#I JUST REALIZED I LEFT OUT HIS EYE SCAR IN EVERY FRAME BUT ONE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saetoru · 2 years

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#𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆’𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃

☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ kento’s adjusting to life with a scarred face and body, one day at a time, hand in yours.

— pairing ⋮ nanami kento x reader

— length ⋮ 5.2k words (it could be worse methinks)

— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, post-shibuya incident (i've not rly gotten that far into the manga, so there isn't too much from it), nanami lives, he's having a hard time adjusting to his scars :(, insecure nanami, hints at ptsd, mentions of marriage and having children, body worship, blowjobs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, creampie — he might be ooc i tried my best 🥹

— notes ⋮ this was supposed to be posted for his birthday…which was a month ago :,) anyway happy (very late) bday to my first ever jjk love—you are still the most special in my heart i miss you dearly. ty bby mich for reading over this mwah ily lover 🫶🏽

“here,” you murmur, smiling at nanami before setting the mug of coffee down on the nightstand beside him, “just how you like it.”

it’s a routine by now.

every day, at nine am sharp, you rise from your side of the bed, adjust the curtains so the small peek of light from the cracks doesn’t disturb him as he sleeps, hum the same little tune as you shuffle out of the room, and you make his coffee. it’s the same every morning—black with two spoons of sugar—and sometimes, it’s the only thing that feels the same for nanami since he’s come home from that day.

nanami doesn’t talk about the scars on his body. he doesn’t even really tell you details of how he got them after the incident. the only thing you really know is that it was bad, that he was half dead and half gone. he’d even left a voicemail—you still have it saved on your phone. he remembers walking through the pain, faintly thinking about how he couldn’t see through his left eye, and he thinks for a moment that he’ll die. he realizes that his goodbye kiss that morning would be the last kiss he’d ever give you, so he makes sure to part with at least one final piece of him before he does.

but somehow, he wakes up. he opens his eye—one of them is permanently gone—and he sees you tearily gasp and shoko breathe in relief. and then he realizes he’s alive.

“you should drink it while it’s hot, kento,” you say gently, carefully, like the wrong words are hot water to sunburnt skin. and you suppose they are—just that these burns are far worse.

he only hums, sitting up with his back against the bed frame and his eye still trained on his phone in his hands. nanami’s never really been one to use his phone longer than he absolutely needs to, but these days it serves as a good reason not to look up and meet your eyes—a perfect excuse to hide that very visible side of him he just can’t ignore.

“thank you, love,” he mumbles.

“what do you want for breakfast? i can make—”

“i’ll eat later,” he says quietly. hallow. “you can go ahead and eat without me.”

nanami kento has never really dwelled on whether or not he’s attractive. not before missing half of his face, and certainly not after—that much hasn’t changed. what has changed, however, is that he now dwells on how unattractive he is. he stares a little extra longer in the mirror, walks a little extra faster when he strides past you, is a little extra cautious to make sure you’re never on his left side. you pretend you don’t feel him stiffen under your touch, and he pretends he doesn’t notice your eyes dim every time.

on most nights, he has the same recurring dream. one of a wedding—with pictures of you both gathered around by laughing friends and family, pictures on the wall in a house of your wide smile and his soft eyes staring at you. pictures that he’ll someday show your children, pictures your children will someday show their children, pictures that are worth reminiscing over.

but then, just as his hand reaches for the frame of one, the same agonizing burn from that day spreads through his cheek, down his neck and arm, and stops just at his hip until he’s left numb on one whole side of his torso. then he’ll glance back at the photos, and suddenly, the same sunken hollows of his bones and the same marred skin of his face greet him. he wakes up every time to you beside him, watches the rising and falling of your unconscious figure that’s noticeably closer to him as you find him in your sleep each night despite him maintaining distance.

he often thinks about the vacation photos you’ll never get to take, the family albums you’ll never get to make together, and sometimes, nanami wonders if he really is alive and well when he grieves for himself. he grieves for everything he ever was. everything he ever could’ve been.

“kento,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable on the mattress, right next to his figure as your arm presses against his. it’s quiet—but it’s not the same comfortable silence you’re used to with nanami. he’s not the same tall and steady mountain—now, you think, he’s just an ant pile on the ground, too easy to kick away as you pass by like it was never there. “come have breakfast with me,” you insist.

“i’m not too hungry right now,” he says instantly. he doesn’t let you hear any emotion to his words, doesn’t give you a lot of opportunities to pick up on how he’s feeling or what’s on his mind. it’s an added burden, he supposes—asides from caring for his wounds, asides from pretending like you’re fine and things are okay, you have to deal with all the feelings he can’t seem to handle himself.

nanami has only shown you a vulnerable side once since he’s come home. it’s after the first time he tries to take a shower, when the water pelting against his raw skin hurts too much for him to handle, when the heat of the water burns at the sore spots. he has to take a bath instead, so you help him wash his body gently, carefully rubbing over the skin with a washcloth like you would a newborn. he lays on your chest that night, clutches at your shirt and slots his body between your legs while you kiss his forehead and rub his back until he sleeps.

after that, he sleeps on his side of the bed every night, and he doesn’t dare let himself cross over to yours. you try to stay on your half of the mattress until he’s ready, but you can’t control the way your body seeks his out in your sleep. by morning, you’re curled around his good arm, and he’s painfully stiff on his back as he sleeps, not moved an inch from the night before.

“kento, you never skip breakfast. you’ve always lectured me when i try to,” you furrow your brows, “just eat a little.”

“i’ll eat later,” he repeats, a tad bit firmer this time. you sigh before pulling the covers over your legs and settling deeper into the mattress.

“fine,” you huff, “i’ll just wait for you.”

“don’t be stubborn,” he frowns.

“i’m not.”

you pinch your nose, rubbing over the bridge to collect yourself. you try to be patient with nanami. he’s always been patient with you, always gentle and kind even when he’s tired. he needs you now, so you try to do the same for him—try to be as perfect for him as he would be for you if the roles were reversed.

but it’s hard for you too.

it’s hard to see the shell of the man you used to know. you love nanami even with taut skin and rough scars. you love nanami even with an eye patch and a trembling hand. you love nanami even with distant words and scarce touches. you love nanami even if he doesn’t want to deserve your love, and you’ll keep loving nanami until he loves himself too.

but it doesn’t stop you from growing impatient some days.

“kento, the only one being stubborn is you,” you say frustratedly, the slightly irritated exhale you try to hide does not go unnoticed by him.

he sets his phone down and looks at you fully for the first time in a long while.

“i’m not,” he says dryly, “you can eat without me, i said i’ll eat later.”

“and you can join me for once instead of sitting here and feeling bad for yourself.” he doesn’t say anything after that.

you wonder for a moment if you’ve gone a little too far, if you’re making things about yourself when they should be about him. you wonder if you’re selfish, if you hope he’ll heal for the sake of healing, or for the sake of being your kento again. you suppose maybe both.

but then you wonder if maybe he’ll ever even be the same kento again. but you think you’ll love this kento just as much as the old one—you think you’ll love every version of kento in every life.

“i’m fine,” is all he says.

nanami does not want to have breakfast with you. it’s not because he doesn’t like being around you—on most nights, he counts his blessings that you’re still climbing into bed beside him instead of packing your bags and walking away. it would be the easy thing to do, and he wouldn't blame you. maybe then, you might have a semblance of a normal life, a normal husband who doesn’t—didn’t, he couldn’t go back now—fight cursed blobs for a living. a wedding with happy pictures. a house with photos on the wall. children with a father they can go to the park with. family vacation albums you can put together.

it’s all things he’s robbed you of, all things he let burn away along with the healthy flesh he used to have. he knows that if he tells you this, you’ll insist nothing’s changed. but paper does not smooth down no matter how flat you press it after being crumpled, nanami kento knows this better than anyone else.

he doesn’t want to have breakfast—he can’t stomach the idea of sitting across from you at the table, of feeling the aftershocks of failing you first thing in the morning. lunch and dinner are hard enough as is, and he doesn’t want to skip those and offer you lonely meals along with the pain and suffering he’s already brought onto you through his injuries. he also doesn’t want you to have to stare at his pink flesh and pathetic eye patch and trembling hand. he doesn’t want you to realize you’re stuck, bound to a cage to care for a flightless bird when you deserve the sun’s rays and the wind blowing between your own feathers.

perhaps if he’d died, you’d have mourned him for a year or two. maybe three. perhaps if he’d died, you’d keep one of the ties he’s always worn—the ones you can’t help but tease—and keep them in a box with a photo. maybe you’d meet someone new, someone who’d teach you how to laugh again, to smile and feel the wind on your face and the grass between your toes. maybe you’d get married and throw the bouquet with a sweet laugh and hopeful eyes. maybe you’d move on and be happy—and if he got lucky, maybe you’d take out the picture and tie from time to time, looking back and remembering him too.

but now you’re stuck somewhere in between a stranger and the man you love, he thinks. and he’s stuck somewhere in between the living and the dead.

“you’re not fine, kento,” you sigh, shuffling closer until you can hug his arm. he lets you, looks down at his lap and lets himself ignore his mind screaming no in favor of feeling you press your warmth against him. truth be told, he misses your touch—he just can’t find it in him to let himself have it. “and you don’t have to be. not right now, at least. but someday—”

“someday, i’ll have even more regrets than today,” he says skeptically.

the sun pours through the small cracks of the curtain, hitting the skin he desperately wants to hide. he almost feels the ghost of a lone tear in the eye he doesn’t have.

“no,” you say firmly, reaching to cup his cheek and turning him to face you. you trail your thumb over the scarred skin, rubbing over what would’ve been the apple of his cheek like you always do, like nothing’s changed. “kento, you’re alive. you have things to live for,” you say softly, leaning and pressing a kiss under his eye patch.

and when a single tear rolls down the eye he does have, you catch it with your thumb and rub it away.

“not a wedding,” he mumbles.

“why not?” you tilt your head in confusion, “you…you don’t want to get married?”

“of course, i do,” nanami says quickly. he pauses, ponders his words for a moment before he decides to turn his body and face you fully. “i’m sorry,” he offers with a strained voice.

“what are you apologizing for, kento?”

“you won’t have the pictures you wanted. we won’t have photos on the walls, or vacation albums, or—”

“of course, we will,” you argue, furrowing your brows like the words he’s uttered are completely absurd. he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair—thankfully, that’s grown back in full, otherwise he doesn’t think he’d go out in public at all. the stares from people are expected, but he thinks the looks he’d get from being half bald might just have been a bit too much to handle. “kento, we can still do all the things we wanted. nothing’s changed.”

“everything’s changed,” he clenches his jaw, “i’d ruin them. the pictures, the moments. everything. if we had kids, i couldn’t even take them to the park, or drop them off at school, or pick them up. they’d get bullied by the other kids, the parents would whisper about you. i’d ruin it all. i am ruining—”

he doesn’t get to finish that last statement.

you climb onto his lap, cupping his cheeks with both hands and silencing him with a kiss. he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back even if he doesn’t understand how you can be kissing him in the first place. it’s like muscle memory. it’s involuntary, the way his lips mold against yours. like the way his heart pumps blood and his lungs breathe in air, like a compass points north and the sun sets west, nanami kento’s lips press back against yours as firmly as he can without fail.

