Tolya has seen your lowest and his dedication never faltered.

That meant more to you than anything you could ask of him, want from him. He already is everything you didn't know you needed before him.

You open your eyes after fighting to do so and you're somewhere else, somewhere familiar. You are in the port by Os Kervo, right where you first met Tolya and Tamar.

You remember hearing Tamar's laughter moments before setting eyes on the two of them for the first time. Tamar was several drinks deep, talking loud and proud of getting kicked out of another tavern on the walk to the dock. And even more proud of the redhead Inferni she'd had the company of in the process. Tolya had smiled at his sister, his eyes focused on a book that you later learned he had picked up that morning and between his duty and his twin had yet to get many pages into.

But it wasn't a memory you are in. Even if the location brings them back in drowning waves. No, the sky was so clear that night, you could name all the stars you'd ever read about, read them in the expanse. The sky is clouded now, storming, it feels nowhere as welcoming as it did that night. The kind of storm clouds that make you want to run for cover, to close everything that could lead to the weather outside and wait it out.

But you cannot move, and it isn't until you see what is coming around the corner and toward the ship that you know why.

Tolya, his eyes more lightless than you believed possible, and Tamar who cannot meet your gaze, walk in silence, side by side, matching strides as they move towards The Volkvolny.

"Yu yeh sesh," Tamar whispers. From the little Shu you know, that sentence feels like it might split you down the middle. Despise your heart. Tamar steps out of eyeline and you cannot take your eyes off Tolya.

He looks cold, not in heat but in the way in which someone looks devoid when they've had something torn from them. You aren't even sure it's Tolya anymore.

"Where are you going?" You ask as he turns away from you, silent and unfeeling.

"Nowhere you can follow," he replies. You laugh out of nervousness.

"That's not true, there is no place you go where I cannot follow," you d not say it, but the sentence ends with a silent request for him to remember. That promise they both made in the quiet of that evening on deck, the one when he called you something you doubt he ever will again.

"You cannot come with me," he states. "And I cannot stay."

"When will you return?" The question is barely more than a whisper.

The fear of being alone is powerful and you learned that a long time ago, but this fear, this pain that threatens to break out of your ribcage and crawl out of your broken body to stand on it's own two legs, it's more than that. The fear of being left never hurts as much as this. The idea that something you knew to be true, one of the few things you could let yourself believe in fully, would be a lie.

"I won't," he says.

"Tolya," your voice breaks, "you're leaving me?"

The world starts shaking. You cannot breathe and it could be from the poison, and if it is all you can hope it is takes you faster, that it gives you that kindness at least.

You have never been as sure of anything in your life as you are of Tolya. His faith, his loyalty, his devotion, never once having wavered. When he said that you two shall not go where the other cannot follow without any hope of return, you believed him.

"I was never staying, I never could," he says, turning away.

"Does this not hurt you at all, do you not want to stay?" You call out.

"Wanting is not enough," the words are Tamar's, Tolya not even turning to acknowledge you. "What he wants or does not is no matter, he must leave you. If he cares or does not, he will leave you, it is what he needs to do."

"Do you want to stay?" You ask, the pain searing in your throat, your head thundering like it might burst.

"Not enough to do so."

You choke on a powder substance that coats your tongue, eyes opening to see Jesper, looking down over you, in a mix of concern and mild disgust. "You're alive," he tells you.

"Good?" you ask. You stick your tongue out, trying to shake the taste that is coating your throat, it's clinging and unpleasant but it's better than the stinging pain of the sobs you refused to break out in moment before. "Not good," you mutter about the taste but it makes Wylan sigh.

"I never claimed the butterflies would taste pleasant but they saved your lives," he remarks. You don't have the opportunity to voice the levels of discomfort the word butterflies brings to you, before Jesper is asking a question that feels so out of place.

"Did anyone else get lulled into a comforting sense of joy?" Jesper asks. You feel yourself turn cold, and your heart must give you away because the concern that immediately covers Tolya's expression is palpable.

"I didn't see anything," Kaz is quick to comment before being eager to move on.

But Tolya, he cannot move past it so fast, eyes searching you with such intensity you think you might combust. "Tolya, please don't ask," you say quiet enough to not bring attention from the others.

And, for all the gravity of the task at hand, and what is yet to come, he doesn't, but you know you're biding time.

You were hoping once all the fighting was done you might have been able to shake off the nightmare, but your nerves are still rigid, heart still aching. Your throat feels tight and everything feels weighted.

You watch Jesper pull Wylan in close and you can feel Tolya's smile as you pass them. Tolya's smile would normally be enough to sway any storm cloud in your mind but this is different. This fear. This pain. It's bone deep and soul crushing.

"Do I need to ask again?" Tolya inquires.

"I do not want to talk about it," you say.

"Your scared," Tolya says. "I don't see you scared often."

"Did your nightmare not leave you scared?" You ask.

"It scared me, and then I woke, and saw it for what it was, and I know I shall not allow that fear to be truth," he says, "I protect those who I care for, and who care for me. I will not hurt them."

You respond in silence and he stops his walking. "You do not owe me your nightmare but I do want to help-,"

"Where would you go that you would not allow me to come with you?" You ask finally. The question catches his off guard.

"Nowhere short of the bright lands," he says, "and even then I know I would meet you eventually." You look away, and he sees it, the core of the fear. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I believe that you mean that," you say.

"And yet you fear it not to be true," he says.

"I fear that went it comes down to it, there could always be a reason that takes you from me," you admit. "And that scares me more than anything I have ever known."

"Before I met you, my faith, my books and Tamar, were all that I needed," Tolya says. "But now I would not feel the same." Your smile on your lips has such a sadness that comes with the relief, you feel your body giving into it, and you shake gently. Tolya pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you, keeping you steady. "You have left an indelible mark within me that I did not believe I would ever know." He rests his chin on your head as he holds you tighter, now more for comfort than for support. "And war, or duty, or even Saints could not make me leave you behind."

[angelof-thevoid]

Favorite Quote / Mentor and Friend

ao3

The Warlock who visited her before returns, sheepish in their approach as they ask for assistance again. Ikora beckons to them encouragingly, “Yes guardian?” her head tilted as she waited for the question on their mind. “Well… You know how you helped me before, with the void?” They seem almost embarrassed.

“I-I’m having a similar problem with, with Arc ma’am.” The Warlock’s head dips low as their eyes dart to the side as they fidget, rubbing their hands. Ikora bookmarks the current page of her book and sets it to the side. “It’s alright, Guardian. Many struggle with their manifestations of the light, especially when first starting out.” 

She reaches out toward the Warlock’s nervous hands, letting them do the same until their fingertips are an inch apart. “Are you having trouble creating it too?” Ikora waits patiently for a demonstration. This time static swells in the space between their hands, too much as stray bolts zap her, her rug and the front of the book she was reading.

The shock of it makes Ikora reflexively step back in that split second. “Ah, a control issue.” The Warlock begins to stammer apologies, “I-I-I’m so sorry ma’am! I didn’t mean it I-” Ikora raises a hand to cut them off. “It’s OK, Warlock. I know you didn’t mean it.” They quickly silence themselves and nod.

“Now,” She again puts out a hand and waits for the Warlock to reflect her gesture. Ikora feels that same static begin to build, “Slow and steady, guardian.” It doesn’t overcharge this time as a balanced current reaches toward her hand, and she channels it back. “Arc is like an oncoming storm. A force of nature that you must learn to weather.”

The arc energy flickers between them, remaining steady as lines of it connect between their fingers. "The hurricane will overtake you. It's inevitable. Take stability where you can get it." Ikora breathes in and turns her hand up to direct the current in the air, making shapes.

Controlled blue lines of lightning flip between a diamond, a square and a pyramid with the snap of Ikora’s fingers. “What you need to do is find the eye within yourself, a calm in the midst of your tempest.” And slowly, she releases her hold on the current as it fades into a charge in the air that quickly dissipates. 

