#under the ruins of a walled city

[figuerockfaeth]

I NEED TO MOVE OUT NOOWWWWWWW

[miraclemaya]

i had this one setting of this infinite city in which humans barely manage to survive with all the weird eldritch monster and cracks in reality and i was gonna make a game with it but i felt like the setting didn't fit as much with the themes i wanted and i have now found out the solution to this and that is to make it cyberpunky and about fascism

[monster-disaster]

[wolf-shifter] Rome

wolf-shifter!Rome x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, non-con, breeding, rut Summary: Your best friend can't keep himself away from you anymore.

"Did I wake you up?" Your words are slurred when you break the silence of the quiet flat. The only sound is the traffic from the streets, filtering inside through the closed windows. A few cars pass by every now and again. Their engine rumbles through the air, echoing off the buildings.

Your back is against the wall next to the entrance door as your best friend kneels in front of you, trying to take off your shoes with a slight frown between his brows. His thick fingers can barely handle the delicate clasps.

"It's fine," he hums, pushing the shoes aside. "I told you to call me if you need me."

"Thank you," you reply, tilting your head back when he stands up and towers above you. Your makeup is a bit smudged around your eyes as you blink up at him sleepily. "You are a good friend, Rome. I love you."

The man just smirks at your words, tucking you against his side to lead you into his room. He knows the drill by now. You go out with your co-workers, drink more than you can handle, and call him to take you home. He helps you, of course, while listening to you repeat how much you love him until you fall asleep.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he replies, opening the door of his room and leading you inside until you sit on the edge of his bed. Your posture is relaxed and tired. You don't even move a muscle when you feel him starting to take off your clothes.

"Arms up," he says, and when you do, he pulls up your top until it's on a chair nearby. It smells like your perfume, smoke, and alcohol.

"Do you want a shower?" Rome asks even though he already knows your answer.

"'m tired," you hum, letting your eyes close while you are still in a sitting position.

"Of course," the man chuckles.

While he searches for a shirt you can sleep in, he can't help but let his eyes wander on your almost bare body. Your tits fill the bra into a nice cleavage, and your panties match.

"Hold up your arms for a second, sweetheart," he says quietly, feeling a bit annoyed when the thin fabric hides your body from his dark gaze.

"You can lay down now," he adds, helping you onto his bed and tucking you in. By the time he straightens up, you are already asleep.

Rome has known you since he moved into the city. You met at a coffee shop where you worked after college. He knew you were the one him after a glance and a sniff in the air heavy with the scent of coffee and you. It was love at first sight, except you put him into a friend zone, and Rome never figured out how to get out of it without ruining your friendship. So he stayed in that damn zone, hoping that one day you will confess his love for him or he will grow some balls to tell you the truth. Pathetic really.

After making sure the lock of his entrance door is closed and putting a big glass of water next to you on the nightstand, he climbs onto the bed, trying to focus on anything else but your closeness. You are bundled up in the blanket so much he can barely see the top of your head, and your light snores are muffled by the thick fabric.

His brothers would laugh at him for sure. Their little brother can't get the girl, so he has to wake up next to her with blue balls. How funny. They would never let this go. Idiots. All of them.

He glances at you one last time. He is, too.

Sleep takes him after a while, but his dreams are heavy and troubled. When he wakes up, it's almost morning. The sun is still hiding behind the horizon, but it's there. He turns on his back and groans. His gums ache and burns, his mouth open to lift the pressure off his teeth. Sweat glistens on his heated body. His fingers dig into the mattress under him, feeling his claws wanting to grow out. And his cock. He closes his eyes tightly to keep a pained moan in his chest. It's hard and heavy between his thighs. His erection pulses with each breath he takes, and his underwear is already ruined by the precum soaking the black fabric.

"Fuck," he grunts, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He has a hard time making his tense muscles move. The wooden ground feels cold under him. His skin feels too tight and too itchy.

Rome circles his broad shoulders backward a few times before standing up to get to the kitchen for some water. And maybe he should go out for a run. Yes. Some fresh air would definitely do some good.

The man is almost at the door of his room when you turn on your back on the bed, still sleeping. His eyes rake over your body under the covers. He almost forgot you were there. He was so busy with his wolf wanting to come out he didn't even notice you until now. But now, he can't tear his gaze away from you. You are so peaceful and pretty. Your hair is a mess, and your makeup is smeared around your closed eyes even more than last night.

"Fuck," Rome groans again. You shouldn't be here. Not when his rut is approaching and the wolf in him claws on the inside of his mind to get out.

He should force himself to walk away and call an Uber for you. He should wake you up and make you leave. Or at least, he should force himself out of the room. You shouldn't be here so beautiful and soft while his cock throbs with the need to fill you up.

Images of you pliant and warm in his arms flood his mind. How would you feel under his hands? Under his tongue? Around his...

Rome stares at your chest for long seconds, watching you breathe. You are deep asleep. You always black out when you drink too much.

He steps closer.

His large hands curl into fists.

Another step to the bed.

He shouldn't.

"Fuck."

The change of his body comes naturally and quickly. His skeleton transforms into something more primal, with firm muscles and dark fur all over his skin. He grows taller and stronger. The ache in his body lessens, but his cock between his legs still bobs angrily with each step he takes to the bed to get closer to your sleeping form. His claws grip the blanket, pulling it down from the bed slowly and carefully. He drops it to the ground, keeping his eyes on your bare legs. His t-shirt barely hides your panties, and he can see your nipples harden at the sudden change of temperature.

For a second, his attention wanders up to your face. Your eyes are still closed, and your breath is even. The man climbs up on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight. He hovers above your sleeping form, almost frozen. You can wake up at any minute, and there is no way he can explain the situation without you freaking out.

But it's too little and too late.

Taking a deep breath, his hand moves to his aching cock, his long fingers curling around the thick shaft. A groan escapes his open mouth, his long tongue lick over his upper teeth. His eyes wander down on your body, pausing at your soft tits and hard nipples before falling to your covered mound. His grip tightens on his erection, precum leaking from the dark pink tip. He throbs in his own hand, urging him to do something.

He saw you like this several times since you know each other. You are comfortable showing some skin even though it drives him crazy under the surface. The memories almost make him angry. So many times, he imagined you under him, moaning and crying for him while you were totally unaware of his desires and demons.

Releasing his cock, he reaches out for you. His touch is gentle and warm on your knees, gliding up on the soft flesh of your thigh. When you open your legs, he almost jumps back and out of the bed. Rome snaps his eyes up to your face again. You are still asleep.

It's so wrong on so many levels.

Now, that your legs are open, he can see the slit of your pussy through the thin fabric. Drool drips down from his mouth at the plump sight.

Maybe it's enough, he tries to convince himself. Just jerking off on the view of your cunt is enough until you wake up and go home. You won't know anything about it, and life can go on as usual. It's a lie, and the beast in him knows it.

His hand is on you again, caressing your thigh before sliding up to your panties. It's soft under his touch but does nothing but annoy him. His thumb moves between your legs, feeling the heat of your pussy on his own skin. His heart beats in his throat as he watches. Your clit is under his thumb, drawing small circles on the bud.

Rome doesn't have to wait long to feel your arousal in the air. It's thick and heavy, making him and his cock drool some more.

"Fuck!" He groans. His snout fidgets as he takes deep breaths from your scent. "You smell so good."

He moves closer, slowly, tentatively. He lifts his weight onto his arms at the sides of your body. His eyes are on your face again, watching you sleep while his nose almost bumps against your mound. A low groan rumbles in his chest. You are so close. So delicious. His tongue rolls out of his mouth, licking through your center over the fabric covering it. You are wet. He licks over your slit until your panties are soaked with your juices and his saliva. It sticks to your plump pussy.

"Let's take it down," he hums, hooking his long fingers on the side of your panties to pull it down and reveal your most intimate part. Your cunt glistens under the street lights that filter into his bedroom through the window.

The wolf-shifter's world spins around him once, twice, three times as he leans closer again. His snout rubs against your clit, taking deep breaths of your heavy smell. He lost control over his own body a long time ago.

"So pretty," he murmurs. Saliva drips down onto your wet center as he hovers above you. The sight fills him with satisfaction. You will smell like him. You will be marked by him. "You have such a pretty pussy, sweetheart."

Almost bursting with anticipation, he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juices. When he flicks your clit, you moan into the dark room, making him freeze for long seconds. The sound escaping your mouth is hoarse and oh, so delicious. Your smell gets stronger in the air, but you don't move.

"Just a little bit more," he whispers, almost begging. He slurps on your pussy hurriedly, trying to suffocate himself in your cunt. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside your hot channel. He can feel you fluttering around his tongue, sucking him in for more. His whole body trembles as his muscles tense. Every nerve in his body is focused on you. Your smell and taste drive him deeper and deeper to the point he can't back away.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, leaking. His balls feel too tight, and his hips start to rock back and forth every now and again to find some friction. The knot at the base of his shaft grows with each second he spends between your thighs, munching on your cunt.

Biting off his own claw, he turns his attention back to your empty hole. His tongue slides into you easily. You are pulsing and fluttering until he adds his finger to stretch you out some more. For a second, you tense up, moaning again before continuing to sleep. He almost laughs. He could fuck you. You wouldn't wake up.

He almost cums when you clench around him. He scoops up your nectar with his tongue, gulping to burn the memory of your taste in his mind. Your breathing gets heavier, and a small, barely noticeable tremble runs through your body as you reach your climax. With his free hand, Rome has to squeeze his cock to stop him from shooting his seed all over you and the bed.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, keeping his fingers in you, feeling your still squeezing walls. "Can you do that again? Could you cum on my cock, hm? Are you ready for it?"

It's madness.

He climbs above you, pushing your legs apart to have enough space for his slim waist between your thighs. His erection rubs against your folds, mixing his pre-cum and your juices together.

"God," he groans. "Fuck! So good, sweetheart. Your cunt is so warm. She wants me, love. She wants my cock inside. You know it, too."

Grabbing his erection, he adjusts the bulbous tip to your entrance before starting to push inside. He growls at the feeling of you enveloping him. You are warm and wet and perfect. His balls jerk and his knot pulses.

"That's it," he groans. "You are doing so good, sweetheart."

"Rome?" Your voice feels like cold water. His name on your lips is thick with sleep and confusion. "What? What are you doing?" Your question ends in a moan when he doesn't stop. He pushes his cock inside you entirely, stretching you out and filling you up.

"Shh, sweetheart," he grunts, panting. "It's okay."

"Rome?" Panic laces your voice. "Rome! Stop!"

"I can't," Rome replies, shaking his head, licking up on the side of your neck. Your palms seem small on his broad chest as you try to push him away while he still rocking back and forth inside you.

"Enough! Rome!"

"Shh," he tries to calm you again. His mind is dizzy with the feeling of you around him. Tight and warm, clenching with every movement you make. Your trashing under him almost breaks his cock off, but damn his whole life if he stops. "It's okay, love. Your pussy wants it."

"What? No! It's wrong!"

"No!" He growls. "It's not! I should have made you mine a long time ago!"

Despite your panic and anger, a moan escapes your lips when he thrusts inside you. Your pussy clenches around his shaft, soaking his erection. Rome reaches every sweet spot in you, driving you higher and higher.

"So good, sweetheart," he coos. His words fan over the side of your neck. "You feel it too, right? My cock stretches your tiny pussy. You squeeze on me so tight, I can barely move."

"Rome!" You moan his name, your fingers dig into the hard muscles of his shoulder. Your legs curl around his waist to keep him close. Pleasure flares through your body even though you know it's wrong.

"And you taste so good, love," he grunst into your neck. Your skin is wet from his drooling. "I ate your pussy while you slept," he admits. "I drank up your juices. You got wet so easily. Your pussy knew it was me."

They shouldn't, but his words fuel you more. Your hips move under him, meeting his thrust as your back arches from the bed.

"Rome! Please! Fuck!"

Seeing you so responsive wakes up something primal inside him. You want him, he thinks, shocked. You want his cock, his warm cum. His mark. He almost shouts with pain when he forces himself to kneel up and leave your warm channel.

"Turn around," he says but doesn't wait for your reaction. Grabbing your hips, he turns you on your stomach, tugging you into a kneeling position. Your ass rubs against his cock while he hovers above you and pushes your head down on the bed.

"Present yourself for me, sweetheart," he groans, rutting against your bottom. "Show me how much you want my cock like a good bitch."

"Rome," you cry his name, screaming when he enters into your pussy again. His hold is firm and hard on your hips as he keeps you in place against his pounding. He fucks your pussy with newfound vigor. Your juices flow down on your thighs, dripping onto the bed.

"Fuck!" Rome groans. "Your pussy is so good to me, sweetheart. She knows what she wants, and it's my cock. She wants me to fill her up and soak her with my seed."

His words clear your mind for a second. Your fingers grip onto the blanket under you. "Wait! Rome! Don't! I don't…!"

"It's okay, love," Rome groans, still fucking you. "You don't have to worry. I will take care of you and our pup. I will fuck your cunt until you are round with my child. I want to see your tits grow with milk and your stomach with our pup. Maybe I will always keep you pregnant and ripe."

Tears run down your cheek from pleasure and fear. Your body and your mind tell different things, and you can do nothing because of the spinning world around you. Your walls flutter around his cock, your stomach tightens into a burning coil.

"Take my knot, love," he demands. "Let me fuck my mate pregnant. Let me have this, love. Just open up your pussy for me, and I will do the rest."

There is no way you can fight against him. His hold on you is too strong and tight, while your limbs feel like jelly. He bullies your cock, filling you up to the brim.

Rome's whole world narrows down on your sweet hole as he forces his knot inside your wet pussy. Every nerve in his body bursts with pleasure when he is inside you fully, and he can't move without tugging and pushing you with the rhythm of his hips pounding your hole.

His growl shakes the walls as he cums inside you. He shoots into your hole several times until, even through the barrier of his knot, some still escapes your pussy.

"Ohgod!" You cry, shaking and jerking. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you reach your climax. You suck Rome for every drop of his cum he can give you. Your pussy aches and burns so deliciously that you can do nothing, but rock back against him for more. His chuckle is hoarse next to your ears when he notices what you are doing.

"It's 'kay, love," he hums, still keeping his weight on his arms. "My rut will keep me going for a while longer before I'm done with you."

"What?" You gasp, breathless. "We are not done?"

"Didn't you hear me?" He hums, pushing inside you more if it's even possible. "I won't stop until you are with my pup."

- Masterlist Meriad Masterlist Patreon

[headspace-hotel]

Okay but like whenever europe and USA are compared in terms of ruins and artifacts it makes me think "oh but what about Native American artifacts and ruins" and it reminded me of another post I meant to make ages ago but forgot

A while back I went thru the library looking at all the books I could find on the history of Kentucky.

My textbooks and most "reliable" sources when I was a kid said that Kentucky was never actually home to Native Americans, it was just a "hunting ground." This is total bullshit, the living Shawnee whose ancestors lived here know it was bullshit, but how did we get there

A lot of the more recent books I found (from like the 1990's) repeated the "it was only just hunting grounds" thing

But heres the weird thing

When you go back further

The narrative is completely different

so here's the first page of a book published 1872, it's "History of Lexington Kentucky: Its Early Annals and Recent Progress" by George W. Ranck

Let the shock of this first paragraph settle in. Like, damn, this is a whole different picture being painted

now, this Rafinesque fellow he refers to, has been widely referred to as the originator of many claims about Kentucky, and an exaggerator and liar, outright dismissed and scorned by many historians.

Rafinesque is considered to be the source of many claims found in this chapter, and the pompous, flowery language used to state them makes them seem a bit unbelievable. But the claims themselves are not highly unrealistic. These are several of the claims found on pages 2-12 of the book

An artificially built stone well was found by settlers

Earliest settlers plowed up pottery fragments

Settlers dug into an old abandoned lead mine

"Stone sepulchers" were found containing human bones

A large earthen mound 6 feet high was found with pottery and burned wood

A stone mound was found containing human bones

An extensive cave used as a cemetery was found under Lexington, containing embalmed bodies

Flint arrowheads were found

Polished and worked fragments of iron ore were found

Sandstone and limestone tools perforated with holes were found

Rough ingots of copper were found

Stone walls were built defended by entrenchments

It is very important to note that this chapter is insistent that the inhabitants that built these ruins and left these artifacts were NOT Native Americans. Why? Because Native Americans didn't build stuff so advanced! Very circular reasoning.

It was a very common myth that there was some kind of "pre-native-american" race of people that existed in Kentucky. Sometimes this was a way of justifying colonization by saying that well, the Native Americans were just taking over land that wasn't theirs too, so it's okay for us to do it.

It seems to me that when it became clear that Native Americans were the first and only pre-European inhabitants, the stuff about an ancient city under Lexington and all that became dismissed as lies. But are they lies?

I tried to find out, and we know for certain that central Kentucky had many, many burial mounds (some of which I had seen the site of without knowing what I was seeing) and quite a few stone ruins. The builders of the stone ruins are referred to as the "Fort Ancient" people because the earliest settlers incorrectly assumed the stone structures they saw were forts for some defensive or military purpose.

The tools and artifacts being referenced are all known to exist, except I think there aren't any confirmed extant examples of pottery.

The most widely criticized claim in the chapter is the underground cave used as a tomb, but I don't see why—central Kentucky is a limestone karst region and EVERYWHERE has a cave under it. The embalming or mummifying of bodies could have been a flourish or rumor, but the essence of the claim is totally reasonable. Then again, it might not have been, since the area had access to sources of salt. The supposed "lead mine" probably wasn't that specifically, but it's known that Native Americans went inside, explored and used caves.

It was really interesting to me how so many later sources dismissed these claims despite most of them being plausible or just true, and how many of those sources repeated the idea of Native Americans using the land for hunting but not "inhabiting" it. It is two different ways of denying Native Americans were here.

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born | Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word count: 4.1K

Summary: When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

Part 1

A cackle pierced through you as Cressida  looked upon you with a devilish glint.

“You believe you are a witch?” Her tone caught you off guard. Her patronisation questioning everything you had ever held to be true. Surely you were? It was the only thing that made some sense. Your brows furrowed  tightly as you regarded the woman who had offered you shelter and refuge over the past few years.

Her laughing died down, her beautiful skin perfect by the ruins and spells she’d used for centuries, not displaying a single crease visible upon her flesh.

“Oh child what an easy life this would have been if we were more akin.”

~

You sat upright with a jolt, the murmuring of a dream— a memory whispering at the corners of your mind. Your heart swelling with the familiarity of someone you missed, despite her disposition, her cruel tone, that mean glint in her eye— you missed her. But as you felt the plush sheets beneath your body you knew you were no longer in the witches cottage at the corners of The Middle.

You had left that plagued land a while ago now.

A soft rap roused you from your thinking. The usual wake up call must have been the noise to stir you from your slumber in the first place, a familiar rumble of a tone behind the oak doors. 

“Come in,” you replied softly. Your feet swinging off the side of the bed, as you walked towards the large curtain that hung from the high ceilings to the dark obsidian floor beneath your feet.

