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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer)

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight.

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting.

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips.

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.”

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams.

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds.

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second.

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened.

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked.

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair.

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything.

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?”

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all.

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start.

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch.

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.”

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her.

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her.

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill.

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim.

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

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Midnight Diner [M] ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

PAIRING: Tattoos!Yoongi x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Smut, AU, Tattooist AU, Diner AU, friends to loves, touch her and you die vibes, established friendship, protective Yoongi

An old fashioned diner was not where you had pictured yourself working but here you were dressed in a pale pink dress with a white apron around the middle to look as though you worked as a vintage waitress from the '50s. It used to be a small cafe but the new owner decided that he wanted to turn it into a '50s diner so that it would become a well-known truck stop along the highway. Lots of people stopped by all of the time but not just because of the diner but because of a famous tattoo studio right next door run by one of your friends. Yoongi. He had two full tattoo sleeves each tattoo was designed by him and put onto his body by him or someone else he trusted with his life.

"I'll be right with you sir," You said as the bell above the door chimed to let you know that the first customer of the day had walked in, you cleaned up the desk and turned around to see Yoongi waiting for his morning cup of coffee. Every morning like clockwork he would be waiting for you to open, watching from his apartment above the tattoo studio to see if you'd been in yet and then he would make his way down.

"Take your time." You rolled your eyes at him playfully, telling him to sit wherever he wanted to but he would always pick the same spot, the bar stool in front of the till. You figured it was so he could keep you company and make conversation while the diner wasn't busy but that wasn't it at all.

See Yoongi didn't see you as just a friend, to him you were someone he had to protect and he was going to do that until his last breath. It wasn't that he thought you needed protecting, lord knows you could look out for yourself but there was something about you that intrigued him. You were someone that he loved and cared for deeply not that he would ever admit that out loud to you or anybody else for that matter. Whatever it was about you made him want to stay around you all of the time was relaxing to him, with you he felt he could be his true self instead of his persona that everyone seemed to perceive him as, the tattooist that hated everyone he met or came into contact with.

"The usual?" He glanced up when he heard your voice and nodded, it was still quite early so the diner was empty apart from the two of you and the chef in the back.

"Jack? Yoongi's usual," You called out with a giant smile on your face, it was now that Yoongi realised you were wearing makeup, it was the first time he'd ever seen you with so much on.

"Oh? The lipstick." You mumbled as you caught his gaze staring at you,

"Keith wants us to look more in the part," You grumbled as you did a small spin in the dress showing off everything you were wearing, Yoongi's heart practically leapt out of his chest. You always looked breathtakingly beautiful but today there was an allure about you that made it harder to resist you.

"But you can't say anything Mr bleach blonde!" You cried out running your hands through his blonde hair that was recently dyed, he was always doing different things with it. When you first met him it was long and up in a ponytail dyed bleach blonde, then he went black, green and one time pink. The two of you had been best friends for three years ever since you started working at the diner, every morning he would come in and order the same thing. Black coffee, pancakes and a second coffee to go with it. Then he would do the same at night after closing up his tattoo studio. A herbal tea with whatever dinner you got to pick out for him, the two of you would eat together every night. Even if you were on the late shift.

"Any famous clients today?" You teased as you began to clean around the bar with a dishcloth and some cleaning spray,

"We have a very special client," He laughed as he continued watching you clean,

"Who?" You knew Yoongi would never give you details if someone famous was truly going to him to get a tattoo but it was always fun poking him for information. It was the best of the best in his industry and even though his studio was right out on the highway people still came from far and wide to get tattooed by him.

"Well it would be her very first, she said she was nervous but she's got nothing to worry about." As soon as the words left his mouth you knew that he was speaking about you and you rolled your eyes, throwing the rag that had been attached to your apron at him.

"I'm not getting it done today, I'm on the morning and late shift." You whined as you thought about going over there to get a tattoo.

Both of you had been planning it for so long, doodling ideas that you had for a tattoo on your arm but never fully committing to it until Yoongi designed the perfect design for you. It was your birth flower and birthstone fused together with a crescent moon surrounding them and Yoongi's artwork made it look truly magnificent.

"But I've already drawn it up, you have to get it done eventually," You knew it was true and you wanted to but it was hard with how often you worked.

"What about after I've shut and you've finished, you're my friend I don't mind doing it after hours," He reminded you before blowing into the scolding liquid and watching you.

"That could be good...This weekend?" You suggested as you glanced at him, the door opening to reveal more customers walking through the door, he nodded before you went off to greet the couple taking them to a table.

Yoongi left not long after finishing his breakfast and a second mug of coffee, leaving his money and an extra-large tip the way he always did whenever he was served by you and you were left the enjoy the rest of the busy day filled with bikers, families that were travelling on holidays and regular customers that came in almost every day. It was finally near closing time which meant Yoongi would be in any second to have dinner with you before you would head home for the night.

"Hey sweet stuff," You glanced over your shoulder to see truckers walking through the door, usually truck drivers were some of the sweetest people you came across but towards the end of the night was when the worst of the worst came to come into the diner. Tired from driving all day, testosterone high from not being around their partners and thinking they could groop and touch whoever they pleased without consequences.

"Take a seat, I'll be right with you." You did your best to appear confident in front of the six men who were all larger than you and walking towards you. Slipping by them you carried a tray of plates through to the kitchen and tried to calm yourself down to go and talk to them. Reminding yourself that they were just tired and rowdy after a long day and just needed to cool off.

The bell signalled and you relaxed knowing that the person who came through was going to be Yoongi, no matter what, if he was around you were more calm and relaxed.

"Hey, do you want the usual or something special?" You asked as a giant grin appeared on your face as soon as you saw Yoongi sitting at the bar stool by the till but Yoongi wasn't smiling. He looked tired and pissed off, as soon as he'd walked into the diner he could sense that something was off, normally you would be on the floor waiting for him not hiding in the kitchen.

"Something special? Does that involve you hot cheeks?" You ignored the man at the table who yelled out to you, his friends all whistling as you stood unamused in front of Yoongi.

"Listen-" Your hand gripped onto Yoongi's arm as you sent him a silent signal with your eyes not to bother saying anything, it wasn't worth the effort since they would leave soon enough but that wasn't soon enough for Yoongi. He wanted them out now since he could see just how uncomfortable you were with them in the diner.

"How come he gets something special?!" Another one yelled before you walked over to their table, smiles and graces plastered across your face as you tried to keep a good face-up.

"What can I get for you all?"

Time passed and you served the truckers before having your dinner with Yoongi. The two of you sitting together at the till and sharing food and stories from his day had been a slow one for him. Only booked clients had arranged to come in with short tattoos and he was bored of not getting to show his creative side.

"Which is why you should have come to let me do yours," He complained playfully as nudged you,

"Okay, I'm a little scared of the needles,"

"I'll hold your hand baby," A deep voice said from behind you as the main man from the group came up to pay for their meals,

"Maybe if you're a good girl I'll let you hold something else," He moaned dramatically before making some inappropriate thrusting movements with his hips and then everything was like a flash. Yoongi was no longer sitting beside you and the man was on the floor bleeding from his lip.

Just like that everything seemed to be moving quickly, Yoongi was punching two men when another grabbed him and punched him in the face. Panic washed over you as you didn't know what to do first, you grabbed a tray from beside you and bashed the man holding Yoongi around the head and he let him go.

"You little fucking whore," He boomed out ready to throw a punch but you kicked him in the groin before slapping him across the face with the tray again, his nose splurting blood out on the floor.

"Get the fuck out of my diner," You hissed as you grabbed one of them by the ear lobe and began dragging the whimpering man to the door. Yoongi smirked from where he was standing as the men stumbled over to their trucks not saying another word.

"Yoongi." You breathed out as you saw blood dripping from a cut on his lip and forehead,

"I’ve got a first aid kit in the studio, I’ll be fine”. He shook his head trying to pass it off as though it was nothing and that he would clean it up but you began shaking your head, telling Jack to lock up for you as you dragged Yoongi out of the diner and over to his store.

"I can look after myself," He mumbled as he suddenly felt like a baby with you dragging him around, he'd been trying to protect you in the diner but now he felt like a failure when you began kicking them out instead.

"Shut up and let me do this," You mumbled as you walked through the door, sitting him down on one of the tattoo chairs and waiting for him to tell you where the first aid kit was.

"Sit still before I poke you in the eye," You ordered as you sat across from Yoongi, the both of you squished onto the tattoo chair as you forced him to let you clean up the wound on his forehead.

"It would heal with a bandaid," He mumbled poking out his bottom lip as you cleaned it up with some alcohol wipes and then placed a bright pink band-aid on top, smirking to yourself as he gave you an unimpressed stare.

"It's pink-"

"It's cute," You reminded him as you began packing up the kit,

"You're going to have to stop defending me at some point, you can't keep getting hurt because of me," You whispered as you remembered the last time Yoongi jumped in when someone had been making inappropriate comments at you, it hadn't ended well for the first guy and Yoongi was left with bruises and cuts too.

"But I want to protect you," You heard the sadness in his voice and you turned to look up at him not realising how close your faces were to one another until you almost headbutted him.

"Y-You don't have to protect me," You stuttered because of how close you were together and sighed shaking his head,

"You don't get it," He mumbled trying to slide off the chair but you took his hand in yours, begging him to explain what you didn't "get",

"I'm in love with you," As soon as he told you it was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest and he stared at you waiting for you to run off. That was what happened the last time he told someone he truly cared about them but instead, you didn't, you slid down from the chair and cupped his face in your hands. Running your thumb over his soft skin before leaning forward and connecting your lips together. He was hesitant at first but as soon as he realised what was happening he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. You were in love with him too and had been waiting so long to finally hear those words fall from his lips.

Your lips touched yet again but this time he didn't hesitate against you, there was passion behind every peck and kiss he gave to you, his hands wandering up your sides as he picked you up, carefully placing you back onto the chair you had gotten off. As soon as his lips touched yours is like like your whole body became heated as if you were set on fire. The kiss made you feel as though you were alive and you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and cause some friction between you,

"I need you." You whimpered feeling needy as his hands touched your inner thighs, the skirt bunching up against your hips as you kissed him again, he grabbed fistfuls of your skirt and smirked as you let out a whine.

"Say the word and I will stop," He whispered as he pulled away to look at you, you nodded before kissing him desperately wanting nothing more than his touch on your body. He kissed won your neck as he began to take off the dress you were wearing, throwing it somewhere behind him as you fought off the urge to hide from him.

"You're beautiful, you don't need to hide from me," He reminded you as his fingers trailed over every inch of exposed skin making you needier for his touch. Yoongi laid a gently kiss on your thighs and you cried out as you waited for something more.

He worked his way down using his tongue to follow where his hands had touched, running his tongue over each of your nipples before kissing each of your thighs again.

"Y-Yoongi," You whispered as he looked up at you, he had a wicked smirk on his face as he looked up at you, licking his lips as though he was about to eat his first ever meal.

"Yes?" You whined at him as he blew cold air onto your exposed core making you whimper as he run his fingers through your folds your fingers dug into the leather chair as he used his tongue to glide through your folds. Your heartfelt as though it was about to stop as he continued to eat you out on the chair, growling against you as he heard your moans of approval at what he was doing. Every small flick of his tongue earned another moan from your lips, your head fell back against the chair and you were squirming and writhing around unable to keep your movements still has his tongue continued to work wonders on you. It wasn't long until the intensity began to build leaving you stunned and unravelled as you cried out his name cumming around his tongue.

Yoongi smirked as he lifted his head his lips were swollen and glossy from your juices that were on him, you whimpered looking at the state of him.

"F-Fuck," You growled pulling him onto the chair with you as you began to kiss him, his legs tickled your core as you ground against him,

"Y/n," He breathed as his lips touched yours, kissing you all over as you began to whine for more from him,

"Touch me," You smiled as you kissed him, running your hands down to his trousers as you pushed them down, smirking to yourself as he let out a shaky breath. Kicking off his pants and looking at you as you run your hand over his hardness, running your thumb over his slit as his breaths became jagged and his body seemed to jerk.

"D-Don't stop," He begged with his jaw clenched, fingers holding onto you tightly as you began to slow pump nim in your hand. Watching his face for all of the reactions he was giving you, his jaw pipped, lips parted as he let out moans.

"Fuck," He moaned out as he rolled his head forward into your neck, biting down on your skin as you continued to pump him in your hand.

"Your touch kills me," He whimpered as his hips began to move in the rhythm of your pumps, moaning out as you gripped a little tighter.

"I-I need to be in you?" He asked it as a question wanting to make sure you were comfortable and you nodded,

"I-I'm on the pill and I'm clean," You reassured him as you realised that neither of you was exactly prepared for this to happen, he kissed you softly lining himself up at your entrance. The tip of his cock made you clench around nothing as he slowly began to move into you. There was intense pressure for a moment and you weren't sure if he was going to fit, then there was a sudden sharpness as he sank into you holding himself deep as you cried out.

"I-I'm sorry," He kissed you lovingly as he realised it was hurting you, but it wasn't a terrible pain it was just that the fullness was a little too much for you.

"I-It's okay, you're j-just big." You whimpered as he kissed you again, softly, and then he began to rest his head on yours waiting until you were ready for him to move but to be honest you would have been perfect laying there with him inside of you all night, it felt as though he was the perfect fit.

"Y-You can move," You promised him as you kissed him again, he began to move his hips slowly, you lifted your hips against him and it began to turn into intense pleasure, something you'd never experienced with anyone before. Your head was totally lost as he continued to move with you, the sound filling the room where your moans mixed together with soft sighs and whimpers as he pushed in and out of you passionately and lovingly.

Yoongi worked his arm under your head and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he angled himself deeper inside of you, your stomach tightened as you felt yourself getting closer. He began to move faster, deeper his thrusts getting stronger as he looked into your eyes the feeling was intense.

"Y-Yoongi," You breathed out as you could feel yourself trembling around him, it felt as though you were going to burst until you finally came undone around him without warning. Yoongi's features turned dark as his jaw tensed again, he lost control as his body pounded against yours making the chair move across the floor until his muscles flexed and his head rolled back, crying out and shuddering as he came undone inside of you.

His head laid in your neck for a while before either of you began to move or speak,

"I-I'll get us a hot bath." He whispered as he slid out of you, giving you his shirt to change into while he looked at you.

"You're so fucking beautiful," He breathed out in a raspy voice as he looked at you, even after sex you were still just as beautiful as before.

"Shut up," You whined following him up the stairs to his apartment so the two of you could clean up together and talk about what all of that meant.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @anxiousbobatea

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wisehq · 3 years

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Mission Debrief: Chapter Forty-two

...It's all coming together.

I'm just going to come outright and say it; I had no idea what to write for this review- not because there wasn't anything to discuss, but rather this chapter gave us so much that I didn't know what to focus on first. Chapter forty-two has single-handedly thrown open the doors to a hundred different theories, and believe me when I say that after a whole night of redbull and theorizing I couldn't come up with any clear answers (the folks over at the Strix discord group can attest to that).

So here's what we're gonna do; I'm not going to focus on the chapter itself.

It was cute. Cardshark Anya is hilariously awesome. Damian is a little shit (whom I adore), and the chapters where the kids can just be kids are- in my opinion- the best.

That's all I'm going to say on the matter. For the rest of this review, I want to go over all the facts we know so far about the story and setting. All of the things Endo has been slowly building up in the background and the pieces that we can stitch together from them, starting with this chapter. Two key things stuck out to me.

In the entirety of the story up till this point, this is the first time we have heard mention of a royal anything- and not only that, but this chef is a former royal chef. This of course implies that a) said chef was fired (not likely given that Eden wouldn't likely associate with someone who was disgraced like that) or retired, or b) that there is no royalty anymore. Ostania is a totalitarian state and the main power of the government- from what we've seen- lies with the ruling political party, i.e the National Unity Party, a.k.a Desmond's party. Such a political structure would have no room for royalty in a governing capacity, and therein begs the question; is there still a royal/noble class- albeit in a non-governing sense- or was it abolished sometime in the recent past?

Classical language is not proper speaking and diction like I had originally thought. Classical language is a specific term typically used to describe a dead language or dialect (think Latin, or Hebrew before it was revived). I find this particularly interesting because under no circumstance would a child as young as Anya know anything about a dead language unless- as Loid points out- she was exposed to it as a toddler. It would have had to have been when she was very young, as she herself doesn't realize she knows this information. This would mean she likely learned it from her birth family; Anya was old enough to remember the lab and scientists, meaning she became Subject 007 later on in life- otherwise she would have remembered knowing classical language.

These two concepts are incredibly important to keep in mind, both now and later on as the story progresses. We now know that a royal class plays a factor in the political game that Twilight and everyone else is playing, and we know that Anya knows information that she shouldn't know otherwise (even with her mind-reading powers). So where does that leave us?

Honestly, for the first time...I'm kind of stumped?

Let's look back at the story and see what else we can piece together- maybe there's something in there we can extrapolate for our purposes. Another clue to point us in the direction that Endo is seemingly funneling us towards.

From chapter forty-one

Franklin Perkins was a man who believed in making his country a better place to live. In his eyes and from what he saw, Ostania wasn't going in the right direction- but why? He blames his lack of money for his mother's death, and we see him hold resentment towards the government over socialistic policies. Wealth is something to be shared with others, not hoarded for ones self. That seems to be where Ostania's moral compass is pointing towards, but is that really the case?

From chapter 39

Mr. Green mentions that people have been fleeing to Westalis; from the way he says this it sounds like this is happening currently- not in the past- and people are going so far as to travel through a third country just to get to Westalis. Such a journey isn't without its perils, so anyone attempting to crossover from Ostania would likely be taking a huge risk in doing so. Not only that, but most of what we've seen in the story is Ostanians loathing Westalins...so what would compel people to do this in the first place?

From chapter three As Anya reads the minds of people gathered at a politcal rally near the start of the manga, we see their disgruntled thoughts behind her. There's multiple mentions of losing jobs and not having enough money- some people are even hungry. Most of these people blame Westalis for their troubles, though not the leader of the rally, ironically.

Also from chapter 3

We find out (and often forget) early on that there are multiple political parties in Ostania. Donovan leads the National Unity Party, whereas the political rally we see here is hosted by the Nationalist Party. The latter preaches peace with the west, but many of the people gathered reject this outright. This is important; the N.U.P is the most successful political party in Ostania, which means a majority of the country's citizens approve of their platform. If we're to assume the Nationalist Party's platform is to advocate for peace with Westalis, then we must also assume that the N.U.P stands for the opposite; direct aggression with the west.