The Warlock watches, transfixed by the way she controls the arc energy with a great amount of confidence. “I see. Thank you ma’am, I deeply appreciate your teachings.” They smile. “How can I repay you for your wisdom?” They have an eagerness to please that Ikora didn’t want to take advantage of. 

She knows the danger of choosing to be at the mercy of another’s whims, especially someone you looked up to. “I don’t need to be repaid, guardian. It’s why I hold my position, to be a leader and guide.” Ikora’s answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the Warlock. “But you do so much! There’s nothing I could do? Something you might want?”

Ikora tilts her head to think it over, knowing better than to take advantage of a new light’s financials to ask for a gift to appease them. “I have no need for anything and all the things that require attention are already taken care of. Truly, it’s OK.” She gives them a patient, sweet smile.

“Well… Whataboutafriend?” Their question practically comes out all as one word as the Warlock seems overtaken by embarrassment again, as if they committed some big social faux pas. Ikora takes no offense and finds it a good solution that has no harm. She nods, “Of course, guardian. Come see me with whatever troubles may ail you.” 

The Warlock looks at her in surprise before returning her smile and nodding. “Thank you ma’am. I will!” With that they glide away with a noticeable degree of happiness in their step. Ikora chuckles to herself as she goes back to her book. I suppose I could always use more friends.

[where-is-my-beheading-ceremony]

The Founding: beta version

(disclaimer: this is a very rough and short story of how Aether's kingdom came to be. The reason I write this is just for the audience to know the basics and for me to flesh everything out)

Merchant Nibiru (Human face) circa. 2411 B.K. (Before Knighton)

Knighton is not the only kingdom that exists in the vast realm, even if it is the center of a new story. The old story however? It expands much further than the borders of Knighton. By the way, why are horses extinct???

Many thousand years ago, whilst the first kingdoms were still forming and developing their trade amongst each other lived a man named Nibiru. Nibiru was a humble merchant that found their way out of their enclosed tribal home and caused a chain reaction that makes the realm what it is now. It all starts...with a book.

- "Not thinking of settling down yet, Nibiru? You've been in the merchant business for decades now".

-The monster only scoffed, waving a dismissive hand towards their companion "What is a few decades to a monster who lives a millennium? Though admittedly, it'd be nice to settle down every now and then, actually have a home"

- "Exactly my point. So...what goods are you bringing to Swolaki this time?"

- "Only the rarest of them all. Books, spell ones. I kind of wish to keep them for myself"

- "A man of literacy? What are you doing out here working your ass off then? If you got that type of fancy brain, might as well put it to good use"

- "mmm...good point. Can't really find use for them in this merchant village though"

- "You think?"

Nibiru did not stay with his companions for too long however as he soon would have to set off towards Swolaki. Late night turned into early morning and he had a long journey ahead of him. The man did not have a chance to set off however because an older woman ran up to him, clearly distressed. 

- "You! Please help me, anyone I ask just turns away!" She basically grabbed at the tall monster's cloak.

- "Calm down, lady- what is it? What do you need help with?" 

- "My husband brought our kids to go fishing, but a storm brewed up yesterday and they haven't come back! I think they tried to find refuge on that desolate island in the distance-" 

- "O H- No I don't think I can- people probably don't go there for a reason and I don't know you enough to risk my life!" 

- "Please, at least take our other boat closer to the island, look around, you don't have to step on it!"

- "....I-...alright, I'll see what I can do" the man looked down at the books he was boxing up before throwing some into his bag. Might as well have something to do if he's going to have to be on the lookout. "Just a couple of hours out, I will in no way be staying out there any longer. If I do not come back then that means that your husband and children are most definitely doomed. And so am I...probably." He wouldn't consider himself heroic, nor would he consider himself selfish, but seeing a wife, a mother, this devastated? It basically gave him no choice but to agree.

Nibiru was not glad to find himself rowing a boat towards an island that nobody seemed to ever visit. He did not know if it was a religious thing or there just truly wasn't anything useful there. The questionable state the boat was in did not make him feel any better. Besides that, he felt like he barely fit in it, he will not manage to bring 3 more people with him...

The monster stopped rowing when he passed the halfway point towards the island. Looking around, he did not see anything for miles. He decided to rest his arms for a bit and then he might row a bit closer to the island. It was hard to see anything from here anyways and that island was humongous, it's large mountains piercing through the clouds. Pulling out one of the books he brought with him, the man found himself flipping through pages that wrote about necromancy. A relatively old art (even if this was thousands years of ago) that only recently started to be written down since it wasn't widely practiced. Not because it was morally questionable or anything, it was just hard to cope with.

Worry overtook Nibiru as an hour passed because each time he looked up from the book, he found his boat drifting closer to the island. At one point, he could see the shores of that island quite clearly and managed to notice a blurry outline of another boat laying in the sand. It is very likely that the father and children were stranded there because the boat seemed perfectly fine. The monster found themselves hesitating and attempted to row away from the island, but even in a calm sea, the island would continue to pull him closer. It was most likely some strong invisible water current that was taking him to the island, the same must've happened to the family. "Seems like I don't have much of a choice..." he muttered to no one in particular. 

Weeks. 

It was weeks later that Nibiru returned from the island, a father, a son and a daughter beside him. The woman that had asked him for help in the first place embraced her family with tears of joy, thanking Nibiru profusely, but the monster only stood frozen, a haunted look on their starved face and a slightly roughed up book resting in their white-knuckle grip as if it was his lifeline. The only book that survived this journey. He did not give the lady an explanation when she worriedly asked what her family had experienced for them to act so strange and look so...grey. Who had attacked the son so brutally for half of his hand to be missing.

It was hours later, when the merchant found themselves warming up by a fireplace in one of the village's quieter taverns, that he finally uttered his first words. "I think...I might settle down" the words sounded foreign to him after spending days desperately repeating the strange ones he found in the book of necromancy. 

Surprisingly enough, this is exactly how a new kingdom came to be. Once Nibiru had settled down in this merchant village, he used his long life to make this place a sanctuary for more and more merchants till eventually, people started to permanently settle there. The number of people there grew quickly as Nibiru had found a way to use the book of necromancy to make the economy and local ecosystem prosper. With his help, food was never an issue, people who grew ill and died too young would be brought back to life. Soon enough, with enough practice, the re-awakened were the majority compared to the living and no-one could even tell the difference. 

The island in the distance haunted him for many years however, it was almost driving him insane, taunting him. There was never anything bad with it in the first place, but his experience there is what changed his course of life. 

Finally, having enough of it and wanting to overcome his slipping sanity, the monster announced that the only way the settlement will grow is if they move to the Island. (Exposure therapy or whatever they call it) . It took time for the first families to move to the island, but staying there was no issue. The island gave them what they need and Nibiru provided the rest with his necromancy.

The island was a no-man's land, no kingdom had taken it under their crown and you can guess what happens next. With many more centuries still ahead of him, Nibiru became the ruler of this new and prospering settlement. His unreasonable paranoia towards the place diminished in time as well.

Soon enough, neighboring monarchies grew curious towards this new kingdom. The kingdom of the dead is what they called it, where species thought to be extinct thrived and the only death people ever had to fear is from growing old. All expectations of it being a kingdom that would quickly fall blew over when the inhabitants, although dead and now once more alive, proved to be the same even after death. The unbelievable prosperity brought worry to the other kingdoms and they found themselves speaking about Nibiru's actions as immoral, they deemed his necromancy evil and his people as zombies. The last straw seemed to be when animals and plants that were brought back began to spread outside the kingdom, signaling Nibiru's quiet expansion throughout the realm. No more did other rulers stand Nibiru's actions, the chirping of birds that were never supposed to be there taunting them day and night.

- "Nibiru! It's Nibiru who brought me to life and now I found my way to your castle. Never have crops grown so well until he came, life has never flourished under your rule!" the birds would chirp.