It should have been cool to the touch under your toes, but the house had a magical way of ensuring your comfort— always.

You heard the bedroom door swing open, your back to the welcomed guest as your fingers dropped from the luxe curtain fabric you had just pulled, inviting the warmth of the morning sun into your rooms.

“Blessed be my morning star, did you sleep well?” A deep sing-song tone bellowed into the room, a playfulness dancing on his words.

You cringed under the greeting, choosing not to turn to show your disdain at his choice of greeting and nickname. The sun was only just rising, sending splintered beams of light across your bedroom floor and walls.

“Helion, must you greet me in such a way?” He could practically hear the way you rolled your eyes and cringed at his words. You hadn’t turned to him yet, your gaze settling on the tops of the city below that the curtains had just revealed.

The view from your bedroom had changed more frequently in recent years. No longer the welcomed view of your childhood— the farm fields you grew up in, the misty fog that covered the northern part of the continent that you had always found comfort in.

No longer the harsh winding forest, dark trees that looked more like creatures that lurked outside the witches cottage— Cressida’s home— if you could even call it a home. Her den, rooted in The Middle.

No longer the glistening golden rooftops of Day, the sparkling white walls that danced the sunlight off the buildings in a way that made the whole court shimmer.

Instead, the panes of glass showed three mountainous peaks, dusted with snow in the distance and a city below— Velaris, the city of starlight.

Or the city of slumber. You were not well acquainted with the routines of the Night court residents. Them usually rousing from sleep well later into the day. However it did make your mornings quieter.

The auras of people settled in sleep, their noise, their colours dimming as you watched the kaleidoscope of energy dance lazily along to rooftops. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t so loud.

You winced slightly at the sight, the lights and colours nudging on your mind. Poking and prodding a little harder than they had yesterday. It had been several days since Helion’s spell. A string of wryds to help contain your ability— dim it down, to subdue it, make it more bearable— but the spell was wearing thin.

Ever since that night—that fateful night where you almost left this world— your ability had been at a loss. Something that had always been as easy as breathing, as easy as a crisp night breeze filling your lungs, was now overwhelming and terrifying. If it wasn’t for Helion and his spell cleaving you're not even sure you’d still be here, in fact you’re certain it would have consumed you. 

As beautiful as the auras of the world were, if you couldn’t control it— it would be the death of you. 

“How are you feeling?” You had finally turned to Helion now, his question lingering in the air. 

How were you feeling? 

You could see, feel, taste Helion’s energy in front of you. A golden glow, so fitting for the High Lord of Day. It beamed within him like an orb of sunlight. You couldn’t touch it though, not like you used to, not like when you were a child and you used the naively play with creatures auras like a toy. Not like how Cressida had taught you to toy with people’s auras which was far from play.

That sense of control had broken, leaving jagged scars across your body to match.

Your hands, almost subconsciously went to touch the rugged scar that ran from your shoulder down to your torso. It tingled under your thoughts, but you pulled your hand back. Not allowing another moment to be wasted on what had happened and the marks it had left on you. 

That was why you needed Helion and his spells. He had a way of dimming it with his own power, making it easier for you to navigate your day-to-day without being utterly consumed by the noise and colours of everyone else.

“I feel okay actually,” you had responded, your eyes moving up to the lines on your friends face. He smiled softly at you.

“This is the longest you’ve been without us having to spell cleave, but today—“

“Today could be a noisy day,” you finished his sentence, understanding what he was implying.

Tody, you were to begin training with the Valkyries.

“Those priestesses are already a bundle of emotions when they pass you, I think resealing the spell would be wise. Amren agrees.” 

Well then, it wasn’t really up for debate. 

You cocked a brow at Helion before moving towards the table in your room. That was now adorned with breakfast, courtesy of the house of course. Helion folded his arms across his broad chest. He still wore the colours of Day, white and pristine, glittered in gold jewellery along his wrists, earrings bejewelled with sunlight themselves. Grand and beautiful, just like him. However he looked so out of place against the dark background of the Night interior. As ornate as the House of Wind was, Helion didn’t fit. 

No, he belonged among his own court, but the High Lord of day had left his court to accompany you. That in itself was such a large display of loyalty. You swallowed your guilt as you sat at the table, spreading butter across the warm toast and taking a bite. 

“But of course the decision is always yours to make y/n,” Helion spoke, his tone as warm as the butter melting upon your breakfast.

They only wanted what was best for you, you knew that. Reminded yourself in moments like these. But you couldn’t help the feelings that slipped up to the surface. Since you’d come to the Fae courts and discovered who you were—what you were. Every piece of guidance came with a weight you felt like you couldn’t refuse. 

You were the Mother’s daughter— Blessed be— you had status, respect, power— to do as you please, but that came with a responsibility that felt too heavy to bear. Every decision you made had to be considered, because it didn’t only affect you but the entire world and the peoples and creatures within it.

That meant, even if you wanted to try and push another day without the spell. See how far you could go as the spell thinned, you couldn’t risk it. As it wasn’t only you who it would endanger, but every living thing.

When Helion had found you— a shattered version of yourself— he’d spent the time piecing you back together. Perhaps out of duty to begin with, but somewhere along that journey a genuine friendship grew. However that would never negate from who you were, and what you were born to do— what your life’s duty was to be, and what he, what Amren, whatever everyone else on this island needed to do ensure you accomplished it.

“Let’s reseal the spell,” you muttered before taking another chomp of your toast, a softer look on your eyes this time. “…after breakfast.”

Helion smiled warmly, joining you at the table as he had done now every morning since he saved you.

~

The simmering of the fresh spell lingered on your skin, Helion’s magic coursing an invisible shield around you. The spell acting as a filter to the aura you were always so sensitive to.

The early days of his spells were always the nicest, at least they were nowadays. After building your tolerance back up with Helion, the first week of his spell usually lasted with minimal discomfort. He always had to be near though, his rooms were only down the hall to yours.

Sometimes your tolerance was less, or someone or some creature’s aura louder than usual that you needed him to reseal. It was why for the past year he’d essentially been attached to you at the hip, like a doting father or brother. And then there was Amren— doting wasn’t the word you would use. But she was always there too now. Out of duty of course, the way she’d collapsed down to her knees in your first encounter revealed how strongly her loyalty would lie to you.

Or lie to what you stood for.

Amren, the ancient one knew what your existence meant. Felt it in her bones, remembered the murmurings of stories and prophecies she listened to back in her own adolescent years. She knew what was coming, and knew how important it was that the Mother’s daughter had her ability under control.

So here you were, stood before Helion and Amren like a girl on her first day of school. Helion tightened one of the straps on the leathers you had been told to wear. He couldn’t attend the training class, only approved males were sanctioned so he would stay the floor below. In a waiting room. A handful of books already tucked under his arm.

“Stop fussing over the girl,” Amren snapped, her expression as hard as it always was. Despite her being utterly devoted to you and your protection, that dedication did not come with a slither of a smile.

You may have found her scary, if she didn’t remind you so much of someone you missed.

Helion gave you a knowing look before playfully winking at you. His large hands coming to squeeze your shoulders.

“How do you feel?” He asked, ignoring Amren at his side.

“The world is quiet once more,” you replied in a slightly chipper tone that garnered a smile from Helion.

He tapped the top of your head, “If we need to reseal, or something triggers it you leave right away, okay?”

You nodded in response along with a hum in agreement. This training was supposed to do the opposite of just that, however there were concerns. After the inner circle had barged their way into the Day Court a month ago, after Helion revealed who you were— a lot had changed.

Your belongings— which wasn’t very many— were packed up, along with you and Helion as you were practically shipped to the Night Court. You realised when you arrived how this had always been Helion’s intention. Why he’d taken the time to tell you the names of the Night Courts inner circle all those months ago. It was because they held significance in your journey.

The Night Court was safer, Velaris having an ancient spell that had protected it for so long. Amren was to teach you, she had knowledge that even Helion’s libraries didn’t share. There was Rhys too, with his mind and magic who was a crucial part to play in you regaining control of your power.

And now there were the Valkyries, who you were to train with.

~

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes dancing upon the still sleeping city. It was quieter now, thanks to Helion. No noise and colours probing into your mind.

It was peaceful, and yet so lonely. When you had full control of your ability, back when it felt like an extension of you. You could slip in and out of it with ease, danced with it, sung with it. Now, it felt like a headache that could only be dulled with Helion’s magic.

“It is the mind-stilling which is a priority in your training. I believe it could be key to you regaining control over your abilities. You will train with the Valkyrie’s everyday until you master it.” Amren spoke. You didn’t turn to look at her, your eyes still gazing onto the cityscape below. Your mind wandering to what the people below were up to, what they may have been dreaming of. Thinking back to a time when your life was much simpler, when the most daunting part of your week was whether one of the village boys would fancy you.

You stopped yourself there. Stopped yourself from indulging and reminiscing in the past. The continent was so far away now, as was that version of you.

“What if it doesn’t work?” You turned to Amren, concern evident in your tone. The sun kissing your face as your brows furrowed.

She was sat in the shade, back against the cool stone wall of the house, “It has to.”

A silence settled between you both. Amren was right, this had to work because Mother be damned if it didn’t.

~

Nesta cringed as she watched the priestesses fuss. She had told them to be on their best behaviour, but in the presence of a living deity the females couldn’t help themselves.

They blushed and whispered, giggled and muttered words of prayer, some even curtseying as soon as they stepped onto the rooftop. Rollings of ‘Blessed be’ harmonised from their tongues and even Gwyn’s eyes widened in the presence of you. The female looked ready to burst with excitement.

There was something about your presence that was otherworldly, not just in your beauty but in the way you moved among the earth spoke of grace. Nesta couldn’t believe her eyes when she had found out you’d grown up on the continent on a farm and then The Middle— with a witch! And yet there was a regality that existed within you that couldn’t be taught, it had just always been, you had been born with it, cauldron-born to be exact.

You stood in front of them all, your own embarrassment from the fuss evident in your averting gaze. Gently— with delicate grace— you bowed your head towards the priestesses, responding appropriately with a whispering “Blessed be,” which only seemed to elicit more noise from the females. Enough noise that it took you a beat to notice the gust of wind that blew across your face as a shadow blocked out the sun for a moment. With a thud two large Illyrian males landed in the middle of the rooftop balcony.

Helion’s spell had been working fine till now, not a whisper or a simmering of aura— till you saw him.

Felt him, scented him.

In a flurry of steps you found your back pressed against the railing on the rooftop. The very presence of someone causing your feet to stumble back, hands clutching the railing tightly in a blur of a moment. He was here. The very male you often found yourself dreaming of when your mind wasn’t caught in the past.

Azriel.

Amren had launched from her place, she had been watching you so closely that even just a tremor of difference she would notice. But it wasn’t just Amren who had stepped towards you, the Shadowsinger himself had taken several large strides since landing as if he’d also always been watching.

“Do I need to get Helion?” Amren asked with an urgency in her tone.

Your breaths were shallow, your gaze falling to your feet as you tried to focus. You had been caught off guard, in the silence of spell you hadn’t expected any noise at all. You hadn’t been affected by the lively group of priestesses, Nesta’s silver aura hadn’t been licking at your mind or even the thousands of people in the city below hadn’t affected you.

But him. He had triggered something, somehow.

Azriel looked upon you with a concern that felt heavy. Hesitant as he stood only a step behind Amren.

Had he startled you? When him and Cassian had landed? Azriel couldn’t deny he had rushed to this training session, after spending the month on a mission. Rhys had sent word that you were to begin training, and the swell in Azriel’s chest was enough to have Cassian trying to keep up to the Spymaster on their entire flight home.

Azriel’s eyes wandered over you, his shadows whispering their own concerns. They had noticed your nerves, just as he had noticed them during his first encounter with you. It was his job to notice the little things, his duty as spymaster to notice the things others couldn’t, but even he couldn’t explain why he felt so attuned to you.

The morning breeze gently blew across your face, pulling the pieces of hair that were loose from your braid. You had calmed yourself, calmed yourself enough to raise your head to the audience on the rooftop. He could see you now, fully, for the first time in a month, and Azriel forgot how to breathe.

Divine.

He thought it was his shadows that whispered it, but maybe it was his own thoughts too. You were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on— angelic and saintly.

Divine was the only word for it.

Divine, divine, divine. His shadows sang.

“No, I am fine,” you finally replied to Amren. She looked at you sceptically, a look in her face that told you if you were lying then there would be hell to pay. You repeated yourself though, stepping away from the railing you had pressed yourself against.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not after what he had just triggered, that tightness in your chest was new and overwhelming to say the least. It was different though, to the way auras usually felt that left you with confusion and questions to why the Shadowsinger felt, smelt, tasted so different to everyone else.

You were grateful for the male beside him who decided to speak. “Sorry we probably startled you, just dropping from the sky like that— we tend to do that sometimes.” It was Cassian who had spoken, a warmness in his tone that reminded you of Helion. There was a twinkle in his eye of light-heartedness that seemed to dissipate the unease that had settled among the group.

You offered him a soft smile that only seemed to spur him on. His tone bellowing as he outstretched his arms in introduction, “I’m Cassian, and this is—“

“Azriel,” you finished his sentence for him. Not being able to stop yourself from saying his name out loud. Not being able to stop yourself from finally looking at him.

“Right, Azriel. You’ve already met,” Cassian replied, a look in his eye as he glanced between his brother and you.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair how much lovelier he was than in your dreams— which you didn’t think could be possible. The handsome lines of his tanned face, the dark hair that fell in loose curls and those large wings that were tucked behind his back. Your eyes dragged across him, finally landing on his own gaze. How it brought you back to that first moment you met him—how he had trapped you in his gaze back in the courtyard of Day.

“And I’m Gwyn,” the words had practically burst from the red-headed female. Her deciding now was clearly the right time to introduce herself, not that you minded. In fact if she hadn’t you may have just stared at the Shadowsinger all day, “…and I think I can speak on behalf of us all, but it is truly an honour that you wish to train with us.”

There were some murmurings from the priestesses then, as if in agreement and even Cassian tipped his head in bow towards you.

There it was again, that weight you held. Crushing and terrifying, they put you an a pedestal, showered you with adoration you weren’t too sure you deserved. With subtle strain you forced a gentle smile onto your lips.

“The honour is all mine Gwyn,” and you meant it. The people on this balcony had earned that praise more than you ever had.

“She just said my name,” Gwyn whispered in disbelief to her friends, her cheeks going rosy at the recognition. Nesta simply rolled their eyes, Emery teasingly nudged Gwyn with her elbow.

But it was a sentiment Azriel was still stuck on too. You had said his name, knew his name— knew him. His name on your lips was like a song, a melody you serenaded him with. His shadows had felt it too, your recognition of their master causing a stir that had them wanting to reach out—which they would have if Azriel didn’t have them on such a tight leash. Azriel only tore his gaze from you when Amren spoke up.

“Enough about honour and names,” Amren snapped, her eyes not landing on you but the the two males who had just arrived. They understand her stare, her tone, the waft of her had as she strode back to her spot in the shade.

“Right let’s start ladies, find a space and we’ll begin with stretches,” Cassian commanded, his tone authoritative that had the females moving into motion. Even Azriel snapped himself from his thoughts, collecting himself as he stalked towards one side of the balcony.

You followed suit, following the motion of the other females and finding yourself in amongst the group to begin. You noticed though how Nesta had come to your left, Emery flanking your right, and Gwyn directly behind you. As if creating their own shield. Perhaps a statement to the swooning priestesses— regardless, you were appreciative.

Stretching began, and you copied Cassian’s movements in front of you. In sync with the other females around you. Moving your muscles in a way you hadn’t for a while, stretching the aches you didn’t know were there. Cassian stood in front of the group, bellowing whenever the stretch would change.

The movement was welcome though. You’d always had an active life. Growing up on a farm, tending to the crops and harvests had been your way. You weren’t new to the ache of a hard days work. Then you’d spent your time in The Middle, with Cressida who had an unrelenting method of training you.

“I’ve heard you’re not a novice?” Nesta asked you as the group was split in two. One side had been pulled to practice mind-stilling, the other, your group, had been given wooden staffs to practice more physical exercises.

You took the staff in your hand, curling your fingers around the rod. Nesta wasn’t referencing your past though. She was asking about your time in Day, you hummed in response with a nod. “I trained with Helion’s sentries for a few months,” it helped…for a while. Your progress had soon dropped off though, plateaued, which was why you were here. To see if the Valkyrie way of training would help in any way.

Nesta nodded in response, before tapping your staff twice with hers. “Show me then,” she moved into a defensive stance and your brow quirked.

It was a challenge, she had been the only one who had dared, the only person to treat you with some semblance or normalcy— and it made you smile.

a/n: well here is part 2, I’m sorry this has quite literally taken months to get this instalment live, so I really appreciate any of you who might still be around to read this! I do think this has the potential to be a slightly bigger series than I first anticipated, but I guess that’s my fault for giving our mc the coolest back story ever 😅 anyway enjoy my loves 🤍 - Lottie xx

[righteousangerpodfic]

just about five hours exactly!

SO MANY EMOTIONS

I can’t believe i finished this thing!!!!

[rottiens]

ਏਓ content. — boxer sukuna x childhood friend fem!reader. modern au, fwb, chocking kink, petnames (princess), no happy ending.

ਏਓ notes. idk i wanted to explore the idea of a jealous sukuna, unable to take control of a situation that gets out of his hands. reader may be read as a bitch,,, perhaps. but she is just as scared of her own feelings and ruin the friendship as he is ksjd felt i needed to clarify that.

Things had been weird lately. You assume that all unspoken situations end up like this at some point. At least, that's what you presume, because you've never found yourself in a position like this before. You haven't wanted to think about it too much, or at least not as deeply as the situation probably requires. You and Sukuna have been friends for several years now, and when you started this arrangement between the two of you, you made it very clear that there were no emotional ties, nothing that could bind you together enough to later separate you.

You were nothing more than friends hooking up, a deal implied from the very first time, right here in your room. The same place where it has happened over and over again. The room that holds your secrets, your shared laughter, tears and some heated arguments. It all started with a kiss that led to another, like the flutter of a butterfly unleashing a storm. The hunger of desire pushed you to sit on his lap, you were hungry and he knew how to feed you. So it has always been: you call and he comes.

Lately, however, the tension is different. Not the kind of tension you like, the kind where a simple glance can set your skin on fire, the kind of electricity that runs through even the boxing ring and makes you clench your thighs because you know what's coming next. What surrounds you now is an uncomfortable veil, laden with unspoken words that you both avoid, knowing that a conversation about it would only make things worse.

There's only one thing you're sure of: you don't want to overthink it.

Sukuna lets out a grunt of pain under the alcohol-soaked absorbent cotton. Out of the corner of your eye you notice how his hands, wrapped in white bandages, tighten and cling tightly to your thighs.

“Hold still,” you reproach him in a soft but firm tone as you lean over to reach for a band-aid on the bedside table.