From chapter 31 The Zacharis Dossier, though ultimately a bust, hinted at rumors that have permeated East and West since the start of the cold war. We know for a fact that human experiments did indeed take place in Ostania, so it also stands to reason that there is at least a kernel of truth to the claims of P.O.W (prisoner of war) massacres conducted by the west. It's a heinous crime, and also one that leads to another question; why would any country go through with it in the first place? In addition, piggy-backing off the former point;

From chapter 19 While Loid details Project Apple, he uses the word 'regime' to describe the former Ostanian government. The literal definition of a regime is a government, especially an authoritarian one (Oxfrod Dictionary). I won't highlight all the specifics of what is and isn't authoritarianism, but essentially the point I'm trying to make here is that the current Ostanian administration is still very much a regime. Donovan acts as the authoritarian ruler (or would-be ruler; we don't know if he's actively in charge or is looking to usurp power for himself) and continues on the legacy of the former government. We know for a fact that this is the case because Anya is only at most 6 years old, likely even younger. That would mean the experiments being run on her had to have been recent, which fits with the time frame that we established at the beginning of this rabbit hole- it also aligns with what we know about what Donovan has been doing on the back end of things. Those who have kept up with my reviews know what I'm talking about; gloom pharmaceuticals, the truth serum, OSO-R, etc. All of that, which then leads us to...

...right back where we started. So...what then? What can we conclude from all this? At least a few things;

Anya is tied to Desmond- either directly or indirectly.

Anya's past is also Ostania's past; she's familiar with a dead language that's no longer spoken, and there's definitely a reason why no one speaks it anymore.

Ostania is in a period of political and economic turmoil. This also comes on the heels of a (possible) former monarchy, and the struggle of a country willing to embrace authoritarianism so long as it means staying alive.

WISE and Westalis are not innocent in this game of chess with Ostania and the SSS, and more than likely have committed atrocities that may or may not be directly tied to Ostania and- possibly- Anya's past.

And...this is as far as I can go. I've hit a wall, as have other people I've talked to. We're still missing pieces to the puzzle. Endo will of course provide us with more clues and theory fodder as the weeks and months progress, but for now this is as far as I can go on my own. On the one hand I feel defeated because I can't come up with a meaningful explanation for everything and present it in a neat little bundle for you all to read, but on the other hand I'm thoroughly enjoying this. I'm more engaged with this manga and story than any other I've read before; I'm at the edge of my seat every week, and I'm sure most of you are, too. For now, I'll leave the review here. I find it fitting to leave it open ended, just as Endo did with Loid's self-imposed question. Hopefully, like him, we can find answers in the near future.

Also, BONUS...

...No fun panel with a snappy comment this time. Instead, I’m going to humbly ask for your help.

If you have any ideas about where you think the story is going, theories as to how everything fits together, or just really want to discuss the manga with other fans- please check out our forum and share with us. We’d love to hear what you all think; not only that, but a lot more heads makes theorizing both more productive and a whole lot more fun. Check it out if you have the time, or- if you don’t feel like clicking on any links- you can always leave a comment either on this post or send us an ask or message. Anytime, any reason, we’d love to talk SxF.

Again, thanks for reading, and we’ll see you all next chapter!

#spy x family #chapter forty-two

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stubbedbakutoes · 4 years

Text

Promise Ring

Bakugou accidentally slips up amidst an argument with (y/n). The question now is, does he feel guilty? at all?

pairing: asshole!bakugou x fem reader

word count: 2.1k

genre: angst (i advise grabbing some tissues before proceeding with caution mwahaha)

part 2

masterlist

Whilst his hands held up the ring in the glistening light of the gradually rising sun, her movements halted, thankful she was mere seconds away from having the hot liquid in her mouth because she would more than likely be spluttering and coughing at the shock of what he had just said. Bakugou darted his eyes away from hers, because he’s embarrassed.

But then he’s just looking back at her again. Because he couldn’t not look at her. He licked his suddenly dry as hell lips, shrugging a shoulder.

“Fell for you hard and I don’t want this to just be some fling that we’ll get over in a few weeks.” The blush was rising on his cheeks and she found this self-conscious side of him adorable.

“Kacchan!” She kicked his shin under the table. “You’re asking me to marry you?” She asked slowly.

“No!” He scoffed playfully, which soon turned into a laugh when she squealed out something along the lines of ‘Don’t look so disgusted! how was I supposed to react to that, huh?’ “I mean, you’ve had my dick in your mouth, I'd say we’re pretty committed at this poi-.”

“But you’re really not proposing?” She cut him off, not wanting to hear anything from his vulgar mouth anymore.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, mindlessly playing footsie with her under the table. “I’m serious about it though.”

“Marrying me?”

Bakugou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as a smile played on his lips, “About how we’re past the honeymoon stage.”

“What’s that?” Lifting her mug of tea for the second time, she finally took her first sip of what was always a good cup of morning coffee when made by someone else, specifically Bakugou.

“You know... That period at the beginning of the relationship when everything goes well and is free of problems.”

“Aside from arguing whether the toilet seat cover should stay up or not?”

Bakugou smiled fondly at her. “Sure.”

Their grins were far too wide and cheesy for this early in the morning but the feeling of giddiness they felt inside was too much to conceal and, without any further word on the subject, the rest of breakfast was served so the two could quiet down their grumbling stomach like a proper non-fling-type couple.

(y/n)’s trying the ring on her fingers, and when it only fits on her fourth finger (like he’d hoped), Y/N’s looking back at him. “I care about you too.” She smiled reassuringly. “And to prove it,” She began, stabbing a portion of Bakugou’s food with a fork. “I’ll have this piece of your pancake, thank you very much.”

“Where’s the correlation?”

“I just wanted to steal some food from you, sorry.”

“You’re not very good at being sly, aren’t you?” Bakugou giggled, playing with the matching ring on his pinky finger. “ I just. I love you, you know? And, like. I know we’re still young, so it’s obviously not an engagement ring. I like to consider it a promise. Something to keep your finger warm till I get you a proper ring.”

“—so now what? You just wait for me to leave so you can— what? Cheat on me?!” Bakugou slammed his open palm down on the wooden table, eyes alit with a fury so strong that even (y/n)'s terrified because she's never, ever, seen him this angry before. She's had fights with him before, of course she has, they've been together for over three years, but she's never seen him this determined to win an argument– to the extent that if they were in a cartoon show, he'd probably have smoke puffing out of either side of his ears.

But this is no time for her imagination to be running wild because she's pissed, too. So much anger flooded her veins that tears accumulating in the corner of her eyes are almost spilling out — that's the worst kind of anger.

(y/n) gaped at him. “Are you fucking serious right now? I had one single conversation with that guy and and you— you think I’m cheating on you?!”

And what's filling her with rage is that what they're fighting over is stupid, good Lord, it's so fucking stupid.

It started with (y/n) telling Bakugou about how she's finally found a dream, something to chase, because she's spent most of her life without having decided what to do for herself or wanting anything in her life. That dream involved her going to a school, outside the country, and that turned into a tiny misunderstanding, which blossomed into something else, followed something else after that, and then both Bakugou and Y/N were yelling at each other and calling each other names and it was all a horrible sight to see. Both of them have no idea what brought it on to this extent. All they're certain of is that they're pissed at each other and have, apparently, been pissed at each other for a long ass time.

Bakugou grinned. A grin that she loathed, because Bakugou’s grins are usually with mischief, with playfulness. Not this malice. He outstretched his arm on either sides of him, like he’s showing something off. “Well, I don’t see anyone proving me otherwise.”

She huffed, glaring right back at him. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What’s my problem?! What the hell is your problem?!” Bakugou yelled back at her, not even bothering to try to keep from shouting. He pointed out the door, “You were fucking flirting with that two-faced asshole right in front of me! You're the problem!”

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! That was months ago, you've had that stupid excuse of a grudge on me ever since, huh?!" (y/n)'s eyes narrowed and crinkled – not in a way that Bakugou's used to seeing. "I haven't done anything wrong! All I've done is fucking been there for your stupid ambition to be the number one hero-

"Stupid? Stupid?!" Bakugou repeated incredulously, eyes widening as he quivered with anger. "I'd watch my words if I were you. This is my fucking life goal and something I want for myself that you're calling stupid."

(y/n) was nearly suffocating on her fury, her laugh void of any happiness leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "I am aware of what I'm spewing out. Your fucking dream was delusional and far fetched but I supported it, didn't I?! I watched every single match, patched up your hands when they bled from all that training, made you delicious bentos to fuel you up for the day – "

"– And now you say it was all stupid," Bakugou laughed mirthlessly, glaring at her so hard that (y/n)'s knees start to tremble. "How romantic can this get?" He raised his voice, arms stretching out before clapping obnoxiously loud, "I hope shitting on your boyfriend's dream has given you some sort of satisfaction."

"And you've got some nerve to pull all of this shit with me about suddenly wanting something for myself because I've met someone else and that I'm cheating on you," (y/n)'s lips tremble, her voice practically shaking with anger as she spoke, a finger going to point accusingly at him, "You're not my boyfriend. You're just one big hypocrite!"

"You fucking are, though!" His voice was laced with venom as he practically spat the words in the woman's face. "You're definitely planning to elope with some hunk city boy! I'm not fucking good enough for you, huh?!"

And that’s— that’s the final straw.

Relationships are about trust, and Bakugou obviously didn't fucking trust her. If he wasn't so much of a prick in how he reacted to her telling him her future plans then they'd probably be cuddled against each other, asleep, and Bakugou would be the first to start apartment hunting for her — for them, because he'd even move with her, since he knows he couldn't properly function without her.

But before she even opened her mouth to inform him that she's done with this toxic relationship, he beat her to it, “Good thing I never fell in love with you, then.”

(y/n)’s face changed from cocky to puzzled then to heartbroken. As his words made her world crumble, Bakugou took pride in the sight of the bewildered woman before him, not planning to take his words back anytime soon since he saw this argument as a game of who can devastate the other first. And the prize was looking back on this fight one day and thinking, wow, I won that. It didn't matter what had been said and done in his book.

But (y/n) and Bakugou are two sides of the same coin; she simply wanted to have her point reach his end, so that they can both agree to put this aside and go back to their normal, non-fling-type couple selves.

“So all of this,” She motioned between them, interrupting his train of thought “meant nothing to you? You never even loved me?” She asked with what seemed to be a mixture of hurt and sadness but mainly anger. Before he could even blink, she was over hitting him on the chest with her tightly clenched fists, trying to let out her pain, “I hate you, you're the worst! You told me numerous times you loved me- that you’d never even make me feel like shit! What’s changed, Bakugou? Why can’t you love me anymore?” Her voice cracked, nonetheless she was smoldered with rage.

"Are you deaf? I said I never did. I was lying the whole time, whenever I told you that— that I did."

Bakugou took every hit she was giving him because he stood firmly on his feet, unnecessarily adding fuel to the fire, as if (y/n)'s miserable state wasn't enough to satisfy him — to drop his guard and tell her he wanted to take it back. That he wanted to say I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, I love you, I didn’t mean to say that— but then (y/n)’s letting out a laugh that sounds so bitter, it made Bakugou flinch.

“Fine,” she breathed out, then she’s scoffing out another harsh laugh. “Then— we’re done. Wouldn’t want you to waste your time and effort in a relationship that you never thought was worth it. I don’t want to waste my time and energy being with someone who clearly doesn’t feel the same kind of love towards me.”

And she turned on her heel, ready to head straight out the door, purposefully ignoring the faint, “Wait, (y/n)—” from behind. Her opposite hand subconsciously grazed the promise ring she shared with Bakugou, and she realises something.

At one swift movement, she pulled at the said ring and threw it at him with more force than necessary.

“What a fucking nonsense 'promise' that was,” She said out loud, and it rang through Bakugou’s ears, because he made a pathetic whining sound that's never been heard before, because this moment couldn't have a bigger emotional toll on him than anything else.

"Y/N, hear me out," he sniffled. "I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean an ounce of what I said. I know you're not cheating on me, baby, I'm sure of that. I was being a dickhead for that and I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry. I love you, Y/N. God. I need you so much, and I was lying when I said I never did. When you're not with me, I'm not... me. And I just," he sighed, pulling the ends of his hair aggressively. "I'm sorry, I really am."

Y/N’s got a hand on the door handle, but there were fingers slowly wrapping around her other wrist. She yanked her wrist out of his hold like his touch burned, causing Bakugou's lips to shake. It's hitting him now, the fact that he's losing the girl he courted and spent so much time with. The girl who kept him wide awake at night because of how much she clouded his mind. Not to mention, the ring which symbolizes their commitment to each other, is being thrown away like it's nothing.

(y/n) peeked at him through her eyelashes, "Give me a break. I obviously don't have a place in your heart, you've made that painfully clear to me. So do me a favor and fuck off."

He very nearly heaved with his next breath. He held a hand up, ring between his pointer finger and thumb. “I meant it when I said I wanted to get serious with this relationship. I still do, and that'll never change. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, that you should be with someone— someone better in every fucking way possible, I want to be the one to marry you. That wasn’t a false promise. That was— that is the promise that I swear to God I’ll be keeping until my last breath.”

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nightshade-minho · 3 years

Text

-Blue Book- (11)

Warnings: anger, stress, y/n briefly wants to murder felix, a lot of negative emotions, headaches, light suggestiveness, britney spears cameo (nah just kidding- or am i)

Wc: 4.1k (finally a blue book part that’s longer than 2k)

Stop. Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about how she’s probably out with Minho right now, having fun and laughing over inside jokes.

Sometimes he wished he could just dig into his brain and remove all traces of you. He simply couldn't think of another way to truly get rid of you, eradicate every remnant that stayed in his brain, reminding him how he’d felt back then.

Years had passed, and he still wasn't over it. There was a tiny part of him that thought maybe seeing you again would calm him down, and remind him that it wasn't a big deal. You'd changed, and he had too. It was time to get over petty high school grievances.

And yet, when he saw you with Minho again...he realized it simply wasn't possible. You were going to plague him for the rest of your life, and he knew it.

"I know pancakes are a weird choice for dinner but- Are you listening to me? Earth to Chan-"

Chan snapped back to reality, blinking as he stared at Felix, who pushed a plate of pancakes towards him, a concerned look on his face.

"I was asking you where you're staying at right now."

"Oh." Chan nodded thankfully, taking the fork and digging in. He was terribly hungry, and he'd missed Felix's cooking. His pancakes were always so soft and fluffy...a lot like him, to be honest.

To be honest, he didn't quite know yet. He hadn't left his parents on good terms, and now he found himself penniless unless he made up with them. Not one to beg, he'd decided to look around for a job. So far, he wasn’t all that successful. There was a heavy weight on his heart preventing him from truly committing to his work. He found it impossible to focus.

Felix sighed, taking a seat opposite him. " Chan...do you not have a place to stay?"

He shook his head finally, his gaze on the plate as he ate. He'd already told Felix the situation with his parents, somewhat. If his perception of Felix was right, he would be overcome with sympathy.

He was right. Felix wrung his fingers, his thoughts racing. He hated seeing the distraught expression on Chan's face. The words were on the tip of his tongue- the only thing stopping him was the thought of how you'd react.

You'd be pissed, beyond doubt.

Felix swallowed. Then again, this was his apartment. You didn't really have the right to oppose him if he wanted to let someone else stay for a bit. Besides, maybe he'd be able to talk some sense into you?

How bad could it be?

"Chan..." He began, inhaling.

"Do you want to stay here? At least until you find a place."

Chan sighed. There it was. He wasn’t surprised to find out he’d predicted correctly. Felix had been his best friend, after all. He knew him like the back of his hand. "Are you sure you...and your roommate...would be fine with it?"

"I'm positive." He lied, scratching the back of his neck as Chan groaned.

He didn't really have another choice. Psyching himself up to agree, Chan sucked in a breath and pushed away his intruding emotions.

"Sure."

***

You knocked on the door, inhaling deeply as you ran through all the different ways you were going to murder Felix in your head. You couldn’t believe it. He really had the audacity to not only invite him over, but also neglect to inform you the same.

Tapping your foot, you rubbed your forehead as the door remained closed. Sighing, you dug into your bag for your keys, procuring them after a few seconds of searching through the crumpled chewing gum packets and loose coins. You really had to clear out your bag sometime.

You entered your apartment, yawning as you shed your coat, heading to the kitchen for a drink. Your throat was dry, your head pounding with stress. Ugh, what a bad day it had been. Marginally better due to the time you’d spent with Minho- but still bad. Chan’s sudden appearance really had put a damper on everything you’d done since then.

As you reached the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks.

Fuck. You turned around immediately when you saw who was sat at the table, an empty plate in front of him as he scrolled through his phone. He hadn’t seen you standing in the doorway. Yet.

Carefully, you started padding away as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, the gods really weren’t in the mood to smile upon you today.

“Y/n?”

His voice was tired, bare of any emotion whatsoever. You twisted your neck to look at him, opening your mouth and closing it. He was staring at you, his eyes devoid of feeling, his lips pressed in a thin line. You had no clue what to say. Looking at his face again brought back memories you’d much rather forget.

“It’s...nice to see you again.” He mumbled, tearing his gaze away from you.

‘Nice’ was really not the word.

“Yeah. How have you been?” You managed to ask, swallowing the lump in your throat. He drummed his fingers on the table top as his mind searched for an appropriate response. You watched him, your heart clenching as you remembered the way his hand felt in yours.

“Fine.” He finally decided to say. “I’ve been fine, more or less.” After all, he was used to lying.

“And you? Having fun with Minho?” There was a slight bite to his voice as he uttered the words, making you raise an eyebrow. Suddenly, the anger you harbored towards him was reignited. What was he implying? It shocked you that he could talk like that, without a trace of apology in his tone. As if it was you who’d betrayed him, and not the other way around.

“For your information, yes. We’re having a lot of fun.” You snapped, turning and leaving the kitchen to go straight to your room. Just read a book, listen to some music and calm yourself down. He’ll be gone soon.

Chan watched you walk away, his hands balling into fists. So you had absolutely no remorse, whatsoever.

He bit his lip, hating the weird amalgamation of emotions that were gripping him like a vice. He’d felt envy flood him as you said it, rubbing it in his face. Shaking his head, he turned back to his phone, biting his lip.

***

You knocked on Felix's door, biting your lip in anger as you waited for him to open it. Tapping your foot, you shook your head. Why was he still here, even? He should be gone by now.

"Looking for Felix?"

You started, turning around with a glare on your face.

Shit. He was way too close to you, his face inches away from yours. All you'd have to do is lean in just the tiniest bit, and your lips would be on his...

"He went out. Errands. Won't be back till tonight."

You groaned, taking a step back as you rolled your eyes. "Okay, whatever."

Chan watched you, an amused smile making its way onto his face. He'd flustered you a little, that much was evident. He wasn't quite sure yet if that was something to be proud of...but it was the little victories that counted, right? A part of him was glad that he still managed to have some sort of effect on you, even after all these years.