“not to me,” you whisper against him as you stop to breathe, “you wouldn’t ruin a thing to me. our pictures would be perfect, and our vacation albums too. our kids would be lucky. i’m lucky, kento,” your voice wavers. your eyes are glossy and your lips are trembling. you clutch his shirt this time, inching yourself closer until all that’s left is to climb into his skin. you’d do it if you could—scars and all. “i’m lucky you’re here, i’m lucky you’re alive. that you’ll scold me to go to bed on time at night. that you’ll make sure i don’t leave the house on an empty stomach in the morning. that you’re here to let me untie that awful tie of yours or hang your coat when you come home. that i don’t have to sleep alone. that i get to take bubble baths while you wash my back. that we can hold hands while we watch a movie. that you’re here kento—with me. i’m not…i don’t have to be alone. i’m alone when you’re gone,” you croak, tears slipping past your cheeks and splashing onto his shirt under you. “i don’t…i don’t wanna be alone. without you.”

it’s nanami who kisses you this time—and it’s the first time he kisses you himself, the first time he closes the gap and presses his lips to your own since he’s come home. he pulls your body flush against him, trying to make up for the time he’s kept you away. you kiss him back hard, silent streams of tears running down your face as you desperately taste him on your tongue. it’s a messy kiss, not like most of the kisses you’ve shared with nanami. this kiss tastes like narrowly missing death, like the reaper’s scythe misses by a hair, like heaven has closed its gates to grant you one more day on earth.

you pull away first, and he almost protests until you kiss under his eyepatch again. you trail your lips down his cheek and jaw, littering soft pecks along the raised skin of his neck while he breathes heavier. he lets out a shaky breath when you gently lift the hem of his shirt up slightly, waiting for his approval—and he almost wants the pull the covers over his body and shut his eyes and sleep again, but he decides to take a chance and let you peel his shirt from his body.

he doesn’t meet your eyes. he can’t. not when you’re staring down at his skin, tracing along the line that separates healthy flesh from scarred—along the line that separates his past from the present. and then you cross over to the side that’s not so perfect, that’s not smooth and promising under your touch, the side that’s rough and tight and a reminder of things he failed to do—and you kiss it.

“you’re beautiful. perfect,” you murmur as you kiss along his collarbone, all the way to his shoulder and back again, down his chest and along his abs, right to his waist where you press one last kiss to his hipbone sweetly. he’s panting by now, and nanami is more than a little embarrassed that he’s as hard as he is from something as little as affection.

but your lips are so near where he needs them so badly—and it’s been ages since he’s let himself indulge in anything sexual. even on his own.

“can i?” you hum, making him groan when you roll your palm over his crotch, feeling his erection poking through his pants. he lets his head fall back, lets his hands clutch the sheets under them as you untuck him from his pants when he nods. “missed you, kento,” you murmur, kissing the head of his cock.

the gesture makes him shudder, a weak grunt falling from his lips as he breathes heavier, letting out a soft groan when you smear the dribbling pre cum from his tip along his length. he’s sensitive, you note, more than he usually is—maybe it’s from not doing this for so long, maybe it’s from finally letting himself indulge in your touch after avoiding it, maybe it’s from the excitement that you still want him enough to do this. whatever it is, nanami moans softly when you stroke him slowly, chest rising and falling as you squeeze the base of his cock with every drag of your fist, cursing when you lean and press a small kiss to his inner thigh from your spot between his legs.

he spreads them a bit wider to make more room for you. he’s on what used to be your side of the bed—he lays there the first night so his burns aren’t next to you, and you don’t have it in you to protest. looking up to meet his gaze, you smile gently at him.

“do you want to stop?” you ask as you rub his thigh soothingly, “we don’t have to if you—”

“no,” he pants, “just…i…i’d like to keep going,” he says quietly. with that, you shoot him a bright grin, one that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his cock twitch between his legs. you pump him a few more times in your hand before leaning in to press a kiss to his tip once more, this time swirling your tongue around the fat head of his cock, gliding through his slit. he groans, low and deep from his chest, lets a hand fall to your head while the other fists the sheets.

“love you, kento. i love you,” you murmur, and then you’re taking him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around his length and swallowing around him. he bucks his hips on instinct, gasping when your hand comes to fondle with his balls, massaging them gently while you bob your head up and down his cock.

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “feels…feels good,” he breathes, closing his good eye and letting his head fall against the frame of the bed. you hum around him, the vibrations making him twitch slightly above you before you pick up the pace.

it’s messy, the way you loosen your jaw and fuck him with your mouth, the way his tip hits the back of your throat as a mix of your drool and his pre cum drips down your chin. he lets out a breathy whine when your tongue drags along the vein under his cock—he’s always been sensitive there. you still know him like the back of your hand, like he’s the same, like he’s not a stranger but the man you love, like nothing’s changed.

nanami has felt the warmth of your mouth pull him into blinding pleasure more times than he can count, but he never thought something so vulgar could make him feel so warm in his chest. you bob your head down, taking him deeper into your mouth, and he chokes on a cry of your name as he cradles the back of your head.

“‘m close, love—f-fuck, you sh-should—” he tries to warn you with a gentle tap to your head, but you’re determined to push him off the edge, so your hand squeezes around his balls a bit tighter, rolling the sensitive sacs in your hand and making his hips buck upwards as he grunts in surprise. he cums with a twitch of his cock, his orgasm crashing over him sooner than he expected. you hear him gasp, moaning brokenly as his eyes close and his lips tug between his teeth, hips rolling into your mouth against his better judgment. you swallow what you can of the hot, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth, hand pumping the base of his cock where you can’t fit. every crack in his voice and every low call of your name as he spills into you makes the walls of your pussy clench around nothing, an ache steadily building between your legs.

“so good,” he pants, spilling the last few ropes of his cum as he cants his hips up, “f-feels so good.” you pull away, swallowing whatever’s in your mouth as you stare up at him, making his eyes close as he lets out a low groan at the sight. you giggle when his cock twitches again between his thighs, still hard and heavy between his legs.

“not enough, baby?” you tease, kissing just below his belly button before you climb onto his lap, cupping his face as he smiles softly.

“i suppose not,” he chuckles lightly, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you.”

“i love you, kento,” you murmur again, kissing along his jaw and nipping at his skin. his hands grip at your hips, squeezing firmly as he guides your clothed cunt to rub against his cock, making you sigh against his neck as your clit rubs over him through the fabric. “so much, you know. i don’t think i could ever stop.”

“yeah?” he asks quietly, “you think so?”

“yes,” you pout, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crevice of his shoulder. he wraps an arm tightly around you, rubbing the small of your back as he feels you as close as space permits you to get—and even then, it’s not close enough. “i’m pouring my heart out, right now. you could say ‘i love you too,’ you know. now would be a perfect time.”

you feel his chuckle rumble from his chest against yours, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh since he’s opened his eyes that day.

“no need to get so impatient, love,” he teases. nanami feels the sun soak his skin through the cracks of the curtains, and he sees the way it catches in your eyes and brings out the small flecks in your irises as you pull from the crook of his neck to press your forehead to his. the day has only begun, but he thinks for the first time in a long time, there’s more waiting for him. “i,” he presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, “love you too.”

“a lot?” you bat your lashes with a cheeky grin. he shakes his head in amusement.

“i’ll have to think about that one,” he pretends to ponder for a moment.

“kento,” you whine, pouting deeper. nanami chuckles once, then twice, and then soft, sweet laughter pours from his mouth like honey trickles from the comb. it makes you giggle with him, contagiously pulling you to join his moment of glee. his chest is light but his arms are heavy with the weight of you in them—and he can’t ask for more.

maybe nothing’s changed after all.

“a lot,” he agrees with a nod. “i love you a lot. more than anything.”

“i want you more than anything,” you whisper, gently grinding your hips down on him, biting your lip as he drags along your throbbing clit. you whimper softly when his hand travels under your shirt, kneading your breasts in his palms as you roll your hips against him.

“i think i can give you that,” he murmurs.

it happens quicker than you can imagine. your shirt is pulled over your arms and your bra is unclasped. nanami flips you both over so your back hits the mattress and he’s hovering over your chest, lips wrapping around a pebbled nipple as he sucks and rolls his tongue over it. your hand clutches at his blonde locks, head thrown against the pillow as you whine, back arching a little when his hand reaches for your other tit and his fingers rub and pinch at your nipple so as not to leave it neglected.

“k-kento, please,” you breathe, “more.”

he hums, switching his mouth and his hand to give the same attention to the other side, slotting a knee between your legs and spreading them wide. you’re dripping, pussy aching as it craves the stretch of his cock. it’s almost nauseating, how much you need him—thankfully, he seems to have an idea.

you breathe his name the same way you always do when he slips himself into you, breathless and in love, brimming with lust and awe, glossed with ache and need. he sets his jaw and presses his forehead to yours, feeling your tight walls squeeze him in as he lets you adjust. and when you buck your hips with a greedy whine, just like you always do, he all but pulls out completely before slamming into you, just like he always does.

“god, kento,” you moan, “so full. feels good—always make me f-feel good. only you.” he groans at your words, hips rutting into you desperately as he chases the friction of your wet cunt, lost on the way your walls flutter around him.

you were made for him, he thinks, the way your pussy hugs around him, the way he fits so perfectly, the way your bodies slot against each other just right when you pull him close. nanami kento is sure you were sculpted by steady hands, deliberate and slow—and he can only hope he’s enough to be yours, enough to reach for your hand and feel the way your fingers entwine and your heart seeps through your palm into his.

he’ll cradle it carefully, until he’s enough for you, until you’ll willingly take his heart when he hands it to you too.

but something tells him from the way your cling to him, arms around his neck, chests pressed so closely that your nipples graze, that you want his heart in your palm too.

“fuck,” he grunts, “missed fucking you like this,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as you mewl, raising your hips and meeting his sloppy thrusts halfway. “missed the way you take me so well, love. so tight,” he breathes.

he lets a hand travel between your bodies, rubbing at your clit in slow circles that make you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist as your thighs tremble. his fat tip kisses your sweet spot, the one he knows by heart as he angles his hips and slams into you with precision, the slow, sloppy roll of his hips building up your orgasm in a steady ache. your hands find his hair, tugging at the roots as you let wanton moans spill from your mouth. and he’s everywhere, his skin against yours, his mouth pressing hot, searing kisses along your jaw, his vein dragging along your walls as his cock curves into you just right.

you can feel the coil in your belly tighten until it’s just ready to snap, can feel yourself get closer to your high, can feel the way nanami is close too as he twitches in your dripping heat. he’s groaning into your neck, head falling into the juncture of your shoulder as he lets out deep grunts, balls heavy and aching to release.

“kento, kento,” you chant his name. it leaves a tender feeling swimming in his chest, fond and proud and a little grateful all at once. the way you say his name like that makes him think you still need him, that he’s still enough, that he’s still everything you want. and when you tug at his roots, letting out a soft sob as his thumb rubs harshly over your sensitive clit, he smiles a little against your skin. “‘m so close kento, n-need it. need it so bad, please.”

“let go,” he kisses your neck, “cum for me, love.”

and you do. hard.

it’s been as long for you as it has for him—sometimes you let yourself forget that. but he slams himself into your walls, your slick smeared messily along your thighs, and you cum on his cock with a silent sob. your back arches as you cling to nanami, tugging at his hair while he fucks you through your high, groaning deeply at the way your walls spasm around his cock.

your high sends him hurdling into his own release, his second orgasm rippling through his spine as pleasure burns through every nerve. nanami’s head falls to your shoulder, and he faintly registers your hand cradling the back of his head as he desperately ruts into you, rhythm sloppy. he paints your walls white, thick ropes of cum filling you up as he fucks his load deep into your sloppy cunt.

“god—you’re all i need,” he moans, “everything i need—c-can’t lose you, never you. i love you. i love you,” he chokes, panting as he trembles in your arms with the last new waves of his high. you’re repeating the words back—and through soft sniffles, he faintly registers—while your fingers are gently threading through his hair.

and when he slips out of you, slumping onto the bed beside you as he collects you in his arms, he realizes that this is the first time he’s laid on his side of the bed since he’s come home to you.

“i love you, kento,” you say for what feels like the millionth time that night. and you think you’ll keep repeating it for as long as he needs it. “thank you for coming home to me.”

“thank you for bringing me home,” he smiles, kissing your forehead.

you kiss over his scarred skin, he brings the sheets over your bodies, and nanami kento is home. nothing’s changed.

#teepods.writings #thirstee!#fics.#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami angst #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk smut

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alicerosejensen · 1 year

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Shades Of Cool

So here is the angst as promised. I have a lot of requests in messages and I will try to fulfill them, but now I want to write something sad. There was already a similar text, but it did not say exactly how the reader died.