Night has fallen, and you are both enveloped in the noisy calm of the city where the murmurs of other apartments and the distant bustle of the city seep through the walls. The atmosphere feels intimate, as if the outside world is just an irrelevant murmur compared to what is going on between you.

“ He really fucked you up, hm?” you murmur with a hint of concern in your voice. He growls low, resembling a dog that's been scolded, his brow furrowed as his red eyes bore into the wide cotton t-shirt you're wearing, especially the 'V' shape that exposes your collarbones and that little necklace hanging from your neck. You seem to notice, but decide to ignore how his gaze slides with restrained desire. “You never let yourself get hurt like that,” you add with a tone that mixes reproach and concern, pressing the alcohol-soaked cotton swab against his injured eyebrow.

“I was distracted,” he replies indifferently.

You gently push his shoulders to get a better look at him, noticing how he avoids your eyes, knowing you can read him all too easily. A black eye, a split eyebrow with a few fresh stitches, and a swollen lip; signs of a fight where he clearly wasn't in his best shape. “You weren't there,” he mutters, almost as if the confession escapes his lips.

So that's what this is about.

“I was busy with work,” you reply, trying to make it sound casual.

He emits a low sound, a deep purr that vibrates against your fingers as you continue to clean his wound. There's something in his tone that reveals a need he doesn't want to admit.

“I called, you weren't there.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“You're my watchdog now?” you tease, though behind the question lies a tension neither of you is willing to fully face.

“Are you fucking him?” the rawness of his question doesn't take you by surprise as it should. You knew this was going to blow up eventually, but still, the impact of his words causes an uncomfortable knot to form in your chest. You wonder if it was the shirt, visibly larger than you usually wear, that made him suspicious or if it was your growing coldness over the past few weeks. “You reek of him. Is that why you didn't come to see me, because you were fucking him?”

“Ryomen…” Your voice sounds like a gentle, almost motherly reproach, as if you're trying to stop a child about to get into trouble. Yet he receives it exactly that way: with a mixture of frustration and indignation, as if it's unfair of you to speak to him that way when all he wants is the truth.

“The fucking guy from your job,” he spits, his gaze piercing you with a mixture of anger and hurt that he rarely lets on. His hands are tense, knuckles white on your thighs.

The words hang in the air, heavy and toxic, mingling with the bitterness of everything unsaid between you. But deep down, you both know this goes far beyond simple jealousy.

Your tongue moistens your upper lip as you try to buy time, looking for the perfect excuse to deflect the conversation. But this time, there's no escape possible. You're trapped in his lap, his hands firmly gripping your ass, his face so close you can almost feel the heat of his skin.

“It just… happened. We have no strings attached, remember? It was what we agreed to. I thought we were both having fun.”

Sukuna lets out a bitter, dry laugh, laden with an irony that cuts through the air between you like a blade. His fingers sink harder into your flesh, making you aware of the tension coursing through his body.

“Do you really think I'm having fun right now?” he murmurs, his gravelly voice with an edge that cuts through you. The way his scarlet eyes pierce into you it's as if he's searching for something beyond your words, something even you don't know how to express. There's a restrained fury in his gaze, but also a hint of pain that you didn't expect to see. That glint that suggests that, perhaps, all this has gone further than either of you would dare to admit.

Your fingers slowly glide across the scarred skin of his shoulders, following the path of his tattoos, noting how each small movement tenses his musculature. You run down his naked torso, feel the warmth of his chest under your palms, then wrap your arms around his neck. You lean in close enough for your words to brush his lips in a whisper.

“Are you jealous, is that it? It's hard for me to tell when your boner is pushing against my ass,” you whisper to him with a mixture of mockery and desire.

Sukuna hates it when you use that tone, one that reminds him that, despite everything, he's always the one who ends up giving in to you. It's as if you have an invisible leash around his neck, and every time you pull on it, he comes without resistance. You lean a little closer, making sure his cock rubs directly against your pussy, barely covered by the thin set of panties you're wearing. The woody scent of the other man on your body confounds his senses, mixing rage, lust and something he doesn't want to name.

You hide in his neck, leaving a trail of kisses just behind his ear, that spot that always makes him lose control. Sukuna squeezes your ass cheeks tighter, pulling you even more into him, letting you feel every inch of his hardness.

“You have to talk to me,” you murmur against his skin, your teeth catching his lobe in a playful bite that makes his skin bristle. “I can't read what you're thinking.”

You know you're driving him crazy, that you're playing with fire, but you enjoy watching the cracks in his facade of hardness begin to appear and wonder how hard you can push before he snaps.

“Is this what you think I am to you, a dog you can call whenever you feel like fucking?” Sukuna spits out the words, his voice laden with a resentment he makes no attempt to hide. Every fiber of his body is still vibrating with the adrenaline of the fight just ended, and even though the physical battle is over, he still feels cornered, as if he's taking blow after blow.

Instead of responding with words, he lets his body do it for him. His hands scrape your skin, descending to your neck, squeezing gently to get your full attention. The pressure isn't enough to hurt you, but enough to make you focus on the burning that ignites in your clit, yearning to be rubbed and abused by those same hands that know exactly how to bring you to the edge.

“Is that what you want me to be?” he murmurs in a dangerous tone. “To let you use me over and over again? To make you cum on this thick cock until you're sobbing, crawling under me because it's too much?”

Your only response is a moan that escapes uncontrollably. You thrust your hips against him, seeking more friction, and he, despite his anger, begins to thrust from below, losing control over his own desire. This is what you needed, what you had forgotten in weeks without touching. Your nipples, hard and sensitive, are marked through the soft fabric of your t-shirt, begging for his mouth, for his teeth. There is always something about the way Sukuna holds you after he has humiliated you to the point of making you cum on his cock, an intimacy, that you find in no one else. It's that closeness that envelops you when he embraces you while you're still trembling after you've reached your climax.

“Answer me,” he growls, his fingers squeezing a little tighter, his voice demanding a confession.

“Yes… I need you to make me cum,” you murmur, unable to help the tremor in your voice.

Sukuna laughs, but it's not a kind sound. Your eyes widen in surprise when he lets go of your throat. The next breath you take is painful, immediately missing the pressure of his hand again.

Suddenly, he stands up, forcing you to be quick not to slip off his lap. Before you can process what's happening, he pulls on his blood-stained shirt, his movements calculated, as you stare at him blankly. “Jerk off and go to bed, princess,” he says coolly, adjusting his clothes without looking at you. “If you really wanna talk, come see me tomorrow after the fight. I'm leaving.”

With nothing more to say, Sukuna turns away, leaving the unresolved tension in the air and you with the feeling that, this time, the rules of your arrangement have changed forever.

[g1ngerbeer]

percy and keyleth westruun conversation animatic

[video description: it's an uncolored sketch animatic of a scene from critical role campaign 1 episode 56, "hope." percy de rolo and keyleth discuss percy's decision to carve the history of westruun into a stone wall in the bunker under the city.

percy is kneeling in front of the wall. he asks keyleth, "how long do you live?"

keyleth steels herself before answering, "if i complete my journey, it could be upwards of a thousand years or more."

percy asks, "how long do you think i live?"

keyleth hesitates, then admits, "less than a hundred, if you're lucky."

but percy smiles at her as he gets to his feet and says, "no."

keyleth frowns bemusedly and asks him, "how long?"

he sighs heavily, turning to face her completely, and says with complete seriousness, "i am percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo the third."

amused by this, keyleth raises an eyebrow and replies, "no kidding!"

percy continues, "my ancestry dates back thousands of years, and will continue for thousands more." the scene cuts to a long hall of portraits. the shadow of a dragon's wings swoops over it and leaves everything in darkness, as percy adds, "unless whitestone falls." the scene cuts back to percy. he puts a hand over his chest and says, "i live as long as whitestone lives." a dark line appears behind his back, spiking jaggedly like a heartbeat monitor. the spikes grow into the outline of whitestone castle, then fade away again.

percy steps out from the wall to look out at the bunker, and keyleth follows. he says, "this place is the human soul. this is what we have built with our tiny moments." this sentence is over an aerial shot of the city. it cuts back to percy as he continues grimly, "to lose a place like this...we don't feel it immediately, but it would ruin everyone, in small ways."

keyleth reminds him, "not all of us are lucky enough to have a..." she thinks for a second, and continues with some humor, "lineage in a name."

with equal humor, percy counters, "not all of us are lucky enough to have a lineage in a lifespan."

keyleth smiles, then sobers as she places a hand on the carved wall, saying, "not many of us are lucky enough to have a lineage at all."

percy sighs, steps over to join her, and says, "which is why we save everyone we can."

keyleth concedes, "i guess that is one thing we can both agree on."

percy turns to look out at the bunker again. he tells keyleth, "this is good we do here. this is great good." this audio is over two shots of the people in the bunker, the survivors of westruun. there are children playing with grog and scanlan, adults moving furniture into their new shelter, pike healing a child's skinned knee, and vax talking to amelia. a child tugs on his parent's arm, pointing, and they hand him a piece of chalk.

percy continues, "and it is not about idolizing ourselves, it's about-" he crouches and picks up his carving tool. "-a very long story. which we are, even you, a tiny part of." keyleth looks surprised and moved at being included in this.

matt mercer narrates, "at this moment, you look down and notice that - while you guys were having this talk - a small child has walked up to the wall. and where percy has stopped the carving, the child has picked up a piece of wayward chalk that was on the ground, and has begun to draw little stick figures on the wall where you stopped. and in a little bit of the quiet, he stops and looks up over his shoulder at the two of you and smiles, and then just goes back to writing on the wall."

percy and keyleth watch the child fondly for a second. then percy smirks and says lightly to keyleth, "he'll outlive you, right there."

keyleth rolls her eyes and shrugs loosely. she says, "yeah, no, you're probably right,” and walks around to the child's other side. "look at him. i guess this little guy is, like, the moment encapsulated." as she says this, she throws her hands outwards, then shoves them close together in front of her. the child turns to look up at her. she leans down and pats him on the head. "hey, bud!"

the remaining audio is put over an end card that shows the child's finished chalk drawing. it's seven stick figures representing vox machina, and crooked text underneath that reads "thank you!" the audio consists of the critical role cast members saying in the child's voice, "that's an octopus! that's a shark. this is a flower. this a bear!" then taliesin says, "i give keyleth a little hug."

/end description]

[buckets-and-trees]

You Should've Seen Him

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.2k Summary: July 4, 2017. An Independence Day spent celebrating America - or at least its disgraced Captain. You skip the traditional fireworks to make some of your own. Takes place immediately after When He First Got Me

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, kissing, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, overstimulation, internal ejaculation, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not

Author Notes: Back to Reader's POV for the series.

The last twenty-eight hours had been unreal. 

You had certainly never had this much sex with anyone before. 

You had never spent this much undivided time with only one person before either.

Not to mention that even though the man currently camped out between your legs was Steve Rogers, Captain America, he was still a stranger. 

Or was he?

You really didn’t know. 

There had certainly been moments when it was painfully clear you were two people who stumbled into each other and tumbled into bed later that night, but then the one-night stand stayed. 

He slept in your bed. (There had been sleep some of the time, though not much.) You made breakfast together. You said you probably better shower, he said he probably should join you. The sex there had led the two of you back to your bed, there had been some morning slumbering, then a late lunch. You watched a movie. Fucked. Talked. Kissed. Talked. Sexed. Showered. Talked. Ordered dinner. Been caught up in his kisses again. Ate dinner when it arrived. He had stripped you down again. 

And the man had been an enigma through it all. Stranger. Soft. Filthy. Sometimes so intense you were sure you were going to burn up from the way he looked at you, and at other times he seemed distracted, hollow, or somewhere else altogether. 

Part of you wanted to suggest he leave, but more of you wanted to know how long this unreal situation would carry on. 

And now, flat on your back, you were so thoroughly exhausted, every muscle limp, every coherent thought gone, asking him to leave was the last thing on your mind. You wanted the orgasm he was edging you towards, and you wanted sleep. All you could do was moan and whimper under the assault of his tongue and fingers to your cunt and clit. 

Your fingers tangled in Steve's hair, tugging gently as he worked you closer to the edge. Your thighs trembled around his head, heels digging into his broad back. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter in your core with each expert swipe of his tongue.

"Steve," you gasped, "I'm so close…"

He hummed against you in acknowledgment, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Two thick fingers pumped steadily in and out of your soaked entrance while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your swollen clit.

Your back arched off the bed as the tension finally snapped. Waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers. Steve didn't let up, drawing out your orgasm until you were a quivering, oversensitive mess.

Not so distantly, you could hear fireworks bursting for the Fourth of July at the city park, and their faint colored glow flashed across the night sky out your window. You had vaguely suggested going out to see the show earlier that afternoon. Now it was the furthest thing from your mind, and no regrets over missing them, not when this god of a man was worshipping and ruining you.

Steve moved up and over your body, his long, thick cock nudging against your entrance, making you whine weakly.

Steve's blue eyes locked onto yours, pupils dilated with lust. He braced himself on his forearms, caging you beneath his powerful body. The head of his cock continued to tease your sensitive folds, coating himself in your slickness.

"One more," he growled, voice thick with desire.

“Steve,” you moaned beneath him. How many times had he said those words? One more. Truly you’d lost count.

"I know you have one more in you."

Before you could protest, he sank into you in one smooth thrust. You cried out, still overwhelmed by the stretch and fullness of him. Your hands flew to his biceps, gripping the corded muscle as he began to move.

Steve set a punishing pace, hips snapping against yours. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin mingled with your breathless moans and his low grunts. His pubic bone ground against your clit with each thrust, sending wicked sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body.

"Fuck, you feel amazing,” he panted against your neck. Then he rolled onto his back, still buried inside you, and coaxed you up, bracing you at the waist. “Ride me, sweet girl.”

You gasped as Steve lifted you effortlessly, settling you on top of him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you began to rock against him. The new angle had his thick cock hitting even deeper inside you.

"That's it," he encouraged, voice husky. "Take what I give you."

Despite your exhaustion, you found yourself chasing that peak again. You braced your hands on his broad chest, using the leverage to ride him harder. Steve's fingers dug into your flesh, sure to leave bruises as he helped lift you up and down his length.

Your thighs burned with the effort, but the coil of pleasure was tightening again in your core. Steve's eyes raked over your body hungrily as you moved above him. One of his hands left your hip to cup your breast, thumbing roughly over your nipple.

"So beautiful," he murmured.

Your head fell back as the familiar tension mounted in your core. It seemed impossible that your body could produce another orgasm after everything Steve had put you through, but it was also impossible that he was in your bed in the first place.

As the waves of the orgasm washed over you, your clenching pussy pulled Steve along with you, and he gave a shout as he bucked up into you. He emptied his seed into you, and you felt the warmth of it filling you up.

Steve gathered you back to his chest, and rolled the two of you to your sides, facing each other. He looked at you for a long moment, truly looked at you.

Throughout the day you had noticed him looking at you when he thought you were paying attention to other things, but you felt his eyes on you every time. It was a look that pierced you, and now was no different, but now was the first he’d been open and direct going about it.

Though your body was exhausted, the surge of his intense gaze stoked something in your chest, keeping you alert and attuned to him, and you pressed your chest closer to his. He placed the softest kiss to your head, then tucked you under his chin and tightened his arms around you.

And then the two of you talked. Not about anything important, merely quiet words exchanged in the dark, normal as anything though this was anything but normal. He was branded as a dangerous vigilante. He was dangerous, but to you not for the reasons some of the world had pinned to him, but because of the way you were pinned to him right now.

But it was only two nights. Nearly nothing, right?

Best sex of your life. A story to tell when you were old.

He held you until you drifted off to sleep, mid-story, his warmth and his soft voice lulling you into deep, restful bliss.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

NEXT ↠ September 28, 2017: Pull the String read more Exiled Nomad Series

[oceaneyesinla]

Coming Home

I needed some soft Chuuya, so I wrote some soft Chuuya. This is VERY self indulgent and very fluffy

Slightly suggestive at the end - nickname used: angel

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Chuuya can’t help but release a tired, relieved sigh as the door to his apartment swings open. He’s been away for a week, and that’s a week too long when he knows just what’s waiting for him at home. You’ve ruined him for missions that take him away from Yokohama - how can he spend even a second away from the brightest star in the sky of his life? If you weren’t so important to Mafia operations in the city, he would bring you with him every time he leaves. Alas, it’s not to be - your biochemical knowledge and connections to the local hospitals make you too valuable to lose. 

Instead, the two of you spend all hours of the day and night on the phone; 3AM video calls, lunchtime phone conversations and good morning messages having to suffice even though all he wants is to wrap you in his arms and never let go. For now, he’s home, and the boss promised him at least a couple of days rest in return for going on this mission. It was an important one, and there were very few people Mori would trust such a task to.

The patter of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts, and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, you heard him open the door. He makes quick work of taking off his shoes and he’s just depositing his bag off to one side to deal with later when you round the corner. Your face lights up as you skid to a halt, almost sliding straight into the opposite wall. The laughter that bubbles out of him is soft and affectionate, as if his body needs some way to release all the love he feels for you before his heart explodes with it.

You look cozy, all wrapped up in one of his sweaters and fluffy socks on your feet, and you look like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He opens his arms, already knowing what your plan is, and he’s absolutely right. You barrel down the hallway, jumping into his arms and clinging to him with all your strength. Your legs lock around his waist, and you burrow your face into the crook of his neck, leaving little kisses that he swears he can feel even through the all the fabric of his clothes.

“Hey angel.” The last remnants of tension bleed out of him as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your favourite body wash, the one you started using when you decided it reminded you of him. Now, it just reminds you both of home.

“Missed you.” You’re pouting when you pull away to meet his eye, but it doesn’t last long when he peppers your face in kisses, reducing you to a giggling mess in moments. 

Kicking the door shut with his foot, he carries you further into the apartment, bypassing the couch and heading straight for the bedroom, “Missed you too. Did you do anything fun while I was gone? Spend the money I left you?”

You launch into an animated description of all the things you bought while he was gone and Chuuya could feel the fond smile growing on his face. This is what he misses most when you’re apart - the light in your eyes and the excitement in your voice is never the same through a phone screen.

The squeak you let out as he drops you onto the bed makes him laugh once again, and he quickly strips out of his work clothes and changes into something more comfortable. You’ve already tucked yourself under the covers by the time he’s done, and he joins you, immediately pulling you practically on top of him. After he’s been away, he likes to have you as close as possible. If he could crack open his ribcage and tuck you away in there, safe and sound, he would.

“What’s the plan, Chuu?” Your sweet voice is music to his ears, and he leans in to press a kiss to your head.

“First, we’re taking a nap, because I want to cuddle and I know you do too.” He lets his hand slide down your back, trailing down to the plush of your ass and giving it a light squeeze, “Then I’m going to show you just how much I missed my pretty angel.” He moves his hand back up to rub along your spine, smiling when he feels you relax into him, “Then we’re going out for dinner.”