"You know if it's important, you can always tell me. Is there anything I can get you?"

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed up further, your hand on the doorknob. "This is my home." you reminded him, his incredulous sentence rubbing you the wrong way.

Chan almost felt bad for you.

Shrugging, he turned to walk away. "Not anymore."

"Huh?" His words took a while to sink into your brain, and you raised your eyebrow in confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Y/n...is that any way to talk to your new roommate?"

No. No way. Felix wouldn't...

"What?!"

"Not forever." He shrugged, his hand running through his hair. "Just until I find a permanent place to stay. Until then though, I'll be here."

This couldn't be happening. The anger was increasing slowly, rage directed to your roommate as well as the man in front of you.

Chan looked back at you, sighing as he noted the upset expression growing on your face. Did you really hate him that much?

"Look. I'll stay out of your hair." He muttered, his tone clipped. "I don't think it will be that difficult for us to co-exist if we manage to be civil to each other."

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. "Sure. I don't care." You had already planned on remaining in your room for the entirety of his stay, however impractical that would be. You weren’t ready to dig up all that trauma from your teenhood just yet.

Chan gritted his teeth, his eyes searching yours as he thought of what else to say. The atmosphere was tense- too many things left unsaid, half spoken promises lingering in the air between you. It was frustrating, yet Chan held himself back. He was an adult now. There was no space for immaturity or trivial grudges in his life currently- no, he had to stay strong. With his credentials, it would be fairly easy to land a job. He just had to speed the process up, and soon enough he’d be out of this apartment.

So he took a deep breath and gave you a smile, turning around to go back to the kitchen. He prided himself in his decision, a small first step to eliminating his inability to let go.

You watched as he left, chewing on your lip. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you turned to go back into your room, grabbing your phone and dialing Felix’s number aggressively.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Um, I left to grab some groceries-”

“Did you really offer to let him stay at our place?” You asked, your tone calm as you gripped the bed sheets.

“W-well...yeah..” You heard him gulp on the line. “It’s just for a few days, Y/n, till he gets a job-”

“And do you know how long that’s going to take?” You hissed, rubbing your temple as you heard his footsteps in the kitchen.

“I...look, Y/n. You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first before making a decision.”

“No shit.”

A sigh. “Look, I won’t be home till evening. Please um...keep it mature. Again, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, cutting the call and throwing your phone onto the mattress. It was going to be fine, as long as you stayed away. The apartment was small, so you couldn’t avoid running into him, though...whatever. It’d be fine, you’d be able to hold yourself out for a few days, if Felix was to be believed. You rubbed your forehead, groaning.

You were in dire need of a nap.

Sighing, you fell back onto the cushy pillows, curling up on the mattress. Your head was throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. You needed a glass of water, but you weren’t going to leave your room today, at least until Felix comes back.

You hated the way your heart was still pounding, your emotions a jumbled mess. It was natural, right? To be this affected? He was your first love, after all. And he’d betrayed you.

At first, you didn’t want to believe it. There was a part of you that hoped a tiny part of Chan had actually loved you, a part that hoped Minho was lying. But then you’d asked Felix about the ‘bet’, and the guilty look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Of course it had been suspicious, the popular guy coming up to talk to you- a lonely new kid who barely anyone talked to, especially when half his friend group were cold to you. But the more time you spent with him, the more you had begun to feel like he truly did love you. Was it even possible to fake emotions as well as he had? Chan was a good actor.

After you left, Chan never acknowledged the message you’d sent him. Not at all. You’d poured your heart out, for nothing. It had been the final nail in the coffin, the final incident convincing you that he’d never truly loved you back.

You sighed and sat up to switch the lights off, flooding the room in darkness as you buried your face in the pillow. There was complete silence in the room for a few minutes, and you let out a peaceful hum, snuggling further into the blanket. Sleep was beginning to overtake you slowly, your eyes closing as you slipped further into dreamland. You slept for about an hour, untroubled.

That is, until there was a loud crash from beyond the door, forcing you to shoot up and rub your eyes, anger coursing through you. You threw the blankets off your figure, storming up to your door and flinging it open. Ugh, fuck this. Fuck staying in your room and not causing trouble. You needed an outlet for this pent up anger, or you were going to fucking lose it.

“What the fuck was that?” You called out loudly, only to be returned with complete silence. Standing in the middle of the empty living room, you furrowed your brows in confusion.

The bathroom door opened just as you were ready to turn around and head back into your room. Swiveling around, you glared at Chan as he stepped out, a rather innocent look on his face. Innocent...nothing like the fact that he was fresh out of the shower, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist.

For a minute, you were rendered dumb. Your eyes watched as his dripping wet hair trailed droplets of water down his torso, down the ridges of his abs and disappearing into the towel. You didn’t even know he looked like that underneath those clothes...

“Hey. Sorry for the noise.” Chan mumbled, pushing his hair back as he closed the door behind him. “The shower caddy fell down randomly. Don’t worry, I fixed it.”

His blank expression slowly transformed into something more devious as he shut the door. He smirked as he observed your expression, his ego boosting as he realized he was the reason you were speechless.

“I- well-” You grunted and shook your head. “You fucked up my nap. Thanks a fucking lot.” You grumbled, crossing your arms as you kept your gaze fixed on his face. “Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.” You coughed, voice slightly shaky as you desperately tried to conceal your burning cheeks,

“And...put some clothes on.” You grumbled before heading back. Before you could, though, you felt a hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

Stopping yourself before you could stumble too close to him, you looked up at him angrily, yanking your wrist away. “What?” You hissed.

“You don’t look too well.” He said, lifting his hand to your forehead. Before he could press his hand to your skin though, you backed away out of his reach.

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s just a tiny headache.” You lied, your head throbbing with a migraine even as you said it.

“Hm.” Chan’s face softened a little as he sighed. “A headache? Do you need water? I have some pills that could help numb the pain.”

You shook your head vehemently. “I don’t want anything you offer me.” You tried to ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes as you said the words. No, Chan wasn’t the victim here, you were. What right did he have to display vulnerability?

“Fine.” Chan opened his mouth, looking like he had more to say. For a second, he contemplated blurting everything out then and there. He wanted you to know the pain he’d been living with through his years...he wanted you to know that despite your betrayal, you were all that was a constant in his mind. And yet, as he continued watching your icy glare, he knew you weren’t in a position to be amicable.

“Get some rest.” He muttered, anger seeping in again at your coldness, mixing with the concern that was still etched into his heart.

“That’s what I was fucking doing before you woke me up so rudely.”

Ugh. God, he really did have enough of your behavior.

“Stop being a brat, Y/n. Just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you get to be snippy with me. You have no right to be angry.”

The fuck? Oh, this entitled prick-

“I have every right to be! This is my house you just barged into, I make the rules here. So shut up and leave me alone.” You spat out, clenching your fists.

Chan felt an unknown urge creep through his being as you continued your remarks, scrunching his eyes shut and trying to calm himself down for a second. Okay, so this definitely wasn’t the sunshiney Y/n he’d once known.

“Felix asked me to stay, I didn’t barge in.. God, you really are a bitch. I’m a guest here, and yet you’re treating me like-”

That was the last straw. You inhaled deeply, feeling your headache grow worse as your anger amplified. You’d had enough. Biting your lip, you shoved past him and headed for the front door. You couldn’t be in the same space as this dickhead for a second longer.

“Where are you going?” His voice was confused, as he turned to look at you storming out in your pajamas.

“Fuck you. Away from here.” You explained, flashing him one last glare over your shoulder as you slammed the door behind you.

Chan stood in the middle of the room, letting out a deep sigh at your sudden departure.

What was he going to tell Felix? He’d promised himself that he’d keep it civil.

He seemed to be breaking a lot of promises lately...

***

You stood outside of the door, leaning against it and trying to calm down your breathing, chest heaving. Just the sight of him brought back memories you wished you could bury. How could you be expected to live in the same place as him without wanting to tear out your eyeballs?

Just when you’d thought you were finally moving on, he barreled his way back into your life. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to be mature.

You just wanted him to know you were no longer the meek little optimistic girl you once had been. Adult life has a cruel way of opening your eyes.

Rose colored lenses eventually lead to dismay and disappointment.

***

You didn’t realize you were going to Minho’s apartment until you reached his door, hand poised over the door to knock. Breathing in, you firmly rapped on the wood. A few minutes of silence passed, and you tilted your head in confusion. Minho usually answered the door right away, without too much delay.

You waited a bit before deciding to ring the doorbell, heaving a sigh of relief when the door finally opened, revealing a smiling Minho.

“Hey, thought it was you. I was in the shower.” Clearly. His hair was slightly wet and he’d clearly pulled on the first shirt he could find- unless he actually liked wearing 2009 Britney Spears t-shirts around the house.

Why was the universe chucking so many soaking wet boys at you today? At least Minho was clothed.

You chuckled as you pointed out the motif on the shirt. “’Oops I Did It Again’? Really?”

He shook his head, crossing his arms. “Hey, that music video is a masterpiece. Did you know it was released on my birthday?”

You giggled. “Of course it was.”

He smiled, before standing up straighter. “Wait, why are you here?”

You pursed your lips playfully. “Do I need a reason to visit one of my best friends?”

“Of course you don’t. We just spent time together in the afternoon, though. Is there a reason you’re back so early?” He questioned, placing a finger on his chin and pretending like he was deep in thought. “Oh, got it. You can’t get enough of me.” He said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, walking in as he stood aside to let you in. Minho’s apartment was smaller than the one you shared with Felix, but a lot more nicely decorated. You flopped down onto the sofa, sighing. “That’s not it.” You shook your head. “It’s Chan.”

“Oh. Him.” Minho cleared his throat, crossing his arms as he came to sit down next to you. “What about him?” He asked carefully.

“He’s staying with us.”

“What?” Minho wasn’t sure he’d heard right for a moment, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“Yeah, Felix let him stay. Until he gets a job, apparently.” You groaned, slipping off your shoes and curling your knees up to your chest. “I can’t stand being around him. Not after what he did to me. You understand, right?”

Minho stayed silent for a few minutes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leaned back. “Right…”

You watched Minho, frowning at his expression. “Anyway, as I said, I couldn’t stay there. Um, can I crash here for a few days? He said he’ll get a job soon and move out, so it’ll be quick.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “Oh? Yeah! You can! You can stay.” He blurted, trying not to seem too eager. His ears turned a light shade of red as he watched you nod in relief, snuggling further into the cushions. “I’ll take the couch.” You mumbled, eyes fluttering as you rubbed your forehead for the millionth time.

“No, you take my bed. I’m alright on the couch.”

You opened an eye, shaking your head. “Minho, this is your home. Unlike Chan, I’m a good house guest.”

“Yeah but... I don’t want you out here on the couch alone. This isn’t exactly a nice neighborhood.”

You sat up, sighing. “I’d feel bad stealing your bed while you sleep on this lumpy couch.”

“Aha! So you admit it’s uncomfortable! That’s it, you’re sleeping in my bed. Besides, it’s big enough for the two of us!”

Minho wished he could take it back almost as soon as he said it. “Um, I mean…”

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging. “Uh, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” You sat up, a little shakily as your head swam. “God, my head hurts.”

Minho shot up to his feet, sighing. “Come on, I’ll take you to bed.” He grabbed your hand gently, taking you to his bedroom and making you sit down on the edge. You hummed in content, eyes still closed as you burrowed under the covers, snuggling into Minho’s pillows that faintly smelled of his cologne. It was comforting, and soon you found sleep overtaking you.

Minho sighed as he watched you fall asleep, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was nowhere near sleepy and had originally been planning on making some dinner before you came, but now he didn’t want to leave you alone.

Groaning, he lay down on his mattress, pulling the sheets over his body and making sure to leave a respectful amount of distance between you.

He watched you for a while, your eyelashes fluttering slightly as you slept, chest rising and falling with your breaths.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly. There were strong emotions gripping his heart, most of them towards you, and yet he couldn’t act on any of them. Hell, he couldn’t even comprehend half of them.

Minho turned to face the ceiling, eyes following the tiny crack in the plaster. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

Guilt. The heavy weight sat on his heart was guilt. Thick, all consuming guilt, that threatened to swallow him whole unless he came clean.

He knew he didn’t deserve you...not just because of how he’d acted, but also because of what he was keeping from you. He didn’t deserve for you to accept his apologies, not after the way he’d treated you. Not after he’d kept the complete truth about Chan from you.

Was he being an asshole? Chan was once his friend. A close friend, one he spent every day with. And yet he’d screwed him over.

For a minute, he wondered what would happen if he told you that he’d been the one to make the bet. He’d made Chan continue with it despite his reluctance. He’d noticed Chan actually falling in love with you, and yet had brushed it over.

Would you still be beside him now if you knew?

He doesn’t want to find out. No.

There was moonlight streaming through his window, illuminating the entire room too brightly. The light, combined with the remorse, ensured a sleepless night.

He glanced at you again. At least he’d have you by his side. For now...

#chan angst #chan smut #chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #chris smut #chris angst #chris fluff #skz smut #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #minho angst #felix fluff #felix angst

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desertofsnowflakes · 3 years

Text

Incorrect Order Chapter 2 (Nessian AU)

A/N: DO inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse and Swearing

1957 words | Part 1 | Read on AO3

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Cassian was waiting. And waiting. And waiting. He waited for the day he would forget the woman’s face. He waited for the day he could close his eyes without seeing her blue-grey eyes blazing in anger. He waited for the day he wouldn’t burn his bacon because he was thinking about her.

He had mused, how the face of a stranger was branded into his mind vividly. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered if they’ve known each other before or have seen each other somewhere, anywhere before the day in the mall—even if on photographs or at an event or at another shopping mall. Still, he desperately wanted to forget about her. He wanted to forget that she ever existed. He wanted to forget their encounter in the mall that day. He wanted to forget everything about her, even though deep down, he knew what he wanted was far from forgetting her.

But he couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to think about her at all times. He was getting distracted at work. His part-time job as a martial-arts instructor and as a sommelier was in a precarious position if it went on like this. He nearly tore one of his student’s muscles in his centre and got at least 5 orders wrong at the restaurant he was working at.

On a Saturday noon, Cassian decided the best way to clear his head was to dive into a war book or reread Secrets Of The Sommeliers for probably the millionth time.

* * *

Nesta flinched at the sudden ping of the oven timer. Again. She’d been thinking about him again. This was the fourth time in the whole week when she burned her cheese sandwich and she was getting so tired of this. She urgently needed a way to stop thinking about him. To stop seeing his insufferable grin whenever she closed her eyes. To stop thinking about him at almost all times.

It struck her as odd, the fact they didn’t even know each other’s names but she kept seeing his face as if they’ve known each other before. She gasped. What if they had known each other before? What if they were probably neighbours from Nesta’s old house or classmates or maybe they went to the same college. Nesta shook her head.

But why should she care? No, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what his name is or if he even has a name. She doesn’t care if she’s had the misfortune of seeing him before or if that was the first she’s seeing him. Or so she kept telling herself. She couldn’t afford to have him occupy her thoughts. She had better things to do. But all these excuses weren't enough to stop her from still thinking about him.

Nesta looked at her clock. It was a Saturday, almost noon. Maybe reading a spicy book or two will help.

* * *

Cassian loved the House of Wind library and bookstore. They had a variety of books in almost any genre. He'll admit though, that some of the librarians here are better left alone. He was lucky he came here often and therefore knew a handful of the merrier librarians. He made a beeline for his favourite section, books related to wine, best books for sommeliers.

On his way to the shelves he had committed to memory, he realised that there was a big poster about their annual Free Premium Membership Fest where 20 fortunate, early birds would get their membership card updated to premium with a number of privileges. Cassian's whole being was elevated. He missed the last fest they held and had been waiting for the next fest. He wondered how he could forget such an important thing. Oh. Right. Of course. A certain lady was occupying his thoughts. He sighed. He forgot about that too.

He was quite disappointed when he reached the counter. The fest started yesterday and the computer stated that there was only one person left till 20. What truly disappointed him was that Clotho wasn't at the counter as she usually was. Maybe she'll be in the—

“If you're done staring at the computer maybe you could deign to move so it can really serve its purpose of being a public property?” Cass froze. He'd know that voice anywhere. This was the voice taunting him at all times. “And if you have coffee in your hands, I'd suggest you turn slowly.”

He smirked. So she knew who she was talking to.

“Well, looks like the damage would be lesser this time since your clothes aren't white,” he observed.

“I figured black would hide stains caused by ogling, clumsy people better than white,” she said. “Now, if you could move, I want to register for the Membership Fest.”

“Register? What do you mean by ‘I want to register for the Membership Fest’?”

“A register, you know,” she teased, “Something like a form where you fill your details if you want to join something?” She smirked at his glare.

“Well,” he said, “if there is a register let me fill it first.”

“Because your ego is bigger?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he dead-panned. “I came here first.”

“Here as in the counter or the library? Because I’m pretty sure I stepped into this library first.”

Cassian quickly checked the database where the information of all members appeared. He turned back to her with a self-satisfied smirk. “The database shows otherwise, sweetheart.”

She scowled. “I don’t believe you. You might’ve tampered with the information.”

He moved slightly to the side to give her a better view. Her scowled deepened.

She rounded on him. “You,” seethed. “You did—”

“Hello,” a new, shy voice said.

“Hey, Gwyn,” they both said in symphony.

A look of surprise crossed over her features before it faded away. When the woman turned to Gwyn, she wore a huge smile. “Oh, look, she smiles,” he muttered, earning him a glare.

“Is the fest still on?” Cassian asked.

Gwyneth Berdara, one of the joyful librarians here, said, “Unfortunately, not. We just got our 20th member.”

Cassian’s face fell. He noticed the same of the woman too. Gwyn, always the optimistic one, said cheerfully, “Maybe we could reserve one for the both of you next year?”

They both murmured their assent before Gwyn offered her farewell and went back to the staffroom.

The woman turned back to him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed and stalked out of the library, leaving Cassian more confused than ever.

* * *

Nesta went to the library to find solace or at least a semblance of it. Seeing the man there, however, left Nesta more rattled than she would care to admit. Rattled, and angry. Angry at the universe for giving them these unfortunate encounters. Angry at him for following her wherever she went. Angry at herself for feeling such futile emotions. Angry at her body for reacting to him.

She was also upset that she didn’t get a free premium member cr

Nesta was so occupied with her thoughts and emotions that she didn’t realise she was taking the wrong route. She wasn’t familiar with this part of Velaris. She also didn’t realise she was being followed. It was distinct, the sound of hushed breathing, of the soft thuds of footfalls. The footsteps sounded heavier which most probably meant it was a man. She couldn’t really be sure, though. This was a person who was not experienced in stalking but was trying hard enough.