Warning: mention of suicide; the reader has suicidal tendencies; longing with a bad end; Leon is hurt but holding on; Leon!Vendetta

(Depression is my profession, huh.)

Leon knew you had a failed attempt in the past. Everything has been documented for a long time and is in your medical file, the information of which Hannigan requested at the request of Leon when you first met him. Just to make sure you has nothing to do with Umbrella or other bioterrorists. Of course, you did not have any dark spots in your biography that would have made another chip on his heart if he knew that you were one of those who create bioweapons or have any dealings with them.

Except one.

“Suicide attempt…two years ago. Poisoned by sleeping pills. According to the medical records, she was barely resuscitated." Hannigan's voice came out with a sly grin as Leon's heart sank.

But why?

Leon did not ask you because he realized that he opened that page of your life about which you did not want to tell him yet and had every right to do so. However, you still remembered that sad look of his when he came to your house and hit his shoulder against the door frame. You never told him about it, but you suspected that he knew. You had a few cuts on your arms, but you lied to him that your cat left them for you as a child. Complete nonsense and Leon, holding your wrist in his hand, ran his thumb over deep footprints, looking intently at them.

"Never do that again" from his serious tone, everything inside turned upside down and, meeting with the blueness of his eyes, you lost all words and thoughts, feeling only shame in front of him. As if your problems are too small compared to his and how could you do such things with your body when he sees horrors literally every day? Goosebumps ran down your spine as Leon's lips touched each of your scars as he kissed them. “If something is bothering you, we can solve it differently”

But you didn't know how to decide otherwise. This is something that Leon should have understood before the irreparable happened. Leon was afraid to build relationships, and you didn't believe that someone could love you. Like it was impossible. But if Leon dared to let you get closer to him, to his heart broken into many parts, then you inflicted another knife wound on him.

Pictures of your meeting, communication, joint meetings, ringing laughter, everything revolves before his eyes as a bright kaleidoscope around one colorless event.

His indifferent face seems to show no emotion as he stands in front of the bed, peering down at your lifeless body sprawled on the clean sheets.

He didn't come home to you to find you dead.

But you're so tired of everything. Always not good enough. Never smart enough or pretty enough. There was always... there was always something missing. Eventually something started telling you to stop everything again.

Leon didn't need you. He preferred to while away his days in bars or in correspondence with Ada Wong, which he probably thought you knew nothing about. For everyone, you were too stupid and naive to notice clearly obviously, but you noticed ... you just didn't always show it. Maybe of course you took everything to heart, but even your family constantly inspired you that you were not as good as the rest. This was the reason for the first attempt. But love is short-lived, like a candle in the wind. So you went out like a candle, leaving behind only a dissolving haze. This sea of endless self-loathing covered you in endless waves, plunging you deeper and deeper into a dark abyss from which you no longer wanted to get out. At some point, you just realized that no one will even notice if you leave.

Suppressed by childhood fears, these deep wounds never healed. And the pain was too real, even though you somehow charmed Leon with your inner light and agreed to be with him, you were still alone with this pain.

There was so little good in your life that in the end even Leon turned out to be something negative that finally knocked you off your feet, made you drown, even though he remained your most beloved person. You were always very close to him and very far at the same time, because it was Leon who set the distance. The only woman he could let in without fear and looking back was not you at all.

And yet there was something that brought a smile to the face until the very end. Moments when Leon said that you belong to him and he is obliged to take care of you but in fact even he threw you away as an unnecessary thing.

You are so tired... Leon finally pushed you away after the death of his entire squad. He didn't need you anymore, no matter how hard you tried to help him, he just left without a word, taking the bag with his few things, leaving you in the middle of the room broken like a doll.

With slowly flowing tears on your cheeks, broken from the inside, and only when the door finally slammed shut behind him, you felt pain in your knees when you fell, hitting them on the floor. No word could describe how you felt when he left "us" behind. It hurt more than any betrayal, forcing you to roll onto his side of the bed and touch his nonexistent face. No one could help you forget him, and you were so tired of falling asleep thinking about him, unable to stop loving him. It was so cruel. You literally choked on your own howling and coughing, choking on tears.

He didn't even have anything to say to you. He just left when he saw fit, kicking you out of his life.

You thought pain was the worst feeling, but worse was the endless silence inside you that followed Leon's departure. Not even going to delve into the reason for the distance, as if out of spite, your whole family began to put pressure on you again, condemning you for a small mistake. As if a huge black cloud clouded whole life. You didn't want anything else. There were no tears, no sadness, no joy. You have always been worse than others. From early childhood. Even at your crappy job, you were considered worthless, which eventually led back to the only solution to the problem.

But even if you died, you would create unnecessary problems for your family with a funeral, and they certainly would not want to do this. The guilt was precisely because of this: the knowledge that someone would take the time to prepare your body for burial. But the upsides of your death seemed to far outweigh the few downsides when you were holding a full vial of sleeping pills in your hands.

That's why you corrected yourself. Cleaned up the house, had a nice chat with the upstairs neighbor while she complimented the dress you bought, thinking you were probably going on a date; made the bed with new linens, took a shower and put on light makeup before pouring a full glass of water and drinking sleeping pills one after the other until you emptied the whole vial and your poisoned body collapsed on the bed, staining the pillow with a thin line of blood running from under your nose and mouth.

However, even outwardly you did not look like a sleeper. The heartbeat gradually slowed down, and you plunged deeper and deeper into the dark bottom, from which there was no longer a single chance to get out. There was not even a farewell note, although you wanted to apologize to everyone for the fact that those around you spent so much time on you, but all their hopes were crushed. So death really was a deliverance from all problems.

You just finally solved all your problems in one single right way.

And Leon hated himself for leaving you for months without saying a word. However, something affected him in New York that he rushed to you as soon as the plane landed back, banging on the door of your small apartment to no avail.

This time he wasn't even drunk. Beaten, bruised, but completely sober and alive, unlike you. Because your heart hasn't beat in at least four hours, so your lips have taken on a bluish tint.

"Sweetheart, I know I acted like a fucking asshole but please let's talk. Open the door, I know you're home"

The comic of the whole situation was that the door was actually open, you deliberately did not close it so that in the morning your friend would find you.

"I love you... I was afraid that I might lose you too if I was by your side, but now I understand that I was an idiot! Please, let's talk, I don't want to lose you anymore."

Nothing.

Leon took a deep breath, resting his forehead on the door, trying to hear your steps or movements. Silence. But he knows that you are at home - he saw the open window. He knew that he acted like a son of a bitch, he knew that you had every right to hate him, and yet he wanted to return you.

Another series of knocks followed by no response. Leon accidentally put his hand on the door handle, and then with a click it opened, causing him to freeze in place in amazement. Leon pushed open the door into a dark hallway, and the dim light from the next room made him move further inside, shuddering slightly as the chill of the night ran down his spine.

"Sweetheart?" He slammed the window to a distinctive click, but you still did not respond to his voice.

Your phone was on the table, and next to it was an empty vial of some pills with an almost empty glass of water. Leon unlocked your phone by looking at the list of recent messages, but there was nothing interesting about them. However, taking a vial in his hand and reading the name on the label...

You definitely didn't have any sleep problems! A flash of insight, backed up by the knowledge that you've already had one failed attempt in the past, made Leon's heart sink and freeze as he entered the bedroom and saw your silhouette lying on the bed.

"Baby..." Leon quickly ran up to you, after a few seconds of silent stupor.

Leon turned your body towards him, feeling for a pulse, rubbing your shoulders. The sight of gore on your face for some reason raised a flash of accumulated negative feelings. Pressing your head to his chest, Leon flipped the lamp button to light up the bedroom a little and swallowed the bitter lump in his throat when he saw the lifeless pallor.

"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!"

You didn't hear. Leon scooped you into his arms, hugging you, whispering something in your head while he searched for the phone in his pocket. While the ambulance was coming, those minutes seemed to drag on forever. Any attempts to bring you to your senses, to at least open your eyes a little, were not blamed for success.

But it was unbearable when the doctors declared death in an unimaginably dry voice without even trying to do anything, despite his furious cries after your body was immersed in a black body bag. Leon just watched silently as the ambulance drove away and the police considered that death by suicide was not worth close attention. "Unrequited Love" would then be whispered among themselves as Leon read a copy of the autopsy report that Hannigan got for him, looking at him with a regretful look.

The following days passed in black despondency and alcohol. Leon would like to burn out all the feelings from his heart for you along with the endless guilt for leaving you. It feels like it's rotting from the inside. There is not the slightest desire to look at you dead, but he comes ... He comes and looks with an empty, otherworldly look at the same serene you. Already in a different dress, but still beautiful, albeit lifeless. he would like to make love to you now, hold you in his arms and luxuriate in bed. Count your moles, cover your back with light kisses and hug you. He would like anything now, but not to see you dead. His hand covered yours with his thumb, running over your knuckles as if remembering what it was like to hold your hand. Some looked at him in bewilderment, but Leon didn't care anymore. He gently stroked your face, trying to ignore the urge to smash everything around from the purest rage and despair that filled it.

But in the end, when all other senses recede, when the lid of your coffin closes forever, only a black, empty nothing remains inside Leon.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #reader #resident evil vendetta #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy angst #leon scott kennedy x reader #I cried when I wrote this #I want Leon to suffer #Death of a Reader

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chemicant · 7 months

Text

The things they do...

Law, Kid, Zoro, Nami, Robin

I'm outing myself with this simp list, but I just love the way they are

Law

when he pulls on a pair of surgical gloves and they snap onto his hands, the way you can see the dark outlines of his tattoos through the thin layer of latex

the shimmer in his eyes when a carefully laid plan is reaching its finale, he doesn't quite realize himself but his face lights up with child-like anticipation

the way he subconsciously fiddles with an object in the air while deep in thought with a casual wave of his hand

how he sits cross-legged in his chair, hands always tapping out a beat only he can hear onto the arm rests

when he undoes the top buttons or rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, allowing his tattoos to peak through

the way he walks into a room, head up high, an air of effortless confidence

Kid

the way he smells like oil with a subtle metallic undertone, you can't tell if its a remnant of his workshop or the battlefield

everything about the way he works. his tongue sticking out in concentration while he maintains his prosthetic. how he tucks stray strands of hair under his goggles after he pushes them out of his face to take a break

when he swings his fur coat over his shoulders effortlessly with one hand, how it finds its spot draped perfectly over his back

his sadistic smile when he's in the throes of battle, rushing in confidently with a storm of scrap swirling behind him

his face when he's angry, veins pronounced against his pale skin and static in the air. the almost eerie calmness to him that commands the room

how he doesn't seem to register pain, shrugging it off unflinchingly. yet you still catch him at times reflexively massaging his left arm, distracted by the phantom ache

Zoro

how he always sits facing the entrance to a room, always on high alert, watching for danger

the muscles on his unscarred back when you watch him train, how they ripple gracefully with his every movement

when he tugs the bandana off his arm and wraps it around his head with practiced precision

that rare belly laugh he does when he's happy. the one that causes him to throw his head back and crinkle his eyes in spontaneous joy

the weight that each of his movements carry, purposeful and intentional, not a single motion gone to waste

Nami

how she proudly shows off the tattoo on her shoulder blade; along with the pale white scars that run underneath

the gentle dusting of freckles on her face and upper arms, how they glow in the sun

the way the tips of her fingers always smell like zesty orange peels

the sound of her heels clacking against the wooden floorboards of the Sunny

how she sometimes fiddles with her clima-tact, twirling it around her fingers and snapping it to length with a flick of her wrist

Robin

her soft chuckle when she finds something amusing, almost unnoticeable yet so distinct

the way she puts her hair back into a ponytail and pushes up her reading glasses when she's deep into her work

how she loves to listen to what you have to say, but also her animated rants about her passions

how she uses her sunglasses to keep her hair out of her eyes, but a couple strands always come undone to frame her face

the sharp features of her face that are only accented further by her piercing blue eyes

#trafalgar law #eustass kid #roronoa zoro #nami #nico robin #one piece #one piece x reader

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mintmatcha · 9 months

Text

the pursuit of silence (and all the noise along the way)

nanami kento x reader

part one: potential (and the lack there of)

CW: cisfem reader, Space AU (vaguely Star Wars. Vaguely), reader has a cybernetic limb. slow burn.