You shift a little, dropping a couple of kisses along the sensitive skin of his neck before you snuggle back into his chest, “Okay. Love you, Chuu.”

“Love you too, angel.” The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your soft smile, your features nothing short of angelic as you rest on him, content in his hold and infinitely trusting. His final thought before he slips into sleep is that heaven must feel like the love you share.

@pixelcafe-network

[fatecantstopme]

My Past, My Present, My Future

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Endverse!Dean x reader

Summary: You get dragged to the future along with Dean to witness the aftermath of the apocalypse. Follows the plot of "The End" (Season 4, Episode 4)

Warnings: mentions of death, canon violence, cursing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dirty talk.

A/N: If I tell you too much, it'll ruin the story...enjoy!

It had been 2009 when you and Dean had fallen asleep in a hotel in Kansas City. You were awoken by the sound of your boyfriend's voice muttering "What the hell?"

You opened your eyes to find yourself in a completely trashed room--it looked like an actual bomb had gone off. It took you a moment to realize it was the same room you'd fallen asleep in.

"Dean?" you asked in confusion.

He was staring out the window, so you joined him, the two of you now staring out a what remained of the city.

"What happened?" you whispered.

"I have no idea." He looked back at you, worry etched into his face. "We should get moving. See if we can find anyone else."

As the two of you walked through the city streets, you found yourselves completely alone--that is, until you came across a little girl crouched in an alleyway all alone.

As the little girl attacked Dean, you saw the word "Croatoan" painted on a brick wall. Dean defended himself, knocking the girl unconscious.

You simply pointed to the word, a look of dread on your face. Dean's gaze followed your finger and the same expression crossed his features.

"Shit," he muttered.

Suddenly, a group of infected people rounded the corner and spotted the two of you. You both took off running, desperate to avoid becoming their next meal.

"Dead end!" you yelled at Dean, but neither of you had time to figure out your next move. The infected people are still behind you when a heavily armed military unit opened fire on the group.

The commotion gave you and Dean the time you needed to escape. The two of you stayed hidden until nightfall. When you emerged, you noticed a sign on the fence surrounding the entrance to the city.

"Dean," you said softly, pointing to the sign. "Croatoan Hot Zone."

He stepped forward to get a better look. "August 1st, 2014? How...?"

"Great," you muttered. "So we're in the future."

"Apparently...and it ain't pretty."

You shared a look and muttered "Angels," in unison.

You managed to find an abandoned car that still had gas, so Dean hot-wired it and the two of you sped off. You were desperately trying to find a cell signal or even a radio signal when Zachariah made an appearance in the backseat of the car.

"I thought I smelled your stink on this Back to the Future crap," Dean growled.

In response, Zachariah simply began to read a Newspaper he'd brought with him. The headlines were dark, detailing some of the terrible events that had occurred in this morbid future.

"How the hell did you find us?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"Human informants from some of the fringier religious groups," Zachariah answered.

"That guy on the street last night," you said to Dean, who nodded.

"Send us back. Now," Dean demanded.

"No can do. The two of you are staying put in 2014 for a few days so you can see exactly what happens to the world if Dean continues to say no to Michael."

"You're an ass," you muttered.

Dean smirked a little. "As much as I love having (Y/N/N) as my copilot, why'd you have to drag her into this?"

"Don't worry, she'll be fine," Zachariah said with a wave of his hand. "She's here because she might be the only person who can convince you to do the right thing. She needs to see just how bad it gets almost as much as you need to."

Before either you or Dean could respond, Zachariah disappeared, zapping himself back to wherever the hell he hung out.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate angels?" you mumbled under your breath.

Dean simply nodded. "Me too, sweetheart."

"Where we headed?"

"Bobby's."

You kept your thoughts to yourself. Dean didn't need you to tell him it was unlikely Bobby had survived this, especially being wheelchair-bound. He wasn't a fool, but you knew it was better to let him have just a little bit of hope.

**********

As expected, Bobby's house was empty, save for his wheelchair and an absolute mess of junk. Dean was silent as he surveyed the room, putting the wheelchair back upright with a sad sigh.

He went to the mantel behind Bobby's desk and pried it open, pulling out Bobby's old journal. In it, he found a picture of several men with shotguns posing in front of a sign for Camp Chitaqua, Bobby and Cas among them.

He held the picture up for you to see and you exhaled softly. "Road trip?"

He nodded and the two of you headed for the camp. You managed to sneak past the guards, but as you were making your way farther into the camp, Dean grabbed your arm.

You followed his gaze and realized his once-beautiful Impala was parked off to the side completely junked out.

"Oh not you too, Baby," he whispered as he leaned forward to inspect the car.

You would have laughed if you hadn't been staring down the barrel of your own future.

"Dean--" the rest of your sentence was silenced as you fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by someone behind you.

The man was fast enough that both you and Dean were unconscious without a single sound.

When your eyes fluttered open some time later, you found yourself seated in a wooden chair, wrists gently bound to the arms. You saw Dean sitting on the floor a few feet away from you, arms cuffed to a ladder bolted to the floor. He wasn't moving and you whispered his name in worry.

"So you're awake." Had you not been staring at Dean when you heard the voice, you would have been certain it had been him talking.

You looked around, jaw dropping as Dean stepped out from his place against the wall behind you. It was Dean, but it wasn't your Dean. His face looked a little more haggard and the light in his eyes was dimmed almost to extinction.

"Who--how--?" you tried to ask.

"I could ask you the same question."

You looked back over at Dean's unconscious form and the other Dean sighed.

"He'll be fine...as long as you answer some questions. I know neither of you are some kind of supernatural creature--trust me, I tried all the tests. But he carries every weapon on him that I do and well--there's a striking resemblance." He trailed off for a moment. "Then there's you...any chance you can explain why you look like my dead wife's identical twin?"

You were saved from responding by the sounds of your Dean stirring. "What the hell?" he muttered as he realized he was cuffed in place.

"Thanks for joining us," the other Dean stated. "I was just asking your friend here why you look like my doppelgänger. Care to share?"

Dean looked between you and the older version of himself and sighed slowly. "Probably because I am you--well, the you from 2009. And she's (Y/N) from 2009. We were dragged here to 2014 courtesy of Zachariah."

Future Dean nodded. "Sounds like something he would do. He always was a dick."

You smirked a little, appreciating that somethings never changed. However, your mind was still reeling from the words Future Dean had said to you mere seconds before your Dean had woken up...dead wife.

"As much as I'd like to believe you, I need to be sure." Future Dean crouched down in front of your Dean, eyes narrowed slightly. "Tell me something only we would know."

Your Dean flicked his gaze to you for a moment before turning back to meet his own stare. "We were 19. Rhonda Hurley made us try on her satin panties. They were pink. And you know what? We kinda liked it."

You giggled lightly at his admission and Future Dean cracked a small smile and muttered, "Touché."

Future Dean stood back up, turning his attention to you. You were surprised to see the sadness in his green eyes--a look you'd only ever seen once before.

"You haven't looked at me like that since Jo and Ellen died," you said softly.

Future Dean grimaced. "A lot has happened in the past five years, (Y/N). I carry a hell of a lot more weight than I did in 2009."

You waited for him to continue, as you knew he would.

"A lot of shit happened--really bad shit. The apocalypse, demons, releasing the Croatoan virus...we lost a lot of good people, people I cared about." He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "Three years ago, a small team of us tried to infiltrate a demon lair in an attempt to get Lucifer's location. I led one team, (Y/N) led the other. I don't know how, but they knew we were coming. I couldn't get my whole team out, but (Y/N)--she-she fought until the very end. She made certain her whole team made it out of there alive."

Your breath caught in your chest as you let his words sink in. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, even though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. Your Dean let out a soft pained sound and you felt the strong urge to go to him, but the ropes around your wrists held you in place.

Future Dean continued, "When I found out they'd left her behind, I went back...the demons had already cleared out, having gotten what they wanted. I found her..." He trailed off, gaze finally raising to meet yours. "I found you...broken and bleeding. I held you in my arms as you took your last breath. I carried you back home and I built your pyre. I wouldn't let anyone else near you. I lost something that day I could never replace, and it changed me forever."

"Dean," you whispered softly. Tears filled your (y/e/c) eyes as you stared into his mossy green ones. "I'm so sorry."

He almost laughed at your response. "I just told you that you die because of me and you're the one who's sorry?" He let out a pained chuckle. "You always did love me more than I deserved."

Your expression was soft and your smile even softer. "I don't blame you. It doesn't matter why or how it happened--it wasn't your fault. I make my own choices, as you well know. So if I chose to stay behind to save other people, then that was my decision and the consequences are for me to bear."

He closed his eyes for a few moments, allowing your words to wash over him. He'd never even imagined he would have the pleasure of hearing your voice again, let alone see your smile, or hear your laugh. He felt his armor crack just enough that a sliver of the Dean you had always loved shone through. It terrified him, your ability to affect him even now, but he knew his love for you had never dimmed and never would.

"What about Sam?" your Dean asked, breaking the silence.

"There was a heavy weight showdown in Detroit a few years back. From what I heard, Sam didn't make it out."

"From what you heard?" Dean asked in shock. "You mean you weren't with him?"

"We hadn't spoken since 2009."

You had your own opinions on Dean's decision to part ways with Sam and you'd been very vocal about it. You could tell by your Dean's expression that he was shocked and guilty about how that decision had played out.

Future Dean turned his gaze to you and you saw the same regret in his eyes that you'd seen in your Dean's. But something about his expression and the intensity of his gaze made you wonder if he was regretting the same thing as your Dean.

Future Dean exhaled slowly and averted his eyes again, pulling his invisible mask back down. "I have a mission, so I have to go. The two of you are going to stay here for the time being. I can't have the younger version of me running around the camp and there are quite a few people here that remember you, (Y/N). So stay here and don't cause any trouble."

You shot a look to your Dean who grumbled something about being left chained up. Future Dean gave you one last sad look before going out the door and leaving you two behind.

"How long until you get yourself out of those cuffs?" you teased softly.

"How long until you squeeze your hands out of that rope future me barely tied?" Dean sniped back.

You smiled and shifted your left hand so you could grab ahold of the knot Future Dean had tied. It took you less than 10 seconds to get it untied and even fewer to release your other hand.

Dean shot you a grin. "That's my girl."

You rolled your eyes, scanning the room for something to pick the handcuff lock with. "You're the one who didn't tie them tightly."

"Future me," he emphasized. "Clearly he's got a soft spot for you."

You smirked. "So do you." Your eyes landed on a small pen knife sitting on the table. You grabbed it, holding it up for him to see.

His eyes sparkled with several different emotions and you knew he was reeling from everything you'd just learned. Hell, you were busy compartmentalizing all of your emotions so you didn't fall apart.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I do."

You offered him a sweet smile before leaning down to his level and picking the lock on his cuffs with the pen knife. As soon as he was free, you helped him to his feet.

"Okay, I'm gonna go have a look around," he said. "You stay here."

"Dean--" you started to protest.

"Hey, it's not like I don't want you with me, but you heard what future me said...there are people here who will recognize you--people who know you're dead."

You sighed, knowing he was right. "Fine. Why don't you go first, make sure it's clear, then I'll follow you."

Dean glared at you for a long moment, before his expression softened. He knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. "Alright. Just stay out of sight, okay? I don't need one of these trigger-happy yahoos shooting you because they think you're a monster or something."

You nodded your agreement and Dean slowly opened the door to the cabin. You stay inside until he beckoned you to join him. You stayed close to the edge of the cabin as you waited for him to gesture for you to follow.

Just as Dean rounded the corner, Chuck Shirley stepped directly into his path, stopping him in his tracks. You stayed back, back pressed against the side of the cabin.

"Uh, hey there Chuck," Dean said.

Chuck started to ask him about what they should do about a shortage of perishable items and hygiene products before realizing Dean was supposed to be out on a mission.

"Yeah, I-uh-I was gonna head out now," Dean lied.

Suddenly, a woman crossed into your field of vision and swung a punch and a kick at Dean. He jumped back and grabbed Chuck, pulling him in-between himself and the angry woman.

Your instincts screamed for you to help him, but you knew you needed to stay hidden. You listened as the woman, Risa, yelled at Dean for spending the night in another woman's cabin the night before.

"You said we had a connection," she snapped.

You almost laughed at that--it was exactly the kind of thing Dean would say to a woman to appease her.

You watched as Risa angrily stomped away and Dean exhaled in relief. He quickly asked Chuck if Cas is around and he gestured to a cabin close by. "I don't think he's going anywhere," Chuck said lightly as he walked off.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dean's gaze landed on you and he waved at you to follow him. You followed closely behind as he entered the cabin, staying just out of sight of anyone inside.

You could hear Cas's voice, but it sounded different than you remembered it being--softer and maybe even lazier than before.

He must have spotted Dean because you heard him acknowledge him as their "fearless leader". You heard Cas tell the women in the room to wash up and prepare for the orgy.

A group of girls walked by you and Dean as you both step into the room.

"Orgy?" Dean asked incredulously.

Castiel simply shrugged as he regarded both of you. "(Y/N)," he murmured quietly. "This is a surprise."

You sighed. "I'd imagine so. I hear I'm dead."

"Indeed you are." Castiel's gaze landed on Dean. "And you're not the Dean of this time. When are the two of you from?"

"2009," you answered.

"Zachariah sent us here," Dean added.

"Ahh," Cas mumbled. "I shouldn't be surprised."

"Okay, so nice to see you and all that, but can you zap us back please?" Dean asked.

Cas giggled slightly and Dean's gaze narrowed in annoyance.

"Dude, are you stoned?"

"Generally, yeah," Cas replied.

Dean looked over at you, but you were just as surprised as he was. You shrugged and Dean let out a quiet groan.

"I don't have powers anymore," Cas said simply. "When the end came, the angels just left...bored with their playthings, I guess. When they left, so did my powers."

"Oh great," Dean muttered.

"Dean," you said in a warning tone. "Don't."

Cas smiled at you and crossed the room to give you a hug. You were a little surprised, but you returned the gesture.

"It's good to see you, (Y/N). You were always the only person who could keep Dean in line."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you at his words. "We've had the pleasure of meeting the Dean of this time. I imagine he's not exactly one to defer to anyone."

For a moment Castiel's expression grew wistful, as if remembering a better time. "He used to, but he changed rather significantly when you died. It's been three years and he still hasn't gotten over your death. He's not the same Dean you knew."

You glanced at your Dean and exhaled softly. "Knowing him, he's just hid that part of himself so far down he's forgotten it even exists."

Dean's gaze met yours and you knew you were right. You could see it is eyes--he knew exactly what losing you would do to him. He knew the kind of man he would become.

Cas glanced back and forth between the two of you and shook his head. "You always could read each other's minds. It's nice to see that again. But I am curious, how did our Dean handle meeting the two of you?"

"Not well," you admitted.

"Pretty sure he was happier to see you than he was to see me," Dean muttered.

You chuckled mildly. "Well I'm the dead one, so it seems fitting."

Dean winced and you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tried to smile at you, but the pain in his gaze ensured the expression didn't meet his eyes.

Before any of you could utter another word, the sound of trucks pulling up sounded from outside the cabin. You let Dean walk out first, followed by Cas. You opted to remain in the shadows just inside the doorway. You could see what was happening outside without being noticed.

You saw Future Dean getting out of one of the trucks and tossing a beer to another man. They cracked them open and the other man turned his back on Dean.

You watched in horror as Future Dean raised his pistol, pointing it at the man's back. Your Dean ran out, yelling for him to stop, but it was too late. Future Dean pulled the trigger and the man fell to the ground.

Future Dean whirled around, coming face to face with your Dean, eyes full of anger. As Dean began to argue with Future Dean, you ran out in an attempt to calm both men. Castiel grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

The gasps and shocked faces of the people around you reminded of you of the position you'd just put yourself in. Most people were staring at your Dean in confusion, but several gazes had landed on you. You recognized a few of the faces and you knew in your heart these people had known you--the other you.

Future Dean gestured to your Dean and said, "Me and him--it's messed up, okay? But if you need to know something, then I'll tell you when you need to know it."

As Future Dean glanced around, he noticed some people were not looking at him--or at his doppelgänger. He followed one person's gaze and his body froze when his eyes landed on you. Even though he'd known you were here, it was still painfully jarring to see you.

What was worse, was he wasn't sure how to explain your presence--too many people had known you. A few of them had been there when you'd died.

You locked eyes with Future Dean and your heart ached for him. You could see the turmoil in his eyes and the difficulty he was having formulating any kind of words to address your presence. He might not be your Dean, but you still loved him--after all, he was the man your Dean would one day become.

You stepped forward, gently pulling yourself from Castiel's grasp. "Dean," you whispered softly, sad eyes meeting his.

"Some of you might remember my wife, (Y/N)," Future Dean said calmly. "I'm not prepared to explain her presence to all of you, but just know that she's not here to cause any harm."

His statement seemed to appease most of the small gathering, but you saw some darker expressions cross the faces of a few people in the crowd.

Future Dean stepped forward and grabbed your Dean by the jacket, practically dragging him towards his cabin. His gaze landed on you and he gestured for you to follow.

"Didn't I tell both of you to stay put?" he growled as he closed the door behind him.

Your Dean began to argue, but he was silenced by Future Dean's anger.

"He was infected, okay? I've been doing this a long time and you learn to see the signs. I did what I had to do."

"We know that," you said softly.

Both men looked at you in surprise, but your gaze was firmly on Future Dean's face. You wanted him to know you understood--you weren't even sure why.

"You didn't need to kill him in front of everyone," your Dean commented.

Future Dean's gaze cut to him like a blade. "Yeah because seeing my freaking clone and my dead wife was so much better."

Your Dean opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Future Dean cut him off.

"The last thing these people need is to see me arguing with you, okay? They're twitchy survivors who can't handle this. This is my time, not yours, so stay in your lane."

Dean backed off, realizing Future Dean was right. He was nothing more than an observer in this time and he needed to act like it.

Future Dean pulled out three glasses and poured a drink for each of you. Your eyes scaned his face, keen senses picking up on the emotions clearly stirring beneath the calm surface. You wanted to talk to him, get him to open up, but you knew this wasn't the time.

"So what was the mission for?" you asked gently.

Future Dean gave you an appreciative look. "Five years of searching--five long years and I finally found it." He pulled something out of his jacket and laid it on the table. "The Colt."

"How?" your Dean asked in surprise.

"Demons have been moving it around for years, but we finally got good intel on its location."

You felt uneasy as you regarded him. You couldn't read him as well as you could your Dean, but you knew he was thinking about something--something you weren't going to like. "What's your plan?" you asked warily.

"Tomorrow night," he said, dark gaze fixed on your face, "I'm gonna kill the devil."

Shock lit up both your's and your Dean's faces. "We have no idea if the Colt's gonna work!" you protested, fear lacing your voice.

"It's our only shot and I'm gonna take it," he countered.