- "ENOUGH!" The monarchs would yell when coming face to face with Nibiru.

- "I beg your pardon?" Nibiru would ask, confused as to why they wanted to berate him.

- "This is not a kingdom. This is a graveyard! Do you find joy in playing God? Using the art of death for your own good?".

- "I merely give people a chance to live life, it is what they deserve!" he'd argue "And I am far from any God for I have not created anything, just helped what already was, thrive again. Necromancy is a celebration of life for I have not brought death upon anyone. There is no blood on my hands."

It is not hard to see that peace wasn't going to last forever in Nibiru's young kingdom. Sticking to his own morals, the king became a target to all neighboring kingdoms and soon war was tearing through his lands. The king tried to stay true to his words of having no blood on his hands, but obviously that promise could not stay forever. Soon enough, he rose the dead just to have more people in his army, no longer focusing on the humanity of his actions. They were dead anyways, they will not mind dying again protecting his kingdom.

Decades passed and Nibiru's kingdom managed to survive through the war, all sides too exhausted from a conflict that seemed like it would never end. Other kingdoms will keep attacking and Nibiru will keep finding people and beasts to raise. So it ended with a "Truce". 

Nibiru's death came suddenly. Most suspected that it was brought upon him by a group of wizards. Apparently the necromancer was trying to find a way to make other kingdoms succumb to his rule and others found out, striking first before he could. What truly happened was, however, lost in time. It was thousands of years ago after all. 

[cozyfoxy]

Mystical Paths

Summary: The Howells have been the proud owners of a small but famous bookstore since the 1800s. They are known for being the only shop that collects original copies of magic writings. Dan works as the bookkeeper of the shop. As the busiest season approaches, one of the most renowned magic families reaches out to the shop and offers to gift them an original Spellbook of sorts. Little did Dan know that these offers would change his life forever.

First Chapter

Read on AO3

Genre: AU

NO WARNINGS

In just one week, Howell’s Mystical Enchantments had earned more money than they typically would in a month. Having Philip Lester’s book in their possession had proven to be a true blessing for the family. Dan was incredibly grateful for the gift, but even more so for the protection that Philip had given him. He truly had needed it.

Overall, the book had been very popular and had gone off without a hitch, however, no one had been able to read it yet. Most customers would swear under their breath and storm off when they saw blank pages, others would groan, but thank Dan for his time, sometimes giving him a tip. Some customers though, would get angry, even violent towards the brunette.

The first time it happened wasn’t too bad. The woman whom Dan knew to be a quite powerful alchemist from Ireland had attempted to throw the book to the floor when she was unable to read the pages. The attempt was of course a failure, as the book had stopped just above the floor and leaped into Dan’s hands, perhaps for protection. Dan really had no idea, but it had brought unwanted attention to him from the crowd.

“Well, well, well. I’ve always been told that Howells don’t have magic, eh? I think this youngin just proved they was lying.” An older woman called out from the hood of her cloak.

Dan had stuttered nervously, trying to find a way to explain the truth when a voice that made the brunette think of honeysuckles on a warm Spring morning sounded from the book. “Idiots. The book is charmed! Daniel here is the keeper, the protector. No, he wields no magic himself, that’s our job. Now, I suggest we all calm down before my creator is summoned. He won’t be as gentle as I am.”

Despite his nerves, Dan felt himself smile when the book moved itself back to the pedestal that it had been displayed on. He walked over to the next person in line to take their payment and continued with his day as normal. Well, as normal as he could with such a powerful book in his possession.

The next time a customer had gotten angry, it had been aimed directly at Dan. A taller man, not much older than Dan had tried to read the book and failed. The man had groaned like so many others before him and set the book down, before glaring at the books keeper.

“Your family is filled with lying cunts. No way this book is from the Lester’s. You all are just trying to make a quick buck! Fuck you all, I want my money back!” the man yelled, moving closer to Dan.

Dan swallowed thickly, shaking his head, “I apologize sir but we do not offer refunds here.”

The man laughed, a shrill, nails on chalkboard kind of sound, “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Then I’ll just have to take it back myself, or get something just as worthy.”

“Okay Leon, let's leave the boy alone yeah? He ain't done nothing wrong, he’s just doing his job. Back off.” another man had called out, grabbing his friend by the shoulder.

Dan watched nervously as ‘Leon’ shook the hand off of his shoulder and began whispering a strange sentence under his breath, something that Dan couldn’t understand. Magic. Dan gasped and jumped behind a book display, screaming when books in front of him suddenly caught fire. The smell made his stomach wretch and chaos erupted around him.

“Leon what the fuck is wrong with you?!” the man’s friend yelled, using his magic to diminish the flames.

“Just getting my revenge.” Leon snarled, walking closer to Dan.

Before Dan even had time to blink, the room filled with a cold fog, and loud shrieks pierced the room. The room was otherwise silent, everyone had paused to get a good look at what was happening once the fog cleared. Some of the customers had pulled out their phones and they were recording what was happening.

Once Dan could get a good look, a gasp passed his lips. The same fox that had originally delivered the book tackled Leon to the ground and stood hard against the man’s chest. Leon looked absolutely terrified of the fox, he was shaking beneath the animal. Everyone around watched in shock when the fox seemed to huff into the man’s ear, and Leon began to glow a sickly green color.

“What? What are you doing?” Dan asked, walking closer to the crowd.

The fox only paused for a moment before pressing both front paws against Leon’s throat, making him yell in pain. With the yell, came a mist from his throat, the glowing green color leaving his body and forming a ball in the air. Dan stared at the ball with the rest of the crowd, covering his ears when the fox suddenly let out an ear-piercing scream; the ball moving towards him. The fox quickly swallowed the ball, seeming to shake its head in disgust before turning to the crowd.

“Let this be a lesson to you all, and anyone who dares to mess with the Howells in any way. I will not hesitate in any circumstance to step in and take control of the situation. You don’t want that, none of you do. And now, poor little Leon Whitlock has no magic, he will be an embarrassment to his family. Well, more than he already was.” the fox spoke in a very familiar voice, without moving its mouth.

Leon’s friend stepped forward, breathing unevenly, “You… you took his magic? That’s not even possible… no one can take magic from other people. Who the hell do you think you are?”

A charming, soft laugh graced the room, the fox moving closer to Dan, “Yes, I took his magic. It is very possible, but only for me, I suppose. And to answer your question, I am Phil Lester.” the fox explained before looking at Dan.

“Are you okay little dove? He didn’t hurt you, right? Just scared you?” Phil’s voice echoed in Dan’s head, making him smile.

“I’m okay, I promise. Just shaken up. Thank you for saving me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Dan thought back, watching as Phil nuzzled his palm, huffing and nodding before disappearing into thin air. The crowd watched in complete awe, most typing furiously on their phones. Dan was too bewildered to worry himself with what the crowd had just seen, he was too focused on the fact that he had just seen someone have their magic taken.

After the hectic week that Dan had gone through, he couldn’t be more thankful for the weekend. His parents had decided to make it a long weekend, saying that Dan needed a break from working so hard. Normally, Dan would argue with them, lie, and say that he wasn’t overwhelmed; but this time, he agreed. He desperately needed time to be with himself, to worry about himself instead of the magical world that he was thrust into.

He had always been around magic, but not so intimately. He had always watched from afar, getting only as close as needed for his job, but now, Dan felt like a magnet for magical energies. It was as if he could feel the warm buzzing of magic in his lips, in his hands, and his mind. Maybe it was because Phil was able to speak to him through his mind, he must be feeling Phil’s presence.

“You called?” Phil’s voice echoed in Dan’s head suddenly, making him jump.

Dan stuttered anxiously, trying to decide what to say, “Well, yeah I think? I didn’t really mean to subconsciously. Sorry I’ve just had a hell of a week, I’m all over the place. I mean, I’ve been around more magic in the past week than I have in my entire life. It’s a lot to take in.”