JJK AU MINORS DNI

Out Station, Hosnian System, Core Territories

When you first arrived, the station's constant thrum would keep you awake. The slow, thrusting drawl echoed through your metal cot as the craft perpetually spun, the sound of gears and cogs drilling down to the marrow of your bones to eat at the edges of your mind. Night doesn't exist in space, not in the same way it does on solid ground. There's no physical marker for rest, no sun to rise to mark another day, so everything always trudges forward, with heavy, uneven steps.

When you were young, the visitors to your planet's surface had told you that space was eerily silent, marked only by the sound of your vessel and your own thoughts.

"Nothing like here," One man -Simmons- had promised. He had tucked himself away into your Sun Dome, waiting for the thunder to calm itself, "Nothin' like this eternal rain."

He had left later that night, leaving only stories about the Inner Rim and an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

"Don't that sound make you wanna go crazy?" he said as he headed towards his ship, "Don't you ever want silence?"

It was funny, how you had never noticed it before, the tap-tap-tap that bore down upon the plexiglass. A frog born into boiling water: you didn't know you were being cooked in it all until someone else told you this wasn't normal.

You've been chasing that silence ever since.

You thought you had found it when you joined the station. Promises of flights to places you've never heard of, adventures you could never dream of: you didn't even bother to pack a bag before jetting off and leaving the rainy planet's surface behind. There, beyond the atmosphere, it was- stretches of ringing, perfect quiet.

Then you arrived and the noises never stopped. It was nothing like the storms you had grown up with, no rhythm, no comfort. Gone was the devil you knew, traded for another nightmare of soot and gears.

Nothing changed. Maybe you did. The hourly chimes, the rattle of cargo leaving and arriving, the sighs and snores and sex sounds of fellow pilots that shared the dorm: you learned to live with it, allowed yourself to become a part of the drum. In fact, a part of you found comfort in it, like a cosmic lullaby, rocking you to sleep as the stars spun around you.

The sudden sharp, violent clanging of metal on metal is not a part of that lullaby.

You jolt from sleep, clutching at your side for where your blaster usually is, driven only by panic. It takes a couple bleary blinks for you to gauge the scene and realize there's no threat. A pink haired rookie is smiling up at you, his cybernetic limb still clutched against the steel of your bed frame.

"Nine!" Pilot 501-G grins, "Scared ya."

"Stars and Makers, Itadori." You soften your tone, but still kick away his hand. Your own prosthetic isn't as advanced as his; while his is covered in thin synthflesh, the metal of yours is exposed, covered only by sheets, "I just fucking fell asleep."

The younger man laughs, backing away from the wall sheepishly. The glimmer in his eye is what keeps him looking young, despite the scars that cut through his lip and over the bridge of his nose. Someone is snoring a couple bunks over, practically gagging on their own spit. Every now and again, the sound stops and Itadori’s head snaps to look in that direction, concern dripping from his features. You’ll tell him later that it’s just G’hil: he’s been snoring like that for years.

"Sorry, sorry - I thought it was funny!" He better be sorry - you're the one in charge of training his ass, "But they're looking for you, so you gotta get up."

You rub the grit of sleep from your eye. "Who could possibly need me? I just fucking landed--" you check your watch- “Four hours ago.”

"One of the guys with the offices," he shrugs, "They told me you'd know where to go."

You do, unfortunately. Only one commander gives instructions to the G Group. With a groan and stiff back, you throw yourself from the bed. As you slide into your fly suit, Itadori dips his head to the floor to avoid watching you dress. In a few months, he'll lose his modesty too; it's hard to stay pure in such a confined space.

Once you're dressed, you both head into the bustling halls. The paths divert and wind, dipping into ladders for the deeper parts of the station. Itadori still gets lost most days, so he follows you as you wind your way towards the loading bay.

"Are you going on a mission?" he asks.The recycled air is extra stuff today and you swear it tastes like the slop dining served last meal.

"It’s an assignment," you correct, "And probably."

"Dammit." Itadori kicks at nothing, practically skipping, "They make me clean engines when you're gone."

"Good, it'll beef you up a little bit."

The boy gawks at that, squeezing his biceps to prove he doesn't need any more. You laugh and mimic him, flexing your own muscles as you walk. He flexes harder then, bicep so coiled you fear he might hurt himself. The ball of muscle is bigger than you expected, easily larger than yours, but you blow him away with a raspberry anyway.

“Okay, okay, Shrimp.”

“Maker, please don’t call me Shrimp-- I’m afraid it’s going to stick!”

He has a point. Nicknames have a funny way of gaining traction around here. As you both wind your way into the main level, the activity picks up. More bodies are roaming the narrow halls, rushing to-- well, you aren’t quite sure. The Station is 45 levels top to bottom with a couple hundred employees on hand at all times, some of which are stationed to pilot hypermatter crafts to places that need it. Other people did a variety of boring, overly scientific sounding jobs- stuff that went immediately over your head when they explained it to you.

“Itadori, we'll fly when I get back, okay? I'll take a cruiser and a couple credits and we'll get a good dinner. Something nice." You bump your hip against him and he almost staggers into an officer. "Something fresh."

"Real Caf?" he asks, "Not the powdered stuff?"

You’re not sure ‘real’ Caf exists, but you promise him anyway. "Sure, whatever you want."

Itadori pumps his fist in the air with a woop. He goes to continue, then pauses as his eyes flit down the hall. Staggering out of an unknown room is a familiar face, much less bruised than you last saw it.

"Hello, hello," you croon, hands on your knees like you’re calling for a loth-cat, "Look who's out and about!"

"Ha, ha, very funny." Haibara hobbles on a crutch, the wood tucked under his arm's cast. His leg is set straight with chunky plaster, basically paralyzing his right side. The few people who pass clear the way around him, but a round little R2 Droid drives straight into his good leg and almost bowls him over. The round faced brunette wobbles and swears, waving it off with his good arm.

"Do you know how hard it is to not have an arm and a leg?" he exclaims.

You and Itadori share a look, then gesture to each other's cybernetics.

"Yes."

"I know very well," you agree, "I have no sympathy. Don't steal an X-wing next time."

Haibara groans, sounding as pathetic as he looks. He’s actually a couple of years older than you, but he looks softer than Itadori in the face. “I just wanted to try it out. If they didn’t want joy riders, they shouldn’t have refueled here!”

“That’s awful logic,” you tease, clapping his shoulder. Unlike you, Haibara came into the station without any flying experience and has not proven himself to be a fast learner. Why he thought he could borrow an X-wing without the experience ending in disaster is beyond you. “Surprised they didn’t fire your ass. Thank god for unions, huh?”

He shoots you a deadpan look.

"And I was coming here to tell you good news, Niney." Haibara leans on his crutch, nose in the air, "But now I won’t.”

“Aww, Hai.”

“I won’t! Don’t give me those pouty lips!”

You bat your eyelashes for effect.

“Ugh, be glad I like you,” he says so sweetly, “You-know-who is here."

All humor immediately evaporates from your body. Both men notice and have polar opposite reactions: Haibara glows with a chaotic grin while Itadori sobers.

"Oh, god," you whisper. A tightness has gripped your ribs. Maybe it's dread, maybe it’s panic. “The you-know-who?”

"I don't know who," Itadori interjects.

“There’s only one you-know-who.”

"Oh, god."

"I don't know who!" Itadori says again.

Haibara throws his head back to laugh, then grimaces in pain. Good, he deserves it.

"Who's you-know-who?" Itadori stresses, looking between his two superiors. You throw a hand over your face to hide your expression, but Haibara continues.

"Niney-Nine, our fearless leader, our beloved pilot-” Haibara’s grin is consuming his whole face. If he wasn’t already stitched and taped up, you might punch him, “--has a crush."

"You have a crush? What?" Eyes snap to you, "On who?"

Crestfallen is written all over the poor kid's face, but you can only focus on your own burning cheeks. Oh, how your body has betrayed you.

"Shut up.”

"She won't even talk to him." Haibara continues, "I try to call her over to talk to him and she shrivels up like a bug."

He brings his good arm to his chest and sticks out his tongue, then roughly mimics scurrying away in the air. Itadori’s jaw is slack, enthralled by his antics.

“It’s nothing,” you insist, “He’s not even cute.”

It’s not nothing. Oh, you wish it was, but it’s not. You have the type of crush that makes your knees buckle and jaw ache and you haven’t even spoken to the man directly. Once, he nodded your way, just the hint of a smile on his lips, and you spent the following afternoon locked in a shower stall, shamefully jacking off to the memory.

Dread rises in your throat like bile.

"Oh, please! You're so smitten! It's crazy!” he turns back to Itadori, “She’s so smitten. Makes this dumb little face-" Haibara makes his eyes wide, “Once, she went to Coruscant to watch his speech-”

"We're leaving." You start walking, pace crisp enough that Itadori can barely follow, let alone your injured copilot, "Bye, Hai!"

"Oh, come on!" The linoleum squeaks under the rubber stopper at the end of his crutch, "I know for a fact that it'd go well if you just talked to him!"

"Goodbye!" you call back. You’re better than this. A stupid crush isn’t going to dominate your life, especially not one this unrealistic.

You click the heels of your boots against the floor with purpose, marching forward and away from that mess.

But Itadori doesn’t have the sense to read the air. “So, who is it-?”

"Itadori," you warn.

Silence only lasts another couple of steps.

"You should ask him out," he continues, "You're really great. I know any guy would be-"

“Don’t,” you warn, a bit harsher than you really should, “Not now, Shrimp.”

As you arrive to where you need to be, a room marked ‘superior’, Itadori chews on his lip and hesitates, shuffling his feet unhappily. He’s still bright eyed and full of adventure, just like you used to be, so he must be upset about missing another ‘mission’.

'Hey," you elbow him again, softer this time, "I'll probably just be toting cargo to the Outer Rim again. There's no reason to be sad or jealous or whatever."

"I'm not jealous of-" Words fail him, then the rookie relents and retreats, "You're right-- have fun on your stinky old rocket."

He waves you off, still a little down. "Still sounds better than sitting here."

You ruffle his hair. It’s unwashed and sticky enough that it stays in place when you pull away, so you wipe your palm on his shirt. Itadori steps back with fake offense, but his smile is returning.

“Sorry, shrimpy,” you say, “I’ll see you soon.”

You turn the door handle, then pause. “And take a shower, for Maker’s sake.”

.. . . . . . . . .

The office is essentially just an overlook of the bay, with ships and droids constantly twirling about. Today, no large freighters are reloading, so the space is rather barren, filled with only pilots and fuelers passing the time. At the intercom, a tall, thin woman stands. Commanding Officer Mei Mei tilts her head with the coyest of smiles, like she's barely containing a secret. She greets you by name, a strange familiarity she holds with all pilots she deems worthy.

"Senior Pilot 333-G, reporting for duty," you say.

She wastes no time. Her eyes bore into you from behind the thick plait that covers most of her face.

"You're from a single biome storm planet, right?"

You hesitate to answer. Mei Mei is nice enough, but there's always an insidiousness behind it all, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but your gut can taste. Like the predatory bird, she perches herself against the edge of the table, primed to strike the moment you’re most vulnerable.

"I am, indeed," you admit.

"And you've flown on your planet?"

It's where you learned, in between storms and pressure pockets, on the laps of men that promised to take you away and never did. "Many, many times."

"Good." She claps her hands together and turns back to her makeshift desk. The same papers are scattered around its top, in the same position as always, a charade that works on most. It’d probably work on you too, if you didn’t know how often she disappeared offsite. "It’s settled then. You'll be transporting our visiting senator back to his home planet."