You glanced at your Dean and you could tell he didn't like the sound of this plan any more than you did. Sure, you both wanted to find the Colt in your time and kill the devil so none of this would happen, but there was no way to know if it would work. No one had ever tried it on an archangel before.

"Can I speak to my wife alone for a moment?" Future Dean asked, further shocking you both.

"I, uhh--" you stuttered.

Your Dean looked at you sympathetically, a sad expression settling onto his face. You knew what the look meant, so you weren't surprised to hear him agree. He stepped outside, leaving you and Future Dean alone.

"You know it's hard for me," he began, "seeing you after all this time."

"It's not easy on me either," you admitted, "seeing the man you become...and knowing I'm not going to be with you much longer."

He looked down in shame. "I know I'm not the man you love." He gestured to where your Dean stood outside. "I'm not him. But I have never stopped loving you--never stoped missing you."

You closed your eyes for a moment. "I know. I can feel it."

"I knew you would," he said softly. "I'm sure knowing what the future has in store for both of us isn't something you'd expected to see."

You shook your head. "I certainly didn't expect to hear you call me 'your wife'."

A small smirk played across his lips. "You get your priorities straight when the world is about to end. Marrying you was the best thing I ever did."

You smiled slowly, but your heart ached too much to continue this train of discussion. "So why did you want to speak alone?"

He inhaled deeply. "I wanted to talk to you without him around to persuade you otherwise."

"Persuade me to do what, exactly?"

His gaze was intense as he stepped towards you. If you didn't know him, it would have frightened you. "When you go back to 2009, I want you to pack up your things and leave. Leave me as far behind as you can--run and never look back."

A mixture of shock and sorrow darkened your features. "I-I can't do that."

He reached out and grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. "You have to, (Y/N)," he pleaded. "It's the only way I can keep you safe--alive."

You shook your head. "I can't leave you."

He caressed your cheek gently, his calloused hands molding perfectly to your face. "I need you to do this for me, sweetheart. I know it won't be easy and I-he won't understand, but it's for the best. He'll realize it in the end."

"Marrying me was the best thing you've ever done, but you want to deny yourself that joy? Deny me?"

"I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than watch you die again. It almost killed me, (Y/N). Hell, in a way it kinda did. I'm not that man anymore, and I don't want that for him."

You touched his face gently, fingers grazing against the rough stubble on his cheek. "You're wrong, you know. I can see him in you. You might be older, damaged in ways I can't understand, but the man I love lives in you. You and I both know Dean is going to tell me the same thing when we get back to 2009. It will break his heart, but he will beg me to leave if there's even a remote chance it will save my life."

His expression told you exactly how right you were.

"Looks like you haven't changed all that much--at least not in the ways that matter."

A flicker of pain crossed his face, but he was quick to hide it. He loved you so much it hurt and he knew there was no hope for him. He had to believe that the Dean from 2009 would heal from losing you, especially if it meant you got to live.

"Sometimes, I'll lie awake at night and stare at your picture--talk to it, even. I dream of you often and it breaks my heart every time I wake up to find you're not there. I miss you with every part of my tattered soul."

"Dean..." you whispered, leaning into him.

"I know you don't love me, but I need you to know how deeply I love you, even now. You hold my heart in the palm of your hand, (Y/N). You always have."

You stood on your tip-toes and brushed your lips across his cheek. "You are him," you whispered lowly. "I love him, so I love you. Five years of hell on earth doesn't change that."

Tears filled his eyes and he pulled you tightly against him. He never wanted to let you go, no matter what the cost. He felt conflicted about loving you so much, but he knew without a doubt in his mind that the 2009 version of himself would understand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before settling his chin down against it. He loved the way you fit in his arms, as if you were made for them. He wanted you so badly it hurt--an ache so deep in his bones he knew he would never be rid of it.

It took all of his strength--all his willpower--to pull away, releasing you and taking a step back.

You looked up at him with compassionate (y/e/c) eyes, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, heal his pain. You hadn't been lying when you said you loved him. You could feel the man you loved beneath the hardened exterior, and it broke your heart to see him in so much pain.

Your eyes scanned his face again, but he couldn't meet your gaze. You knew his body ached for your touch--you knew because your Dean had always been that way. It had been three years since Future Dean had felt your body against his, so you knew exactly how much it was killing him.

You sighed, glancing out the little window at the front of the cabin. Your Dean stood out there, shoulders set in that stern way you were used to seeing. Your heart ached for him--you knew it was hard for him to be in this situation. You loved him more than you'd ever thought possible and you knew he felt the same. Seeing the way his future self looked at you likely made him contemplate things he shouldn't have had to bear.

"Stay here," you whispered to Future Dean. You stepped past him, heading for the door.

Future Dean watched as you exited, eyes fixated on the way you moved--desperately trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

"Hey," your Dean said softly as you stepped outside. "You okay?"

"Not really," you admitted. "You?"

He gave you a sad smile and shook his head. "This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

"I know."

"No, sweetheart, I don't think you do," he said gently, but firmly. "You have an idea, sure, but you don't know--not the way I do. I can see it on his face--on my face. The way he misses you, the love he so clearly feels for you...the emptiness inside of him only you can fill. I know all of those feelings, (Y/N). I can't even fathom the pain of losing you. It hurts to even think about."

You touched his arm gently and he leaned into the touch as if on instinct.

"I know what he's feeling, even if I can't fully experience it myself. I know the devastation I would feel if I lost you--I don't think I'd ever fully recover. Add to that all the loss he's experienced in the last five years and I can understand why he's the way he is. I see myself in him...and I can see myself becoming him."

Dean turned his full attention to you and his next words shocked you to your very core.

"He needs you, (Y/N). I have a bad feeling about tomorrow night and I think you might be the only thing that stops him from doing something reckless. It pains me to say this--to give you up, even for a moment, but he needs you. I know it might feel weird, wrong even, but he's me...and I get him, more than I'd care to admit."

Your lips parted in surprise. "I-I don't know if I can do that, Dean."

He touched your face gently and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "He's me, (Y/N)...and he needs you. You're his wife, after all. So go."

Your eyes scanned his face for any sign of discomfort, but you only saw sadness. Part of you hated this idea, but the other part knew he was right. You'd felt it when you'd been with Future Dean--felt his need for you so strongly it nearly overwhelmed you.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I know, sweetheart. I love you too."

He nodded towards the cabin and gave you a soft smile. You stepped away, knowing you were about to do something that felt both incredibly wrong and incredibly right at the same time.

"Where will you go?"

"I'll hang out with Cas. Don't worry about me, baby."

You nodded and watched him walk away towards Castiel's cabin. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself before turning to the door in front of you.

Future Dean seemed almost surprised to see you as you stepped back into the cabin.

"Hi," you murmured.

"Hey."

"I can't walk away," you whispered. "Not when you're in so much pain."

He looked at you in confusion, unsure of what you were trying to tell him.

You were typically so good with words, but whatever skill you normally had failed you as you looked into his haunted green eyes. There was no way for you to fully understand the emotions he was feeling, no words to explain how desperately you wanted to heal even the smallest fraction of his soul.

You crossed the short distance between you, practically crashing into him as you grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled him down to you. The kiss surprised him, but he was in no position to pull away--wrong or not, he craved you like a drowning man in need of air.

His arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against him, holding on for dear life as he deepened the kiss. It felt as if you were both engulfed in flames, every sensation burning you both--scarring you in a way neither of you would ever heal from.

His hands traveled down your back, slipping under your ass to pull you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, lips never leaving his.

He carried you to a small room at the back of the cabin and laid you down as gently as he could onto the mattress. There was no bed--simply a mattress on the floor, but there were blankets and a couple pillows, just enough to be comfortable.

Your hands slid inside his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders forcefully. His lips didn't leave yours as he tugged it off and tossed it out of the way. You pulled on his henley, silently begging him to take it off too, a request he immediately complied with.

He had to pull away from you just long enough to tug the shirt over his head, but the action was enough to ground him. As he gazed down at you, his heart clenched in his chest. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, eyes full of love and adoration--an expression he'd missed desperately.

"I love you so much, (Y/N/N)," he said quietly.

Your expression softened slightly, realizing the pain he was feeling--the mixed emotions racing through his veins. "I love you too, Dean. Don't question that for a second."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the palm of your hand as you reached up to cup his cheek.

"Get out of your head, baby," you murmured. "Focus on me--on this moment--nothing else."

His eyes slowly opened, gaze landing on your face. You began to blush beneath him, his hungry expression heating you from the inside out.

"You're wearing far too much clothing for my taste," he teased, voice low and throaty.

You smirked. "I know you like to rip my clothes off, but these are my only ones--so be gentle."

He groaned, just like you knew he would. Dean was notorious for literally ripping your clothes--he'd ruined more shirts and pants than you cared to admit...not to mention most of your undergarments.

"How 'bout we make a deal?" he murmured.

You hummed in response, so he continued.

"I'll promise not to rip your pants or your underwear, if you're willing to forfeit your shirt."

You looked up at him in surprise. "I don't have another shirt, Dean."

He grinned wolfishly. "But I do."

Realization crossed your features, a small smile curling the corners of your mouth. Before you could respond, he gripped your shirt in his strong hands and tore it right in half, revealing your heaving chest.

"Dean!" you admonished in surprise.

"Sorry, baby--I couldn't wait any longer. You know how impatient I get."

As if to emphasize his impatience, he lowered his mouth to your chest, tugging the cups of your bra down to expose your soft breasts. He groaned loudly before burying his face between them, nipping and sucking at the supple flesh.

You moaned softly, fingers of one hand tangling in the short locks at the base of his skull. Your other hand slipped down his broad back feeling the heated skin beneath the tips of your fingers.

You felt unfamiliar scars, which nearly brought tears to your eyes. You hated the idea of him being hurt--especially if you weren't there to care for him as he healed.

Dean sensed your shift in demeanor and he lifted his head to observe your face. "You okay, baby?"

His soft words brought you back to the present and you offered him a small smile. "New scars," you whispered.

You didn't need to elaborate, he knew exactly what you meant. He could read you just as well as you could read him. "You were there for most of them," he murmured gently.

You relaxed slightly and he sighed before placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You know me too well," you remarked.

"You're the love of my life, sweetheart. There's not a damn thing I don't know about you."

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes and you desperately pushed the welling emotions down, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. "I need you, Dean," you whispered. "Desperately."

He had never been one to deny you, and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Besides, his own need was slowly becoming unbearable.

"I'm right here, baby. I'll make you feel so good--I promise."

He wasted no time in removing the rest of your clothing and his own. He wanted to take his time, really feel you, but he knew time was the one thing neither of you had.

"I need to taste you," he whispered into your ear before beginning his descent to your aching pussy.

Some things may have changed in the last five years, but Dean's skills in the bedroom hadn't. The things he could do with his mouth should have been categorized as a crime--his ability to have you screaming and shaking within minutes was still a shock after all this time.

He loved the way you tasted, the way your body reacted to his touch, the pretty sounds you made as he feasted on you. There wasn't a damn thing he didn't love about you, but he had to admit this was in the top five things he missed most about you. The way your body melded with his--two souls intertwining in the most fundamental way, the overwhelming pleasure he could only find in your arms...he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't dreamed of it often in the last three years.

Your nails dug into his biceps as you desperately clung to any part of him you could reach. Your orgasm swept over you seconds later, pulling moans and whimpers from your throat as he continued his assault.

Dean ignored the tugs on his hair, instead holding your hips even more firmly against the mattress as he continued to eat your pussy hungrily. It took mere moments for your whimpers to once again turn to heavy moans of need--your voice hoarse from begging him to keep going.

When your second orgasm crashed into you, your legs shook almost violently against his head, thighs threatening to crush him. He couldn't have been bothered to care--had you actually crushed him in that moment, he would have died a happy man.

He finally relented when you began begging him to give you a moment--just one moment to breathe. He lifted himself up to hover over you, licking his lips happily as he gazed down at you.

"You seem pleased with yourself," you said breathlessly.

"Oh I am." The pride he was feeling practically oozed from his pores. Nothing stroked his ego like making you fall apart over and over again.

You ran your hands up and down his arms in a gentle, soothing manner. He'd always loved the way you touched him--the sweet, loving action something he hadn't been used to before you.

"I love you," he whispered.

You met his gaze and smiled. "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."

The reply stunned him into a motionless silence. It had been years since he'd heard those words from your lips--he never thought he would be lucky enough to hear them again. In that moment, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest, torn apart, and put back together...it hurt like hell, but he wouldn't have traded the moment for anything.

You noticed the change in him and you worried you'd said something wrong. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize," he said immediately. "I just...I haven't heard those words in years and--well, it hit me harder than I thought it would. That was, umm--" he sighed heavily. "It was the last thing you said to me before you died."

His voice was a gravelly whisper, filled with unimaginable pain, and it nearly broke your heart in two. "Dean..." you murmured.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to hear those words again--to hear your sweet voice remind me how much you love me. I missed you, sweetheart."

You couldn't have known how he'd react to your statement--hell, you hadn't even thought about it...the words just poured from your mouth like they had countless times before. It didn't matter what year he was from--you loved Dean Winchester with a kind of endless passion that would outlive Death himself.

You knew this experience would change you in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, but you wouldn't change it for anything. At the end of the day, this was Dean, and there was nothing you wouldn't do for him--nothing.

"Make love to me, Dean," you whispered lovingly, eyes bright with desire.

"I could never deny you, (Y/N/N)," he said sweetly. "I won't start now."

He leaned down to kiss you deeply, pulling you back into the warm embrace you craved. As the kiss progressed, your bodies became more entangled, until it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. It was a feeling you'd only ever felt with Dean, and one you couldn't have explained even if you tried.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean finally broke the kiss, breathing deeply. "I can't hold back any longer. I need you more than I need to breathe, (Y/N)."

"I'm yours, Dean."

The simple act of giving yourself over to him completely had him wanting to do nothing but worship you until the sun came up again.

He didn't hesitate, didn't overthink--your body was calling to him and he answered it gladly. In one single thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, eliciting sharp groans from you both.

"Fuck, sweetheart--I forgot how incredible you feel," he whispered against your heated skin.

You were breathless and aching, the desire for him to ruin you so overwhelming you couldn't think of anything else. "Move," you pleaded desperately, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

His body mindlessly responded to your pleas, hips setting an almost brutal pace. You both needed this--needed the release that could only come from each other.

You clung to him and he to you, the room filling with the salacious sounds of wet skin against skin and moans of endless pleasure.

"I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, baby," he groaned. "I fucking missed them so much."

"You feel so good, Dean," you gasped.

"So do you, sweetheart."

And fuck did you feel incredible. He loved you so much and you felt it in every single movement his body made. You hoped he could feel just how much you loved him in return.

"You're the only woman who could ever make me feel like this," he whispered.

You knew exactly what he meant--what he was trying to say. Sex had always been different with you. It had always felt more incredible than with anyone else he'd ever been with. The profound bound the two of you shared made everything better--even sex.

"I never want you to stop," you murmured. "It feels so good."

"Shit," he groaned, your words having more of an affect on him then he'd expected. "Keep talking like that and I'm gonna cum."

"That's what I want, Dean. Want you to fill me up."

He practically growled as he bit down on your collar bone, hips slowing as he tried to regain his composure. "Need you to cum first," he begged.

You rolled your hips against his in response and the sensations he was experiencing snapped whatever remained of his self-control. He grabbed your legs and tugged them flush against his chest and began to pound into you recklessly.

His cock slammed into your g-spot with each thrust, pulling sharp cries of pleasure from your open mouth. Your hands grasped at the blankets beneath you, struggling desperately to find purchase anywhere.

He knew he could get you over the edge this way--he knew your body almost as well as he knew his own. Within a few short minutes, your cries of pleasure turned to screams of his name as one of the most intense orgasms of your life hit you like a tsunami.

Before you could come down from your high, Dean found his own, releasing his seed into your pussy. The contractions of your walls around him milked every last drop of cum from him before he collapsed on top of you, spent and satisfied.

Your arms immediately wrapped around him, holding him tightly against you. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest and you were certain he could feel yours. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being in the arms of the person you love most.

"You're amazing, (Y/N)," he whispered into your neck.

"As are you," you mumbled, pressing your lips into his hair.

He held you almost as tightly as you were holding him and you knew he didn't want to ever let go. Your heart ached for the man in your arms just as much as it ached for the man currently sitting in Castiel's cabin.

Love was the most complicated emotion there was, but this far surpassed any normal situation. Dean Winchester was the love of your life in any time period--past, present, or future. You hated seeing the man you loved in pain and seeing two of him in pain complicated matters beyond belief.

"Where's your head at?" he asked softly.

You chuckled lightly--he really did know you better than anyone else.

"Just thinking about this messed up situation we've found ourselves in."

He sighed quietly. "Don't think on it too much, sweetheart. Zachariah will send you back tomorrow and everything will go back to normal."

"Except for the part where both present and future versions of you want me to leave..."

He lifted his head slowly. "It's too late for me...I'm too far gone, too deeply and madly in love with you to ever push you away. But the Dean from 2009? Yeah he loves you more than he's ever loved another person in his life, but he'll learn to live without you. He has to. Otherwise he'll wake up one day in 2011 without you and he'll feel the way that I do. He'll be forced to live with a hole in his chest that no human being could ever fill, and it'll change him, (Y/N). It'll break him."

Tears streamed down your face as you listened to his words. You knew they were true--knew it was how he was feeling, how he'd felt for years. You didn't want your Dean to feel that pain, but you knew deep in your heart you couldn't walk away. There was no timeline where you could turn your back on the one person that made life worth living...but this Dean didn't need to know that.

"No more talking," you said softly. "Let's just sleep a while."

He nodded and rolled over onto his back, taking you with him. You giggled softly as you nuzzled into his chest, finding comfort in his strong arms.

**********

You awoke to the sound of knocking on the door of the cabin. You felt Dean stir beside you, a grumble of annoyance slipping past his lips. You smiled a little at his moodiness--it was nice to see some things never changed.

You pulled yourself up and got dressed quickly, grabbing a clean henley from the small pile of clothes in the corner. It was much too big on you, but it was all you had thanks to Dean's impatience.

You opened the door of the cabin and found a somewhat sheepish looking Castiel standing on the other side.

"Is, uh, is Dean awake?"

"He mumbled something rather rude when I tried to wake him up, so I let him sleep."

Cas chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"I can wake him if you need him."

Cas looked like he wanted to say no, but knew he couldn't. "Yeah, if you don't mind. We need to start planning for tomorrow if we want this to work. People are starting to talk."

You sighed. "I'll get him up."

You stepped back, leaving the door open as an invitation for Cas to come inside. He chose not to, opting instead to wait on the porch while you went to wake Dean.

"Dean? Sweetheart?" you said gently. "You need to get up."

"Five more minutes," he grumbled.

You laughed and shook him a few times. "Come on, handsome. We've got work to do."

"Fine," he groaned. "Fine."

He sat up slowly, eyes dark with sleep. He looked up at you and you offered him a soft smile, which he instantly returned.

"You're so beautiful."