Nesta knew she shouldn’t panic but couldn’t help the bout of fear that crashed through her. Nesta tried to stay calm. She tried to make sure she didn't quicken her pace. She tried, cauldron, she really did. But her fear was slowly overpowering her senses. She felt the urge to run away from her stalker.

But that wouldn’t be wise. Running away from her stalker isn’t a good choice. It wasn’t smart. Who’s to know he wasn’t armed? What if he was faster than her? What if her stalker was faster than her? He might be stronger too. He could over power her and cage her in. She didn’t even know what his motive was.

Then, Nesta made a ridiculously huge, dumb mistake. She turned to an abandoned alley. At least it looked abandoned. She let out a frustrated breath. Running away was at least better than getting stuck in an alley. So much for ‘that wouldn't be wise’. She looked around, trying to get a sense of where she was or if there were any means of escape, however meager it might be.

Suddenly, she was slammed to the alley wall. The rough cold stone was unforgiving and unyielding under her cheek. Her windpipe was closed off and she was struggling to get some air in. She fought to get free but her captor —a man, as she guessed— was too strong. Somehow, his hands felt familiar to her. As if she were long acquainted with this person’s touch.

“What do you want?” she gasped out.

He chuckled, the sound grating through her very bones.

“My little Nesta,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting the shell of her ear. “Ever the stubborn one.”

That voice. It was one that she couldn’t forget as hard as she tried. Tomas Mandray, her ex-boyfriend, was someone not easily forgotten.

“Tomas,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to be nice. Not now, not after how he treated her. “What the fuck do you want? Let me go.”

“I see you haven’t changed at all.”

“I can say the same of you.”

“Mhm. You broke up with me and then you called the police. Got me stuck behind bars for two fucking months.”

“Good riddance,” she muttered.

He slammed her head against the wall. Hard. Blinding pain shot through her. He yanked her hair so hard she was afraid chunks of it came out. Her head only throbbed harder.

“Manners were never your cup of tea,” he hissed.

“You were not that kind either. You were an empowering, possessive bastard and I don’t regret watching you grovel to the police for freedom for one fucking moment and I won’t ever.”

He growled and slammed her head against the wall again. She cried out and was pretty sure she heard something crack. She felt the metallic tang of blood on her lips, streaming from her nose freely.

“Oh, you will. You’ll regret everything. Every. Single. Thing. For your whole god-damned life. I’ll make sure of it, bitch,” he promised.

He tightened his grip on her hair that sent another wave of agony through her. She caught the glint of something in the fading sunlight. A knife. Of course he had a knife.

He had a knife while she was a mess, kneeling on an alley, completely at the mercy of one of the people who hated her the most. Pathetic. So, so, pathetic. She hated herself for whimpering. She hated herself for being this weak. She hated that she had gotten panicked enough that she turned to an alley, where no one would know.

Here, in this unknown alley, with the person she hated the most, Nesta Archeron was going to die. She was going to die a death as unknown as the place she was in. Maybe even without her sisters knowing. Shit. Her sisters. If only she showed all her love to sweet Elain and brave Feyre, if only she even went to meet her brother-in-laws, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, maybe things would’ve been different. She closed her eyes, fighting the emotion in her throat. I’m sorry Elain, Feyre, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, I’m so, so sorry, was the last thing in her head before she felt acute pain and succumbed to the dragging talons of oblivion.

taglist:

@im-someone-i-guess @shadowsinger07 @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele

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mcbride · 3 years

Text

TWD S11 Predictions - Carol/Daryl focused

disclaimer: i don't know anything. i have no sources. just my predictions, thoughts and wishful thinking based on filming tracking, intuition, some theories, images from the teaser/promo trailers and more wishful thinking!

solely focused on Carol and Daryl's storylines, cause apparently that's all my heart cares about anymore! as a wise person once said (Espy, my positive fairy! if you're reading this, ilysm), our baes need to be dealing with their own issues and demons, separately, while getting some closure with other people, so they can finally move forward together.

so i don't expect many actual caryl scenes in part 1 of s11, but i fully expect them to keep each other in mind, and even make some decisions based on a future they wanna have together even before they resolve the awkward tension between them atm.

imo the perfect caryl arc in 11a would include a lot of emotional encounters, drama, disappearances, fake deaths, torture, tragedy, dog, closure and make up and make out... after the jump....

it appears that Carol and Daryl will be involved in different missions at the start of the season - he will head out with Maggie's group to search for food when they are caught up in a storm and have to hide out in the subway tunnels; while i presume she stays back to defend and help clean up ASZ or goes on her own mission with Kelly and Magna.

Carol, Kelly and Magna end up stumbling upon Connie's journal, a symbol of hope for all of them. they might even decide to search the area for any more signs of Connie. i really want Carol herself to find Connie and bring her back to Kelly. and not cause Carol is a hero who saved Connie, nooooooo cause Connie can save her own self. she is strong, not a damsel in distress. she went through hell but she made it back. i think we will see Connie and what she has been through, however, i don't believe she will reunite with anyone from team family before the MSF (11x08) or even MSP (11x09). no idea who she and Virgil are running from in the trailer - it could either be a whisperer, a stray reaper or just some crazy random motherf*cker they run into.

while Maggie's group are in the tunnels, dog runs off and Daryl goes to search for him, never making it back to the group for some reason. after the storm is over, Maggie and the group search for Daryl but not having been able to find him (?) they just assume he is gone, possibly dead? i don't know why Maggie would give up so easily searching for family, but it seems like her current MO to just leave people behind.

along the way, Carol and Magna will find common ground and actually become besties cause she desperately needs some female friends. please and thank you. they can bond over the hope to find Connie alive and well, or the fact, both of them are currently in a very awkward position with their boos while having no idea where the heck they are.

Daryl probably got separated from the group while escaping a small herd in the tunnels (cue to Daryl's face covered in blood in the woods) and when he finally finds dog, he comes face to face with a masked reaper formerly known to him as Leah. he is shocked to learn she's part of the group that targeted Maggie. Leah is probably bitter Daryl chose his family instead of her a few years ago cause she has no idea he came back for her... so she and her friends take (willingly or not!) Daryl prisoner... possibly torture him and play mind games to gather information on team family.

in the sdcc trailer, there are some very heartbreaking scenes with Carol (and Aaron?), i cannot wait for it. i know it's gonna make me cry so hard and i've been needing Carol/Aaron friendship for years. at the same time, i expect Carol to also have some badass fighting scenes with her daughter-in-law and new bestie, Lydia, and tia Rosita! YES girl power!! people need Carol and she's totally there for them.

Aaron seems to be in a bad place emotionally (possibly something happened to Gracie, or just the fact they lost a lot of people in the whisperers war!) and Carol will be there to urge him not to make the same mistakes she did. hopefully, these 2 can join forces and come up with a masterplan to defeat the reapers.

Daryl being Daryl who always wants to save people even from themselves, tries to convince Leah to change sides, join team family, or convince her own family to leave his family alone. he's unsuccessful and when Daryl tries to escape, setting the whole place on fire and killing a few men on his way out of the reapers compound, Leah threatens to harm dog. cause why not? she obvi loves nothing or no one! they take Daryl back to another cell, and dog manages to escape.

meanwhile, Maggie's group returns to ASZ, where they tell Carol they believe Daryl is lost or dead. please give me all the angst that comes with Carol thinking she may have lost Daryl forever! she has been pretty committed to the group and rebuilding their home, but i believe her first instinct will be to run, to leave... TO FIND DARYL!!! cause no way in hell would Carol just accept he's gone unless she sees it with her own eyes.

WELL in true 'if you can't beat them, then join them' fashion, after a few brainwashing sessions with Leah, Daryl tells her all about the note (FIND ME) he left for her at the cabin, how he knows he made the wrong decision then, declares his loyalty to her and joins the reapers...

dog arrives at ASZ just as Carol is about to leave to search for Daryl. good boy always comes back home to mama and together they will find and save dada. (bear with me! from now on i'll be totally running wild with my wishful thinking... it will pretty much read like some fanfic plot!)

Daryl keeps trying to fit in with the reapers group, but he's only taking a page from Carol's undercover book - fake it till you make it + destroy them from the inside. what he doesn't know is that Leah and her new/old bf (Pope!?) have been planning an attack on ASZ behind his back. they simply let him know, this is his chance to prove himself to the reapers. he has to go along with the plan (or DIE!), but he hopes to be Alexandrians' inside man, helping them protect their family at all costs (ironically, exactly what Negan did when he joined the whisperers and they attacked Hilltop... just not the same motivation! i guess Carol wasn't so wrong about Negan after all!)

at night, Daryl puts on his reaper costume and they head to ASZ. reapers learned the location of the place by tracking dog. the plan was much bigger and more explosive than Daryl expected, the reapers destroy a big part of ASZ brand new rebuilt wall and set fire to a bunch of houses and the mill before Daryl can even react.

Alexandrians and reapers fight as Daryl sneaks out to lead the kids to safety. he finds Maggie, asks for Carol, and is glad she is out there looking for him, relatively safe, rather than around to fight and watch ASZ fall.

while out looking for Daryl, Carol hears the explosions, sees the fire and she and dog return to ASZ as fast as they can. they are greeted by Leah at what used to be front gate...

i realize this is getting extremely long, so i'll just say that i absolutely don't want Carol to have anything to do with Leah's possible imminent death. i don't want that guilt on her conscience, and i don't want her to feel like Leah is just another person she took from Daryl (like Connie!). i don't even want Leah to die! unless she's trying to hurt or kill Daryl.

somehow i think it would be a good twist, if for a quick second Carol thought Daryl had betrayed them and joined the reapers for Leah. of course, Carol knows better. SHE KNOWS DARYL. he would never, but for a brief panicked moment, it would be good to see her react to that. i can only imagine the pain in her eyes. but she also trusts Daryl with her life.

we have no idea what Leah knows about Carol, but i'd like the pocketknife Daryl regifted to come back. how would Leah react? likely angry to see another woman with something that was hers. i want to believe Daryl would never tell Leah anything about Carol because she is just too important and too personal to share. but maybe Leah can tell there was someone else !? who knows.

i just want it to be completely clear Daryl is done with that part of his past. Daryl is not alone and lost in the woods anymore without his brother Rick and his bestie Carol. ever since Carol brought him back, Daryl has acted like he knows exactly what he wants and he's done playing games. and what he wants is not Leah or Connie. he wants for ALL his family to be safe and happy, and he wants to run away with Carol and see the world. AND i want both Carol and Daryl to feel free to be free and live freely.

as for the make up and make out part... (that's saved for 11b, hopefully!)

team family won, most of the reapers are dead, except for Leah. Daryl (with Carol's nod of approval!) decides to spare her, gives her some supplies and tells her to get lost. at the same time, Eugene arrives with the troopers from CommonWealth to help with the whisperer war. WHOOPS. 2 wars, 2 late, bruh! but the group leaves to join the good people at CW.

Carol and Daryl have a very long conversation about everything that happened and what they have been feeling. Daryl telling her exactly why he was so mad at her (she kept leaving, can't commit!), her actions (almost getting herself killed!) since Henry's death and how he needs her in his life. no matter how she sees herself or whether she thinks she's worthy or not, he just wants her to be there next to him for whatever is to come.

plus Carol realizing she needed to get closer and let people in without fear, not give up hope and actually fight for a better future for herself. and finally, admitting to Daryl that it was horrible to think he might've been gone forever, promising to never make him feel the way she felt. basically, a promise to never ever leave him again (cue to making out!)

#caryl #caryl rants #caryl predictions #carol peletier #daryl dixon #dog dixon #s11 spoilery #good lawd this is long af #did i go full td here?#or plausible possibility territory?#wishful thinking #speculation

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jango-fettish · 3 years

Text

The Ruler and the Killer (Syrena Aster x Sunburst Squadron)

Rating: R or M (I don’t know, yo)

Word Count: 7,376

Warnings: DEATH (there is character death in this you have been warned), canonical-type violence, cursing, the Heretics are meanie butt heads with meanie butt head rules, brief mention of a blowjob (im proud, i only used cock in this once), my possible typos and grammatical errors (please let me know if i should warn about anything else!!!)

A/N: Thanks to @jangofctts again for creating the Sunburst Squadron and letting me use them. And thank you for letting me kILL MAX. Also, thank you to @weebblossom for letting me steal your Heretic personality for Fenn.

Someone once told Syrena, when she was a young girl still surrounded by the loving embrace of her mother, that a person can be brought back to life just by remembering them. If that were true, Syrena had a long list of names she’d like to bring back. Most with a black check next to their name: the people she wanted to bring back just to kill all over again. People who deserved to die for a second time, like her mother who once held her so tightly to her chest and promised to love her till the end of time.

But there were a few she would bring back because, truthfully, they did not deserve to die. She shouldn’t have killed them and she would do anything to turn back the hands of time to fix her mistake...her error that resulted in the blood of an innocent spilled on her behalf. But like Death, Time was a fickle friend to Syrena and once something is done, there wasn’t enough money or praying in the world that she could do to change it.

Syrena frowned to herself, a dark unsettling feeling sinking in the pit of her stomach. It was the type of feeling someone wouldn’t want before they were about to commit a crime against the Republic. She’d had it once before, when she took her first solo job after her training finished. She had just turned sixteen. Three innocent people died that day, three names added to her list that she would bring back. Syrena looked around the ship, wondering if the others had the same feeling, but they were all preoccupied with checking their weapons on last time.

“What’s on your mind?” a sweet voice said, tearing Syrena away from her thoughts.

She looked up to see Nettie, a plucky Rodian that had a knack for getting too involved in other people’s business. Syrena supposed it fit: Nettie was a hacker, a damn good one too, so of course she would try to get as much information out of a person as possible as she did with a computer. Nettie’s bulbous black eyes stared down at Syrena, trying to silently unlock the secrets she held. They looked as if starlight was streaking through them. It made Syrena uncomfortable and only added to the unsettling feeling in her stomach, making it expand upward and try to claw its way out her throat.

Syrena had known Nettie for some time now, probably the most out of anyone on their four person team. They had been roommates during the beginning years of training, spending nearly six year stuck in the same small room together and trying to survive. Nettie was sweet and soft, everything a Heretic wasn’t supposed to be. They spent years whispering secrets and crying to one another, only letting the other person in. They were each other’s rock during those six years. The only reason why they went their separate ways was because they had to choose their speciality, to continue their training and become the deadly weapons the Heretics were known throughout the galaxy as. The Rodian chose technology and hacking, while Syrena stuck with combat and weaponry.

“All this trouble just for some information,” Syrena said, rubbing the palms of her hands on her thighs. The ship they were on lurched to the left again, the various weapons hanging from the walls clinging together. “Seems a little overkill to have four people for this.”

It was rare for there to be a mission that required more than just two Heretics. And even then, one was usually good enough. But for this specific mission, there were two teams of four. They didn’t even know what information they were after.

“Get in, get the information, get out. Kill anyone that gets in your way, if necessary,” the Creator had told them when giving the assignment. The Creator wanted everything, so they would get everything. The other team would take care of the distraction.

“Knowing your enemy from the inside out is the only true way of instilling fear,” Nettie said, slowly sliding into the open seat next to Syrena.

Syrena recoiled at her words, “Since when was the Republic our enemy? We haven’t chosen a side in over a millenia.”

“Perhaps our current Creator wishes to change that,” the Rodian pondered.

“‘Bout time, if you ask me,” another voice said, cutting through their conversation. The melodic tone clashed with Syrena’s patience like loud cymbals being beaten together over and over again. “The Republic has been taking advantage of the Heretics for decades now. Glad we finally have someone in charge that has a clear vision of what we should have always been.”

“Oh, piss off back to Dothomir, Fenn,” Syrena said, rolling her eyes. She leaned back and shut her eyes, barely catching the snarl form on the Zabraks face. “The Heretics shouldn’t take sides. We’re nothing more than the shadows that charge the wealthy bastards of the galaxy a bit too much to do their dirty work.”

“Rich coming from you, snake,” Fenn hissed, stepping closer to Syrena.

“You got something to say, Pointy? Say it.” Syrena’s eyes were still closed, but she could feel the heat and rage radiating off of the Zabrak.

“You’re fucking a clone. We all know it.”

Syrena’s eyes shot open into a glare, “Who I’m fucking isn’t anyone’s business, especially yours.”

“If it clouds your piss poor judgement on a job, then yeah it is my business.”

There was a shock of electricity throughout the cabin of the ship. In an instant, Syrena was on her feet, the blade she kept hidden in her wrist vambrace shot out and pressed against the Zabrak’s neck. Fenn, for all of her faults, was just as quick as Syrena. Her own vibroblade was pointing upwards against Syrena’s stomach. One movement from either of them would result in a painful and bloody death. They were snarling at each other, animalistic noises coming from their throats.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Alyze said.

Alyze was one of the oldest Heretics. They were well respected in the community and had a favorable opinion with the Republic after helping to train the clone ARC Troopers at the beginning of the war. It was a well paying gig, one any Heretic would jump to take. But Alyze was the best choice for the job.

Syrena and Fenn continued glaring at each other. Syrena pressed the knife harder onto Fenn’s skin, satisfied when the Zabrak winced at the sting of the freshly sharpened blade. Alyze finally stepped close to the two, wanting the situation to diffuse. If Alyze was in a worse mood, they would have physically stopped the encounter, but their thoughts and care were focused on the mission.

“I said enough,” Alyze barked, their irritation with the two smaller women growing, “We’re almost at the drop location. Get your heads out of your asses and get ready for deployment.”

Fenn hissed at Syrena before drawing her vibroblade away. Syrena could only laugh to herself as she retracted her blade. It slowly slid back into its secret compartment.

“Unless your mouth is the one on my pussy, shut the fuck up about who I’m sleeping with, got it?” Syrena warned. Fenn went back to her seat, keeping her glare on Syrena.

Syrena approached Nettie again, holding onto one of the overhanging bars. The closer the ship got to the drop point, the bumpier it became.

“Fenn has a point you know,” Nettie said, looking up at Syrena. “Your infatuation with the clone could be detrimental to this and future missions. I give it a 88% chance of failing and resulting in the death of the clone or yourself.”

“Nettie, can you just,” Syrena sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “just not be a know-it-all right now.”

“Interesting, though, how they are allowing this relationship to continue.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The powers that be. The Creator. Myrkos.” Syrena frowned at the mention of her old Master. “They stopped Alyze’s relationship with that Jedi on Kamino before it became....a hindrance to the Creator’s objective.”

“Well clearly they don’t think that this is anything more than me screwing around.”

“For now,” Nettie said, her voice sounding far away. “Though, you have been put in their favor since you provided the intel on when the troopers change their shifts, giving us the perfect opportunity to drop in. Does your clone know that you used him for information? Is that the type of bedroom talk you can get out of him? Impressive.”