Your heart stops for a moment. Neurons connect.

"Who?" you ask, even though you know better.

The OutStation is a part of multiple trade routes, so it isn't uncommon for senators to make appearances. Most of the time, it's to file complaints about efficiency or lost shipments (with piracy at an all time high, you can't blame them), but a certain senator seems to visit more often than others.

"That would be me.” The man in question stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk and you wonder how you didn't notice him before. Every hair on your body stands on edge as you process his presence, a Loth cat with its hackles raised.

“This time of year, the storms can knock out the Nav and landing systems." He adjusts his cuff link and smooths the sleeve back into place, always the picture of grace. Senator Nanami Kento, with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and chin never below parallel with the ground, adjusts his glasses and you catch his steely gaze directly. This time, there’s no hint of a smile, just a thin drawn line on his peach slice lips.

Your mouth goes dry.

It's not that you don't like the Senator. Oh. Quite the opposite.

He’s You-Know-Who.

You’re not sure where you gathered the absolute gall to develop feelings for the man. It certainly wasn’t a logical decision. The men you usually go after are in your league: other pilots passing through, engineers that can’t remember your last name, strangers who understand the game and how to play it-- it’s always people who see the Outer Rim Hick written across your face and treat you as such. You have no business falling for a man who dresses in ironed long coats, white collars that are never dirtied, with a neck that’s never been burnt by the sun.

It doesn’t help that he’s simply attractive. Not a special kind of hot, with caveats and conditions, but genuinely, truly beautiful. It’s the kind of attractiveness that makes people kinder and life easier and you wish you were immune.

"Senator, I-" You're sweating. Your eyes won't leave where you've planted them on the floor. His boots are polished leather, so shiny you can see your warped reflection. It’s better than looking at him. "Wouldn't it be better to use an official transport? Or Haiba-- 299-G?"

Haibara grew up on the same planet as the Senator, so the two have been close since their teenage years. When Haibara left, Nanami went to work, climbing the political ladder. Their home planet used to be a bit more like yours, desolate and unknown, but in the past ten years Prixiyi has transformed into a vacation destination. The change is controversial amongst the citizens, but it undeniably has made the planet a gem in the eyes of the galaxy.

Maybe that’s what made you like him in the first place, that ability to rise.

"There's no official transport in this sector and Haibara is currently… out of commission. I need to go home as quickly as possible and finish some work before the tourism season begins." Senator Nanami leans back, turning away to mutter over his shoulder. "Besides, I'd prefer to make it back in one piece."

Despite yourself, you blossom into a smile. Haibara doesn't have a very good track record of keeping his craft in the sky. It's a bad joke, but coming from him, it's everything.

From the corner of your eye, Mei Mei gives you a sideways glance. That immediately sobers you. Don’t forget yourself: you’re a grunt performing a job, not some schoolgirl with a crush. This isn’t some sort of fanfiction; there’s no reason to get excited.

“I just need someone with experience dealing with the hazards," The Senator reiterates.

"I'll rise to the occasion, sir." You nod to both of the people in the room. Besides, you aren’t some rookie flyboy anymore: you, for better or worse, are considered a proper pilot. As an adult woman, you can swallow down a childhood crush for a couple hours.

Then, maybe, you can go home and masturbate about it.

“Wonderful,” Mei Mei says it in a way where you doubt she really thinks it's wonderful at all. She waits a moment, that crisp smile still pulled tight, "Well?"

There’s the moment, where your guard is down and the soft belly of your emotions is exposed. “Uh-”

“Our darling-” she stresses that word and the man in question seems stiffer, if that’s even possible- “darling Senator said as soon as possible. Start moving.”

You don't wait for any further instruction. In a bit of a scramble, you turn on your heel and leave, careful not to let the door slam. The lack of sleep is still tight in your muscles, but you push through and head towards the bay. There was no instruction of exactly where to go or what you’re flying, but that doesn’t matter.

As long as you know who is onboard, it’ll be a nightmare.

Masterlist | part two

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quaranmine · 3 months

Text

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Twelve; Final)

The after, and the end.

Chapter twelve: 7,050 words.

<< Chapter Eleven | Masterpost

Hi, thank you all so much for reading. I hope you like this chapter. I already know some of you will :)

No CW for this chapter. Trust me that I can’t do worse to you than the last chapter. This one will, of course, continue to reference events of the last chapter though so be prepared for more discussion of grief and death.

September 1989

It’s late afternoon when Grian walks down the trail, boots crunching softly on the leaves and gravel. His boots are rubbing his feet, despite the many miles he has walked this summer to break them in. He’s still wearing the old pair, battered and trashed as they are. It’ll be their last journey. It only feels right in the way it feels wrong. It’s like he’s slipping back into a part he played once that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

Still, the walking is meditative in its own way. One foot in front of the other, back and forth, every time.

He zones out so thoroughly that he’s almost, but not quite, surprised to realize he is already at his destination. He knows he’s at the end of the line because the last pitch is steep and rocky, with nothing but sky above him. There’s nowhere left to go but up, and reaching for the sky is what all fire lookouts do best.

Perhaps he expected this trail to be longer because the trail to Two Forks was. It took a full day of walking if he started incredibly early, and two days if he didn’t. He always seemed to fail to start early, except for that time with the firework idiots. This isn’t the trail to Two Forks, though.

Grian scrambles up the last portion of the trail, and sets his eyes on the prize at the end: the Thorofare lookout.

It’s not perched on a tower the way many classic lookouts are, rather it takes on a different blueprint that is common to many fire lookouts in the western US. It sits alone on top of a foundation of a heaping pile of granite rock. It doesn’t need a spiraling staircase to give it height above the trees; it’s already the highest point in the surrounding mountains.

For a random, silly moment, Grian wants to duck himself behind one of the rocks and hide. He wants to play spy for just a little while, and go back to being that unobtrusive observer in the forest that he was paid to be only weeks ago.

The lookout is fairly well kept. The siding has been painted recently, but the shingles are a little messed up, likely from the hail they’d received earlier in the summer. Grian smiles to himself, just slightly. That’s probably not something Scar can fix for himself, and it’s probably driving him crazy. He clearly cares a lot about keeping the building and its surroundings looking nice.

He should just…go to the door and knock, like a normal person.

He doesn’t. He just hangs back.

He’s not entirely sure why. Scar seems, by every encounter he’s ever had with him, an objectively friendly person. Perhaps even too friendly—a person who was willing to put up with Grian’s relentless, doomed quest and offer total support. And maybe that’s why he’s scared: because it’s always easier to reveal your whole soul anonymously, but putting a face to it is final.

He has to do this, though.

He rolls his shoulders, adjusting the weight of the pack—a new one—and anticipates dropping it at the door. Then, he steps out from behind the rock, walks to the door, and knocks on it.

There is an immediate yelp of shock from inside the cabin followed by the sound of something clearly being dropped, which Grian can’t help but snicker at.

“I’m uh, I’m—coming!” Scar says, with a hint of sing-song on the final word. Grian is struck by how clear his voice sounds, without the interference of many miles between them. Of course it would be, but still. He sounds just slightly different.

A second later the door is flung open, and Scar is there, right in front of him, leaning a little on the door frame. Standing there, right in front of him.

He’s taller than Grian, which he knew to expect but is still mildly annoyed by. He somehow looks nothing like, and exactly like, what Grian expected him to. His hair is light brown, and needs a good combing. It’s a little long in the back, since it’s probably been weeks or months since Scar got it trimmed. His eyes are green, and they contain just a touch of cockiness. He’s smiling at Grian, all bright teeth and good cheer, and the facial expression tugs slightly at a scar under his eye. That had been caused in the accident, if Grian recalls correctly.

“Well, hello there,” Scar says. “You startled me a little back there! We don’t get very many visitors to this fine establishment, but welcome! I’m the one who staffs this here Thorofare Lookout, so what can I help ya with?”

And Grian, embarrassingly, just stares at him.

The moment extends for an amount of time that is just edging into uncomfortableness. Grian can see it in the way Scar’s smile freezes a little on his face, like he’s gone from being genuinely friendly to just holding the expression in place for some weirdo tourist who has decided to come bother him out in the middle of nowhere.

Grian shakes his head, lifting himself out of the moment and back into reality. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly. “Sorry about that, I’m just—” He stops. Then, he extends his hand. “Hi Scar, I’m Grian.”

It’s Scar’s turn to stare now. The smile on his face melts away in shock, and his gaze flickers across Grian, giving him a once over. It makes Grian want to shrink back some in shyness.

Then he accepts Grian’s extended hand, and in one fluid motion uses it to yank him into a hug instead. It’s soft and warm.

Grian somehow didn't expect that, although he's probably received more hugs in the past two months than in the last two years, so this one shouldn't be that much of a surprise. It feels more important though, like it's communicating something left unsaid between them all summer.

"You had me so worried," Scar says to the top of Grian's head.

They pull away. Grian smiles sadly. "Sorry about that."

"What are you doing here?" Scar says.

“Ouch. Not even a hello?”

“Hi Grian,” Scar says, and immediately tacks on: “So what are you doing here? Not that—not that I don't appreciate it of course! You know, I just didn't expect—"

"I thought I'd come for a visit," he says. Then he adds, amused, "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!"

Grian steps into the lookout, and it's organized chaos. He gets the distinct sense that Scar has too many belongings for such a small space, and that he has at the same time put great effort into decorating and turning it into a little home. The interior layout mostly matches his tower, with a few differences like the bed being in a different corner. There’s a notebook on the floor, which Scar quickly snatches and replaces it on the desk. That must have been what he dropped earlier when Grian knocked.

“Guess you weren’t expecting visitors?” he says.

Scar laughs. “No! You scared me!”

“Yeah, I was never expecting any hikers either,” Grian says. “I got visitors…just a few times? I think? And the one time I didn’t even see them coming, they just made it all the way up to the catwalk and knocked on the window.”

“Oh, that’s not even a bad one,” Scar says. “Once I had a hiker come in really late at night. So I just woke up to seeing a person literally trying to open the door in the dark. I thought I was gonna get robbed, or murdered, or—”

“Now I know how I should scare you next time,” Grian says, and Scar swats his arm.

“I think a lot of people don’t realize it’s inhabited,” Scar says. “Like, they think the cabin is empty so they get all the way up here and don’t realize someone’s there? I ended up letting that person crash on the floor in their sleeping bag. After I finished having a heart attack!”

“There aren’t many left that are still used, are there?” Grian asks.

Scar looks away a bit, eyes flitting over to the window by the desk where the mountains lay beyond, the ones he’s known for years. “Less each year,” he says. “I always wonder if each year’s my last one. Two Forks went inactive for several seasons. It’s just this year, after all those Yellowstone fires, that they hired more people. Like you!”

“But that funding won’t last.”

Scar shrugs. “They’ll forget about it again once the public forgets about it. Or once a new administration wants to do some cost-cutting and wonders why they’re paying so many people to go do nothing all day.”

Grian makes a noise of agreement. It goes without saying, of course, that the job isn’t only nothing. It’s a lot of nothing right up until sometimes it’s suddenly a lot of something. After that it’s hours of overtime, maps, math, weather, radio chatter, and monitoring fire.

It only took the briefest introduction to the job for Grian to realize it was like stepping into another world, and not one that would last for much longer. Manned lookouts would continue to have some advantages, of course. He and Scar could be a 24/7 relay to firefighters if needed. The job may not ever fully go away. But the more that things like satellites could be relied on, the less people they’d need to cover these vast networks of forest.

The wind whistles outside of the windows as they stand there. The sun’s angle throws little warm squares of light through the windows, checkering the floor of the cabin. It’s later in the year now, and the days are getting shorter. It’s still warm out during the day, but the lows at night are starting to get below freezing again. Scar won’t be asked to come back after October 1st, unless a really large fire breaks out again. There’s limited days left in this cabin.