You blushed. "Get dressed before Cas comes in and sees your naked ass."

"He's probably seen it a couple times by now," he teased as he got up. "Now, where'd you put my pants?"

You laughed. "I think you threw them somewhere over there." You pointed to the other side of the room where a small pile of clothes laid.

He smirked slightly and crossed the room, grabbing his clothes and putting them on quickly.

"What's up, Cas?" he asked gruffly when he came into the main room.

"The team wants to know what's going down tomorrow and uh, past you says we need to start making a plan."

He shot you a look, but you simply shrugged. You weren't at all surprised your Dean wanted to make a plan. He didn't like this whole idea in the first place, so it made sense he would want some kind of plan in place.

"Fine. Gather the team and get them in here."

Cas went off to do as asked. The first person to arrive was your Dean. One look at his handsome face had you rushing to him and wrapping your arms around him. He buried his face in your hair and sighed softly.

"I know this is a little awkward," you said quietly to both Deans as you stepped back.

"Not as much as you would think," your Dean responded.

Future Dean nodded, but remained quiet for a few moments. He fixed your Dean with an intense gaze even you couldn't quite read. "Thank you," he said so softly you almost missed it.

Your Dean nodded his understanding. You realized it really was different for the two of them than it was for you. They were the same man five years apart...they understood each other's thoughts and emotions in a way you never could.

Before you could say anything else, Cas returned with Risa and a couple other people in tow. Risa gave both Deans an odd look before turning her dark gaze to you. You couldn't read her expression, but you felt the jealousy coming off her in waves.

"Well this is about to be uncomfortable," you murmured to your Dean, who just chuckled.

Everyone sat down around the table except for both Deans and yourself. You stood beside your Dean, and you both stood slightly back to give yourselves room to observe everyone.

Risa glared at Future Dean so intensely it made everyone uncomfortable. He gave her a confused look and simply asked, "Why are you pissed at me?"

"Something about you having a connection, but then spending the night in another chick's cabin," your Dean quipped.

You snickered softly, as did Cas. Future Dean shot a glare your way, but you simply shrugged.

"Plus your dead wife is magically not dead, so yeah, I feel some kinda way," Risa grumbled.

"The (Y/N) some of you knew is dead. This one is from 2009--same as him," Future Dean said, gesturing to your Dean. "Now that we've got that out of the way, can we please focus?"

No one dared argue with him.

Future Dean launched into his spiel about killing the devil, revealing the Colt to the other people in the room.

"How do you know it's gonna work?" Risa asked skeptically.

"It's all we've got," Future Dean answered. "We got Lucifer's location from that demon we captured last week. We know where he's gonna be for the first time in years."

"The demon might have lied for all you know," Risa snapped.

"Trust me, he was honest."

Castiel leaned towards Risa. "Dean is very well-versed in the art of getting to the truth."

You inhaled sharply, immediately understanding Castiel's meaning. Your Dean stiffened beside you and you felt the quiet rage simmering beneath the surface.

"Seriously? You went back to torture?" your Dean said angrily.

Future Dean looked at you, a resigned look of sadness on his face. You sighed and placed your hand on your Dean's arm and murmured, "Let it go, Dean."

He caught Future Dean's expression and fell silent again. There was no use arguing about his tactics now.

"Now," Future Dean said as he gestured to the map on the table. "We'll be heading in here."

"That's a hot zone," Cas said. "It's filled with Croats and demons--kinda reckless to just go barging in there don't you think?"

"Are you coming or not?" Future Dean asked, ignoring Cas's objections.

"Of course," Cas responded. "I've gotta ask though, why are they coming?" He nodded his head towards you and your Dean.

"I don't answer to you. Just know that they are coming."

Castiel put his hands up in surrender.

"Why don't you all go get supplies ready and recruit a couple more people," you suggested.

Future Dean nodded his agreement and the others left, leaving you and the Deans alone.

"Now why don't you try that again, but give an honest answer this time," you said sternly, eyes boring into Future Dean's face.

He sighed wearily. "I want you both to see what happened to Sam. Especially you." He pointed to the younger version of himself.

"What do you mean?" your Dean asked. "You said he died in Detroit."

"No, I didn't. I said he didn't make it out."

You exhaled sharply, heart nearly breaking as you realized what he was saying.

Future Dean fixed his gaze on you and you knew your assumption was correct. You instinctively reached out to your Dean in an attempt to ground him--you knew exactly how this information would affect him.

"What's going on?" your Dean asked, looking between you and his doppelgänger.

"He said yes," you whispered.

Future Dean nodded, but your Dean simply looked confused.

"The big yes," Future Dean said tiredly. "Lucifer wore him to the prom."

You gave your Dean a sad look. A flash of pain crossed his handsome features and your heart broke for him. You'd told him back in your time that he needed to forgive Sam--needed to mend their relationship. You didn't realize just how important that mending would be.

"He wouldn't do that," your Dean whispered.

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, but didn't bother to contradict him.

"Well he did," Future Dean snapped. "And when you go back, you need to say 'yes' to Michael. Immediately."

"Absolutely not!" you gasped.

Now it was Dean's turn to comfort you, his hand coming to rest on yours. "She's right. A showdown between Michael and Lucifer would torch half the planet."

"Half a planet is better than no planet," Future Dean insisted.

"If it's such a good idea, why didn't you say yes?" your Dean asked.

"Oh trust me, I tried. But by the time I was ready, the angels had given up and fucked off to wherever they are now."

"There has to be another way," your Dean whispered.

Future Dean fixed you with an expression that made everything clear to you.

"That's why you want me to leave," you began softly. "You know I would never approve of him saying yes to Michael. If I'm not around to influence him, then maybe he'll be foolish enough to say 'yes', right?"

Your Dean looked confused, but Future Dean held your gaze and you knew you were right.

"I really don't want you to die," he said gently. "But I also know exactly what you'll say...and I know the impact your words will have on my choices. Because I already made them."

"You told her to leave me?" your Dean asked slowly. "Even knowing what that'll do to me?"

"You'll both be better off."

"You don't get to make that call," you snapped.

Future Dean sighed and shook his head. "You'll both make your own decisions, but I just want you to have all the facts. Gear up. We move out in 20." With that he walked out the door, leaving you and your Dean alone.

"What if he's right?"

"About saying yes to Michael?" you asked in surprise.

Dean shook his head. "About it being better for you to leave."

You sighed quietly. "He's wrong...about all of it."

"I've seen what losing you did to me--to him...and I'm not sure that's something I can voluntarily experience."

You smiled. "I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure you never have to."

Dean returned the smile and pulled you in closely. "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Dean Winchester. Always."

**********

You were sitting in the backseat of the truck, listening to Cas tell your Dean about becoming human. It was weird for you to see Cas like this, hell he was driving. It was even harder to see how broken he had become and it only made you want to prevent this future even more.

You closed your eyes, desperate to fall asleep--to leave this fucked up, burned out world behind. You wanted to go home--to 2009. There was still time to change the future, to stop any of this from happening. You would give anything to stop it.

You must have fallen asleep because you were awoken by the gentle sound of your Dean's voice telling you it was time to wake up. You opened your eyes, surprised to see it was now light out.

"We're here, baby," he said softly.

You sighed deeply and nodded. You dragged yourself out of the truck and gathered your weapons along with the rest of the group. Your senses immediately told you something was off and one glance at your Dean told you he felt the same.

"Didn't you say this is a hot zone?" you asked Cas softly.

The former angel nodded.

"Then where are all the Croats?"

"Must be in another part of the city," he responded.

You and Dean exchanged a look, neither one of you believing his response.

Nevertheless, you followed the group, searching the rundown city for the building you were going to raid. When you found it, all of your hunter instincts screamed that something was wrong, but this time you weren't the first to voice it.

"Shouldn't there be a shit load of demons out here?" your Dean asked.

Future Dean shrugged. "They must all be inside."

His answer didn't satisfy you one bit, but you kept your mouth shut, choosing instead to observe him closely. The only person who knew Dean better than you was the man himself, which was proven moments later.

"Alright," Future Dean started. "You guys go in through the second story window. The three of us will sneak around back."

Risa looked more than a little concerned with the game plan. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She glanced over at Cas, who clearly agreed with her worry.

"Trust me, okay? They'll never see us coming," Future Dean assured them.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" your Dean said firmly, his words more a statement than a question.

Future Dean sighed, but stepped off to the side to speak with the two of you.

"You're lying to them," your Dean said lowly. "Don't deny it--I know your lying expressions, I've seen them in the mirror."

Future Dean sighed in annoyance and your Dean threatened to tell the team about his concerns, but Future Dean stopped him.

"I know it's a trap, alright? I'm not an idiot. They'll go in the front door and create a distraction while I sneak around the back."

"You're sacrificing your team?" you asked incredulously.

"They're your friends! And Cas? Come on, man--this isn't you," your Dean added.

"My inability to make the tough decisions is what got us here in the first place. Look around you--this is the end of everything," Future Dean growled. "It's my job to kill Lucifer and save what's left of this planet, so that's what I'm going to do."

"I can't let you do that," your Dean argued.

Instead of engaging in further discussion, Future Dean jabbed the butt of his gun into your Dean's head, knocking him unconscious instantly.

"Dean!" you yelled, unsure if you were calling for yours or yelling at the Future version.

"I have to do this, (Y/N)," he said softly. "I need you to understand."

Tears welled in your eyes. "I understand why you believe that, but I don't agree. It's not who you are, Dean...the man I fell in love with would never sacrifice the people he loves--not for anything."

Future Dean looked down at the ground in silence. When he lifted his head again, his face was hard--a mask of non-emotion.

"I'm doing what needs to be done," he said firmly. "Stay with him and stay out of the way."

You wanted to reason with him, but you knew there was no point in trying. Yes, he was still Dean, but you knew you would never be able to change his mind. He'd made his choices and he'd had to live with them. Now, he was just trying to make up for all the mistakes he believed he'd made.

"Go," you whispered.

He nodded and moved back to join the others. You watched everyone but Dean head to the front of the building, a feeling of sorrow weighing on your heart.

"Dean," you called softly, prompting him to turn to look at you. "Don't die."

He gave you the smallest of smiles and nodded before running towards the back of the building.

You dropped to your knees and shook your Dean firmly. "Dean, wake up!"

After a few minutes, he groaned and his eyes fluttered open. "Fuck," he mumbled.

"Hey!" You helped him into a sitting position. "You okay?"

"My head's killing me."

"He hit you pretty hard," you said gently.

The sound of gunfire urged him to his feet. "We gotta go."

You nodded and let him grab your hand as the two of you ran to the back of the building. You arrived to a terrifying scene--Future Dean was lying on the ground and a man in a white suit stood above him, his foot firmly on Dean's neck.

Future Dean made eye contact with you seconds before his neck snapped and the life left his face.

"No!" you screamed.

Your Dean grabbed you, pulling you back to keep you from rushing forward. Watching Dean die felt like having your own heart ripped out of your chest--it was a feeling you hoped you'd never have to relive.

The man turned around in surprise and your breath caught in your chest. Objectively, you'd known it was Lucifer--you'd known he'd be in Sam's body--but there was nothing quite like seeing it in person.

Dean instinctively pushed you behind him, putting his body protectively in front of yours.

"Dean, (Y/N)," Lucifer greeted calmly. "It's a surprise to see you here--especially since I killed you three years ago and well..." he looked down at Future Dean's body with a nonchalant shrug. "It must be a shock to see your brother like this."

"Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?" Dean asked angrily.

"Well that would be redundant. I'll kill your lovely wife three years before I kill you," he said simply. "We will always end up here, Dean. This is the way our story ends."

"Deep-frying the planet and murdering billions of people? What a shitty story," Dean snapped.

Lucifer started to rant about loving God too much and being punished for it...but you'd stopped listening. You could feel the pain rolling off your sweet Dean in waves. You knew what he was thinking--he'd failed his brother and in doing so, destroyed the world.

"I'm not falling for that sympathy-for-the-devil crap!" Dean yelled, pulling you back to the present. "The only difference between you and the monsters I've hunted my whole life is the size of your ego."

If the situation had been different, you probably would have laughed. Dean's fearlessness was something you both loved and admired about him. What's more, you agreed with his sentiment.

Lucifer simply smiled. "I like you, Dean. I can see what the other angels see in you." His gaze landed on you and you felt the rage boiling under your skin. "No hard feelings, (Y/N). Your death was a means to an end--it broke what little humanity your precious Dean had left in him. It's what led us to this moment."

Lucifer turned to walk away, but Dean called after him. "You better kill me now or I won't stop until I find a way to kill you."

Lucifer's smile was cruel. "I know you'll try Dean, but I also know you'll never say 'yes' to Michael, and you'll never kill Sam. No matter what choices you make or details you change, your wife will die in 2011 and you and I will always end up right here."

"You're wrong," Dean whispered, eyes filling with pained tears.

You touched his arm gently, reminding him he wasn't alone. He leaned into your touch, but remained steadfastly in front of you--guarding you with every ounce of strength he had.

"I'll see you in two years, (Y/N)," Lucifer said with a condescending smile. "And I'll see you in five, Dean."

Before either of you could say a word, Lucifer vanished, leaving the two of you alone.

"Dean..." you whispered softly.

He turned to you, his expression full of agony. You reached for him just as Zachariah appeared and placed a hand against each of your foreheads, zapping you back to the hotel room in Kansas City, circa 2009.

Both of you turned to face the offending angel, anger your primary emotion in the moment.

"Now you know what's going to happen," Zachariah said, cutting off any rant either of you could start. "Your only option is to say 'yes' to Michael, otherwise billions of people are going to die."

"How do we know that wasn't just another one of your tricks?" you snapped.

"The time for tricks is over," Zachariah stated. "Saying 'yes' to Michael is the only way you can save the world--save (Y/N)--save your brother.

Dean turned to you, his face full of anguish. It made your heart clench in your chest and you worried for a moment he'd changed his mind.

"Nah," Dean said to Zachariah, jaw set in a firm line.

You smirked a little, watching Zachariah's facial expression turn to shock.

"Are you telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"

"Oh I learned my lesson," Dean countered. "Just not the one you wanted to teach me."

Zachariah stepped towards Dean menacingly. You instinctively stepped forward, more than willing to fight the angel to protect the man you loved. Dean placed a gentle hand on yours to let you know he wasn't scared.

"I have you exactly where I want you," Zachariah began. "I'm going to teach both of you a lesson until you get it through your thick skulls. Neither of you are going anywhere until you say 'yes'."

Dean's grip on your hand tightened and his mouth opened to give some sort of retort when you suddenly found yourself standing on the side of a highway. Dean's hand was still wrapped tightly around yours and a slightly confused Castiel stood a few feet in front of you.

"Excellent timing, Cas," Dean said in relief.

"We had an appointment," Cas stated matter-of-factly.

You chuckled softly and stepped forward to wrap the angel in a hug. He was slightly surprised by your actions, but he didn't pull away.

Dean placed a firm hand on Castiel's shoulder and offered him another smile. "Don't ever change."

You and Dean launched into the story of the last few days for you, and Castiel listened quietly.

"How did Zachariah find you?"

"Long story," Dean muttered. "But let's just stay away from Jehovah's Witnesses in the future."

You chuckled again and rolled your eyes affectionately.

Dean pulled out his phone and started to dial a number.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked.

"Something I should have done in the first place."

You smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing...and who he was calling. You were proud of him and you voiced the sentiment as soon as you were alone.

"Thanks, babe. Turns out you were right all along."

You grinned. "I'm always right."

Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Alright sweetheart, calm down." His voice was light and teasing and it warmed you straight down to your soul.

"I love you, you dork."

He smiled and squeezed your hand. "I love you too."

You were both quiet for several minutes, just watching the road as Dean sped towards your next destination.

"It's still the apocalypse," Dean said suddenly.

"Mhmm," you hummed quietly.

"So you know...the world might still end."

"Hopefully not."

"Agreed, but I'm thinking maybe we should get married."

"What?" you said in shock.

Dean shrugged. "I'm just saying...you're my everything and I want everyone to know you're mine. Besides, if this world really does end, there's no one I wanna be with but you."

"You know, normally the guy gets down on one knee."

Dean chuckled. "I can do that as soon as I stop the car."

You laughed. "Typically there's a ring too."

He grinned. "Don't worry baby--I'll buy you a big diamond ring."

You smiled and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. "I don't really need a ring, Dean--and I don't need you to get down on one knee. If you're serious about it, then hell yeah--let's get married."

Dean looked at you hopefully. "I'm dead serious, babe."

You touched his cheek with a smile. "Then let's get married."

He looked at the straight stretch of road ahead, not a car in sight. He leaned over and kissed you quickly, the affectionate gesture expressing his emotions better than any words he could have said.

When he pulled back to face the road, you leaned across the seat and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. Your voice was low as you said the words that had become a mantra in your relationship, "All my heart and all my soul, Dean Winchester. Always."

His smile warmed your entire body--inside and out. It had been weird hearing Future Dean call you his wife...but your Dean proposing to you now, it just felt right.

You rode the rest of the way in a happier mood than you'd felt in a long time. Dean's mood was lighter too, but you both knew it wouldn't last. There was still a lot of darkness to come, but you were both determined to make sure there were happy moments. After all, love was one of the things that made life worth living.

A short time later, you sat on the trunk of the Impala, watching the man you loved apologize to his brother. You smiled warmly as you watched them, overjoyed at the steps they were both taking to make amends.

Dean turned towards you and waved you over. You hopped down and crossed the short distance, passing Dean to wrap Sam in a tight hug. The much larger man returned the gesture, the tension easing from his body.

"Glad to have you back, Sammy," you said as you stepped back.

"Thanks, (Y/N/N)."

"We're getting married," Dean said suddenly.

Sam's eyes widened in shock and you nearly laughed at Dean's sudden admission.

"End of the world and all that," Dean said sheepishly.

You chuckled and Sam expressed his congratulations.

"No matter what happens," you said softly. "We have each other--all three of us."

Both Winchesters nodded their agreement and Dean slipped his arm around you to pull you close.

"To hell with fate," Dean stated. "From now on, we make our own future."

You leaned into him with a smile, appreciating the sentiment more than you would have just a few days prior. At the end of the day, all you had was each other and the love that bonded all of you together. None of you knew exactly what the future held, but you'd be damned if you didn't fight for a future worth living for.

[guiltyasdave]

glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out. 

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it. 

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place. 

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted. 

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing. 

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more. 

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back. 

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting. 

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you. 

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?” 

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you. 

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck. 

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress. 

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to. 

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever. 

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release. 

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

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“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[n0tamused]

Hello there! I hope you’re doing good in terms of exams and remember to take breaks in between studying!!

I have a request but please feel free to leave it or skip over this one if you’re not up for it!

I was wondering if you could write how Jiyan and Aalto (separately) would react to soldier!reader who’s known to be always comforting others + helping people but in this situation finds the reader hidden somewhere and having a breakdown due to mental and physical exhaustion (but struggles to ask for help)?