Phil chuckled softly, a gentle, warm sound, “I could tell it’s overwhelming for you. I can’t say that I understand, but I do want you to feel more comfortable. It will take time, but you will adjust, magic will just become a normal occurrence in your life. I can’t make the stress go away completely or anything; that’s more of my mum’s specialty. But I can help you calm down and relax if you’d like.”

“How could you do that?” Dan asked out loud, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Maybe he was going insane, talking to a voice that wasn’t there. Sure, magic was real, but could this really be happening?

“I need you to trust me, Dan. I know that’s hard but just try. I need you to close your eyes until I say to open them.” Phil explained softly, a smile clear in his voice.

Dan debated with himself silently. Phil was telling him to close his eyes, but why? Could he trust someone that he didn’t even know? Could Dan really find it in himself to listen to what the strange voice told him? A sigh passed his lips before he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, still facing the ceiling. Phil had proven that he was going to protect Dan, so he wouldn’t do anything to harm him, right?

“Okay little dove, open your eyes slowly.” Phil hummed, pride evident in his tone.

The brunette opened his eyes slowly, gasping loudly when his eyes were met with a midnight blue sky, that enveloped him in what felt like a warm blanket. He could see the twinkling specks of light clearer than ever before. They seemed more like fireflies than stars, close enough to touch. The only sounds that touched Dan’s ear were that of a gentle wind and something that sounded like ocean waves. He could even smell the sea.

Despite his attempt to force his emotions down, tears burned the rims of his eyes as he searched for his favorite constellations. “How?” Dan whimpered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn’t even know what he was asking really, he was in complete awe.

Phil chuckled, “Magic Daniel. I am capable of things that most people can’t even imagine.”

Dan shook his head quickly, “no, I mean how did you know this would help me relax?” he whispered, moving into a sitting position.

“Oh, that. Well, it's something that I always do for myself when life gets overwhelming. I kinda went on a limb, but I’m glad you like it.” Phil whispered, sounding unsure for the first time since the men had begun to talk. “Also, I’m… I’m well, here. With you. I know you can’t see me right now, I’m camouflaged, but I’m here. That’s why you’re not hearing me in your head anymore.”

Dan’s eyes widened and he looked around himself anxiously, attempting to find any proof of Phil’s words, “I didn’t even notice I could properly hear you… why are you hiding though?”

Phil placed his hand gently over Dan’s, smiling when a rose pink danced across the other man’s cheeks, “simply because it is not our time to meet entirely. It will happen dove, I promise. But for now, please try to rest. I know you’re exhausted.”

“Yeah… okay, I’ll try to rest. But can you maybe stay until I fall asleep? I feel safer with you here.” Dan whispered, slowly lowering himself back down onto his bed while the night sky continued to move around him.

“Of course, I would never leave you unless you wanted me to. Goodnight my little dove, sleep well.” Phil whispered, shuddering slightly before allowing his camouflage to fall and sitting at Dan’s feet.

Soft snores filled the room before Phil could even register that the man next to him had dozed off. He watched Dan’s gentle, calm breathing in complete awe. How could one person be so incredibly beautiful? Beautiful without even trying to be? Dan was truly a light, brighter than any star that even Phil could create. Despite the rules that Phil had set for himself, rules about waiting for the right moment for everything; he placed a tender kiss on Dan’s hairline.

“Soon, my little dove, you will fly with me again,” Phil whispered, allowing his human form to fade, falling onto four paws comfortably, before running out of the house.

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

someone tell me if this is any good so far I am experiencing The Doubt

Sam wakes to the distant rumble of thunder, insistent patter of raindrops against the car’s roof, sharp tang of copper lingering in the air, taste more than smell. Inky blackness presses in, enveloping the vehicle, a protective embrace against the storm. His eyelids flutter open, heavy and reluctant, fighting through a haze

“Where are we? He asks voice low, gritty with sleep, fingers reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose. His body feels heavy, bone-deep with it, but not in the way he's expecting.

“Woah. Sam?” Dean turns to him, look of almost perfect soft surprise.

“What?” he’s still trying to get his bearings, everything feels muffled.

“Okay, take – take it easy. How you, uh – how you feeling?”

“Tired.” Sam responds, pressing his eyes closed again, “Like I’ve slept for a week.” he furoughs his brow.

“Well, try a day. You've been out since the sky was spittin' angels.” Dean’s voice is so even and casual, it washes over Sam, a calming salve. Dean asks what he remembers. A thousand shooting stars streaking hot and bright across the sky. Angels. Plummeting to the earth. Freezing rain flawing his face raw as he gazes up in horror and amazement. The angels had been burning up as they fell, and so had he, scorching fire ripping through his insides.

“But you're feeling good?”

“Yeah.” And he does, he does feel good.

-

The bunker smells different. For the first time in months, the pervasive stench of rotting flesh is gone. For some reason, it had always been worse here, in the bunker. There had been a strange kind of welcome in the way the slightly stale air would hit his nostrils as he crossed the threshold. But now, stepping into the library, he’s almost overwhelmed by the change. He has to fight the urge to pull a book off the shelf and bury his nose in it, to drink in the musty sweetness of weathered parchment. He contents himself with running his fingers across the spines, savouring the faint hit of leather.

Sam had known he’d been dying. He knew it from the moment he coughed up his first bit of blood. At first, it terrified him. What was that speech he’d given to Dean when he’d taken on the trials instead of him? “I want to live.” And then, little by little, it hadn’t seemed so scary anymore. What was dying, compared to finally shutting away the things that had tainted every aspect of their lives since he was six months old? He’d done it before, shut away evil, but it hadn’t been enough. The evil kept coming. Jumping into the cage with Lucifer should have been the end. It was supposed to be his end—supposed to pay for his sins, to purge him. But it hadn’t. Those first tendrils of flame, the way every blood vessel seared in agony, that’s when he truly made his peace, he was going to die, but he was finally, finally going to die clean.

And then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t dying anymore. And the gates of hell are still open. And he should feel awful about that, about failing. But. He gives in, delicately pulls out one of the leatherbound tomes, opens it to a random page, eyes drift shut and he breaths in slow and deep, leaf litter and damp earth and sweet tea filling his lungs.

“Hey.” Sam slams the book shut, cheeks flushing scarlet.

“You need a moment alone with . . .” Edging closer Dean squints at the faded gold lettering embossed along the spine “. . . ‘Observations on Category Three Portents’. He raises an eyebrow, “Please tell me you’ve got porn hidden in there!”

“No.” Sam returns the book to the shelf, “I was just . . .” he trails off, he doesn’t know how to explain it “Never mind. You need something?”

“Just checking in, you uh, you go on a run again this morning?” he’s trying to keep it casual, but the worry is painted all over his face, he’s been like that a lot lately. But Sam gets it, he did nearly die, Dean’s bound to be even more clingy than usual.

[lelieblad]

bound by water

posting this again because a six of crows spin-off/shadow and bone third season still hasn't been announced & and i'm still losing my mind over kanej

the context is that inej is part of the dregs (again), after the events of the books or tv series, and she and kaz have grown closer to each other. inej’s pov because i truly adore her & writing from her pov was kind of healing. let me know what you think about it <3

fell in love with @jccatstudios's character design of the crows, so i used that as inspiration for what inej was wearing. you can find jccatstudios on instagram & twitter as well!!

fandom: six of crows series - leigh bardugo & shadow and bone (tv series) type: birthday fic with tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff and some literal & figurative steaminess pairing: inej ghafa x kaz brekker pov: inej’s word count: 3,457 on ao3 as well

summary: it’s inej’s birthday and kaz has a surprise for her.

When Inej returns to the Slat after shadowing a sketchy mercher’s movements that day, she finds Nina and Jesper leaning against one of the walls in the entryway. They glance at her, each other, and back to her, grinning from ear to ear. Or smirking, really.