“Nettie, just...just shut up, please.”

“My apologies, no harm intended,” Nettie said with a smile.

She was beginning to make Syrena feel uneasy, and rather guilty. She had gotten the information out of Bruiser during one of their more...intimate encounters, but he didn’t have to spill the beans. It was his choice to tell her, his choice to trust her even though she had warned him not to.

“Syrena,” Nettie began again, “I don’t know what gods you pray to or if you even believe in any. But you better hope that they are on your side. Who knows exactly what would happen should you lose favor with them. Or worse, lose favor with the Creator.”

“Let’s go,” Alyze interjected before Syrena could fully process what Nettie had said, “we’re at the drop zone.”

Getting into the Republic military outpost on Coruscant was easy, especially with the knowledge Syrena had provided regarding trooper shift changes. In the end, it was an easy drop, with a quick landing on the roof before the four of them got in through the ventilation system. Surely by now the Republic would learn to get smaller vents.

“It changes all the time,” Bruiser had said to her in confidence, his words breathy as her tongue swirled around the head of his flushed leaking cock. “Never know until, oh kriff, never know until we’re called.”

She only hoped that they weren’t stationed there today. She usually warned Bruiser if she was involved in any unsavory Heretic business. Though it was typically only a, ‘Hey I’m arriving in like five minutes to fuck shit up, see you then,’ type of warning. But five minutes was better than nothing.

“Syrena,” Alyze harshly whispered, pulling her out of her memories, “Get your head in the fucking mission.”

“Sorry,” Syrena mumbled, checking the hallway for the third time to see if anyone was coming.

They just needed to clear one more hallway before they made it to the main room containing anything and everything regarding the Republic’s Military Intelligence. Just two more blast doors and then the easy part would come. Nettie was ready, her gear already hooked into the security system and working on encoding the firewalls.

“Their systems are as protected as this building,” Nettie scoffed sarcastically. “Ray shields are down, we can proceed.”

“Good, let's get this shit over with,” Fenn said, walking down the hallway with her blaster drawn.

Alyze and Nettie trailed behind her, their own weapons at the ready. Syrena, however, looked back the way they came, the unsettling feeling rising once again. She could feel the Force stirring ominously, hear the way the electricity cackled throughout the walls. Something was terribly wrong, but Syrena had no idea what it was or if she could do anything about it.

“Syrena,” Nettie said. Syrena turned, almost slamming straight into the Rodian, “Let’s go.”

Syrena nodded shortly, following the shorter woman carefully down the hallway. Her nerves were on high alert and she couldn’t read the energy in the Force anymore.

They got into the room quickly, Nettie making her way to the main computer to set up her gear.

“Syrena, you stay here with Nettie, make sure everything goes alright. Fenn and I will scout the hallways,” Alyze ordered before looking at the spunky Zabrak, “We’re here to incapacitate only. I don’t care what the Creator said, I don’t want any unnecessary deaths.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Fenn whined, “If you ask me, the only good clone is a dead one.”

“It’s a good thing no one asked you,” Alyze snapped before looking to Syrena, “Lock the doors behind us.”

Syrena nodded, sending a seething glare towards Fenn. She truly would not care if something happened to Fenn during this mission. If she had the opportunity to, Syrena was sure she would just step to the side and let blaster fire turn the Zabrak to dust.

She watched as Fenn stalked back into the hallway, putting her brass knuckles on. Syrena had been on the receiving end of one of Fenn’s beat downs. She knew the power and aggression behind Fenn’s hits and only hoped that whoever would be receiving them today truly deserved it. Alyze grabbed Syrena by the arm, pulling her close to their side.

“You need to promise me something,” they said, their dark box braids brushing against Syrena’s forearm, “I need you to be one of us if your clone and his friends are the ones here. I need you to remember who you are.”

Syrena looked up at Alyze, their dark eyes boring into her own pink ones, “You ever regret it? Letting them determine who you could be with or love, like a good little Heretic?”

Syrena’s words cut through the air, her accusatory tone causing Alyze to recoil. They dropped Syrena’s arm, “You’re the reason why we are here, Syrena. Don’t forget that.”

Syrena watched Alyze follow Fenn out the door, a small twinge of regret surging through her bones before she shut and locked the blast doors.

******

“How long until we are back online?” Commander Fox asked into his commlink, his station in a frenzy since they were locked out of the security system. He had taken a small group of troopers, along with Commander Blanche and most of the Sunburst Squadron, to go hall by hall, looking for the intruders. Two of the members were needed elsewhere.

“Won’t know for awhile, sir,” the trooper on the other end responded. “We keep coming across more and more viruses.”

“Can you tell me anything?” Fox asked exasperated.

“Got a good photo of the perps. It’s ‘bout 20 minutes old, can’t confirm where inside they are. Forwarding to you now, sir.”

He looked back to Commander Blanche, signaling for him to come over. With a long stride, Blanche made his way to Fox, speaking once he got close enough, “I think it’s best if we split up, my squad will head to the east while yours goes west. Cover more ground that way.”

“I agree,” Fox said with a nod. In an instant a hologram photo was pinged to his wrist link. “These are who we are dealing with. Their running facial recognition now.”

Blanche took a long look at the hologram, his face dropping into a frown as he recognized one of the faces, “Dank farrik, Heretics. We need more troopers.”

“Well that explains the other attack,”Fox said to himself. “Working simultaneously.”

“Other attack?” Blanche asked.

“Another group of four, what I’m assuming now, Heretics bombed a hospital. Thorn has the rest of my men and the 104th to help with the wreckage. 212th are trying to track them down.” Fox looked back to his wrist link, the blue hued photo flickering as the communication systems surged. He had dealt with Heretics before, lost men to them. They were feral and unyielding beings with no clear allegiance, which made them even more dangerous. “You recognize any of them?”

Blanche took a closer look at the hologram, his face dropping when he did recognize one of the small figures, “Syrena Aster. She’s, uh...helped us a few times, been against us more.”

If that were only the case. Blanche took a quick peek back at the rest of his men, his eyes settling on Bruiser’s large form before looking back at the hologram.

“Do you trust her?”

“I trust her about as far as I can throw her, and even then she’d probably turn around and stab me,” Blanche scoffed.

“Do any of your men trust her?”

Blanche was silent at this. It wasn’t a secret that Bruiser had some sort of relationship with the Heretic. Blanche and the General had both warned him against it, but Syrena had the heavy infantry trooper wrapped around her finger.

“We don’t know what they are after or who paid them to get it. I need to know if any of your men would hesitate at any moment with doing their job.”

“They’ll do their jobs,” Blanche snapped. “It’ll be fine.”

Fox paused for a moment before nodding curtly, “We’ll meet back here in 30 minutes if we don’t find anyone.”

“Got it,” Blanche said.

“And Commander,” Fox said, dropping the informal nature of their conversation, “If they went to where I think they were going, we can’t let them get away with that information. Engage if your team finds them, kill ‘em if necessary.”

Blanche nodded again, his hands clenching and unclenching. He turned away, stalking back to his team. His mind was a mess. It just had to be her with them, couldn’t have been some faceless Heretic that they didn't know. But this was Syrena and although most of the squadron found her just tolerable, there were others that liked her, that needed her.

“We know who we are dealing with, Blanchie?” Max asked. Just his soothing demeanor was enough to calm the Commander down.

“She’s short, blonde, and green,” Blanche said, “and more annoying than a Gungan.”

“Syrena’s not that annoying,” Max argued softly. Blanche could picture the smile on the sergeant’s face under the helmet. “Plus, she makes Bruiser happy.”

Blanche grimaced under his helmet, keeping a rather mean comment about how it was her mouth and cunt that made Bruiser happy, not Syrena herself. “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Max sighed. Maybe he was, but he’d rather believe that Syrena wasn’t as bad as everyone believed than condemn her to be just an evil seductress. He looked over to Bruiser, “You think he knows she’s here?”

“No,” Blanche admitted, watching as Bruiser checked over his Z-6 rotary blaster cannon, “And let's keep it that way for now.”

Max nodded stiffly. He didn’t like keeping things from his team members, especially something like this. Blanche maybe didn’t see it, but Max had noticed the way Bruiser and Syrena were around each other. How they seemed to be each other’s center of gravity. He heard the noises coming from Bruiser’s room and the soft words they whispered to each other. He knew he wasn’t the only one that saw their searing looks and secretive touches. It was like they were making sure that the other was actually real, that they weren’t just some spectral being about to fade into the ether.

The team moved out, Blanche only relaying that there were four possible perps: highly armed and highly dangerous. The hallways had been long abandoned, any officer or staff member told to evacuate the building when the alarms first went off. They went door to door, checking to see if anyone was hidden in the dark corners of unlit rooms.

Blanche realized as they passed another empty set of rooms that they had transitioned into the Naval Intelligence headquarters and were approaching the main intelligence room. All of the GAR’s battle strategies, outpost locations, and other important information was stored there.

“I hear something,” Jaws said, positioning himself behind a large column. He signaled for the others to find cover.

There was a large bang, like the sound of blast doors shut, followed by two bickering voices.

“You egg her on anymore and I’ll let her kill you,” one said.

“You would take that bitches side,” the other voice sneered, “You are both whores for Republic dogs.”

“Fenn,” the first voice dropped low and threatening, “if you speak to me that way again, I will tear your heart out of your chest and eat it before letting her finish you off.”

The troopers were silent as the footsteps of the Heretic’s retreated down another hallway.

“We need to get those blast doors open,” Blanche said.

“I can shoot at it?” Bruiser suggested, lifting the blaster cannon up a little.

Max shook his head, “Takes too long, buddy. I got some detonators, but I need to get closer.”

“Alright,” Blanche said with a nod, “Sweets, Fuse, Blue, you three stay here and watch our backs. They might find a way to circle around. Bruiser, Max, Jaws, and I will approach the doors. Has anyone heard from Kami or Void?”

“Kami said they shot down a ship that tried to escape to the lower levels, but can’t confirm who was in it or if it was even the one they were after,” Max said, “Void’s up in his arms in injuries.”

“Alright, let’s make this quick so we can rendezvous with the General and others,” Blanche ordered, getting his blaster at the ready. He hoped it would be quick and simple. He hoped Syrena would see them and somehow convince her team to just back off and leave.

But nothing was ever simple with Syrena.

The four of them slowly approached the blaster doors, their footsteps silent against the shiny floors, their warped reflections inching closer and closer to the intended target with each step. Blanche looked back for a moment, watching as Sweets, Fuse, and Blue’s figures got farther and farther away. The hallway seemed longer, more narrow, than it actually was. Blanche’s heart was racing, he could feel his hands and neck sweating the closer they got to the blast doors.

“Fenn, You hear that?” a voice said. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere as the crisp sound echoed off the hallways. The four troopers quickly took cover behind columns and sections of the wall that jutted out.

“No,” the second voice, Fenn, responded with a giggle, “but I can smell them. Looks like we’re going to have some fun after all, Alyze. Come out, come out wherever you are, boys. We just want to play.”

Fenn’s voice was melodic and sweet, almost like she was singing to them. She was the one to fire first, sending a scalding red blaster shot where Jaws’s head had been seconds before.

It happened all at once, blaster fire coming from both sides, igniting the hallway in angry flurries of red. It was so loud, so aggressive. The hallway flooded with smoke as the blaster fires sizzled and seared into the walls.

“One coming from our end!” Blue called into the commlink. “I repeat, one coming from our end.”

They had been able to find their way through the maze of hallways, with one Heretic approaching from the blast doors, while the other took charge from the other side. Though the Heretics were outmanned, their skills and ferocity made up for it.

Blanche heard a strangled cry before Blue’s voice echoed through the comms again, “Sweet’s been hit. He’s alright, just a shot to the shoulder. Can’t see the perp though.”

“Stop hiding!” Fenn’s teasing voice echoed above the blaster shots, “I want to play!”

Blanche turned to Max, “Are we close enough?”

Max peaked over the side of the wall, a blaster shot narrowly missing his head. It singed the cheek of his helmet, leaving behind a blackened streak of soot, “I can’t tell. Might get the door, might miss it. It’ll be a good distraction though.”

Blanche thought for a moment. They hadn’t seen or heard from Syrena. She was either inside of the room or Blanche had misidentified the person in the holophoto. He secretly hoped for the latter.

“Do it,” he ordered Max, “Get that kriffing door open.”

Max nodded, reaching to his side and taking out two thermal detonators. One was bound to hit the door, right? He pressed the bottoms on the top, making sure the red light was blinking before he crouched down. He swung his arm back, ready to release the detonators before Bruiser’s voice on the other side of the hallway made him hesitate.

“Syrena?” Bruiser called. He ceased fire as he saw Syrena appear from behind the blast doors.

“Wait, wait! Max, wait!” Blanche hurriedly said, looking down at Max.

But, it was too late.

The sudden change in order didn’t catch up fast enough with Max’s hand and one of the detonators was released, rolling down the hallway. He quickly shut off the other, the red light disappearing as it powered down. He let it drop to the ground in a thud. But the other one continued to make its way down the hallway right towards Syrena.

Max and Blanche both looked at each other, before looking back at the detonator. Max attempted to scramble forward to get it, but a blaster shot from Fenn forced him back. Blanche watched as Syrena’s face contorted from confusion to panic and she took in the scene before her. He realized she didn’t know they were the ones that would deal with the intruders.

She didn’t know.

“Oh no,” Max and Blanche whispered at the same time, as Syrena’s expression changed again to horror as the detonator rolled past her foot and into the room.

****

Syrena watched as Nettie continued to shift her way through the Republic firewalls, installing virus after virus so that they wouldn’t be able to stop her, while she simultaneously scoured through the information. It was taking the Rodian longer than expected to get to everything and scramble it to her server the created just for this. The uploading process was the longest, having to go through multiple security systems in order to begin the upload.

The two heard loud blaster shots coming from beyond the blast doors, ricocheting off of the thick metal with a booming twang. They had started only a minute ago, getting louder and louder as whoever was out there closed in.

“How much longer?” Syrena asked, stepping behind Nettie and looking over her shoulder. She scrunched her nose, unable to read the various symbols and numbers that Nettie was typing.

“This one file is giving me some issues,” Nettie said, her teeth gritting. “Go see if they need help.”

“Alyze told me to stay with you,” Syrena argued.

“I know what they said,” Nettie snapped. She clenched her fists once, taking a calming breathe, “Your energy is just too much for me to handle. Just go...I should be done any minute now.”

Syrena bit her lip, leaning back up and stepping away from the workstation. Nettie’s shoulders seemed to relax as the shadow of nervous energy retreated with Syrena.

Syrena clicked her wrist link, “What’s going on out there?”

“We’re taking on heavy fire. Hurry up in there,” Alyze answered.

“I’m opening the blast doors,” Syrena said. “Nettie’s almost done, we can hold up in here until she’s finished.”

“That’s a negative,” Alyze growled, “Don’t open the doors. That’s an order.”

“Oh, bite me,” Syrena quipped back.

She walked to the blast door, clicking the controls for them to open. As they slowly began to unlatch, that unsettling feeling settled in Syrena again. It was painful and tight, slowly swirling through her chest and stomach all the way to her fingers and toes. The door continued to open and Syrena ducked to evade a stray blaster fire.

“Syrena?” a familiar voice said, the booming sound muffled by the blaster fire.

She looked up, recognizing the voice. Realization slowly melted into her bones as she watched Alyze and Fenn fire at the Sunburst Squadron.

“Wait, wait!” a man hurriedly called out, “Max, wait!”

Syrena watched as the clone sergeant rolled a circular thermal detonator towards the opening door. It was like time had turned to cooling lava, thick and heavy and moving slowly, and all she could do was watch. Her breath hitched in her throat as it rolled past her feet and towards where Nettie was seated.

“Almost got it!”

“Nettie, move!”

Syrena and Nettie shouted at the same time, the Rodian not seeing the explosive stop just shy of her feet. Syrena began to rush forward, towards Nettie and the bomb.

The explosive went off and Syrena was launched out of the room in a burst of smoke and flames. Her head slammed against the metal floor and she felt a sharp pain through her side. Syrena could only hear the yells and screams of everyone around her before she succumbed to the darkness.

She woke up to Fenn screaming at someone to stay quiet, followed by a loud crunch. Her eyes shot open, realizing that they were back in the room her and Nettie had been in. Though, it looked nothing like the room anymore. It was like a bomb went off. Syrena slowly remembered that a bomb did go off.

Her eyes followed a body sized streak of blood leading from the blast doors right to where she was located, propped up against a cabinet. She was sure she would have remembered being dragged back into the room, but everything was a blur since the explosion. Syrena tried to take a deep breath, tried to blink away the black spots that clouded the edges of her vision, but her lungs stung. She sputtered out a cough, phlegm and blood dripping onto her chin as she took in her surroundings.

The tightness in her chest and burning in her lungs increased as she saw Nettie’s mangled and charred body lying peacefully on the ground. She was missing an arm and the lower half of her left leg. Syrena blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over as she was overcome with grief. She remembered letting Nettie expertly braid her hair when they were younger and the countless hours they spent consoling each other after a particularly rough day. She remembered her final goodbye as Nettie moved out of the tiny space they shared, the silent words of sisterly love and adoration for one another passed through the Force. And now, nothing. Nothing in the Force was signaling to her that her fellow Heretic...her friend was alive.

Syrena heard another one of Fenn’s engaged screams and she looked to the commotion. Alyze and Fenn, in their rage, had somehow managed to incapacitate every member of the Sunburst Squadron, bringing them to the center of the room and binding their hands together. Not all of them were awake and in her haziness, Syrena couldn’t tell who were the ones that were lying motionless on the ground. She could see the rise and fall of their chests, soothing the panic that rose. They were all alive.

But Nettie was dead.

“Syre, can you hear me? It’s Ja-”

“I said shut the fuck up!” Fenn screamed at the helmet clad trooper, her brass knuckle covered fist slamming to the side of his head. The plastoid cracked under her punch and his helmet was launched off his head.

Jaws.

“That’s enough,” Alyze said, cutting through Fenn’s rage. They were close to Syrena, hurriedly scouring through a medic bag.

Fenn growled something incoherent as a response. She gripped the collar of Jaws’s chest plate, dragging him over with the rest of the members. She wrapped a piece of fabric around Jaws’s mouth, mumbling how tired she was of his pleas and sobs.

As she blinked away the black spots, Syrena could make out the bruised and bloodied faces of those without helmets: Blanche, Max, Jaws, and Bruiser. Her heart clenched and she attempted to get up, but a sharp pain in her side stilled her movements.

Alyze bent down next to Syrena, grabbing the green woman’s face in their scarred hands, “How do you feel?”

“I can’t,” Syrena coughed out, bile rising in her throat, “I can’t fucking breath.”