The strangest part of it all is that they’re standing here together. He keeps throwing stray glances at Scar, hoping he won’t notice, as if he’s trying to verify that he’s really standing there.

Grian changes the subject slightly. “Do you have room for me to sleep tonight? Or is that offer only open to potential thieves in the night?”

Scar pretends to deliberate on this for a second. “Nah, I’m gonna make you sleep in a tent. On the rocks. In the wind! And the cold!”

“Rude,” Grian says. “Is this how you always treat your fri—guests?”

He backs out of the word at the last minute. It’s silly. Part of him wonders, though, if he messed up his chance with Scar. If he was too hurtful, or weird, or difficult to deal with. If it was easier to talk with him long-distance and not worth it face-to-face.

It doesn’t escape Scar’s notice. “Well,” he says, drawing the word out. “I guess I could make an exception for making sure a friend doesn’t freeze to death.”

“How could I ever expect to live up to that kind of hospitality,” he deadpans in return, matching Scar’s sarcasm even as tension trickles out of his shoulders.

They were both joking, of course, but Grian had packed his bag with everything he needed in case he got rejected. He’d been willing to sleep outside. Jimmy told him that was stupid, because there was no way Scar wouldn’t let him stay with him. Grian told him that may be true, but he was never going to set out on a hiking trail again without all his gear regardless. Jimmy got quiet after that and agreed.

“Maybe I’ll just make you do some chores,” Scar says. “Hey, I have an extra pair of binoculars—”

And like that, the ice is broken.

»»———-　　———-««

Hours later, it’s dark out.

They spend a pleasant afternoon and evening together, talking mostly about nothing at all. Intentionally talking about nothing at all, really. Grian guides them away each time the conversation turns, and Scar lets him like he doesn’t even notice.

Scar is an even better storyteller in person—for the first time, Grian’s able to see how he stops what he’s doing to pour every ounce of attention into his words. Scar fills him in on everything that’s happened since July.

“You know it’s a lot more boring without you, you know,” Scar says. “The replacement lookout didn’t dramatically steal anything? Jump out any windows?” “Not a single one, G-man!” he cries. “I mean really, how’s a man supposed to find any other entertainment out here? Nice lady, though. But she didn’t want to talk to me, she just told me she wanted to do her job. I think our supervisor might have warned her off me.” “You’re a bad influence,” Grian says. “I don’t blame her.” “I’ll have you know, I was rated Most Wholesome in high school.” “That did not happen. I don’t even think that’s even a real thing.”

He receives a mini tour of the lookout. It’s not a long tour because there isn’t much to see, but Grian pays rapt attention anyway. Scar tells him about his efforts to paint the siding earlier in the summer, and specifically the way someone had come specially to deliver him those supplies twice because it was the wrong product the first time.

He points out landmarks through the windows, and Grian gets to see some of the same mountains he spent so long watching from a new vantage point. He looks at the sunny south faces of all the mountains that were north of Two Forks tower.

There’s another new feature in the cabin that Scar has added, in the form of a high shelf above the windows and close to the ceiling.

“I built that so I could dry paintings without Jellie stepping all over them when they were wet,” Scar tells him after he catches Grian eyeing it. “How’d that work out for you?” he asks. “It’s the only place she wants to sleep now!” Scar groans. "Cats like high places, you know. Wait, is she around here? I haven’t seen her at all! I'd like to meet her." "I knew you'd be more excited to see my cat than me," Scar mutters. “She’s probably hiding under the bed.” Grian kneels on the floor and peers under the bed. Deep in the shadows in the corner, a pair of bright eyes look back at him, regarding him with suspicion. Her eyes are the same color as Scar's. He watches her for a moment, but she does not make any effort to come closer. He silently vows that he will manage to pet her before he leaves.

Scar also gives him a short demonstration of some of the paintings he’s made this year. He has a sketchbook full of little things—the trees further down the hill, an undulating column of smoke with all its curves, and a delightful series of cat sketches. There are some pages where Scar skips past quickly and refuses to show Grian. When he catches a glimpse of one, the drawings look just as good as the others, so Grian remains unsure what exactly was wrong with them.

Just as impressive are his oils and watercolors. He’s made a bunch this summer—Scar claims it’s actually bad because he’s done less than usual, which Grian can’t really comprehend—and most of them are small studies.

“I want to capture more movement and texture and color and life,” Scar tells him. “The smaller pieces of paper make it so that I can’t get too hung up on details!” Grian nods along. “The Impressionists did that, you know,” Scar starts, and Grian gratefully settles back in to listen to another tangent while he thumbs through little brightly painted cards, each one more impressive than the last.

Now it’s getting late, and they’re sitting out on the catwalk together, backs against the cabin. There’s a very cold bite to the air, but the stars are pretty regardless. No clouds at all tonight, in fact, and a waning moon shining gently. The lights in the lookout are turned off, and as his eyes adjust he can start to see the outlines of the distant mountains.

Grian has two cans of beer he picked up at a gas station somewhere along the way, and gives one to Scar. It’s not a brand he recognizes, so maybe it’s from some local or state-specific brewery. Scar brings a blanket out on the deck for each of them. The cold air seeps up between the cracks in the boards they’re sitting on, but he’s cozy nonetheless.

“I wish you could’ve been down here back when the meteor shower was going,” Scar says.

“Meteor shower?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s, uh, I don’t know. Every year at the end of summer. It’s nice to be out here ‘cause you can see so many stars at night.”

“I bet that was nice,” Grian says. “I wish I was there.”

They lapse into silence for a few minutes, just sipping on the drinks. The stars twinkle far above him, the furthest so faint that he can hardly tell if he’s really seeing them or not. He absently wishes he learned more constellations, since he can’t recognize any right now. He’s going to miss being able to see so many stars.

When he turns to face Scar again, his expression is stormy. Grian goes still. Scar fiddles with the edge of his blanket and doesn’t meet his eye. He can’t tell if he looks angry, or just upset, but either combination of those makes his stomach turn. Grian waits though. They’ve waited long enough today.

"After all…of that," Scar starts finally, neatly sidestepping any discussion of what all of that actually was, "I didn't hear from you again. At all."

Grian lets that settle in for a moment. "I know," he responds finally. "I’m sorry. That's why I came here."

"I mean," Scar continues, voice growing stronger, "I knew you weren't dead because it was all over the radio traffic. I was monitoring the communications with the hotshot crew. I hear about—” he gestures with his hand “—all that, with the fire and helicopter. And our supervisor took pity on me and told me some of the details afterward.”

“And it was on the news.”

Grian knows the story was run on a few American and British outlets. He avoided the TV, and the paper, for a while afterward, but it doesn’t take the press long to get bored. Mumbo’s death was barely a blip in the news cycle. It was a dramatic story, but not that dramatic. It doesn’t matter if it will haunt Grian for the rest of his life; the average person wouldn’t remember reading about it after a week. “Missing British Expat Found Dead in American Wilderness One Year Later.” He grimaces even at the mere thought of it.

“That too. Not that I get much of that up here.” His voice is clipped. Hurt. With good reason, really, but—

Truthfully, Grian didn’t quite think to contact Scar until later. Everything after he was evacuated from the forest was a blur of activity that made his head spin, and he wasn’t in the best of shape at the time. The helicopter had taken him directly to the hospital in town, and they’d kept him for three days. They evaluated his ankle, which was only a grade 1 sprain that had been aggravated by his constant movement. They treated him for severe dehydration. They evaluated his lungs and airways. Mostly, though, they focused on his burns.

Grian was lucky, all things considered, regardless of if he felt that way or not. He lived when he could have very easily died. He’d been in a rocky area that burned fast and had little tinder, with the boulder next to him to act as a heat sink. He’d been stuck in a finger of the fire near the edge, so it had burned over quickly. He hadn't ever caught on fire himself. He’d kept his nose and mouth protected and close to the ground. His clothing had protected most of his body, but wearing a t-shirt meant his arms had been bare and he’d used his hands to cover his head. They fared the worst.

Grian thought the hand was perhaps the most annoying place to receive a burn, with the painful way he struggled to do anything, especially writing, for a few weeks. But it hadn’t been very severe. It could have been worse. He got to go home, and monitor his recovery from there.

He answered a million questions over the days following the incident. He spoke to rangers, search and rescue, fire crew members, and the police. He was scolded for stealing documents, but the words held little bite or legal weight. They had other copies available, after all. They asked him to pay a small fine. The rangers’ eyes looked sympathetic. Perhaps they felt he suffered enough, or perhaps it was the fact that this confrontation took place in the hospital room.

He called Mumbo’s parents again the morning after he woke up again.

And then when he sat in the hospital on the second night, waiting for Mumbo’s parents and his own mum to arrive, he pulled out his radio again and charged it. Once it came back on though, he realized it couldn’t do anything for him anymore. It was still set to the frequency he and Scar always spoke on, but now there were new voices speaking on it.

Of course they didn’t own the frequency, it was just a national talk frequency. They’d always just carved privacy out of the sheer remoteness surrounding them. Now, he was simply too far out of that limited range and was picking up more nearby conversations instead.

“I’m sorry,” Grian says. “I didn’t have a radio to reach you with. It was out of range as soon as I left the forest.”

“I have a phone.”

“I didn’t know the number,” he says after a moment. They’d only ever spoken over the radio when he was a lookout. Then, he tacks on jokingly: “I also don’t really think the agency wants to foot the bill for international calls.”

Scar scrunches his eyes shut for just a moment. “It hurt a lot,” he says. “That day—when I think of it, it’s so….I just—I was just worried about you. I was…”

“Scared?” Grian offers.

Scar nods, and Grian feels something horrible wash over him, a guilt that makes him want to walk straight off the catwalk into the dark. He tries to place himself there for a moment, on that evening, but this time from the inside of this lookout. Scar could see the fire from his tower. He’d been desperately trying to save him with no way to interfere on his own. Helpless. He listened to Grian say things. Worrying things. He saw the fire’s movement, where it spread, and how fast it spread.

When Grian’s radio died, he must have felt like he was watching him die.

“It’s okay,” he says, speaking all in a rush. “It’s okay, I—I’m fine. See? I got out of there, and now I’m here. I’m sorry, I came to say I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

Scar tilts his head skeptically. “Are you? Because…”

Suddenly, Grian’s eyes well up with tears. The mere question is enough to crack his veneer of coping. He casts his eyes away and blinks fast, trying to keep them at bay. Scar has heard him cry, but never seen him cry, which is somehow more embarrassing.

“No,” he says. “I don’t think I really am.”

Scar doesn’t ask him any questions, he just puts his arm around him. The warm weight of it grounds him like a comfort. For every time Grian was convinced he could do it all by himself, there was another time that he just wanted it to be like this: a person who cares. He ducks his head down, and lets the tears drip across his cheeks and into his lap. He isn’t sobbing; it’s a quiet cry.

Eventually, he simply whispers, “I’m just so tired.”

“I get that,” Scar agrees.

“Everything’s just…too much,” he says. “I’m—”

One step from losing it all?

One missed breath from drowning?

“It just feels like the beginning again,” he finishes instead.

“The beginning?” Scar inquires.

“Like I haven’t figured it out. But last time I had hope, I guess. I thought it could be fixed. It hurt but I thought it could still work out in the end. I need it to work out and be okay. And now it can’t. It’s not ever going to be okay. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

There are lows Grian has felt in the last few weeks that he doesn’t want to share with anyone. That’s part of the problem, though. His life is everyone’s concern now and he’s being treated like glass by all his friends. They mean well, of course. They may even be wise for it. But people know what happened. They just can’t know how it felt.

He tries to remember they’re upset too. They’re also grieving. But they’re not the ones who have to leave the kitchen in a panic for a bit of fresh air whenever something burns in the oven.

He wants nothing more than to be left alone. He knows what it’s like to be alone after this year, and it’s familiar. And yet, he also wants nothing more than this—to be hugged, and comforted, by someone else who can do a little reasoning for him.