A/N: Thank you anon, I try to keep that in mind at all times <3 And I hope you enjoy this!

Contents: angst to comfort fluff, panic attack, gn reader, not proof read

Jiyan:

Days have passed and what felt like years have built up in a tight ball that lodged itself in your throat, preventing the dusty, but much needed, air to fill your lungs. It has been days since it had begun to build up, but with hopes for a better tomorrow you swept it under the rug, letting it fester and multiply to each corner of your being until it had you shackled down onto the floor in this pitiful corner of ruins. The camp wasn’t too far off, you think through broken words flashing through your head, if they need me I’ll be able to hear them. Tears bubbled up to your eyes, stinging and burning. 

It’s been so long since you saw the city, smelled the flowers and felt the touch of your beloved, and nothing in the world could help you escape this feeling of the earth shattering under the soles of your feet. Your vision was blurry, mind spinning and lungs burning and burning. Rationale has long since left you, and you crumbled further, foolishly thinking of insignificant mistakes of your past.

Out of nowhere, a hand sprung up from the blurriness of the world, muddy waters of reflection caching color of teal and yellow and black as the hand grabs your shoulder. Fear engulfs you as you see General Jiyan standing in front of you, although your tears nearly blind you - you could never mistake the signature look of him. You could recognize him blind and deaf.

“J-Jiyan-” you choke, hiding your face away as ragged breaths wreck your body, the body that refused to stand up to greet him. You had no strength, no will. Your ears catch some muddled words and from the corner of your eyes you can see his mouth moving as he spoke, but none of them reach you. It’s hard. So hard to breathe and you’re shaking your head, wanting to ask for help but refusing to do so yet needing to be held.

This dilemma is written all over your face, your shaky fingers and Jiyan goes quiet, realizing the futility of questioning you, and instead he takes the matters in his own hands and sits beside you. His back pressed against the old, cold wall behind the two of you and one of his muscular arms finds its way around your shoulders, bringing you closer into him. Your body can’t resist, even if you wanted to, and it bends to his will, your arms reaching around him in some childish chase of comfort. If your mind was any more calm you would have felt embarrassed, ashamed.

Jiyan stays quiet for a while longer, simply holding you and lending you his company for as much as possible, hoping he or you aren’t called up. Just for a while longer, he says to himself. His hand rubbing up and down your back. As you slowly catch your breath and collect yourself he begins to speak, tone gentle and so full of warmth, he doesn’t want to let you go until you can stand on your own once more, and even then he’d be there to help you walk.

“Deep breaths, (Y/N)... It’s all right now, there’s no danger around us.. you’re safe..”

“You’ve been doing so much for others, yet you neglected yourself for even longer than that. You mustn’t do that…”

“I’m here to support you however I can, for now we can sit here for some time longer, until you’re sure you want to head out”

“Don’t rush yourself, and no need to be embarrassed. I find myself feeling the same as some times, but it is the thought of you that gets me through it all.. You’re human just like the rest of us. I’m here for you.."

Aalto:

What was supposed to be a simple run-in-and-out became much more complicated, the mission stretching on into the night and into the early mornings when the first lights pierced the belly of the sky. Your heart was ringing between your ears, drumming a haunting song that would have you exhausted for days to come. Had it been you alone, you would have considered turning back - no mission was worth losing your life over. But there were team members involved, all of them so close to you. How could you let them go alone, let them get hurt?

It doesn’t matter now. The mission was successful, yet you were still stuck in the memories from so many months ago? Get a hold of yourself - breathe.

Breathe.

I can’t - the little voice squeaks at the back of your head, full of tears and desperation as you walk home from duty. Your legs are barely carrying you up the steps that feel like a serpents winding body, one misstep and you’ll find yourself falling into its mouth. With a fuzzy mind you fight your way to the front door and fall in with stuttering steps, an invisible hand coming to grab you by the throat and choke you until you’re crumbling on the floor. The front door was left ajar for anyone to help themselves too, but that fact escaped you as you found yourself pressing into the foot of your couch, curled up and crying from exhaustion and the aching in your bones. All you can think of is how much more you could have done for them, how much you could’ve done for the mission. 

“(Y/N)? Hey-!” A voice calls from the void, scolding you, sharp and quick but echoing. It calls for you over and over again, and it is not until your body is being turned onto its back that you realize you’re not alone. “Are you alright? Hey, talk to me” The voice finally clears up. It’s not angry or annoyed, but so worried unlike your mind had made you believe. It’s not the voice of the captain but.. Aalto. 

Your eyes blink at him in quick successions, trying to rid themselves of tears while feeling more come up. His gloved hand is supporting the back of your head, the other one feeling your other arm up and down in attempts to comfort you. “Breathe.. breathe.. Come on, up to me, now” he says, gently pulling you up and despite his best attempts to make his tone more lighthearted, he fails miserably. Concern is evident, but he has way more reins on it.

He positions your forehead to rest against his shoulder, tugging your body closer until you are practically in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. “Breathe with me, come on.. in…..and out..” He coaches softly, rubbing your back and then carding his fingers through your hair, and as he feels you shift he lessens his hold - allowing you to slot yourself against him and wrap your arms around him in return. Slowly, Aalto begins to rock you back and forth, his tongue betraying him in this dire situation, so he hopes his presence is enough. After a while he tries to playfully scold you for this behavior, saying how you nearly had his heart stop when he saw you on the floor, but the undertones speak volumes of how seriously this affected him too.

“No, no, you’re not going anywhere yet. You need to take a breather - like I’ve been telling you to do so for months”

“Here, let me help you up. The couch is way more comfortable than the ground.. yeah- that’s it, good job, champ. You’re my champ, y’know?”

“How about I whip us something to drink, hm? You got nothing to worry about, I’ll have it all handled and ready before you can even think about it”

“Do you want to talk about it..? I know it all happened some time ago, but it is clearly holding you down. So tell me what’s on your mind, I’m all ears. You know I can help, in one way or another- but I need to..”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[azrielbrainrot]

My Body Keeps Saying it's Yours

Pairing: Rhysand x Reader

Description: Some foolish males try to seduce you and Rhysand decides to show them who you belong to.

Warnings: Smut, Exhibitionism, Slight Dom/Sub dynamic, Abuse of power, Darker themes (not that much but just to be safe)

Word Count: 4304

Rating: 18+

Notes: This is just smut, couldn't get Rhys off my mind and this happened. Also I'm terrible with titles I'm so sorry. Enjoy!

You were making your way to your husband's office slowly. It wasn't that unusual for Rhys to ask you to come to his office in the middle of the day, you've shown up out of the blue so many times, for reasons as simple as finding a nice place for a nap or for a quickie on his desk, but something about the tone of his voice has you a bit nervous to find out what he's up to today.

Your suspicions are proven true when you open the door to find two males sitting on the sofa in the corner of his office, tied up in chains and, from the looks of it, under some sort of silencing spell, as they kept opening and closing their mouths to no avail, not being able to make a single sound. Their eyes were open wide in fear, almost begging you with their expression to help them.

You look back to your husband for an explanation but you find him sitting at his desk with a serene smile on his face, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. After a few moments of seeing you frozen in the middle of the office looking between the sofa and him, Rhys finally gets up, walking around his desk to stand in front of you.

“Welcome, my love.” He bends down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, still acting like this is a completely normal occurrence. At this proximity, you can, however, make out a glint in his violet eyes, one you know too well, one that promises trouble.

“What are they doing here, Rhys?” He merely keeps smiling down at you, running his thumb over your plush bottom lip. “What's going on?”

“I've never thought of myself as particularly lenient,” he starts with a sigh and traces a path down your jaw to the column of your throat, then wraps his hand fully around your neck, not pressing down, just holding you possessively, “but it seems some people still need to be reminded not to covet my things.” The new information has you frowning, looking back at the tied up males to try to make sense of it. “We're going to show them exactly who you belong to, darling.”

You remember now. These two males were invited to a banquet up in the House of Wind last weekend, just like so many of the more notable merchants in Velaris were. The economy in the city was thriving and Rhys thought it would be a good idea to celebrate the fae working hard to make that happen. The party lasted almost all night, which was to be expected in Velaris. Towards the end of the night, while Rhys followed through with his duties and entertained everyone in the room, you sneaked off to a quieter place for a moment to unwind. Azriel had sneaked off hours ago so you decided it was only fair that you got a break as well.

Unfortunately, two males, the ones present, had gotten too drunk or were just incredibly dumb and decided it was a good idea to try to seduce you, their High Lord's wife, in his own house. You tried not to cause a scene at the time, only slapping one of them and leaving Cassian to throw them out, but when you got back to the party, Rhys had immediately knocked at your mental walls to see what happened. You managed to convince him not to ruin the night for everyone and calm him down, showing him they hadn't actually done anything besides a few crude remarks.

Later that night, he had made it up to you, even apologizing for letting this happen. Of course you told him it wasn't his fault but you should have known your scheming High Lord wouldn't leave things at that. With a sigh you open your mind to him so hopefully he can show you what's going through his.

Do you trust me, darling? You'd be offended he even had to ask if you weren't so apprehensive about this situation. Every time you think you have a good read on his thoughts, he surprises you.

With anything. His answering smirk almost has you wishing to take the words back. He leans back against the edge of the desk, never breaking eye contact, and pulls you with him by your waist. Dropping a soft kiss to your lips, a kiss you know the meaning of too well. It's a reminder of sorts, of how much he loves you.

Your eyes move from his to the cowering males still tied up on the sofa. You have a feeling you know what he's about to do, what he wants to show them but you've never had an audience before. You can't help the anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Do you want me to stop? You bite your lip and look back at him. You've never really thought about the possibility of anyone watching you in such a compromising position, but you don't think you're opposed to it at all. They won't do anything more than watch and you know Rhys will fix this if it all goes wrong anyway, one way or another.

No.

The look on his face as he leans down to kiss you again should be illegal, satisfaction and anticipation glowing beautifully on his features. This time there's nothing chaste about the kiss, it's nothing short of passionate. He's unhurried in his movements, letting himself taste you properly. I need you to be good for me now.

Breaking away from the consuming kiss, Rhys pushes you off him carefully to pick up one of the chairs by his desk. He carries it to the middle of the room and sets it back down so the confused males have a great view of it, sitting on it with spread legs, like a king on his throne.

He looks over to where you're standing and holds out a hand, you take it without hesitation, letting him guide you until you're standing in between his legs, with your back to them. You look down to his lap, taking notice of the bulge already waiting for you. He holds onto your waist to get your attention back on him.

“Take everything off first, my love.” You'd probably jump off the window to your left if he asked it in that tone of voice of his. You kick your shoes off first, slowly, while looking straight into his eyes. You know he has the power in this situation but you can't help but tease him at least a little, it'd be no fun if you just followed his every word blindly. He raises an eyebrow at the delay but he knows you too well, knows you don't really mean it.

The simple black dress drops to the floor soon after, leaving you only in your violet lacy panties. He seemed pleased at your choice, reaching out a hand to run his fingers over the hem of your undergarments. You thought he would be when you bought them, you just never imagined anyone else would see them. You suppose they help the point he's trying to make - a happy coincidence.

“I said everything.” You hook both your thumbs on each side of the panties and drag them down your legs slowly, making a show of bending down, letting your chest fall right into his line of sight. As you hear a gasp behind you, you remember they're also getting a show. The thought has you wanting to play into Rhys' idea even more, show them you'd never think of letting them touch you.

“Should I throw this at them?” You taunt as you dangle the piece of fabric from your index finger.

“No,” he reaches out for it and puts it in his pocket, “They don't get to smell how wet you are for me.” His words make you realize that you can't smell them at all, Rhys put up a shield between you. The possessive bastard.

“What will you have me do now, High Lord?” You know all too well exactly what he wants. Still, hearing him order you through it sounds delicious.

“On your knees, darling,” his smirk deepens when you obey immediately, “Take me out. Show them what you can do to me.”

You can see the imprint of his throbbing cock through his trousers. Not being able to resist playing with him a little you gather your hair to one side of your face and look up at him with doe eyes before leaning down to lick his erection through his pants, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the tip.

He hisses and grabs onto your hair, pulling your head away to look into your eyes. A warning. You try to fight your smile by biting your lip. You love when he gives you warnings.

Luckily for him, you can't wait to feel him in your mouth. You're also committed to showing the disrespectful males what they won't ever be deserving of. Reaching out for his trousers, you make quick work of the buttons holding them close. Pulling them and his underwear down enough to let his cock slap back to his stomach, looking painfully hard and absolutely delicious.

You grab onto it, feeling its familiar weight in your hand before wrapping your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around, tasting him. You pull back just to hear him growl and lick up a stripe up his length with a smile. Gods, he's going to wreck you tonight.

Taking him back into your mouth, you start taking as much of him as you can, getting lower with each bob of your head, sucking harder, tightening your hand at the base, just the way you know he likes. His hand tangles back in your hair, softer now. Almost petting your head and caressing your cheek tenderly as he watches you.

“Just like that,” he moans out, “Isn't she absolutely breathtaking?” His heavy lidded gaze moves from the exquisite view of your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock to the sorry excuses of males that dared to think they could take you from him. “Such a shame you won't ever get to feel her perfect mouth on you. Let me tell you, boys,” his gaze moves back to you, knowing the praise will get to your head, “It feels like heaven, hell and everything in between.”

You take him deeper in response, determined to get everything into your mouth. He rakes his fingers through your scalp and throws his head back in a breathless moan, letting himself get lost in the pleasure, forgetting the show momentarily. His hips start thrusting into your mouth, slowly at first to let you get adjusted but, when it's clear you can take it, he holds onto your hair tighter and takes over, fucking your throat with slow, deep thrusts.

You start to feel your arousal dripping down to your thighs. It seems you enjoy the spectators more than you thought you would, you don't remember the last time you were this wet without even being touched. Reaching a hand down your body, you gather some of your slick and bring it up, circling your clit in small motions, taking some of the edge off, moaning softly.

“Sucking my cock got you that needy?” He can try to tease you as much as he can but you can tell his voice is strained, he's getting close. Being watched is getting to him too, but it's the confirming moan you let out around his cock and whatever picture he finds in your open mind that has him moaning out your name and speeding up, uncaring of the slight choking noises erupting from you, cumming down your throat not long after.

He keeps thrusting into you slowly as he rides his orgasm out, mumbling mindless praise while stroking your head. After a few moments, he pulls you gently away from his sensitive cock and coos at you when you swallow the last bits of his cum without him even having to ask.

Rhys pulls you up and gives you a sloppy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. You wince slightly into his mouth as you take your likely bruised knees off the floor, moving up higher to sit across his lap so you can reach him better. Never breaking the passionate kiss, he starts caressing your sore knees, making you moan in contentment.

You're both lost in your own little world for a while, tasting and touching each other, but it seems like he remembered what you were there to do because he pulls away from you, smirking at the wrecked look on your face and the string of saliva connecting both your lips. You move back to suck his bottom lip into your mouth, licking the string connecting you away, drawing a breathless moan from his lips.

“We're being rude to our guests,” he says as he holds your hand up to his face, the still damp hand you had used to play with yourself before, and sucks the fingers into his mouth, moaning around them at your taste.

“You were the one who invited them.” As his tongue swirls around your digits, you can only think of the mind shattering pleasure he can bring you with that tongue. Your guests could keep watching or take a dive out the window for all you cared.

“And I promised them a show.” He takes your hand out of his mouth to speak and it brings a pout to your lips. It seems you won't get to feel his skilled mouth today. Later. You smile victoriously at the reassurance. So spoiled. That's your fault.

He smiles fondly at you before turning you around in his lap, leaning you back into his chest and spreading your legs over his, making you face said guests. Your eyes widen a bit at what you see, you hadn't looked their way since before you even took your clothes off. Being able to see them, with their faces morphed into awe and horror, and a noticeable bulge on their pants has a tiny glint of fear spark in your body.

Rhysand moves to reassure you as soon as he feels you tense, stroking your body tenderly and kissing your neck, whispering into your ear, “I'm right here.” You relax almost instantly, you don't have to worry about the consequences when you're with him. He wouldn't let either of them hurt you or even get close to you. “Let me take care of you.” You nod and relax further into him, letting him take over.

You let yourself wonder what you must look like in the males' eyes, spread over their High Lord, completely naked while he was fully clothed in his dark suit. One of his hands moves to rest on your stomach and the other grabs one of your legs, spreading them open even more so your guests can have a good look at your wet cunt, all for him.

“Having the privilege of watching is one you don't deserve,” he drops your leg, moving it over his so you can't close them even you wanted to, “But since you were brave enough to try to make a move on my wife,” he drags his hand from your stomach straight to where you need him most, playing around with the wetness, making you drop your head back into him with a soft moan, “It's only fair I show you exactly why you're not worthy of her.” Hearing him use his High Lord voice while he's taking care of you is making you tingly in all sorts of places.

After coating his fingers in your wetness, cursing softly at the amount he finds, he starts rubbing slow circles around your clit, just as you had done before. Letting you melt into him and become more malleable with each stroke.

“Do you hear that?” You open your eyes, not sure if he's talking to you or them but you get your answer when you see them nod with a terrified look on their faces. Seems like your husband got inside their minds. “That's all for me. All of this,” he pulls his hand away to show them the wetness clinging to his skin, connecting him to your pussy, “is mine.” You nudge your hips up, reminding him to keep giving you the attention you deserve after you did such a good job for him. He complies with a chuckle.

He speeds up his pace and moves one hand up to play with your nipples, teasing them just as he knows you like. When he starts tracing your neck with sloppy, open mouth kisses, biting you softly every so often, you realize he wants you to cum fast. You almost forgot he was trying to prove a point.

Your hips start chasing his hand, greedily wanting more. As you're moving back and forth, you can feel him already hard and ready for you again. This makes you moan louder and sink your nails into anything you can reach, one of those things being his arm.

“Want me to stop?” He purrs into your ear, slowing down slightly, pulling a growl out of you.

“Don't you dare.” You stab your nails deeper into his skin, smelling blood.

He just chuckles and picks back up the pace. Looking up to watch your guests squirming in their seats and, you assume, to fuck with their minds further. He widens his legs more, taking yours with his, baring you even more to them.

“I'm going to make her cum now,” you let out something between a whimper and a plea, “And when she does, I need you to hear exactly whose name she'll moan.”

True to his word, he speeds up again, touching you exactly how you need him to. You're really getting close, your moans start getting louder, a mix of his name and please escaping your parted lips, until the knot getting impossibly tighter breaks, washing you away in waves of ecstasy, pulling you under until you can't breathe.

It doesn't take you as long to come to, you weren't completely satisfied after all, he was intentionally neglecting your fluttering entrance. When you do, you notice he has moved his hand to cup your cunt. You almost think it's a way to cover you after the show is over but, as you notice the glint in his eyes as he's staring them on, you know it's a way to mark his claim even more.

“Rhysand.” You've played his game and you know the poor idiots more than got the message. You want him now.