She touched her chest and her stomach, her breath hitching once again when she felt a piece of smooth metal sticking out the side of her abdomen. She gripped the metal, yelling out in pain as it moved inside of her.

“Syrena,” Bruiser called, trying to break free from the restraints. Fenn hit him across the face, telling him to be quiet. It only caused Syrena to move around more, wanting to wrap her hands around the Zabrak’s throat and squeeze until the bones cracked.

“Calm down” Alyze said softly, their larger hand wrapping around Syrena’s.

“I have a fucking piece of metal sticking out of me, Alyze! I’m not going to be fucking calm,” Syrena growled, “Get this thing out of me so I can kill that bitch!”

“You always were so impatient.” Alyze rolled their eyes, “On the count of five, we’re going to take this out and then I’m going to stuff the wound with bacta and cover it. It’s not going to be pleasant.”

“You know what isn’t pleasant-” Syrena started, glaring at them.

“Will you hurry it up already?” Fenn snapped, interrupting Syrena, “We don’t have the time to diddle daddle around.”

Syrena took a deep breath in before looking at Alyze and nodding stiffly.

“Okay...one, two three-” Alyze ripped the piece of metal from Syrena’s abdomen, a thick river of blood running out of the wound.

“I thought you said on five!” Syrena snarled. She felt like her entire body was on fire as Alyze stuffed the wound with bacta. The pain was almost unbearable.

“You’ll live,” Alyze quipped.

They put one large bacta patch on top, covering the rest of the wound. With careful hands, Alyze wrapped gauze around Syrena’s abdomen and stomach, tying the ends tightly. It was already stained on the edges with her blood, but it would keep her alive until they found a doctor. Alyze slowly helped Syrena up, allowing her to lean against the cabinet. She would need help to get back to the ship, further setting them back. But Alyze couldn’t lose another person.

All three of their wrist links beeped, causing the Heretics to look at the notification, though Syrena’s movements were lethargic and slow. Nettie had done it: the last of the information had been uploaded to their server.

“Let’s go,” Alyze ordered, wrapping their arm around Syrena’s middle, “Leave them here.”

Alyze began to take their first steps forward before Fenn’s growling voice stopped their movements.

“We can’t leave yet. We have rules for situations like this Alyze.”

Alyze shut their eyes tightly and cursed under their breath. They hoped that the surprise of the explosion and the news that they successfully completed their mission would be enough. But Fenn liked to follow the rules and was stubborn enough to risk them getting captured to see them through.

Alyze gazed down at Syrena, expecting her to make some sort of sarcastic remark, but she was silent. They had seen Syrena take worse hits and injuries. Kriff, Alyze had been the one doing the damage to the shorter woman a few times. But here, as she leaned against Alyze’s body, it looked like Syrena was about to fall to the ground dead. She wasn’t even looking at Fenn. Her pink serpent-like eyes were bleak and focused entirely on the clone troopers kneeling by Fenn’s feet.

“This is the one that did it,” Fenn said, standing behind Max and pushing him forward. He fell hard onto his hands.

“We don’t have time for this,” Alyze tried to argue.

“Well, make time!” Fenn yelled, “Nettie is dead because of him. Syrena is injured. He needs to die.”

Blanche, Bruiser, and Jaws all protested at once, Jaws’s voice muffled by the gag.

“Please,” Blanche pleaded, his lip split and left eye swelling from Fenn’s beating, “Please, I’m the one that gave the orders. Leave him.”

“Blanche,” Max said softly.

“No! Just-just shut up, Max.” Blanche looked to Alyze. “Take me instead.”

“We are not as lawless as you might believe, clone,” Alyze said, “We do follow a code. You may have said the orders, but your hand was not the one that released the detonator.”

“I’ll do it,” Fenn said, taking her vibroblade out.

“No.” Alyze looked from Max to Syrena. “Syrena has to be the one to do it.”

“What? No,” Bruiser said harshly, “No she isn’t doing anything. Syre...tell them you aren’t doing anything.”

“You can’t be serious, Alyze,” Fenn scoffed, “She doesn’t have it in her. She’s grown soft. If anything, we should tell Myrkos when we get back and have her sent to the Pit or, better yet, decommissioned.”

Syrena was still silent. Her gaze went from the Sunburst Squadron to Nettie’s body. She wished she had been quicker to realize what was happening, faster on her feet. She was a Heretic for crying out loud, she could have Force pushed Nettie out of the blast area. But she was too focused on the Sunburst Squadron, too focused on worrying about their safety. In that moment, she allowed them to make her forget who she was and it cost her friend her life.

“She is the only survivor of the attack,” Alyze explained, “She knows the rules, a life for a life, and she will follow them.”

“Syrena, please,” Blanche begged.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered, her eyes tearing from Nettie to Max. All she could think of when she saw him was her failures. Her failure to keep Nettie alive and her failure to keep the Sunburst troopers safe and out of Heretic politics. She didn’t want any of this, but it was happening and she couldn’t stop it.

A cacophony of no’s and pleas came from the clone troopers as they all tried to break free of their constraints. Fenn backhanded Blanche, causing him to stagger to the side. He spit out to the side, a mixture of his blood and salvia splattering against the concrete floor.

As Syrena staggered towards Max, Blanche and Bruiser continued to plead with her, offering their life in exchange for his. It was a noble appeal really, but Syrena knew that it wouldn’t meet the most rigid law of the Heretics. And she knew Max wouldn’t allow it to happen; he wouldn’t let one of his brother’s suffer a gruesome fate for something he did. He took a life, so he would pay for it with his own.

Syrena didn’t want him to die. She knew Max, knew the kind of person he was. He was kind, almost to a fault. He was nice and welcoming to her the moment they met, something not even Bruiser had been.

But rules were rules and Syrena was ready to follow them. She would be the one to watch the light leave his eyes, to feel his last breath waft against her face, to add him to her list of lives that she wished she could bring back.

She would be his murderer.

Syrena slowly kneeled in front of Max, ignoring the searing pain in her side. She blocked out the room, shutting out Blanche and Bruiser’s cries and Fenn’s yells for them to be quiet. She focused entirely on Max, taking in how he had sat back on his knees, his shoulders slumped forward and into himself. He hadn’t looked up since Fenn had brought him forward. His eyes were locked on Nettie’s body, and Syrena could see a few tears begin to stain his tanned, flushed cheeks. She reached out and touched one of them, rubbing the tear between her fingers.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he whispered softly to her. “I didn’t mean-I didn’t want to kill anybody.”

“I know,” she replied, her hand moving to rest on his shoulder. “You understand that I have to do this.”

He finally looked up at her, a small warm smile appearing on his face, “Yeah…It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright.” Syrena couldn’t help the way her voice broke, as she settled her other hand on his other shoulder. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “Are you?”

“Terrified.”

Max nodded back to Bruiser, “Take care of him will you? Take care of all of them. They need someone to keep them on their toes.”

“Can hardly take care of myself,” she replied with a small smile.

“You aren’t as bad as you think you are, you know? I can see it in your eyes.”

Blanche’s broken voice cut through the air, “Please, Syrena. Please don’t kill him. I’m begging you.”

She could hear the sobs he tried to hold back. She wouldn’t look at Blanche or the others. She couldn’t. So instead, she let her pain and anger take over, allowing the Dark Side to wash through her system and act as a crutch. Syrena didn’t want to feel this.

Max turned his head, his sweet smile still on his face as he looked at Blanche, “It’s okay Blanchie, I got this.”

His last syllables were short and stuttered as the hidden knives in Syrena’s wrist vambraces sprung out, sinking deep into his chest. Bruiser and Jaws choked out sobs, their cries flooding the room as they were unable to form words. And Blanche. Blanche was beyond broken.

Max turned his head back to Syrena. She had gotten him in the weak points of his armor, piercing down into his heart. She watched, her face expressionless, as his sweet face, still smiling softly at her, became still as he slumped onto the ground. His wonderfully warm eyes faded into nothingness.

A life for a life.

“NO!” Blanche screamed, trying in vain to get up. All he saw was red, all he felt was pure agony and hatred as Syrena slowly pulled her hands back, revealing the red covered blades. “No!”

Fenn put her vibroblade to his neck, “You clones just don’t know when to shut up do you?”

“Back off Fenn,” Syrena said weakly, unable to tear her eyes from Max’s body. She hurt all over and her side stung.

“Maybe I’ll have to make you shut up,” Fenn laughed, ignoring Syrena.

“I said back off!” Syrena shouted, Force pushing Fenn away from Blanche and the others. She was on her feet in an instant, ignoring the dizzying pain on her side and head. “We got what we came here for, now let’s go.”

“Syrena’s right. They’ll be fully online and operational soon,” Alyze said.

Fenn grumbled curses under her breath before putting away her vibroblade. She bent down and picked up Nettie’s body, slinging it over her shoulder with ease. They would need to give her a proper burial, a Heretic’s goodbye.

She stopped by the Sunburst Squadron on her way to the blast doors, sneering at them. She was enjoying their pain. Enjoying how they seemed unable to process what happened. Bruiser and Jaws cried for their fallen brother as Sweets and Void began regaining consciousness. What a sight to wake up to: the body of their beloved sergeant dead in front of them and a seething Blanche.

Fenn grabbed Max’s helmet from the ground, tossing it once in the air before smiling ruefully at Syrena, “A nice trophy, don’t you think?”

Before Syrena had the chance to lunge at her, Alyze wrapped their large arm around Syrena’s middle again to keep her from falling. She hadn’t even realized that she was losing balance. Her wound needed immediate medical attention.

Syrena didn’t look at the Sunburst Squadron as the three Heretics made their way out of the room. She didn’t watch as they scrambled to Max’s side, didn’t see Blanche’s binded hands grab his face. She tried to block out their cries and broken Mando’a, but their words and pleas for Max to wake up invaded her mind. It would be the sounds to haunt her dreams for the rest of time.

Alyze pressed the button on the controls for the blast doors, the heavy metal doors slowly shutting behind them to lock the clone troopers in the room. Syrena, with the last of her fleeting strength, waved her hand, sending a burst of Force energy to the troopers. All at once, their bindings fell to the ground, allowing them to hold each other and hold Max.

The blast doors closed with a loud bang and all Syrena felt was pain and regret.

#pain just pain #im glad to get this out #i couldnt look at it anymore #i hate it #but whatever #syrena aster #sunburst squadron #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fanfiction #oc clones

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fanfic-she-wrote · 3 years

Text

The Resurrection of Dracula: Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It was early morning when Charlie dropped off the truck where Ben used to live. That way they couldn't trace the truck back to him when the cops eventually went looking.

He sat for a moment staring into the rear-view mirror. He felt exhausted, practically on the brink of collapse. The past few days he had so little sleep and it had begun to show. He noticed that dark circles had begun to form around his eyes giving them a sunken appearance.

He leaned his head back against the seat and let out a forelorn sigh. Only a few hours ago, Ben had been alive sitting in the very seat beside him. Now he was gone. Ben wasn't his best friend, in fact he didn't like how much he drank or how he relentlessly made a pass at anything that moved, but did he really deserve such a fate?

Why then was he so determined to help you and Dracula? He was so confused. He could very well have been under your control, but was he really? What he was doing now certainly didn't seem like it. Deep down, he found that it wasn't even about you. It had always bothered him about how secretive his family was. Why he never knew till now, but as he fell deeper into the rabbit hole, he found still more secrets waiting to be uncovered.

"I'm sorry Ben." He whispered to the air as he hid the keys on top of the sun visor and climbed out of the truck. Somewhere he hoped Ben heard him and understood. It wasn't his fault...

He then got on his bike, revved up the engine, and took off toward home. As he stopped at a light, he checked his watch. By the time, he got home his mother would be at work. Which was just fine. It gave him enough time to do what he needed to without her interference.

He pulled up into the driveway and ran up the stairs. The lights were off, which meant she wasn't home as he expected. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. How quiet it was, Charlie noticed as he made his way to the library.

He had to find out what Lorrimer was working on before he died. Surely, he had to have something written down somewhere.

He went over to the desk and began carefully searching through the doors for anything that had the name Carmilla written on it. When he didn't find anything on the desk he searched through the bookshelf, pulling out each book as he went. Still nothing. He stood in the middle of the room feeling frustrated. Somehow he had a feeling his great grandfather had found out about Carmilla and had planned to destroy her. If she was anything like you had described she was certainly a force to be reckoned with and even as experienced as Lorrimer was, he didn't stand a chance.

Annoyed, he kicked the side of the desk making a loud thud noise as the wood collided with the side of his shoe.

"Charlie? What are you doing?" A voice said from behind him. He turned around and saw his mother standing there, wearing a very concerned expression on her face.

"Mum? I thought you were at work." He said sounding surprised. Had she been there the whole time?

"It's my day off." She told him, stepping into the room. "Charlie, I don't know what's going on with you lately, but you're worrying me."

"I'm fine, mum." He quickly lied with a shrug.

"Charlie, I won't get mad if you'll just tell me what's going on." She assured him.

"Nothing is going on." He lied again, looking away, unable to stare her in the eye.

"I know something is wrong that you're not telling me. You can trust me. What did you do?" She questioned further, hoping he would give in.

"Nothing! Will you leave me alone?!" He finally snapped, pushing past her, but she grabbed him by the wrist stopping him in his tracks.

"It's Dracula isn't it?! You've brought him back." She accused, becoming angry.

"So what if I have?!" Charlie yelled back, pulling his arm away.

"Why? Didn't you understand anything you read about him?" Jessica asked, her heart sinking.

"I did." He answered, annoyed that she thought him incompetent.

"Then why did you bring him back?"

"I found something...or rather someone. I found his wife." Charlie revealed.

"His wife?!" She exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes, it was in Lawrence Van Helsing's journal. I found the map that lead to the spot where he cruelly hid her away for the past 128 years!" He explained. She fell silent, unsure what to answer.

"Why would he do that?" She asked.

"Lawrence Van Helsing thought she was committing murders when it was actually a woman named Carmilla. I had hoped to find some information on her. I think that's why your grandfather went missing. He must have found out about her." Charlie went on. Jessica's head began to swirl. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Did he tell you anything or write anything down somewhere?" He asked her, but she quickly changed the subject.

"Charlie, why are you helping them? They are evil. Our family has spent centuries fighting them." She said trying to reason with him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"They didn't deserve what happened to them. They're innocent. You didn't see what I saw tonight. They love each other."

"Dracula wasn't so innocent when he tried to make me like him and when he tried to bring about an apocalypse!" She hollered angrily at him, the memories flooding back of that terrible night. The flames...lying on the sacrificial slab, Dracula standing over her...

"What?!" Charlie gasped, taken aback.

"Yes, it was the 70s. Your great grandfather and I just managed to escape and kill him." She finally blurted out, a tear trickling down her face.

Charlie shook his head. He just couldn't believe that. Why should he believe her after everything? All the lies...all the secrets.

"Charlie you have to stop before it's too late!" She begged him.

"No I won't! This family has had too many secrets for too long. I will fix this...for everyone, whether you will help me or not." He vowed, pulling away from her and starting towards the door.

"Charlie! Wait!" She called out. He stopped and turned to face her. "You're right. I'm sorry. I thought that by keeping things from you, you would be safe." She let out a sigh. He was so much like Lorrimer, it was almost like they were the same person.

"Then please, help me. I want to make things right." Charlie pleaded.

Finally, she gave in and said, "I remember him saying something about a Carmilla just before he died." Jessica looked up at the ceiling trying to remember what it was. "Something about a nightclub...Renfield's I think it was called. I didn't think it was important at the time so I just forgot about it." She remembered. "I don't know how the two are connected though." She added with a shrug.

"Thanks!" Charlie exclaimed, an excited gleam in his eye at this new piece of information.

"Charlie, I know you think the Draculas are innocent, but they could just as easily kill you without a second thought. They're not ones to cross." Jessica warned him.

"I know. I'll be careful." He promised with a reassuring smile. She walked over to him, pulling a chain off her neck as she went.

"Take this. Just in case." She said, handing him a silver cross.

"Thank you." He put it on and tucked it underneath the collar of his shirt, giving it a quick tap.

"I'll let you know if I find anything else about Carmilla." She told him. Even though she was worried, at least she knew what he was doing, and maybe he was actually on to something...

Later that night, Charlie returned to the manor. He found you and Dracula in the parlor attempting to clean up some of the disrepair.

"I think I've found something." Charlie abruptly told them upon entering the room.

"What?" You asked, intrigued. Grateful to take a break, feeling overwhelmed by all the mess.

"Before my great grandfather, Lorrimer, died," he began. "He told my mum something about Carmilla and a place called Renfield's."

"Renfield's?" Dracula asked, tilting his head curiously.

"It's a nightclub in London." Charlie answered.

"It's not much, but it's a start. I think it's time we finally pay her a little visit." Dracula said turning to you.

"That's what I thought you'd say." Charlie remarked, pulling his backpack from over his shoulder and opening it. "I bought you guys these. I guessed at the sizes. Hope they fit." He handed you and Dracula each a small pile of clothes.

"I think our clothes are just fine." Dracula refused, handing them back.

Charlie let out a small frustrated sigh, pushing them back. "No offense, but they're a bit outdated, especially for the place we're going." He explained. You exchanged a worried look with your husband before reluctantly changing into your new clothes. You hadn't liked the clothes you had seen so far and were nervous.

"I look absurd!" Dracula exclaimed folding his arms, shooting a displeased look at Charlie.

"I don't know, dear. I kinda like it!" You told him as you looked him up and down, your brow raised. Charlie snorted realizing where your eyes were looking.

He wore a black leather jacket, a black button up shirt which was slightly left upon at the top, form fitting black jeans, and boots.

"As long as you like it..." He mumbled squirming uncomfortably in his tight jeans.

As for you, you wore a small jacket and a black low cut long sleeve shirt with the sleeves cut at the shoulders, a choker, tight black leggings, and black knee high boots.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Although I would much rather you not wear that around...others." Dracula admitted.

"Jealous, my dear?" You teased with a smirk.

"Yes." He replied in a husky voice, grabbing you by the waist, pressing your body against his. "Don't forget you're mine." As if he had to remind you.

"Don't worry. I won't." You reassured him as you stroked his hair through your fingers. He leaned down to kiss you, but Charlie interrupted.

"Sorry, but we only have so much time." He awkwardly reminded you. Dracula let out a groan and released you.

"We'll do this later." You quietly told him, feeling slightly disappointed as you followed Charlie out the door.

"I took my mum's car." He said, unlocking it. Dracula opened the door for you. You excitedly got inside and looked around.

"Look Vlad! There's no horses." You exclaimed. Dracula chuckled. How cute you were.

"I know. Wonderful isn't it?" You nodded your head in agreement.

"You guys ready?" Charlie asked, starting up the car.

"As ready as I'll ever be." You replied.

"To Renfield's then."