It’s hard to feel like anything matters right now. He dedicated all his time to finding Mumbo. He shaped his ideas, his time, and his relationships with people around the belief that Mumbo was alive—and was wrong. So what’s the point? Where’s he supposed to go now? What’s he supposed to do?

He doesn’t know.

Scar hugs him a little closer. “It’s not okay. It won’t be. But maybe eventually you’ll start filling in things around it.”

“Like you did?” Grian says, a little sharper than intended. “Isolating yourself for years in the middle of nowhere? That didn’t work for me, in case you didn’t notice.”

“No,” he responds slowly, “like I did by being reminded of the good memories, picking up art, getting a cat, trying new jobs, looking at pretty sunsets, and meeting new friends. See! Small steps first.” He lets go of Grian, and pats his shoulder. “You can do it.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Grian says.

“I kind of think you do.”

“I don’t though,” he says sourly, “because I—I already do, and I hate it. Sometimes I feel relieved. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to be relieved. My friend is dead.”

“Why’re you relieved?” Scar asks.

“Because—because it’s just. Over, maybe. Because I finally know the answers. Because it’s horrible but at least I don’t have to wonder anymore.”

The what-ifs used to plague him constantly. They were an ever-changing carousel of worst case scenarios that danced around his head. Now, something different plagues him. But the truth doesn’t change. It just is.

“Hm.” Scar pauses for a second. “Well, you figured out what happened. You found him. You can put it to rest now. It’s okay to do that.”

“But—”

Scar interrupts. “You’re not forgetting him, you know? That’s not what it means to move on. There’s a lot of people out there who don’t have anyone to believe in them. Mumbo had you. And you did good.”

And Grian doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. He just sits there and lets the thought swirl around and around his head. Scar lets him. The two don’t speak.

He did good. Did he?

It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel good to be hell-bent on saving your best friend only to find his body. It doesn’t feel good to fail so thoroughly from the goal you set. It doesn’t feel good to be the only one left in something that was special. He has so many memories with Mumbo. Now he’s their sole keeper, the only one left to carry that knowledge.

But he did succeed, in a way. Mumbo might have been lost forever out there. Some people never do get found. He brought Mumbo home, back to his family, and back to a place with respect. Where he could be buried.

He breaks it down in his mind, over and over, like maybe he can polish away all the sharp edges like a rock in the river. Maybe it’s okay to let the sharp edges go away. The heavy weight of it remains. Maybe it doesn’t have to cut his hands every time, though.

Eventually he takes a deep breath and sits back up.

“Sorry about all that,” he mutters, as he hastily wipes the tears from his eyes.

“No,” Scar says.

“No?”

“Don’t say that, don’t apologize for crying. It’s okay!” Scar says. “If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t help you more back then, or—”

“No,” Grian says this time.

“Oh,” Scar says. “No?”

“No,” he repeats.

“Okay.”

“So that’s out of the way, then,” Grian says, breaking into a watery half smile. “No more apologies.”

“I guess so,” Scar says.

Grian sighs. “I just don’t know what to do now. What do I do next? You…you managed to do it.”

Finding Mumbo was a year-long priority. Without it, he can’t seem to figure out the structure of his life. He never thought this far ahead. He only thought about what it would be like when it was all okay—not about what he planned to do when it wasn’t okay. Now he’s falling through his own cracks.

“That’s an easy one,” Scar says. “You’ve got a lot of houses to draw!”

“We call it drafting.”

“Drafting then,” Scar nods. “Go forth and draft some buildings.”

Grian tips his head back, looking at the stars. “I don’t know if I want to do that anymore.”

“Oh! You don’t have to,” Scar says. “I know you liked the job, but you don’t have to go back to it. You can do something else too. You can do whatever. Or even nothing.”

“I don’t want to do anything else, that’s the problem,” Grian says. “I just—ugh.”

He still likes architecture. He literally can’t turn it off in his brain, the way his eyes catch on the details of buildings when he travels past them, equal in praise and criticism for it. He doesn’t know if he has a place in that career anymore, though. Maybe he can’t do it anymore. Maybe he doesn’t remember how.

“You have time to figure it out. You even have the rest of your life to keep trying things out!” Scar says. “Why do you think I’m always seeing new places and doing these seasonal jobs? And if you want to go back to it you can. It doesn’t have to be now though. It can be whenever.”

For the first time in a long time, Grian feels a little spark of something about his future. It’s a little flame and it will need to be nurtured. He cups it close in his mind, trying to peer through its light. There’s no plan, just a glimmer of something that doesn’t sound too bad.

Every time he thinks about what to do next, he’s locked in decision paralysis. Mostly, he just wants to sleep and not have to deal with it. He has already tried that method, and while it doesn’t work well, it does eliminate the thoughts temporarily. The nothingness is comforting, even though he never feels better afterward. He wants this to all go away, but day after day since Mumbo first went missing that has been proven impossible.

But sometimes one of his friends comes along to drag him out of his room and onto the streets of London, and more times than not he finds himself enjoying it. He finds himself, even for just a moment, living in that reality instead. Is it so bad, to want that a little?

Like it always does, the guilt comes stalking back in behind the thought. He lived, Mumbo did not. Mumbo deserved to live. Grian did nothing spectacular, nothing out of the ordinary, to deserve to have this life that was robbed from his friend. It eats at him, cutting holes in the very fabric of his being. He lets the thought settle in the corner of his mind, like he always does, but he doesn’t dismiss the hope either. Not this time. He holds them both at once.

Then, his thoughts are interrupted by gentle, tentative paw steps on the edge of the blanket.

“Oh my goodness,” Scar says. “Jellie finally decided to come say hi!”

Grian watches her carefully from the corner of his eye, and dares not move an inch. Scar had left the door cracked when they came out here on the catwalk, so Jellie must have decided to explore a little. And now she’s slowly crawling over toward him. She’s a classic gray tabby cat with a white chest, paws, and blaze. She sniffs Grian’s hand with great contemplation, before carefully stepping over his arm and sitting on his lap.

“Oh!” he exclaims softly.

Scar silently fist-bumps the air. “Yes!” he says. “She likes you! I knew she would!”

“Can I pet her?”

“Of course,” Scar says. “That’s why she’s on your lap! Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out if she doesn’t want to be pet anymore.”

“By biting me, I’m sure.”

“Uh,” he says, “no comment.”

Grian gently strokes the striped fur along her back. It’s soft and short. It’s been a while since he owned his own cat, but he likes them. He wanted to get one, but their apartment in Denver hadn’t allowed animals, so the last cat he had was one back in England that passed away while he was in university. Maybe he’ll get a new cat when he goes back. Jellie is a dignified cat, the type of animal who looks at you and possesses an uncanny type of intelligence in their eyes. He honestly feels honored that she decided she liked him enough to sleep on his lap.

After a moment, she starts to purr.

Scar is watching the two of them with a funny look on his face. Or rather, after a moment, Grian realizes that Scar is actually watching his hands.

“You got burned,” he says, like he’s only just now noticing it.

His hands still. The second-degree burns had already healed in the weeks since the fire, but the skin on the back of his hand was still pink and patchy-looking. Healed, but only just, with the potential of any long-term scarring still up in the air. Jellie senses that he’s stopped petting her, and moves her head to push his hand until he resumes the motion. He does. Demanding cat.

“Yeah,” Grian responds simply.

Scar puts his head in his hands. “I should have directed you better—if I knew better, or—then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt—”

“Hey, no,” Grian says. “That was…that was all me, Scar. I got into that situation myself. I was…I probably would have stayed put if it weren’t for you, honestly. You saved me.”

Scar looks up again. “Really?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t have got out of there,” he says softly. “And, really, I would have never found Mumbo if it weren’t for your help. Thank you for that. I know I…got mad at you, that day, but really. I, uh, do mean it. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Scar says. “That was—something I couldn’t imagine not doing.” He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Grian for once can see this in the expression on his face, rather than the silence through the radio. He waits. Finally Scar asks: “Did they—did they ever find out what happened?”

That’s the big question, isn’t it? That’s been the big question this whole time. And for all the effort that Grian went to in order to find Mumbo, it wasn’t one he could fully answer on his own. That was for the rangers and the medical examiner.

He begins, “They found him, based on your map skills I’m sure. Um, recovered his body. Made a real identification. Not that I—not that I was going to be wrong. I just knew. They used dental records I think.”

He keeps petting Jellie.

“They don’t just—they don’t just send him home right away. They had to figure out what happened first. For his death certificate. Or maybe their records. Or maybe for us. But they did an autopsy—which was part of the identification I think.”

“What’d it say?” Scar asks.

It’s a long moment before Grian responds. “He probably died of dehydration. Which meant it probably only took a few days. They don’t think he had any water on him. They think maybe he’d been headed to the creek—” like I was, but he doesn’t say it. He continues. “He had a fracture in his leg. They think that’s why he was stuck there.”

“Awful,” Scar says softly.

“He was probably dead before the first week of the search was done.” Grian shakes his head sharply to dispel the thought. “Anyway, uh. They flew him back to England. We buried him. Had a funeral. It was really nice, actually.”

There was just so much happening at the funeral that it’s a blur in his mind. He was still receiving treatment for his burns and had everything wrapped. He was still having trouble sleeping. He felt like a shell of a fake person being forced to interact with the real people. The funeral was wonderful, affirming, and full of people he hadn’t seen in years. People who’d loved Mumbo, too. But it was also deeply overwhelming.

“You were in England this whole time then?” Scar says. “‘Cause you said something about international calls earlier.”

Grian nods. “Yeah. I went back a week after all of it happened. Stayed there, with my family.”

“But you came back here.”

“I had to,” he says, trying to force some brightness into his words. “Couldn’t just leave you all alone without saying goodbye.”

Scar reaches out a hand, and scratches Jellie under the chin. She purrs harder. He says, “Why’s it have to be goodbye?”

“Scar.”

“I know,” he says miserably. “I know.”

This isn’t his home, and it especially isn’t without Mumbo. Grian had followed him here, and now that he was gone, there wasn’t any reason to stay. Well—not a good reason. He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t breaking his heart too.

“I have things I have to wrap up here,” Grian says. “Stuff like our apartment. Those things need to be packed up and shipped back. And I need to sell my car. It’s all tedious stuff. Two of my other friends came with me to help me so I didn’t have to do it all by myself.”

“Your friends came? And you didn’t bring them to meet me?” Scar says in an exaggeratedly scandalized tone.

Grian smiles a little, and looks over at Scar. “It was private.”

He’d left Jimmy and Martyn in a cabin just outside of town. They’d been gracious enough to allow him to take a detour on their trip just to come here. None of his friends were very keen on questioning him these past few weeks. Sometimes he hated it, and wished they just treated him normally. Other times he was grateful they spared him any need to explain.

Then, he abruptly remembers. “Wait,” he says. “I had something for you. I would get it but…” He gestures at Jellie, who is not planning on letting him stand up any time soon.

“You’re cat-trapped,” Scar says. “Where is it?”

“The outer pocket of my bag. It’s a piece of paper.” Then he adds, “Don’t look at it until you get back out here!”

Scar steps gently over Grian, and disappears into the lookout for a moment. It’s dark and silent outside, except for the constant purr from Jellie that seems to radiate through his body. Then, just as fast, Scar is back and settling back down onto the catwalk boards. In his hand is a battered piece of yellow lined paper, singed on one edge.

“You can unfold it now,” Grian says, and Scar does.

He has to squint to appreciate it in the dim moonlight, but once he sees it recognition snaps across his face like lightning.

“This is my lookout,” Scar says, and then turns to look at Grian with wide eyes. “Wait, you actually drew it when I said so.”

Grian’s face heats up, and he glances away. “I…thought that maybe you should have it. As a thank you.”

“I love it,” Scar says. “It looks amazing.”

“Sorry it isn’t in better condition,” he says. “It was in my bag that got left behind. The rangers retrieved it along with…they mailed the stuff they found back to me, afterward. So I brought it here to you.”