Inej squints her eyes at them, edging closer. Separately, Jesper or Nina scheming cannot be trusted. Together? The trail of chaos they’d leave behind would reach Fjerda.

“Well?” Inej raises her eyebrows, playing along with their game. “What is it?”

Nina loses the smirking contest first. She breaks out in a short laugh, setting off a warm feeling in Inej’s chest. Nina straightens her face, cheeks rosy from amusement. “Inej,” she speaks authoritatively, as if this is a legal matter. “We have a message for you.”

Jesper nods solemnly, mirroring Nina’s attitude. He crosses his arms before his lime green waistcoat. “A message from Kaz to be precise.”

Inej’s heart skips a beat. Nina’s grin is back, raising her eyebrows knowingly to Jesper. Inej hasn’t seen Kaz yet today. She was planning to meet him in his attic when she arrived at the Slat, as she did most evenings. To report back on the secrets, clues, scandals she collected that day. And, when business had been discussed and she wanted to, which was often, to linger. Kaz let her.

They would play a game of chess, catching glances at each other, which was how Inej discovered that Kaz has a scheming face specifically for chess. Or Inej would feed walnuts to the crows in the large windowsill as Kaz watched. Or they would read; Kaz poetry, Inej the adventures of her heroes, the silence between them only disturbed by the turning of crisp pages. Inej loves this time with him. It’s a ritual they grew into over the last months. A ritual that Inej would love to cultivate today. It’s her birthday, after all.

This morning she stumbled into a kitchen filled with the scent that can calm any storm. Waffles. She found her family cramped around the one dark wooden table that was stashed there. Nina, Jesper, Wylan, Matthias. She could have sworn their faces were framed with halo’s, but maybe that was just the morning light through the hazy window. They shared breakfast and Inej started her day with a belly full of butter, syrup and laughter.

Kaz hadn’t been there, to her disappointment, but she told herself he had his reasons. Maybe the message he gave to Nina and Jesper shed light on that.

If they are ever going to share it with her. These two smirking darlings are enjoying themselves so much. But she knows their secret won’t last much longer. After all, it’s Inej they’re talking to.

“Kaz would be disappointed if you didn’t deliver that message.” Inej shifts her gaze between Nina and Jesper, feeling a grin tuck at her lips. “So shoot, if you want to spare yourself from a piercing gaze. Or worse.”

“Anything for you, birthday girl,” Jesper grins. “He’s waiting for you in his attic.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” Inej tells them, already standing, turned to go up the stairs.

 “Not as much as you will!” Nina yells after her. Inej can’t stop the smile spreading on her face.

Her feet are feathers, always, as she travels up the two flights of rickety stairs. Her heart thumps steadily in her chest. There was a time she didn’t let it, a time she railed herself in. Lately she’s trying to welcome the sensation, to invite it to her body and allow it to fill her up. It feels strange, exciting. Like revealing a secret room, the discovery of a vacant space. That you can use it. That you’re allowed to fill that space.

Kaz is sitting behind his desk when Inej enters after knocking, his nose in stacks of documents, linen sleeves rolled up. Through the open window the sun streaks Kaz’s attic in golden, the last rays of the day. His dark leather gloves shine on the side of his desk. Yes, Ketterdam is so moist that it seeps into your skin, but even this city cannot hide from the force of summer and how it stretches the evenings. The turmoil from the city feels far away from here. Instead, Kaz’s attic is filled with something else… a fragrance delicate and fresh.

Kaz looks up from his desk, meets her eye. “Hello, Inej.”

She offers a smile. “Hello, Kaz.”

She walks up to him. Leans on the desk to his left, resting her hands behind her and crossing her ankles. She locks eyes with him. “Nina and Jesper were insufferably mischievous downstairs.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his high-backed chair. Puts down the letter he was reading, resting his hands close to hers. “Nothing new there.”

Inej uncrosses her ankles. Her thigh brushes the hair on his forearm. He holds her gaze.

It’s what they’ve been doing recently: folding the space between them, stretching their touches. Slowly learning, showing what they enjoy. Often, it’s how Inej wants to touch him, reclaiming her relationship with touch, after years of being trained to endure, not initiate. Letting Kaz touch her is more challenging, since she has to catch her body before it slips away, rejecting the habit to dissociate. It’s how Kaz wants to be touched by her, taking pleasure in how her touch can make him feel safe, can be a buoy instead of towering waves. Him touching her, bare skin, is difficult even on good days, but covering his skin before reaching out to her grounds him.

Kaz shoves his chair back and stands up. “I have something for you.”

Inej cannot hide the surprise on her face.

Kaz grabs his cane and crosses the office to open the door to his bedroom. Inej breathes in the honey that reaches her, stronger now. He looks over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

She’s behind him in an instant. She was only ever able to catch glances at the space they’re entering, never having stepped foot in it before. As a Dreg, she learned to scan any room she enters, instinctively, swiftly. But she’s not taking in the entirety of this private room now. No, her eyes are directly drawn to the white tub in the corner.

Steam rises from the water surface that is not covered by foam or orange and red flower petals, filling the room with a heavenly haze. Candles are lit on top of the small wooden table beside it, Kaz’s drawer, at the back of the tub. A fragrance pure and light fills her senses. She’s speechless.

“Happy birthday, Inej.”

Inej pulls her gaze away from the wonder that is this steamy tub to turn to Kaz. He’s clasping his cane in front of him, resting both hands on the metal crow’s head. He holds her gaze, steadily, but she notices something there that’s rare. She doesn’t want to blink when he’s letting her see it.

“It’s tulip. Nina assisted.”

Inej’s heart swells even more. How beautifully unexpected that he decided to ask for help.

“Kaz, this is wonderful.” She’s full-on grinning now.

His doubt disappears and his face lights up. He’s so pretty. He nods to the chair by the tub. “Nina picked out some clothes from your room to change into when you’re done bathing.”

Inej takes the smallest step closer to him.

“I’ll be in my office. But I won’t disturb you, so please enjoy for as long as you want to.”

She looks up into his eyes as she rests her fingertips, fingers, then palm on his wrist. “Thank you.”

His lips quirk upwards. Then he turns, closes the door behind him. She listens as the thumps of his cane fall silent as he repositions himself behind his desk. And she’s alone.

Inej lets her gaze circle the room. The tub stands under a slanted roof that holds a square window cracked open. The clouds have turned to a shade of lilac and rose. A bed is placed to the only straight wall in the room, accompanied by a side table. His washbasin is next to his dresser, a blurry mirror above it. These are Kaz’s private quarters and he’s trusting her with it.

Who knew Kaz had something like this up his sleeve. She imagines the look on Nina’s face when Kaz asked for help. She must have been intolerably delighted. Inej chuckles.

She breathes in the subtle scent that has filled the room. Inej can’t wait to dip her tired feet into the tub. Let the warmth take her in. Cover herself with velvet petals. Watch as the clouds turn from pastels to dark shades.

Her fingertips slide across the sheaths of her knives, where she releases each one, carefully positioning them on top of Kaz’s drawer. He has allowed himself to be vulnerable to prepare this for her, and gratefulness washes over her. As her fingers reach up to undo the first clasp of her vest, waves swirl low in her belly. Something new emerges, bubbling up to the surface. Her fingers pause in midair. She wants to reciprocate, meet him halfway.

Her knife sheaths already empty, she turns to open the crooked door to Kaz’s office. She keeps one hand on the rough doorframe as she watches how he looks up from his desk, surprised.

She inhales deeply, steadying herself. It’s something she has done before, but suggesting it would be a first. Her wanting to is a first. And this is Kaz she’s talking to. How will he react?

“Do you want to watch as I undress?” she asks, recognizing the nervous rhythm of her heart in her ears.

Inej can see the subtlest rise of his eyebrows, widening of his eyes. She refuses to break eye contact. He needs to know that she doesn’t want this because she believes he wants her to take off her clothes. She wants this because she’s trying to change how her body remembers showing her skin to men. “I want you to.”