#good stuff coming in the next chapter #😉#dracula x reader #x reader #reader insert #christopher lee #hammer dracula

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southslates · 3 years

Text

leave our lovers / ao3 / 2209 words / one-shot / post-canon / kanej / rated T / tw major character death & suicide attempt

He had been waiting at the docks.

He always was. The routine was that she’d pull up and he’d wait on the docks and then she would try to sneak up on him, but he’d see her and pull away. And then they’d hold hands, or hug, or kiss on the cheek. Depending on the year.

It’d been six years. Kaz thought he might be able to manage the lips today. He’d practiced, thought through the moment, the motions. He would do it—he would kiss the love of his life as she returned today, and he’d feel peace. Her last letter had come a week ago and she’d told him that she wasn’t sure how many journeys she had left at sea. She’d done her work cleaning the oceans out of slavers and set up a network of ships that were doing the job as well. Perhaps just another year or two, she’d written, and then I will spend my time with my family and in Kerch, of course.

It had been an opening. That was what Inej had written; what she had meant was commitment. She had told him I am going to stay with you and not leave you. She had told him I am never yours but I will keep coming back. She had listed out plans about what she would do with the children she collected on her travels, the schools and orphanages she wanted to run under the Dregs’ protections. She’d not even questioned his support.

Kaz and Inej were partners, after all. Sometimes he felt as though he’d left the beating part of his cold heart out on the ocean with her. When she came back he felt as though he was reunited with his soul.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to see the fluttering of red in her cheeks, he wanted to hear that magical laugh as she pulled back from him; she’d ask really Kaz, you’re doing this here, or perhaps, I love you.

He’d never said the words but he wanted to. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore—he wanted a future. He was pulling the Dregs into a legitimate business, he was ruling the Slat and half the Financial District. He was in good books with the Fjerdan and Ravkan governments. This country was his. He wanted to be hers.

Her ship rounded the horizon and his breath caught.

It was minutes later that Kaz realized something was wrong. There was a somber look about the crew on deck. Inej normally wasn’t on top, but quite a few of her hands were, and none were. He ran scenarios through his mind and tried to wonder what could have occurred—perhaps the ship was slightly wrecked? The Wraith looked fine to him, but he was no sailor. He hated the sea.

The boat docked. He held his cane carefully out and turned a cold-eye to Specht. “What’s occurred?”

“Sir . . .” Specht choked. He looked right into Kaz’s eyes—nobody ever did that. “Sir . . .”

Something terrible, dark, indescribable—something like Jordie—fell into the pits of Kaz’s stomach. “Specht?” he croaked in his rasp.

Inej had usually attempted to sneak up on him by this time. He could see her. Ever since that first night at the Menagerie he’d always been able to feel her, thrumming around him, comforting. He couldn’t feel her.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Specht choked. “I’m so, so sorry.”

On the ship’s deck, two of the burly hands pulled a body—clothed in cotton, wrapped in sheets—out from below deck.

Kaz could make out a braid.

Kaz turned and walked away.

When was the last time Kaz Brekker had cried?

Perhaps about Jordie, all those years ago. All those fucking years ago. And now the Reaper’s Barge was streaming down his face. He went back to the Slat and dragged himself up all of the stairs—his newest office was Per Haskell’s, on the bottom floor, but he still kept the one in the attic. It was their room. He picked the door open and then opened it and slid against it and looked at the window.

He could see her there, feeding the crows. Laughing, smiling, facing him. Come on, Kaz. I know they’ll love you. Living things hate me. I don’t hate you. Thank you, darling. She’d been magic. He’d felt it all drain from him—money, vengeance, Jordie’s voice. He’d been surrounded by nothing but her.

Kaz sat against his door and he didn’t move. He cried. He’d made his bed in this room for her last night. The cabinet at the side had some of her clothes. He had her toothbrush. They hadn’t made it that far but they’d been able to sleep in a bed across from each other, holding hands, waking up to see each other.

He'd never kissed her.

He’d never told her he loved her.

And now she was—

Kaz got up. He walked to his desk and took out a pen and a piece of paper and he wrote to Nina. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Can you come? Can you give me one more chance? Can I—

He threw it into the trash. He swallowed. He knew Nina couldn’t bring back the dead. He needed to tell Inej that he loved her. What if she hadn’t known? Why hadn’t he told her before? You are so weak, Kaz Brekker. What kind of man couldn’t tell his girl what she meant to him? And now she was gone.

Now everything was gone. Something knocked at his door. Someone called for him. Jesper or Wylan. Kaz could only see hazily. His locks would hold them. He reached for his safe and pulled out a stack of letters. I think the Slat gets cold, she’d written, wouldn’t your leg fare better in another part of town? She’d written: do you think we could stay in another district, Kaz? Do you think we could ever be more than Dirtyhands and his Wraith?

“Yes,” he said aloud. He had never spoken to Jordie’s ghost, nor his father’s or mother’s. This felt the same and different. He wondered if she was here with him. Would she be with him?

Jesper was pounding at his door. “Kaz!”

He read the letter. He read the letter a thousand times. He soaked up everything. I think I’ve grown a fondness for paintings from Shu Han. They have such an interesting quality to them. He’d stolen one from a mercher’s house two days ago. It was rolled up under his bed. The opposite of Heleen, if you will. There’s so much terrible in the world. I haven’t kept in much contact with Zoya. Let me know how she is when you get back, of course. I miss your terrible stew. Do you think we could visit Ravka next summer? I think if all goes well I’ll have three months at home.

She’d signed off: Yours, Inej.

Kaz read the letter a thousand times, a million. He read it until those words were imprinted in his mind. Then he threw it out his window and watched it fall. Then he fell.

“You need to tell her parents,” Wylan said gently. Kaz sat still. He felt glassy. He hadn’t moved in hours. “We can push off the ceremony till they come. She said she wanted to be cremated and then placed into Fifth Harbor."

Kaz’s voice did not creak. “She said?”

Wylan nodded. Then he handed Kaz a piece of paper, something limp, a page broken off a map. “Specht said this was for you. They didn’t open it.”

Kaz took it and kept staring forward. Wylan took in a deep breath. “I’d ask if you’re okay.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I can only imagine. What do you need?”

“Merchlings to leave me alone.”

Wylan left the study and turned to look at him with a sad frown. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kaz. It’s not what she would have wanted.”

Kaz Brekker always had a reason. It was how he’d built the Slat from nothing.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason.

I coddle my grudges, Kaz thought. He was in his room. He stared into the mirror and then at his hands. They were ungloved, pale and clean and dirty. I treat them with respect and let them have minds of their own. I let justice right itself.

He could almost see a face in the mirror, behind him, cloaked. He wanted to turn to her, to see Inej. She wasn’t coming back. Why did you leave me here? a part of him thought. I’m alone. What do I do now?

He had nobody left. Not that he wanted anybody. He looked into the mirror and saw something else behind him. He was not alone.

Death serves no man, Jordie had said. Kaz had proved him wrong, or thought he had.

“I won,” he said into the mirror, at the ghost behind him who wasn’t there. “Greed bows to me, and death will too. I won. There has to be a way. If I won then, I can find a way now. You’re with me. Let her be with me.”

“I am not her. That wasn’t the fight. You know it.”

Some part of Kaz had always known that he would come out of his youth unscathed. He could say that in retrospect, but he genuinely felt it—luck, risks, the cards were on his side of the game. He didn’t believe in gods, but perhaps something—someone—had been watching over him. Or perhaps he’d truly mastered the art of thinking ten steps before everyone else, of trading in information. Perhaps he was human and it was all his mind. But Dirtyhands could not bring back the dead.

“Yes it was,” he said. The shade behind him laughed. Jordie was always so cruel to him.

“Oh, no,” it crooned. “You have not won. You will be alone always and then you will die. Death serves no man, Kaz Rietveld.”

Inej’s parents came. Kaz didn’t talk to them. He had no words to say. He watched her cremation from a roof.

He had the paper in his pocket. He hadn’t read it. If he was to open it, it would be the end. There would be no coming back.

He opened it. It had four words. He closed it and tucked it into his shirt’s pocket. His breath caught for a final time. He jumped off the roof and his knee buckled. He had been next to this same building when he’d heard Inej’s cries and gone to pick her up six years ago. He’d called her an investment. He choked. He saw Inej’s parents release her into the ocean. He went back to the Slat.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He ignored Anika and Pim. He went to his room and sat at his window. He reached under his bed and threw the Shu painting out of the window. He made sure Inej’s side of the bed was neat. He opened his cabinet’s left drawer and took out two loaves of bread. He tossed those outside of the window too.

Do you believe in magic, Kaz? It’s all just tricks. You know that, I know that. I don’t think it’s all tricks. You’re not normal, Kaz. The way you do it—it isn’t normal. Don’t tell me you think that I’ve got magic hands? Kaz! Inej. Come here. That night he’d unbraided her hair. He’d laid her down to sleep. She’d kissed his cheek.

Six months and I’ll be seeing you again. Tell me you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. Oh, progress? There’s no reason to hide truths. No games, Inej. I’ll miss you too. Once a week? Once a week. Write in more detail, too. I know more happens to you than you say. Jesper writes to me too, you know. Get some sleep, Wraith. Wake me up before you go.

She hadn’t. He’d slept to her hand in his. He looked to his bed now. If he closed his eyes he could see her. He looked at the crows. He thought about magic.

He unlocked his desk and took out a pistol. She’d had it made for him in Novyi Zem. There were crows embedded onto it. He’d never used it.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He closed his eyes and pressed the pistol to one side of his head.

I think I’d like to live somewhere else. Wouldn’t it be nice? To escape the city and spend my old age in the countryside? I think I’ll die young. And I think you’ll cheat death. Living is what’s hard, Kaz. Remember that.

Do you believe in magic? I think you’re magic. I think we’re magic.

“I love you,” he whispered. When he opened his eyes she wasn’t there. “I’ll be there for you.”

He almost pressed the trigger. He didn’t press the trigger. He went to his desk and sat down. He pulled out four words from his pocket.

Kaz. Live for me.

He put the pistol away. He swallowed. He held Sankt Petyr to his chest and prayed to whatever god would grant her good fortune.

#kanej #getting back to tumblr so i needed to archive some stuff sagfkasjf #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #tw character death #tw suicide mention #tw suicide #shadow and bone #dee drabbles #dee writes #kanej fic

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schrijverr · 3 years

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'Till Death Do Us Part

Part 1 out of 13

When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.

A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.

On AO3.

Ships: Jamilton

Warnings: mentions of grief and death

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Canterbury Bell Means ‘Acknowledging’

Alex ran a hand through his hair as he thought of who to call. Philip’s teacher had just called that today school would be canceled due to a mishap yesterday, but his usual babysitter wasn’t available on such short notice.

Maria and Eliza would usually be up to babysit, but they were away on their honeymoon, Angelica worked with him, so she was out, Laf was in France and Herc had that fashion show. He cursed, then looked at Philip to check if he’d heard.

Philip was oblivious. The five-year-old was happily munching on soggy cereal as he watched some kids show.

He was a well behaved sweet child.

Alex smiled and watched his son. It ached how much he looked like John with his freckles and little curls and in moments like these he wished the other was still there, so he wouldn’t have to deal with everything on his own.

“What are we doing today, Papa?” Philip asked.

“I’m going to work, do you want to come with me?” Alex made up his mind, he was sure Washington wouldn’t mind seeing Philip again and he knew Philip would be on his best behavior in the office.

“Yeah!” Philip cheered happily, starting to munch on his food slightly faster.

Alex chuckled at the sight, before sending Angelica a message of why he would be slightly late and who he would have with him.

Then it was bustling through getting the sock on the right foot and the shoes on, making sure Philip’s jacket was on correctly and his shirt not inside out, before almost forgetting his keys as they made their way out the door.

It was the first time since John’s death that Alex was late to work. It was only a few minutes, but it was more noticeable since he was usually way too early.

With Philip on his hip he rushed to his office where an email informed him that the meeting of the afternoon was rescheduled for now, but he could still make it if he hurried.

“Should we go see Grandpa George? Would you like that buddy?” he asked Philip.

He grinned as the boy’s eyes lit up and he bounced so much, he almost fell out of Alex’s arms as he chuckled: “Okay, okay, let’s go.”

Alex opened the door with an apologetic grin as he said: “I’m sorry, the morning was a bit hectic, I just got in.”

Philip wiggled out of his arms and ran to Washington, who caught the boy easily as he assured Alex: “It’s alright, son. Angelica told me already.”

With a sigh of relief Alex set his stuff down, not even bothering to correct Washington about the moniker, before calling Philip over to him and explaining: “I have to do boring work now, but I have some paper and pencils for you, so that you can color. Does that sound fun, Pip? Will you tell me if you need to pee?”

“Yes, Papa,” Philip promised, taking the coloring materials and settling down in Alex’s lap peacefully.

The love he had of drawing was something he shared with his Daddy and Alex always choked up slightly when he saw that concentrated face and the pencil. He was quickly distracted, however, by a certain Virginian saying something stupid and he mostly forgot about Philip in his lap as the meeting progressed.

About an hour into the meeting, Philip pulled on Alex’s jacket and whispered: “Papa, I have to go pee.”

Alex cut himself off mid sentence and smiled down at the boy: “I’m sure, Grandpa George wouldn’t mind if we take a small break to go pee. You hungry, Pip?”

“A bit,” Philip confessed.

“Well, then it’s a good thing, I have a little snack for you,” he said, as he got up, putting Philip down on his two feet as he took his hand, “Come on, buddy.”

Philip followed his Papa contently as Washington cleared his throat: “I think we can all do with a break, gentlemen.”

Thomas frowned. He already thought it quite irresponsible to bring a kid to work, but he supposed the reason must be good enough if Angelica agreed, however stopping a meeting right as they were getting somewhere was annoying.

The kid was cute though. Thomas had no clue who the mother was. Hell, he hadn’t even known Alex was married, or divorced with how he was married to his work.

Also, Grandpa George? Talk about nepotism.

He blinked as Alex got back with Philip. The kid seemed less fidgety and was eating a granola bar with little chocolate chips in it as Alex smiled down gently, not at all like normally. Though, Thomas supposed, he only got to see Alex when the other was yelling or presenting.

It was strange to see Alex so domestic. He had often pictured the other like that, but now it was even easier to picture him – sadly – with a faceless woman, which send a pang through Thomas. It was pathetic how he was crushing on an already taken coworker who hated him.

Though Thomas would never act on those feelings, so it shouldn’t – didn’t – even hurt... that much.

After Martha, he just didn’t know if he could move on like that, but he could allow himself to watch, to torture himself with what he never had or will have.

The rest of the meeting went smoothly with everyone pretending they didn’t notice the small boy crawling under the big table with play cars as he made soft ‘vroom vroom’-noises.

When everyone was leaving Alex squatted and called out: “Hey, Pip, you having fun there?”

“Yes, Papa,” the little voice called back.

“That’s great, buddy,” Alex smiled, “Would you mind moving? We need to go back to my office now, but you can keep playing.”

“But then my cars can’t go to their base under the chair and they need to, because the evil monkeys are after them and they have to go back to defend it,” Philip explained.

Alex listened closely and nodded: “Seems like they’re hardworking cars, Pip. Remember when I was working hard and then we went on a vacation to that cottage in the forest?”

That was a lie, sort of. He had been throwing himself into work because John’s death date had been coming up and Angelica had forced him to take a vacation, sadly backed up by Washington, though Alex had to admit it had been for the better.

“Yes?” Philip was obviously confused about the question.

“Maybe your cars also deserve a vacation,” he said, “They can go on vacation in my office and take a rest from fighting the evil monkeys.”

“Ooh, yes,” the little boy exclaimed as he made his way to his father, who double checked if all their stuff was with them.

When he turned to the door, he was surprised to find Thomas there, soft smile on his face as he waited. Thomas noticed and held up the keys: “It’s my turn to lock up.”

“Ah, well, thank you for waiting,” Alex said awkwardly.

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Thomas started, trying to fill the strange silence.

“I’m not much of a family talker, but Philip is my pride and joy,” Alex told him, “He’s very smart, isn’tthat right, Pip?”

“Yes, my teacher says I’m very good, one of the bestest in class and I can already write my name. I also draw very good already,” Philip bragged, “And Papa always says I will blow eeeveryone away.”

“Oh, wow, kiddo, that’s pretty good,” Thomas humored the kid, charmed by his smile and excited gestures as he talked, kind of like Alex in a way.

“Well, bye Hamilton.”

“Ah, yes, bye Jefferson.”

They awkwardly went their separate ways, not used to the fact that one of them wasn’t stomping away angrily while the other yelled at them.

Alex shook his head, he felt weird with Thomas being nice to him. He had smiled at Philip and it was genuine, not his normal ‘I’m better than you’- smirk that made Alex want to punch him. It looked good on him and Alex hated how good it looked on him.

Sure, he’s always known Thomas was attractive, but he had a soft spot for people who were good with kids and it didn’t help the stupid feelings he thought he’d suppressed well enough. God, the other man hated him, what was he even thinking?

He tried to let go of the thought as he set Philip down with all the stuff to keep him occupied as he got to work, hoping to get his proposal for the financial planning of the company done.

Philip reminded him to eat lunch, because he was hungry and he went to Angelica, because Philip wanted to see Auntie Angie. For Philip he would do anything, the little boy had him wrapped around his finger.

Angelica was more than happy to eat lunch with them and humored Philip when she listened to his explanation of his car story line until he got distracted by the coloring place mats they had at the restaurant.

Then she turned to Alex and asked: “How are you?”

“I’m doing good, Angie, really. This is not me not taking care of either of us, I swear,” he said, already knowing why she was asking and slightly annoyed, “The school canceled last minute and the babysitter couldn't come and everyone else was busy.”

“Just checking, ‘Lex. We know how hard it’s been since John passed, we just worry,” she soothed his ruffled feathers.

Alex sighed: “I know, I know. I still miss him, but it’s getting better.”

“How much better? Not to be rude, ‘Lex, but you’re wound up. You need to get laid,” she said bluntly.

“Angie!” he exclaimed, glancing at Philip, “There are children here.”

“Yes, and he’s been too focused on his drawing for the past five minutes to pay attention to us,” she rolled her eyes, “But I’m assuming that’s a no to the getting laid.”

“I’m too old for casual hook-ups, Angelica,” he told her, “If I’m going back into dating, I’m going to look for something serious. But no one is looking for a widower in his thirties with a five-year-old kid. And I can’t commit to someone who isn’t going to commit to Pip. He doesn’t need that.”

Angelica nodded: “You’re right, just try not to turn into a sad lonely old man.”

“Like you’re becoming a lonely old woman?” he teased.

“Alexander!” she swatted him lightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re as radiant as ever, a beacon of beauty and youth,” he retracted his statement with a grin.