“Tell me, darling.” He looks back to you, moving to kiss your neck, biting at the already fading marks he left earlier.

“Want you to fuck me.” He hums, still sucking around your neck, not giving you any indication that he'll follow through with your request.

“We have company.” What an infuriating time to start caring about the males sitting across from you.

“I don't care.” It seems like that was the answer he was looking for since he immediately turns you around and kisses you deeply. You can feel all the self control he was holding onto break as his kiss gets sloppier, more desperate. He stands up, lifting you up with him and walks to his desk, setting you down on the dark wood, devouring your mouth all the while. The room feels different around you and you don't have to look to know he let his power run untamed.

Urgency starts spreading inside you with each stroke of his tongue, moving to all but rip his clothes off him, needing to feel his body against your own, as close as physically possible. He breaks away from your mouth in favor of trailing kisses all over your chest, biting down on your nipples until you grab his hair and bring him back up to crash your lips against his once again.

You let your hand wander down his torso, running your nails just hard enough to leave red marks in their wake. Wasting no time, you grab onto his cock, giving him a few strokes so you can hear him moan into your mouth.

He pushes you down gently onto the desk, laying you down with no care for the important documents still scattered around it. He breathes out a curse as he holds onto your hips and watches your body sprawled before him, he knows he'll never tire of the sight. You take notice of the darkness that set itself in the room, you probably wouldn't even be able to see your guests through it. Not that you'd look away from him for anything right now.

Ever the tease, Rhys starts swirling the leaking head of his cock around your clit, playing with you before giving you what you want. He does this enough times that you were just about to snarl at him, but then he finally circles your entrance, pushing the head in slowly and bottoming out soon after, not being able to resist your sweet warmth.

The pace he sets is messy but you still try to meet him in his thrusts, you're both desperate, having only one thing in your minds. The hold he has on your hips is sure to bruise but he doesn't let up, and you keep begging him not to stop. You try to hold onto the desk, pushing some things to the floor, trying to keep a hold on your sanity as well. Your legs wrap around him, your body urging him to keep going. Not that he would ever dream of stopping.

You feel your orgasm reaching for you fast, screaming out his name in warning. He moves one hand to play with your clit once again, and it doesn't even take two thrusts before you're exploding around him. Your mind goes blank behind your eyes and you barely feel him cumming right after you, filling you up.

This time it takes you both longer to come back down to the world of the living. Mind blowing pleasure still teasing at every one of your nerve endings, your legs still shaking softly. You run your hand over your face before opening your eyes to catch him already staring down at you. He looks absolutely ruined. His hair is messy from both his hands and yours running through the dark locks, there were red marks all over his torso, down his hips and his arms, your marks. You don't have to see yourself to know you match his satiated expression.

Rhys helps you sit back up on the desk, wincing at the papers stuck to you and picking them off with a smile. Your muscles feel like soup but you still find the strength to hug him to you, leaving little kisses everywhere you can reach. You can't help but bite down on his collarbone when he pulls his spent cock out of you gently, burning with oversensitivity. He drops a kiss on your shoulder as an apology, wrapping one arm around you as well.

You're extremely uncomfortable sitting on the desk, you're probably ruining said desk with the cum dripping out of you too, but you refuse to move away from him. As you lean your head on his chest, almost purring at the way he's caressing your back, you look over to the tied up males, noticing they were unconscious.

“They've already seen enough,” he explains when he catches you looking. You simply hum in response, at this point you don't care if they also see you fuck him or hug him. It won't matter either way.

“You'll make them forget about it?” Your voice is scratchy from all the abuse your throat just endured, you could still feel him when you swallowed.

“Of course,” he nuzzles your hair, “Wouldn't want them to remember how beautiful you are with my cock in your mouth or screaming my name in pure pleasure.” The reminder has your thighs clenching. Gods, this male makes you insatiable.

“Was that all for nothing then?” You move back enough to look into his eyes, not resisting giving him a soft kiss.

“Not for nothing,” he pecks your lips again before giving you an impish grin. “Do you realize how hard you just came?” Your body somehow still has the energy to blush a little at his words.

“That's not what I meant.” You roll your eyes slowly, pouting a little. If he makes them forget about this whole situation, they won't learn their lesson. You hope they're not dumb enough to try hitting on you twice but if they did there was nothing you could do to save them from spending the rest of their days in Azriel's dungeons, you probably wouldn't even want to try to help them.

“I'll leave some of our previous talk intact. They can't forget who you belong to.” He looks over to the males with a serious look on his face, seems he's still on the fence about letting them go so easily. Being High Lord must be hard sometimes, having to be the voice of reason. “I'll let them remember how easily I could toy with their minds and have them think the rest was a nightmare.”

“And you're not worried about what your people would think if they knew how mean you can be?” You wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him closer, always needing him closer.

“As long as you still love me, darling,” he kisses your forehead before leaning back to smile down at you, “I don't care what anyone else thinks of me.”

[dracowars]

angel | annatar

pairing: annatar x elf!reader

word count: 3,1k

summary: where annatar fails to protect what is most precious to him

a/n: this man has me in a chokehold, writing for him is so much fun!! thank you for all the love and support on my first annatar one shot, i'm so excited to write more for him in the future. i hope you enjoy this one as well and ily all <3

warnings: angst, manipulation, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of severe injuries, mentions of death, character death

universe: the rings of power

You breathe in relief when you finally reach a clearing, the fresh air blowing through your hair, the sun high in the sky warming your face. Breathing heavily and holding on to the stones at the exit of the cave tunnel you just stumbled through, you leave the protective walls behind you with a few more steps. Your gaze wanders over Eregion, immediately diminishing the short spark of joy you felt. The beautiful city, your home, lies in ruins. Most of the buildings have crumbled or burned beyond recognition and even from up here you can hear the roar of the numerous orcs invading the city. The sun, which brightens yet another day, does nothing to cheer you up. It is merely a reminder of what you have lost in the last few horrifying hours. The night may be over, but the battle is not.

You take a moment to take in the disaster, but hiss when you suddenly feel a stabbing pain in your abdomen. The climb up here has cost you an enormous amount of strength and you can't even formulate a coherent thought anymore. You look down at yourself, your precious dress dirty and torn. Trembling, you remove your hand from the wound on your stomach, where an arrow had pierced your flesh just a few moments ago. You broke it off in agony and tried to stop the blood with your hand, but you continue to lose blood, causing you to stagger a little.

You are not a fighter, you are a simple elf and resident of Eregion. Never in your eternal life would you have expected to see Eregion fall. And its Lord with it.

Celebrimbor has been entirely dedicated to the creation of the Rings of Power. For the past few weeks he has been left in solitude to end what he started. You gave him the time and space he needed. And prayed that he finishes his work before it finishes him, as Lord Annatar put it. But what did all these precautions ultimately lead to? You stood there, watching your only home get destroyed. You stood there, watching your best friend fall to her death by the hand of Celebrimbor. You stood there and let him accuse Annatar of the most atrocious deeds.

Annatar, who sacrificed so much for him, for this city. Annatar, who always helped everyone in need, who did not shy away from standing up against the Lord of Eregion or fighting for the well-being of the elves.

Annatar, who captured your heart.

Which is why you find yourself on top of a mountain right now and not in the middle of a fight for life or death. Celebrimbor's mind is gone. And the proof lies right in front of you, your beautiful, breathtaking Eregion - nothing more than rubble and ashes.

All you knew is that you had to follow him.

'Stay', Annatar told you with his beautiful shining eyes in which you discovered the stars. 'You are safe here.'

You nodded. And still followed him.

And now you understand why you should have listened to him. As you turn around and look into the forest that is at the top of the mountain, you see him standing there, his sword drawn. But he is not alone. At first you thought that your eyes were playing tricks on you, that the heavy loss of blood was confusing your thoughts, causing you to hallucinate, but you actually see Galadriel standing opposite him.

Not only that, they are also surrounded by orcs who are just waiting for the order to attack. An order from none other than Adar, who is slowly walking towards Annatar now as well, with his weapon drawn.

"No", you gasp under your breath, stumbling your way toward them. You take one painful step after the other. They haven't noticed you yet, the trees covering you protectively. Breathing heavily, you lean against a broad trunk, a few steps already exhausting your weak body, Annatar's words wafting over to you more and more clearly the closer you get. You swallow hard, but as you want to turn to them, your gaze is caught by an orc lying dead on the ground, his blade capturing the sunlight breaking through the treetops.

Carefully, you approach the creature and grab its weapon in a swift movement. The handle of the sword feels heavy in your hands and you would rather drop it immediately. But you have to somehow make sure that you can defend yourself if necessary. Once again, you breathe in and move on.

Galadriel and Adar are facing Annatar together now, apparently coming to a silent agreement to focus their attention on Annatar for the time being. Once you realize this betrayal, your weakend heart beats faster. Because how can Galadriel of the Ñoldor, daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin, Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-galad, side with this monster? With the man who is responsible for numerous deaths, for the destruction of Eregion? Whose orcs are currently ravaging an entire city, dividing families and carrying elven souls on their conscience.

Blinking your tears away that well up in your eyes at the thought and sight of it, you try to steady your steps. When you were just a little elf, you looked up to Galadriel, but now you don't recognize her anymore, from the stories you were once told. The only thing that calms you down a little is the fact that Annatar doesn't seem surprised by this turn of events at all. He stands there, his dark armour swallowing the rays of sunshine, his sword lying loosely in his hand. If you didn't know better, you imagine that you can even see a mischievous, knowing smile on his lips from the distance.

In a high arc, Galadriel swings her sword at Annatar and thus opens the fight. Annatar, however, dodges the attack skillfully, making it look like it was not even remotely dangerous for him. In contrast, Galadriel has to parry his blows with great effort. You didn't know that Annatar was such a good fighter, but it seems like he always has a trick up his sleeve.

Even when Adar joins the fight and Annatar now has to dodge two life threatening blades, he is not challenged at all. Although you wonder how long he can keep this up. No matter how good of a fighter he is, immortal or not, the odds are clearly against him. That is why you look around for help, searching for something that could potentially aid him in this battle. However, all you see is a lot of orcs standing at the other end of the clearing, idly watching the spectacle. Fearing that they might spot you, you step back in order to be hidden from their view by the thick trunk of a tree. Or so you hope.

As you move, a branch cracks under your boots. The sound is barely audible, but Annatar's gaze meets yours in an instant and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It only takes that one split-second glance for him to discover that you are badly injured. That you are bleeding. And that you have disobeyed his words, his direct order.

Although he is only distracted for a tiny second, Galadriel takes this chance and strikes, hitting Annatar's face with the tip of her sword, which inevitably makes you gasp aloud in shock. Now Galadriel and Adar definitely noted your presence, the orcs as well, but you can only watch in silence as a tiny droplet of blood runs from the cut on Annatar's cheek.

"Leave! This is not your fight", Galadriel calls over to you, breathing heavily, her face and golden hair dirty. Her expression screams at you to go. Adar, on the other hand, looks at you with pity. And Annatar looks like he is about to burn the whole world down. In one swift move, he attacks Galadriel again, unable to believe that she has actually shed his blood.

You are forced to tear your eyes away from the fight, however, when you suddenly hear snarling and footsteps on the leaf-covered ground to your left. Your presence on top of the mountain seems to have peaked the orcs' interest.

Sharp pain shoots through your entire body as you lean your back against the tree trunk in order to hide your body from their view. You close your eyes to be able to discern their sounds better, breathing heavily. Gripping the hilt of the sword tightly with both hands, pressing it against your breasts with the blade pointing towards the ground, you stand there completely motionless. At least you try to, but the sword almost slips from your hands, your palms slick with your own blood, making it all the more difficult to hold on to. Your breathing is still louder and faster than you wish and you know that the creatures can smell your blood from miles away anyway.

They talk to each other as they get closer to you, completely ignoring their father's fight in the promising prospect of prey. When they are about to reach the tree behind which you are hiding, a command rings out through the thicket and the orcs look to its source and so do you. Before you can even realize what is happening, however, a blade suddenly pierces through Adar's upper body, causing the orcs to roar loudly. In an instant, they all charge towards the two figures that are still standing, Annatar's sword stained with black blood. To your surprise, not all of the orcs attack their father's murderer; some of them suddenly stab Adar, who has collapsed on the ground, with their own weapons.

They stab him again and again, black blood splattering everywhere. Bile rises in your throat, which you quickly swallow as you turn away from the horrifying sight.

When you hear your name across the clearing, however, you spot Annatar, who comes running towards you, the momentary chaos apparently enabling him to escape from the action as he reaches his hand out to you.

"You need to leave. Now", he orders, but you just shake your head with tear-filled eyes, which earns you a stoic but compassionate and sad look from him. He opens his mouth to reply, but doesn't get the chance when you suddenly see an orc charging towards you. With all your strength, you push Annatar away from you, so that the orc's axe lands in the tree trunk between the two of you. The sudden movement makes you dizzy and you almost fall to the ground if Annatar didn't grab your upper arm in the last second and pulled you up against him. The orc, now dead by his blade, lies to your feet.

The battlefield that stretches out before you is terrible: Adar's lifeless, blood-soaked body lies on the ground, Galadriel has to defend herself against some orcs, but the majority of them are attacking each other, apparently not agreeing on which orders they should follow now that Adar is dead. Some of them come towards you as well, not understanding their dead brother's warning. Annatar quickly grabs your hand and walks ahead, his body serving as a protective shield for you.

If you can't protect yourself, he will have to.

Together you fight your way through the charging orcs, whom Annatar defeats without much effort, so that you find yourself facing Galadriel again. She stands in front of you, dead orcs to her feet, one hand on her hip as she is obviously quite out of breath. When she spots you behind Annatar's back, her eyes widen.

"You're on the wrong side", she whispers through clenched teeth and slowly moves to the right, as if she wants to circle her prey. Annatar squeezes your hand briefly and then lets go so that he can fully concentrate on the fight in front of him. Before that, however, he signals you to move a little farther away, which you do immediately.

"Where are the rings?", he asks her, keeping a close eye on her, waiting for her next move. Meanwhile, you are struggling to ignore how the remaining orcs behind them are still fighting each other to death.

Instead of answering him, Galadriel sprints towards him with a battle cry and their swords meet several times. The force behind it causes Annatar to stumble a few steps backwards, towards you. Your vision is now so blurred, the pain running through your whole body so numbing, that you hardly notice it. You only vaguely perceive Annatar moving on to the next attack. Exhausted, you squeeze your eyes shut in the hope that the fog will clear from your vision. But it is to no avail. Everything is still blurry.

What you do see, however, is a small pouch lying next to the spot where Galadriel and Annatar are currently fighting. Narrowing your eyes, you try to discern what it could be, until Annatar's previous words come to your mind.

The rings. Galadriel must have lost them in the fight without noticing.

Making up your mind, you stumble a few weak, trembling steps towards it, away from the seemingly endless fight. When you reach the small pouch, you fall to your knees and carefully take it in your shaking hands. When you peak inside, several beautiful rings shine at you, enveloping you in their spell for a moment.

A moment it takes for an orc to stand in front of you with his raised blade after spotting you with the rings. A moment in which you can only raise your head and look the beast in the eye. Then his blood splatters everywhere, covering you in it, when his head is suddenly separated from the rest of his body with a clean cut. He would have ended your life here and now. You let out a frightened scream and frantically scramble to stand up when you feel a gentle touch on your arm. Looking deep into Annatar's eyes, you try to thank him for saving your life once again, but your vocal cords are not able to form any coherent words.

Then, everything happens very quickly. Out of the corner of your eye you see Galadriel rushing towards the two of you, her sword drawn. As if time moves very slowly, your gaze wanders to the man in front of you, who is unaware of the impending danger. Because his focus was on you, on protecting you. Without thinking twice, you tug on his arm, pulling him in your direction, and walk towards Galadriel yourself, throwing your beaten body between them.

You exhale in shock as her sword pierces right through your middle.

"NO!", you hear Annatar cry out loudly, anger and sadness mingling in his voice which breaks at the end. Galadriel, who is just as shocked as you are, stands in front of you with tears in her eyes. Her hand around her sword is trembling.

"I- I-", she stammers, but doesn't get much further as Annatar pushes her away with so much force that she flies through the air. She hits the ground and remains there, motionless. Gasping for breath, you fall to the ground as well, no longer able to hold yourself upright. Involuntarily, your hand goes to where the sword is still sticking out of you.

It hurts. It hurts so much that you can't even shed a tear, your breath catching in your throat. Black dots appear in your vision, covering the blue sky like stars. But then Annatar's face appears in front of you and they suddenly disappear.

"Stay with me. You hear me? Don't go", he shouts at you as he kneels next to you and bends over your fragile body, gently lifting you so that he can place your head on his lap. "No, no, no", he whispers quietly to himself, his hand wandering over your upper body without touching it, as if he could only do more damage otherwise.

You can't do anything but lie there, your throat too dry to choke out another word. The sun shining from behind Annatar's head makes him look like an angel, bringing a gentle smile to your chapped lips. With a trembling hand you lift the little pouch, which you still had in a firm grip, up to him.

Annatar's eyes widen and as soon as he feels the rings in his hand, he discards them. He feels your willpower leaving. Desperate for help, he looks around, thinking about how he could help you, how he could save you. But Galadriel is gone, with her one of the elven rings which might have given you a slim chance of survival. And he can't use the Nine because he personally made sure that they were corrupted.

"Why would you do that?", he asks you now, sounding so defeated, not understanding how you could give your life for his so thoughtlessly. If only you had known that he is not easy to kill, that his immortality cannot be threatened by a simple sword.

And yet here you are, on your way to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor.

"You can't leave me", Annatar says almost reproachfully, his hand gently stroking your still soft hair. His eyes, which look deep into yours, are getting glassier each moment. He simply can't accept that you are leaving him now, that you are leaving him alone, the only person who ever truly cared for him. Who made his cold heart of stone a little warmer, a little softer.

You were supposed to be his. His and only his forever.

"Leithio nin¹", your weak voice whispers in Sindarin, your hand searching for his and finally enveloping it on top of your slow beating heart. You tell him to release you, to release you from this pain, and yet he can't fathom how he should ever be able to let you go.

"I will bring you back. We will meet again, I will make sure of that. I promise. Even if I have to burn down the whole of Middle-earth just to see you again", he says, giving you one last promise which you consider with a small smile, your eyes heavy. You look at him closely one more time, to memorize his face for eternity, your trembling hand reaching for him. Before you can touch him one last time, feel his soft skin beneath your fingertips, your eyes close forever.

"Gi melin²", Annatar sobs, the words following you along on your journey before your last breath finally leaves you and your body goes limp in his arms. He puts his forehead against yours, pulling you as close to him as possible, rocking you, and a single tear finds its way down his cheek.

After just a few seconds, the sadness inside him mixes with anger. With unrelenting, burning anger. He will make everyone suffer for his loss.

He meant every word he said. He will bring you back, no matter what it takes.

And the One Ring will help him.

¹ Release me

² I love you