She studies his face. His look is stern, it is almost always. She’s trained in his features: the tiniest twitch of his eyebrows, the clenching of his jaw, when and how long he breaks eye contact. But right now, he shows no movements she can decipher. She’s trained in patience as well, but this moment of silence rattles at her foundations.

The chair scrapes the old wooden floor as Kaz stands up. “Yes,” he replies simply.

The voice in her head finishes: the deal is the deal. “Okay,” she nods.

Kaz follows her. For a moment they stand there, in his bedroom. Inej knows it’s Kaz who stands next to her, she has rescued him again and again, he has rescued her again and again. There’s no one she’d rather do this with than him, no one she trusts more. But she has to keep her head straight or she won’t be able to look him in the eye. Let’s take this step by step.

She walks over to the tub, halts next to the chair. “You can sit wherever you want,” she tells him. But there’s not many options besides the chair that’s already used by her clothes and towel. In fact, there’s only one.

The frame creaks softly as Kaz sits down on his bedsheets and rests his cane beside him. Inej could touch his knees in barely three steps. He looks up at her. She recognises this position when she’s perched in his window, leaning or sitting on his desk while he’s working there. She’s used to watching from above as the Wraith as well. It soothes her nerves, just a bit.

Not enough to hold his gaze. But enough to slowly reach her hands to her chest and undo the first clasp of her vest. The muscles in her upper back and shoulders stiffen as she can feel herself slipping into a performance. She sees herself standing there, trembling fingers at the first hook of her clothes. She takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes. Using her senses to return to her body. She wriggles her toes in her dearest slippers. Outside the window she can hear her beloved crows, inside distantly the rickety stairs of the Slat. The floral fragrance is calming. She can stop any moment she wants to, she knows that. But she doesn’t want to.

She’s Inej Ghafa and with the release of a breath, she shakes the skin of a lynx from her body.

Kaz is there when she opens her eyes, the worry between his dark brows fades when he sees her expression. Making way for the tiniest arch of one of his eyebrows. It’s an invitation. She accepts.

Carefully she loosens the clasps on her vest. The violet fabric of her tunic shifts underneath. She lets her vest slide down behind her body, over her upper arms, elbows and catches it in her hand as it falls over her wrists. She hangs it on the back of the chair.

Next are the fingerless gloves that cover her entire forearms. Finger for finger, she slips them off. Perching on the edge of the chair, she takes of her slippers, storing them beneath the chair. The wooden floor is cool under her feet. A welcome sensation, because she’s feeling hot. Hot under Kaz’s gaze, who’s giving her his full attention.

She’s well aware of the flush that must have grown on her cheeks. They’ve stripped in front of each other during jobs countlessly, taking on new identities in the dim alleys of Ketterdam. This is different entirely. No hiding in plain sight, and it’s how she wants it to be. The heat in her body near Kaz is nothing new. She wants to cherish it, instead of trying to push it away. Kaz’s gaze makes the sensation grow only stronger.

She catches the clenching of his jaw. Maybe she’s not the only one growing flustered.

Right below her neck, Inej loosens the ties of her tunic. She crosses her arms over the thin, swift material and slowly stretches her arms on top of her head, taking the fabric with her. She folds the purple blouse in her bare arms. There’s not many walls left now. And she’s beginning to enjoy it. With every layer of clothing, armour, removed, she discovers newfound courage, lightness. Yes, outside this protection, her armour, is what keeps her safe, dangerous. In here, she can feel strong even with her shields lowered.

Her top is next. She stretches out her arms, once again, and feels the evening air against her belly. The chill feels wonderful. Perching on the chair, she slides down the stretchy fabric of her trousers to pull them off. Her hands take the braid behind her back and slide between the strands. Kaz’s gaze is fixated on her fingers gliding up and down, unravelling the coils. She frees her hair completely, and the comforting weight drapes behind her body. Now, facing Kaz once more, she stands before him in nothing but her underwear, hair down, and locks eyes with him, embracing the raw vulnerability of this moment.

His gaze is fixed on her face. His eyes deep and vast, his brows slightly furrowed. She knows this look. She trembles lightly, the waves in her low belly swelling. She wants more of what he’s showing her.

“Kaz,” she asks, voice low, “will you take my bra off?”

His answer is the creaking of the bedframe as he stands up and closes the distance between them. He stands before her, fully clothed, and so close, she can see the pink on his cheeks, his dilated pupils. His breath is high and shallow, just like hers. Her arms are covered in goosebumps.

Slowly, Kaz lifts his fingers. Inej holds her breath. He touches the dark fabric on her ribs, gently lets his hands embrace the sides of her body. She feels the weight of his hands as she lets out her breath. The heat of his touch sets her skin aflame. He’s burning her. Or she’s burning up.

She reaches her fingers upwards, inviting him to take the flexible band and slide it upwards. His cool fingernails brush her skin as he curls them under the fabric and shifts it higher and higher until it catches all her hair, releasing it moments later when Kaz slides the garment from her wrists. Her hair cascades down, enveloping her in a midnight waterfall.

His gaze is unwavering, endless, fixed on her eyes. Inej wants it everywhere.

“You can look,” she breathes. “If you want.”

He does. She watches the length of his dark eyelashes as he traces his gaze downwards, deliberately, languid. Lips parted, rosy flush on his cheeks growing. She feels the heat radiate from her body, between her thighs, the tips of her ears. Nerves mixed with growing confidence.

Slowly, through lowered lashes, Kaz locks his eyes with hers again. He raises his fingers and slides them under a strand of her hair between her shoulder and the column of her neck. Inej watches closely as he lifts it up, gliding down its length, patiently, until, finally, he gently presses his lips to her hair.

Her breath hitches in her chest.

His lips still hovering above her hair, Kaz meets her eye. “You’re beautiful, Inej,” he whispers.

Oh, Saints.

Inej trembles before him. Her tides rise with every breath, washing over her, building and building. She can’t stop staring at his lips, his fingers, his eyes. His lips, his fingers, his eyes. He called her beautiful, but how can she ever express how he looks to her this moment? He’s boundless.

Inej draws closer. Her hair slips through his fingers. She would never. She takes his hand, dextrous, dependable, weaving her fingers through his, letting them rest at their sides. Closer. Until the blissful press of their bodies together. It makes her dizzy. She feels the rising and fall of his chest, their breathing synching into the same heavy rhythm. His lips tender and flushed. His eyes deep mahogany. She feels a sense of safety and security with him that’s unparalleled.

She reaches her free hand to his face, cupping his rough cheek in her palm. Kaz closes his eyes and offers her the slightest sigh as he presses himself to her touch. The wonderful fan of his eyelashes. She’s so close, she can count them. She wants him so much, she’s barely standing.

“Kaz,” Inej breathes. His eyes open to meet hers, scanning her features. “I want to kiss you.”

She remembers the first time she pressed her lips to his. Softly, exploratory. It was after an evening of celebrating a victory for the Dregs with her family. An evening of her knee to Kaz’s underneath the table, bathing in the warm pressure of his hand on her thigh. Afterwards, she followed him up the stairs. In his attic the air thickened, and they chatted, laughed, as they drew closer. When Inej said she would retreat to her room to rest, Kaz whispered her name, lowering his face. All Inej could do was brush his nose with hers, and fold her lips between his. It had made her feel delirious.

Similar to how she’s feeling right now. Drunk on his gaze, scent, fingertips between hers. The maroon blossoms further on her cheeks. Kaz parts his lips.

“Please.” His voice a low rasp.

Bubbles popping in her belly, she reaches up and captures his sweet lips in a kiss. Kaz releases his hand from hers and presses both to the small curve of her naked back, curling into her hair once again, bringing her even closer. The heat rises to her head, and she sinks into his touch as he deepens the kiss. She slides her fingers over his cheek, into his hair, tangled. He presses his fingers into the strong muscles of her back. She feels him everywhere.