“That’s better,” she grinned back.

“Papa, I finished my drawing,” Philip interrupted the two adults, almost spilling his drink when he proudly held up his place mat.

Alex smiled: “That’s beautiful, Pip. Want to take it home tonight?”

“Oh, can I?” the boy asked.

“Of course, buddy,” Alex ruffled his hair, carefully putting the drawing in his briefcase with his other papers, so that he could hang it on the art wall.

They returned to the office and said their goodbyes to Angelica, before Alex got back to work.

It was quiet for a while, then Philip said: “Papa, I’m bored, can I walk around? I can go to Auntie Angie? I promise not to dis- dis- bother other people.”

“Disturb?” Alex asked.

Philip nodded that it was the right word, then asked: “Please, Papa. I promise I’ll be good. I know where Auntie Angie is and if I can’t find you I’ll go to Grandpa George after.”

The boy put on his best puppy eyes, which he had inherited from John, and Alex had never managed to say no to those eyes, so he relented: “Be back in an hour okay? That’s when that big arm is at the four, alright? Be sure to tell Auntie Angie.”

“Alright, Papa!” the boy said, already bouncing out his office with the pent up energy of a small child who had sat for nearly the entire day.

Alex smiled and watched him go. He contemplated getting up to check if Philip made it down the hall alright, but stopped himself.

A memory flashed through his minds eye of John holding a baby Philip and smirking: “You can’t always be there, ‘Lexi. You gotta let him be his own man at some point.”

“But he’s a baby,” he had protested at the time.

John had leaned forwards and kissed his nose: “But he won’t be forever, he’s gotta grow up just like you did. Ain’t nothing wrong with a bit of independence, sweetheart. Letting go is good at some point, just start small.”

He could let go.

Walking down the hall of the office to an adult he knew wasn’t the ultimate danger Philip would face, this was good. A small start just like John had said.

So, with reluctance he focused back on his work and easily got into the zone again as he did. It was easy to loose himself into his work. He was sure that if Philip hadn’t been there, he would have worked himself to death.

Meanwhile Philip walked down the hall, skipping and jumping just because he could and wanted to. He was really planning on visiting Auntie Angie, but he’d already seen her at lunch, so when he saw something more interesting, he stopped.

It was the Mister from before, Jeff- something, it was a long name and Philip hadn’t been paying attention, though he recalled it being a familiar name. He felt bad now, the man had seemed impressed with him.

Maybe he would want to play with him? But he’d promised Papa not to disturb the other people.

Apparently he’d been standing in the man’s doorway long enough for him to notice and ask him if he needed anything and where his Papa was.

“Papa said I could go walk around a bit,” he told the man, “My cars are on vacation and it’s a bit boring and I don’t feel like coloring. Do you like cats, Mister?”

It seemed the man was startled by his sudden change of topic, but he smiled easily and said: “You can call me Thomas.”

“Okay, Mr. Thomas,” Philip nodded, “Do you like cats?”

With Mr. Thomas not actively telling him to go away, Philip decided it was safe to enter the office and Mr. Thomas just pointed at a chair for him to sit in, so he did. He looked at Mr. Thomas awaiting his answer.

“Sure,” he said, “Why do you ask, kiddo?”

Philip shrugged: “Uncle Laf calls Papa petit lion and Uncle Herc explained to me that it’s a type of cat. Auntie Eliza and Auntie Maria wanteda cat, but Auntie Angie is allergic to them, so she doesn’t agree. But Grandpa George and Grandma Martha have cat, though Papa doesn’t like him very much, even though he likes other cats. So I wondered what you thought about cats.”

“Well, I think cats are nice,” Mr. Thomas said.

“Do have a cat?” Philip asked.

Thomas gave up any pretense of work, he hadn’t wanted to do anything anyway and the kid was way more interesting. He shook his head: “No, my friend, Jemmy, is allergic too and I like having him come to the house.”

“Can’t do that if there’s a cat,” Philip said, nodding his head sagely as if he had all the wisdom in the world.

“Yeah,” Thomas laughed at the display, then said: “I don’t know if sitting in my office is going to be very entertaining, kiddo. I don’t really have toys lying around.”

“That’s alright,” Philip said, “You’re Jeff-” he hummed trying to find the name, “Jefferson?” he suddenly remembered, but he didn’t sound very certain.

Thomas nodded: “Yeah, Thomas Jefferson. Why?”

“Papa talks about you lots,” Philip confided in him, recalling why the name was familiar, “He says you’re a meanie, but I think you’re nice, Mr. Thomas. I think Papa does too, he just don’t wanna say it. He says you’re smart, he only says that about Auntie Angie.”

God, the secrets this kid had from Alex ranting at him would be enormous, but Thomas wasn’t going to interrogate a kid about what his father thought of him. A small part of him, however, preened slightly at the indirect compliment from Hamilton.

He pushed the thought down, the man was married and had kids.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Me and your Papa are,” he hesitated, how do you tell a kid that the most talking you do with his father is yelling insults at each other, “We’re not the best buddies,” he finished lamely.

“That’s sad, I think you and Papa would get along greatly. I like you and Papa says I have good taste,” the kid sounded proud of that and Thomas couldn't help but smile, “I think you have good taste too, Mr. Thomas.”

“Really?” Thomas asked curiously.

“Yes, I like your flowers,” Philip pointed to the vase Thomas had filled on a whim, because he’d been sad a few days ago.

“Thanks, kiddo. They’re Canterburybells,” he said, then had a bright idea, “Hey, since you and I have such fantastic taste, why don’t you help me pick out the colors for my presentation? Then I can read you a story if you’d like. I got books.”

Philip lit up and bounced to the other side of the desk, already telling Thomas loudly about which colors were the bestest.

In the end the presentation was yellow and magenta (Thomas was going to have a field day with that) with neon green letters. It was disgusting to look at and Thomas knew he was going to keep and treasure it, especially because Alex couldn’t say anything of it.

He had mostly stuffy old literature on his shelves in the office, but there was also a fairy tale book for when he needed to calm down, not that anyone knew about that, and he read Philip the tale of Hansel and Gretel.

When they were done Philip asked for the time, saying: “Papa told me to be back in an hour, when the big arm was on the four.”

Thomas checked the time, it was five to four. He turned back to Philip: “Well, then young man, you must be going. Here, I’ll accompany you.”

The five-year-old didn’t seem to mind him tagging along as they walked down the hall to Hamilton’s office.

What Thomas hadn’t expected was for the office to be empty. The laptop wasn’t there and only papers and empty mugs scattered the desk. Thomas quickly glanced down to Philip, who looked confused as he asked: “Where’s Papa?”

“I don’t know, kiddo,” Thomas told him honestly, he spotted a phone on the desk and mentally cursed, if Hamilton had forgotten his kid and phone he was going to scream. Though it was highly unlikely the man would leave that early.

Then he spotted a note on the desk: Angie or Washington, I don’t know which one of you Pip will look for. I got called by fucking Lee for an emergency (I doubt it actually is, but you know how he gets, the prick). I’ll be back before five, please just watch him for me. I’m so sorry.

Relief coursed through Thomas’s veins that Alex had at least been responsible enough to leave a note.

He turned to Philip: “Hey, the note says your Papa has been called away for a bit.”

“Oh, okay,” Philip replied, “What do I do?”

Philip really was a smart kid, probably got it from his dad. Thomas smiled: “I don’t mind hanging out with you for a little bit longer, but maybe I could call your mom?”

It was an acceptable time to be done with work earlyand Thomas knew Lee was as much of a prick as Alex’s note had claimed, and the man hated Alex. Ifhe could keep him busy, he would, just because it would piss Alex off.

“I don’t have a mom,” Philip told him.

Thomas knew Alex was bi of course, but with the kid he’d made the assumption. He quickly adapted and said: “Do you have a dad then?”

Philip nodded and Thomas was about to ask if he knew how to contact him, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy, when the kid said: “But Papa said I can’t see Daddy, because he’s living with the angels now.”

Oh fuck, Thomas had not seen this coming and he was floundering.

“According to Papa, he didn’t mean to go, but he can’t get back to us. We visit his special place sometimes,” Philip was oblivious to all the emotions Thomas was experiencing, “There are a lot of stones there, but we always go to one with Daddy’s picture on it and Papa cries.”

That was probably much more than Alex wanted him to know. He briefly thought of Martha and how they’d never had kids. He didn’t know how he would have explained her death to them if they had.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he said instead, “Must be hard with one parent, though it seems your Papa loves you very much.”

“He does,” Philip smiled widely, “He takes me to the park on Saturdays and we run around. He teaches me about all sorts of stuff, like dinos. Do you know about dinos, Mr. Thomas?”

Thomas was glad for the change of topic and nodded: “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know much. Why don’t you tell me more about them?”

“Well, they come from eggs. I did too, did you know? Papa said he froze eggs and I came crawling out, just like a dino,” Philip told him excitedly. Thomas was confused about what on earth that could mean, but just nodded along to the kid’s babbling.

An hour later Alex stomped into his office, grumbling under his breath about what an asshat Lee was.

He stopped at the empty office, he knew Philip must be with Angelica or Washington, but with the note still there, he didn’t know which one. He went back into the hallway and saw Washington walk by. Stopping the man he said: “Perfect timing. Is Pip with you? I got called away and told him to find you or Angie.”

“No, son, he must be with Miss Schuyler,” Washington smiled, “How was it with Lee?”

“Sir, if you don’t want a verbal essay, I suggest you don’t ask,” Alex sighed tiredly. He just wanted to go home and sleep.

Washington chuckled then stepped into his office as Alex made his way over to Angelica’s office, he knocked on her door and opened it with a: “Hi, Angie, I’ll take Philip now, thanks for watching him.”

Angelica looked up from her work with confusion: “Philip? I haven’t seen Philip since lunch, Alex. What are you talking about.”

The blood in his veins turned to ice as he said: “But, he was going to you. He said he wanted to say hi. He’d be back by four, but I got called away. I left you a note. Are you sure you didn’t see him?”

“No, I wouldn’t lie about that,” Angelica said, “Why didn’t you walk with him?”

Alex was already beating himself up over it: “Fuck, I’m so stupid. I thought he would be fine, that I should let him go, be independent. I’m a terrible father and now something might have happened to Pip. God, what if he’s dead?”

“Hey, none of that, calm down, just breathe,” Angelica put her hand on his shoulder, “He probably got distracted. He’s still around, I’m sure. Someone else must have seen him.”

They got distracted by a southern voice floating down the hall: “Hamilton, there you are. I was wondering if I should start charging hours.”

“Papa!” Philip yelled excitedly, running up to his Papa, who crushed him into a tight hug with a sigh of relief.

“There you are. Pip, I was so worried. You said you were going to Auntie Angie,” he scolded the boy, “Don’t scare me like that again. I thought something had happened.”

“Sorry, Papa,” Philip sounded genuinely upset.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Papa didn’t mean to make you upset, I was just worried,” after soothing his son, he turned to Thomas and glared, “Do you often kidnap children?”

Thomas looked up shocked and in an offend voice replied: “Excuse you? I didn’t kidnap him. He showed up to my office telling me he was allowed to walk around. He asked me about cats and I just made sure he was okay. You should be thanking me, it could have gone a lot worse.”

Alex eyed him suspiciously, but was distracted by Philip: “He’s right, he listened to me back at the room with the table and I was just wondering what he thought of cats, then he let me help with his presentation and read me a story and then I told him about the dinos.”

“I know we have our disagreements, Hamilton, but I’m not going to be an as- meanie to a kid,” he said.

“Nice save,” Angelica smirked.

“Oh shove off, Angelica,” Thomas rolled his eyes good-naturedly, he liked the eldest Schuyler. He had met her a long time ago, back when Martha was still there.

Alex checked over Philip one more time, before begrudgingly acknowledging that Thomas had done him a favor. So, he said: “Thank you, Jefferson. For making sure Pip was alright.”

“No worries, man. I have a lot of siblings,” Thomas shrugged.

Angelica looked between them and smirked, before saying: “Here, I’ll go grab your stuff, ‘Lex. You and Thomas make sure you’re on the same page about this. I don’t want to have you screaming because of a misunderstanding, you do it enough without them.”

Philip walked off happily with his Auntie Angie, leaving Alex and Thomas on their own.

“Did he behave well?” Alex asked, breaking the silence.

Thomas looked confused for a moment, then smirked: “Yeah, he’s a sweet boy. Certainly didn’t get that from you.”

Alex chuckled: “No, he got every good bone in his body from John,” his smile was far away and soft, before he shookhimself out of it, “I’m glad you listened to him, he’s a good kid.”

“No problem, really,” Thomas shrugged.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Can I ask why he thinks he crawled out of an egg like a dinosaur?” Thomas asked, unable to help himself. He was just too curious and it was weird for a kid to think that. He just wanted to know what an earth Alex had told the boy.

The random question startled Alex, who laughed after a second. He explained: “Kids at school were asking how he could have two dads, so I told them that I froze some of my eggs and his other Daddy made sure they would work, before Auntie Eliza hatched him. I compared it to dinosaurs because he understands them and thinks they’re cool. I guess he only picked up some parts.”

“So, he’s not related to the Schuyler's?” Thomas asked, then elaborated, “Just with the whole Auntie Angie and Auntie Eliza he was talking about, I assumed his other parent was one of their sibling hoard.”

“No,” Alex said, “He’s completely mine and Johns.”

It was quiet for a beat, then Thomas said: “I didn’t know you were trans.”

Alex shrugged: “It’s not really something I tell people, especially with how they start calling me a mother, no thanks. Besides, it’s none of their business anyway. Philip is mine and they can keep their opinions of my parenting to themselves.”

Thomas nodded: “That makes sense. For what it’s worth, you’re a great dad. Philip is lucky to have you. I know you didn’t want me to know, probably, but he told me his other dad was living with angels. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Alex bit out after a hard swallow. He didn’t need Thomas treating him differently just because his husband was dead, he got that enough as it was. He missed John dearly, but he was healing and the special treatment just made it harder.

He was surprised by Thomas’s reply: “I’m not pitying you, Alex. I just wanted you to know that he told me and that you can talk to me.”

“That’s-” Alex hesitated, slightly confused, “That’s… nice? I suppose. But you’re not really my first confidant.”

“I know,” Thomas shrugged, he seemed to be preparing himself for something, “I just know how some people don’t get it and it can be annoying, so if you ever just wanna talk, please do,” he pulled out a necklace from his shirt, on it were two golden bands, “I’m not messing with you, or pitying you.”

“I didn’t know,” Alex mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish for his earlier reaction, “How- How long ago?”

“Seven years,” Thomas answered, “Martha- she was the best, but she had heart problems. I knew we didn’t have long, but it still hurt. She was just too young.”

There were tears in his eyes and Alex could feel himself tearing up as well. He said: “The better ones always die first somehow, fuck. John- John died four years ago. Wanted to do one last tour, before settling down. They were already retreating when-”

He couldn't finish the sentence, but Thomas understood. It was weird how much it made sense that Thomas understood.

They’d always been each others equal. Both in debate and passion. They knew how to push the other and got why. They were the same, just different, so of course Thomas of all people would understand.

Both stood there in silence, tears still in their eyes, but content to just stand there.

At that point Angelica came back with Philip. She was about to start a sentence when she saw the state they were in: “Jesus, are you two alright? I swear, I leave you for a few minutes and-”

“We’re fine, Angie,” Alex quickly wiped away his tears and attempted a smile.

Philip ran up to him and with his arms demanded to be carried. When Alex obliged he asked: “Are you okay, Papa?”

“Yeah, Pip, Papa’s fine,” Alex assured him, “Remember how I told you about the missing sad. It was that.”

“Like when I can’t see Sockie at school and I miss him, right?” Philip asked.

“Exactly that, Pip,” Alex agreed, “Now, what do you say about going home, buddy? Does that sound alright? We can watch Moana.”

“I love Moana!” Philip chirped.

Alex turned to Angelica and Thomas and said: “We’re gonna go. Uhm, thank you both and, uh, I might take you up on that, Thomas. Now say bye, Pip.”

“Bye Auntie Angie, bye Mr. Thomas,” Philip said with a wave, a quick yawn escaping him after all the excitement as he burrowed closer into his Papa’s arms while they walked out of the building.

When they were gone, Angelica turned to Thomas with a raised brow: “So, Mr. Thomas,” she put extra emphasis on the name, “You’ve got yourself a social upgrade.”

“Shut up, I should have never told you about that stupid crush,” Thomas hid his head in his hands.

“I think you two would be cute together,” Angelica said, then she asked: “Why were you two crying, by the way? Are you okay?”

He put the necklace back and said: “I told him about Martha, seemed fair after the kid told me about John. I didn’t know Alex was a widower, nor that he had kids.”

“Yeah, ‘Lex used to love bragging about John and Philip, but ever since-” she sighed, “Well, you know. He hasn’t been the same.”

“I don’t think anyone can stay the same after living through that,” Thomas told her, “I was always saddened I had no kids with Martha, but after today. Fuck, I don’t know what I would have told them. I don’t think I could have handled it.”

Angelica shrugged: “It’s different for everyone, I think Philip saved ‘Lex’s life. He got up each day to care for him. Don’t tell him I told you that, I will slap you again.”

“I won’t, I swear,” Thomas held his hands up in surrender and luckily Angelica believed him, because she smiled: “Good, I know where you live.”

“You are terrifying,” he informed her.

“That’s why we’re such good friends,” she merely smiled, “Now, let’s go, you still owe me dinner for giving you private time with Papa Alex.”

Thomas flushed a bright red and told her he hated her, before following her out of the building as she cackled at his misery.

After that things went back to normal.

Mostly.

Somewhere he had imagined the interaction would be some revelation or something and the next day would be completely different.

But it just wasn’t.

They had a meeting in the morning, it was the first time they saw each other that day and within minutes it had turned into an argument.

Though, perhaps the arguments had gotten less personal. They had always thrown in slight digs at the other, believing themselves to know the man before them and judging the person they’d built in their mind, but when that fell away, it was hard to make digs at someone who understood.

So work returned to normal, with arguments echoing through the halls, which were now followed by civil conversation as they walked to their offices.

It was only a month later that it changed.

You know, this fic is getting much bigger than expected and has gotten severely out of hand. It was meant to be a cute Philip at work fic, but then I thought about past John/Alex (and not fucking Eliza over bc I love her too much for it) and now it hasturnedinto a gigantic angst pile turning fluffwith a slow burn thrown in there, something I have never written before, but I’m having fun.

#RR writing #Hamilton #alexander hamilton #philip hamilton #thomas jefferson #jamilton #Hamilton AU #angelica schuyler #george washington #'Till Death Do Us Part #'Till Death Do Us Part AU #'Till Death Do Us Part Part 1

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