Inej places a hand on his chest when they separate. Close, still so close. His touch lingers on her lips. She can feel his delightfully heavy breath on her cheek. He rests his forehead against hers. Calm waves cradle her ship. An eternity passes.

“Perhaps I should get some more hot water.”

Inej opens her eyes to catch the twinkle in his eyes. She grins back. This devotion could keep her afloat forever. Kaz’s touch stays hot. The bath, inevitably, does not.

“Perhaps,” Inej repeats.

Slowly, she turns to dip her fingers in the floral tub, brushing the velvet petals. She glances over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, as she asks, “You like it hot?”

Kaz grins, his eyes devilish. Inej already knows the answer to that.

[kirame90]

SniperSpy has a nice calm family dinner

A cute little chit chat, calm before the storm.

Medic never misses an opportunity to bring chaos and discord among his fellow team members.

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[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 8. To Be Alone

Pairing: Gruber x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: A big city to a small cottage hidden away

A/N: It’s day eight of RICKMAS and we’ve had two quite calm and slow fics in a row now so I thought let’s kick it up a notch today with a robbery and some deadly confessions 👀

Tags/TW’s: Weapons, Criminality, Confessions, Heartbreak, (Small) Physical Wound

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 3.1k+

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 // LINK TREE

You hadn’t expected it to be easy, or safe, not even probable to pull off. You’d done the calculations, a 22% chance of success. It was thrilling. Nerve-wracking. Exciting.

Or, it was, until all hell broke loose and shots filled the air. The loud bangs echoed within the bank's walls along with the shattering of Christmas tree ornaments and glass. You’d never heard such a cacophony of noises before and no matter how well you had prepared, how thoroughly you’d trained and psyched yourself up to handle that shit it hadn’t been enough. Nothing would have prepared you for the shit-storm raging around you and the crew, each with a bag stuffed with cash, gold, jewels and anything else available for grabbing in the vault you’d cracked open in less than four minutes - back when the plan was still intact, when they fucking stuck with your plan.

“Shit,” you hissed as a bullet flew by, gracing your cheek with a burning wetness left behind. “Mein perle,” Hans snarled and reached for your arm to pull you back behind the wall, tucking you against his chest. “I’m fine,” you said but leaned a little closer to him. “If they’d stuck with the fucking plan this wouldn’t—” “Later, perle.” You sighed and allowed the nickname to centre you, gracing the string of smooth white pearls around your neck with trembling fingers.

The first gift he ever offered you had never left your neck; the past four years they had been a constant companion. Long before Hans ever allowed you to become his companion.

“Go!” Karl shouted from the other end of the hallway and Hans spun you around, shoving you forward before releasing your arm. You glanced over your shoulder, running towards the alternative exit, and your breath hitched as Hans stepped into the opening and unleashed bullet after bullet as you escaped. That had been the only condition he’d had for you to join the heist; ‘You escape, meine perle, no matter the situation’.

The man never put anyone before himself. Not his brother, not his son, not his former wife or his parents. None. Until you came along. Sacrificing your life in all manners but death, for him. For the criminal you fell in love with who has no idea who you truly are. A pearl, perhaps. In an oyster shell? No. More wedged between a shark’s teeth.

The door banged open, the maintenance corridor seemingly going on forever, and the damp air of underground parking hit you. The squealing of tires sounded out and the brown van came to a halt just before slamming into you. Your heart raced, the taste of iron in your mouth as you reached for the handle but you couldn’t open the door. Hans was still in danger, and you loved him. No matter what. Even if your job was not to fall in love with him, but to swindle him. You were good at that, damn good at it.

“Fucking hell,” you snarled with a sigh and pulled open the door, chucking the bag with cash into the van and turning to go back in. But the door bangs open anew and he’s there, all collected in the midst of the chaos, but the gleam in his usually cold eyes sparked to life the moment he laid eyes upon you.

“Let’s go!” Karl bellowed anew, the blond brute was annoying and aggressive but good with guns and heavy lifting — no brains either for that matter so total puppet material. “Perle, are you harmed?” Hans asked when you reached each other as Karl, Jan, and Alex clambered inside the waiting van driven by Stefan; who was shouting in German to move their giant asses. You only nodded at his question and grabbed his hand, tugging him into the van with you.

The doors were slammed shut and you sped off, losing two men wasn’t a bad outcome given the shit-storm it all came down to. Fucking idiots, you thought while your jaw clenched. Warm liquid still seeped from the wound on your cheek but it was the only mark on you. Jan was raving about being shot, Alex whined about his leg and Karl grunted about something in German you couldn’t understand in his strange accent spoken so oddly.

Hans grabbed your face, twisting you to look at him in the midst of the chaos within the van as it zoomed through the downtown area, swaying and swerving. “Darling, look at me,” he said firmly but calmly. You hadn’t realised how hard you were breathing, how harshly your heart was beating, how erratically your body was shaking until it was grasped by his still hands.

“You did well,” he said in a low tone, “meine perle.” “Hans,” you whispered and grabbed the lapels of his suit, “this is fucked up.” He chuckled at that, you smiled, and Stefan swerved into a tunnel. Hans held you tight with one arm and took the brunt of the hit against the side of the van with the other.

“It’ll be a fucking miracle if we get out of this,” you gritted. “It’s Christmas, perle. It’s the time of miracles.” “Hans,” you snickered at his joyfully teasing voice with the light German accent.

His voice was definitely one of the reasons you ended up falling for the man you were supposed to strip of everything. If I do, you thought, I’d be as alone as ever again. Stuck at a desk, doing fucking paperwork for the other agents, again… Spending Christmas alone, with a fatty pizza, again… Being on the run from everything is even better than that.

“We’re out,” Stefan said and slammed the brakes. “Careful, Stefan, calm, if you please,” Hans scolded in a fashion that should have been for a three-year-old, not a hardened criminal— yet it had a profound effect with the deepness of his voice. “Apologies, sir.” “Everybody out,” Hans declared and everyone switched cars while the sound of sirens began to echo through the tunnel.

“Karl, Jan, that one. Alex, Stefan, that one,” Hans said and you all split into three groups with equal parts of the money between the cars. You all drove away, Stefan and Alex kept going forward while your car and the one with Karl and Jan drove back the way you came with a good distance between you.

“Down,” you said when the blue lights came into view and Hans crunched down, his legs folded on the car floor while he laid himself as flat as possible against the leather of the front seat, obscuring him from view by passing vehicles. “Cheek,” he said and you raised your arm, fisting your hand and leaning your cheek against it while propping the elbow against the side of the door, making yourself look as bored as possible as the police drew ever nearer at an alarming speed. Good, then they haven’t stopped the others ahead, you thought and exhaled slowly.

They zoomed past while you drove at the speed limit, watching the road casually. “You are tantalizing,” Hans said and you felt him watch you with a smile. “You play your part so well, meine perle.” The police cars passed swiftly and you felt yourself breathe a little easier. “Acting, Hans,” you smiled and winked at him without moving your head. He chuckled and remained down as light filled the car when you exited the tunnel.

≪⁕≫

“This is nice,” you said as you stepped out of the car with stiff legs. Hans seemed unaffected by the long drive despite him being in a very uncomfortable position for the first hour. “The best for you, meine perle,” he said and smiled, his teeth and thin lips framed by a tightly groomed beard. “You’ll spoil me,” you said and he chuckled. “Perhaps that is the point.” “What, you think I need spoiling to be with you?”

Those words struck something within him, you could see it in the darkening of his eyes despite the night hugging you tightly with its moonless darkness. “Babe?” “Do you not?” That struck something within you in return. “No.” I don’t need to be spoiled, I need-, your fucking time and effort. And I am so fucked. “You are lying. I can see it in your face, Y/n.” “I’m not lying, it just hurts,” you deflected and slammed the car door shut. It was too easy to fall back into the role you had practised for half a year before you tried to approach the man you were supposed to help the Government take down, before you fell in love with the criminal that is. I’m in deep doo-doo as they say…

“I am sorry, meine perle, I did not mean it.” “Oh yes you did, babe. You meant it, don’t go all soft on me now, Mr Criminal Mastermind.” “You were the mastermind behind this,” he said and stepped around the car to help you with the bags from the back seat. “Yeah, look how well that turned out, the twins are dead and we’re all split up with everyone after us.” “Well, perhaps it is only fair the twins are dead since they, how did you put it, fucked up your plan?” You laughed at his words and it scared you how good it felt to be praised by him in any manner. Sure, he was just a thief, but not just any thief. He was Hans Gruber. A master thief, hunted by agencies in several countries and wanted for most things between kidnapping and theft.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You nodded at his words and you both carried two bags each into the little house tucked away between trees with a cute little white fence around it and small potted plants covered by a dusting of snow along the edges of the stairs leading up to the little porch that had yet to be shovelled.

The door creaked shut behind you and you shuddered. The cottage was cold and dark. “I’ll get the fire going,” you said and kicked off your shoes. You quickly stacked the hearth and got the flames to lick the wood while it cracked and popped from the sudden shift in temperature.

“Meine perle,” Hans said standing next to you. You rose and stepped into his arms. “Don’t worry, babe,” you said and squeezed his upper body while he kissed the top of your head. “I am not worried, you were shot, I’m furious.” “That’s sweet, but it’s just a scratch.” “Marking your beautiful face, darling.” “It’s just a face.” “No. It’s your face,” he said harshly. “I think it suits me.” He scoffed at that but remained quiet.

Standing there, while the cottage slowly warmed up with bags of stolen treasure by the door, you had the oddest of blissful sensations. With Hans, you weren’t alone. With Hans, you were adored and cherished. Not only did he love you and frequently worshipped your body but he also listened to you. Unlike other men you had dealt with he fucking listened when you spoke and took your words seriously. That he had allowed you to plan this heist was the highest of praise from the man who never relinquished any of his control, to anyone.

“I love you,” you said sincerely. “Perle, I love you as well.” And I have to tell you who I am… Knowing you would most likely be killed by his gun once the truth was set free who could really blame you for wanting to hide it a little longer? Being dead would be better than being left behind again…

His phone chimed and you released each other so he could answer it, speaking in German with whoever was on the other end. You understood what he said, having studied German for a few years when you were younger, but you didn’t stick around to listen. There was no need to spy on him any longer. Not now when you wanted to be with him, to leave everything else behind.

You sighed and headed to the little kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something to cook up only to resort to the pantry where you found a few cans of soup and some stale bread. You sighed and decided to work your magic on what little you had.

Once the bread was chopped into squares you shoved them into the little oven and began boiling the minestrone soup while setting the table simultaneously. Hearing Hans walk around, opening the bags and rummaging around the contents while you grabbed the oven mittens.

You grabbed the hot baking sheet out of the oven and turned towards the table to set it down only to startle at Hans standing in the doorway, his gun trained on your heart.

The crispy bread flew all over the floor as the baking sheet clattered against the wood when it slipped your fingers along with the oven mittens you had never put your hands in but merely used to grasp the baking sheet. Your ears were ringing while your heart seemed to tear itself apart within your chest.

“Perle,” he said sweetly with a grin. “Hans?” you asked, your voice weak from the pain within rather than anything else. “You thought me an idiot?” “What? No, why would I—” “I know who you are, what you are, Y/n.” You swallowed past the lump in your throat. This is the end, then…

Your shoulders sank down, your body hardened while you felt the warmth and joy he had birthed within you dull, die out in your eyes. It was heartbreak, in so few words and less actions even. You couldn’t look away from his beautiful eyes though, the icy glare kept you hooked. Perhaps you just wanted to view him for as long as possible though? Knowing soon he would be gone, one way or another everything would be gone.

“You deceived me,” he said. “Yes.” “You tricked me,” he continued. “Yes.” “You played me for a fool,” he snarled. “No. Never a fool, Hans,” you said quietly.

The gun cocked and you shivered as tears rimmed your eyes and spilt down your cheeks. “Why are you crying? You never cry, perle,” Hans said with exasperation, perhaps even some hurt in his dark voice that accentuated his German accent further when his emotions were strong. “Heh,” you chuckled while smiling in a defeated manner, “you’ve never seen me cry, Hans. I’ve cried countless times, before and after meeting you. In secret, knowing despite everything I would end up here. Knowing no matter what, I would end up right here,” you breathed out while resigning yourself to your faith. Not wanting to fight him, not willing to hurt him even to save your own skin, which had never been a problem before him as none had ever spared you anything.

“I took this job, hoping to finally make something of myself, knowing this was a suicide mission everyone else had declined. I’m good at what I do, good at acting, being anyone but myself is so much easier,” you said calmly, remaining still with just the tears dripping from your chin. “You wouldn’t know, being yourself so freely…” The confessions tumbled out, freed by the knowledge it would all be over soon.

You chuckled and snivelled, shaking your head while hugging yourself. “And then I go and fall in love with you. Like my life couldn’t be more of a mess I had to fall in love with a criminal mastermind knowing full well the moment I confessed I would be dead, one way or another.” “There is only one death,” Hans said, his voice eerily even. “No, Hans. To you that may be true, for me it’s not. If you shot me, I’m dead. If you leave me, I’m dead. If you were to be killed, I’m dead. Death comes in different forms, your version of it being just one of those haunting me.”

He looked at you as if you had grown two heads. Of course you wouldn’t understand… You’re Hans Gruber. “You made me believe, and it was all lies,” he said coldly, his grip on the gun hardening. “You want it to be lies, you know it’s not. You know I would have slammed you a year ago at the jewellery heist if it would have been lies. But I wiped the cameras and cleared the alarm with the police while the rest of you hid,” you said calmly, something leaving you — rendering you unable to fight or call upon any strength while your heart broke into millions of pieces over his dismissal of you. The ease with which he threatened to take your life.

“If anything, Hans, you’re the liar.” His eyebrows shot up at that. “I’m a thief, of course I lie,” he said. But you shook your head. “Fifteen minutes ago you held me tightly, telling me you love me and here you stand willing to shoot me without a second thought. I love you, but you… You do not love me, I should have known better than to fall for you. But my heart decided, I had no say in it, it was all you. God, I’m so stupid… To think the one person who made me feel-, feel cherished and wanted in earnest is the liar always deceiving everyone yet my stupid heart told me I was different, that you were different towards me. Insignificant, unwanted, Y/n.” What a fucking joke I am.

Hans ground his teeth, his jaw tensing and ticking with the motion while new snow began to fall beyond the little kitchen window and the soup boiled over behind you. Your tears flowed freely, you were unable to stop them while your knees began to tremble. Hans’ eyes hardened, zeroed in on your tears with disgust written all over his handsome face that you had spent countless evenings kissing, admiring, stroking.

Your ears rang while your knees hit the floor. The bang of the gun overpowered your senses. But there was no pain as your palms slammed down against the uneven floorboards below. On your hands and knees, you panted with your eyes cinched shut, waiting for the pain to come before death would sweep you away.

But it never came.

When you dared open your eyes they saw no blood below you. You exhaled shakily and sat back on your haunches. You were alone. The revving of an engine from outside kicked you into gear and you bolted through the cottage, swinging the door open just in time to see the red tail lights disappear in the distance. You broke down, wailing and crying while sinking down on the porch, holding on to the door’s handle while the forest beyond swallowed your tormented screams as you died without ceasing to breathe.

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A/N: Well, this was heartbreaking 👀 I kinda feel like it can’t end like this though, I mean, it’s Christmas - like Gruber says - the time of miracles. Right?

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[Dec:2022]