“I think it’s in perfect condition,” Scar says. “It makes it real.” Then, he beams. “I’m going to hang this in the cabin. Frame it, maybe.”

Grian groans. “It isn’t that good,” he says.

“It should be on display!”

“Please, no,” Grian says.

“I guess you’ll just have to come again next year so I can prove you wrong. You won’t know what hit you when you see how good this looks framed,” Scar declares. Then he adds, softer. “You can come again, you know. You can always come back.”

“I’ll come back. I hope so,” Grian says. “After all, I’ve got the rest of my life to do it.”

»»———-　　———-««

Grian leaves the lookout the next morning, a little before midday. The day is bright and sunny and cloudless. In his bag are two new items: a pair of rolled up mini paintings, and Scar’s contact information penciled on a piece of paper.

He walks forward, one foot in front of the other, just like always.

<< Chapter Eleven | Masterpost

#grian #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #quara fanfic #hc_firewatch_au #SOBS AS I POST THE LAST CHAPTER ;-; ily guys

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couragemydearheart · 1 year

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༄ ‧₊˚ 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧.

# 01 — bucky barnes x fem! reader # 02 — cw: not related to the events of tfatws, hurt-comfort, fluff, sad bucky :( # 03 — wc: 1k # 04 — first marvel post y'all! likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! ♡

another nightmare yet again. it steals the peace of his mind along with his sleep, leaving his heart hammering in its cage as he tries to process his surroundings. bucky shoots up from the bed shaking, the threat of tears burning his eyes, and leaves the bed and the comfort of your arms in favour of the cold bathroom and the reminders of the stone-cold killer from his past.

he brings up your voice from his memories, reassurances of you’re not him james, that was not you in your soft voice soothing him and he forces himself to believe it. running his hands through his short hair, he paces his breaths until he feels he is not suffocating anymore. he was getting better at this ever since he’d met you. face yourself, he thinks, you are not him.

he takes a deep breath before flicking his bloodshot eyes upward to the mirror at the bathroom sink. his grip—both flesh and vibranium—tightens on the granite counter at the sight and bucky wastes no time in averting his gaze, his stomach dropping at the sight of the heinous scars marring his left shoulder. they were by no means new to him but the marks never failed to remind him of his dark past, the sight of them never failed to fuck his mood for the rest of the day, filling him with anger and hatred.

he runs a hand down his face, sighing raggedly and promptly freezes in place when standing behind him, leaning against the door frame, he finds you.

your sleepy eyes regard him as they always do— honestly. genuine concern and affection for him shine in your expression while he fights to keep simple eye contact.

“hey you,” you speak finally, realizing that he isn’t going to speak first. you sound so tired and guilt shoots through him like a bullet.

bucky knows he isn’t the easiest person to be with—especially now as he is still readjusting to the modern world with his nightmares still constant— but if there is anyone who never gives up on helping and supporting and loving him without expecting anything in return, it is you. and then the images of his nightmares and his reflection in the mirror flash in his mind, his scars, and he suddenly wonders, why do you stay?

but then your warm body is pressing up against his bare back and he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “sorry sweetheart,” he manages to croak out finally, body still tense. “didn’t mean to wake you up.”

you wave him off, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “you didn’t. i always know when you’re not in bed anymore.” he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t know what to say to something like that.

he sighs, “you don’t have to wake up every time i do, you know that right?”

“yeah, you’ve made it clear with the way you never wake me up even when i’ve told you to.” it’s not a jab at him, and bucky knows it.

you tug on his hand, pulling him back to the bedroom and onto the bed. you both lie on your sides, just barely touching until bucky tangles his sweatpant-clad legs with your bare ones and his hands fiddle with the hem of the huge t-shirt of his that you’ve stolen in favor of your own nightwear. you stay silent, letting him gather his thoughts as you wrap an arm around his neck, the other going on his left shoulder.

he tenses, and the downturn of your lips lets him know that you’ve understood what had been going on in his mind. your eyes soften, not with the pity that he hates so much, but so much love and sadness that he has to bite his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

you cradle his face, bringing it up to face you. “james,” you begin, “talk to me, darling.”

“i just- i know you've been working longer and i know you’re tired, so i- i don’t want to add to all that, y/n/n. you already do so much-”

“james,” you swiftly cut him off, “james, you are not adding to any of my problems, alright? you are not a burden. get this in your head. you are literally the best part of my day.”

he meets your eyes finally and the pain, the longing in his blue-gray eyes to believe you, are clear for you to see. “thank you,” he sniffles, and you tilt your head in genuine confusion.

he tugs you closer to him and cups your face, pressing his forehead to yours. “thank you for staying. you know you didn’t have to, but- but you still did. and i’m so grateful to you for it.”

your eyes soften, and he watches with pure awe in his eyes as you press a kiss to the palm of his metal hand. “you have been strong for too long on your own, you know. you don’t have to anymore. you have me now. we will get through this together.”

he manages a shaky, watery smile before he presses his face to the crook of your neck. you pull him on top of you, running your fingers through his cropped hair, smiling into his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the skin. he lies there in the warmth of your embrace, giving himself a respite from his mind. a few moments more in your little cocoon of heaven and bucky pulls away just enough to see your face.

“you are the light of my life, y/n.”

you scrunch your nose adorably at his corny yet genuine words like he hoped you would, and he darts forward to press a kiss to it. you giggle— the sound like sunshine itself, before pulling him into a kiss and he grins into it, knowing that no matter how much his demons threaten to pull him under, you would always be there to pull him back up.

— © property of couragemydearheart. do not copy or post on any other site without permission.

#⸰ֺ ࣭⭑𓄹—katy writes!#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #give bucky some love #bucky x reader #bucky baby 🥺#winter soldier #the white wolf #the winter soldier

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tswaney17 · 11 months

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I Do Bad Things with You - Part 40

Ask and you shall receive. 😏 I've been sitting on this update for a while now and I can't believe it's time to share it. We are so close to the end of this fic and it just floors me completely how far this story has come. 🥺 On a side note, I have something very special coming for the 3rd anniversary coming in July. Stay tuned for more! 💙💚💜

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 9,125

A few weeks after their getaway, Azriel was ready to pop the question. He took the day off to prep the penthouse, asking for help from Rhys and Feyre in setting up seeing as Nesta and Cassian were locked down at home in prepping for their newest arrival as they approached Nesta’s due date. He ordered an atrocious number of flowers (as Elain would likely put it), both red roses and blush-colored peonies alike. Even went as far as requesting cases of rose petals to line the walkway from the elevator to the piano. It would be a mess to clean up but she was worth every effort.

He and Rhys had managed to swivel the instrument around so it faced the elevator doors rather than the window so he could watch her as he played. At least a hundred candles were sporadically placed about the room and kitchen, giving off enough light to see clearly while having the regular ones turned off.

It was every shade of romantic. And, of course, he didn’t want to miss getting her reaction on film, so he grabbed a few of the small cameras from work and hid them amongst the décor to capture her and him from multiple angles.

Everything was perfect—exactly how he envisioned the proposal. His siblings bid him goodbye, once they finished helping him, not wanting to get caught by Elain when she made her way home.

He was just sprinkling the last of the rose petals on the floor, already in his most expensive suit and tie when Fenrys texted him and told him they had just left the hospital.

Azriel’s nerves kicked up—such an unusual emotion for him to experience. It’s not like he thought Elain wouldn’t say yes, but they never had really talked about marriage aside from those blind statements about being the only one for each other back when they first got back together. He wanted to make it a complete surprise, hence the at-home proposal rather than getting her dressed up to go out. Azriel had no worries that Elain wouldn’t care about whether she was in some dress or a pair of scrubs.

He checked his pocket for the fifth time since he had gotten dressed, verifying the box was still inside. The ring itself was stunning. There really was no other way to describe it. Rose-gold in color, it was large, though not ostentatious enough that Elain would be hesitant to accept it. The band looked like a vine, with leaves at the top, framing a three-tiered diamond center. It was masterfully crafted to look like a flower, something he specified when he helped design it. The ring was intricate, one-of-a-kind, and hands down the most beautiful piece of jewelry he’d ever laid his eyes on.

Az took a seat at the piano, stretching his fingers as he waited. The ding of his phone announced that Elain was in the elevator on her way up to the penthouse. Taking a deep breath, Azriel set his scarred fingers on the keys and began to play.

The doors pinged open and she stepped out slowly. Even from across the room, he could see the emotions on her face. Surprise at first. Maybe a little disbelief. And then the realization of what was happening. Silver lined her incredible doe eyes as she looked across the room at him.

And then, he started to sing.

What would I do without your smart mouth? Drawing me in and you kicking me out. You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down. What's going on in that beautiful mind? I'm on your magical mystery ride. And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, But I'll be alright.

Elain strolled closer, having dropped her bag on the floor without a care in the world. Tears were rolling down her flushed cheeks as he continued singing.

'Cause all of me, Loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges, All your perfect imperfections. Give your all to me, I'll give my all to you. You're my end and my beginning, Even when I lose, I'm winning.

Azriel sang with every inflection of his voice. Every piece of his heart was put out on display for her. His love, his joy, and his dedication to her mixed into the words he poured from his very soul.

I give you all of me. And you give me all of you, oh oh.

And when he was finished, she was crying in earnest at the side of the piano, fingertips covering her mouth. He slid off the bench, standing in front of her before sinking onto a single knee.

Elain choked out a sob. The emotion, the love on her face was enough to make his heart stop.

Azriel gave her a broad smile. “Elain Violet Archeron—my love. You have always been the brightest shining star in my life. From the moment I met you, I knew you were going to be someone special in my life. Little did I know that the girl that I sat next to in biology, the one that I pegged with a soccer ball in gym class would one day become the love of my life.

“I have never met anyone as kind as you. As generous and loving. As resilient as you. Despite all that we’ve been through—and knowing this proposal is coming over a decade late—we’ve built this incredible, beautiful, beyond-my-wildest-dreams life together. There isn’t anyone else I would rather share it with.” He flicked open the box, enticing a gasp from her chest. “So, my sweet, my love, my Elain… Would you do the absolute honor of marrying me?”

Elain fell to her knees, weeping, and clutched him to her. “Az,” she croaked, barely able to get the words out.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her up as her body shook from the force of her sobs. Kissing her temple, he waited until she calmed down enough to speak.

“I can’t believe you did all of this…” she murmured, sniffing and wiping the tears from her eyes.

Cupping the side of her face, Azriel brought their lips together for a gentle kiss. “You deserve all of this and more, El.”

She laughed softly. “Who knew you were such a romantic.”

“Well, this romantic is still waiting for an answer to my question.” He needed her to answer more than he needed oxygen in his lungs. Blood in his heart.

Those beautiful, brown eyes, shining bright with golden hues flicked up to his face. “Yes.” A broad grin overtook her face. “My answer is yes. It has always been yes.”

Seizing her mouth in a ferocious kiss, Azriel pushed his utter bliss, his love and devotion, his overwhelming need for her into that single moment. Kissing her was like tasting spring. It was lovely and sweet and warm.

It was home.

Azriel had found his home in her, and he vowed to himself to never let anyone take that away from him.

She gripped his shirt, pulling him harder against her before she flattened her palm on his chest, clearing her throat in an indication that he should put the ring on her.

He did just that, removing the ring from the box and sliding it over her finger. It fit perfectly. “You know, this is the first time you haven’t complained about receiving jewelry from me.” It was a terrible joke, but Elain laughed.

“Would you like me to complain?” she teased.

A nervousness touched his face, something he knew she picked up on. “If you don’t like it, then yes.”

Elain cupped his cheeks between her palms, the coolness of the ring a stark contrast to his heated skin. “Azriel, I love it. It’s beyond anything I ever pictured myself wearing. Wherever did you find it?”

His thumb swept under the back of her scrub, finding the soft skin of her spine. “I had it custom-made with my specifications. I wanted you to have something that was uniquely yours. That nothing similar would ever sit on somebody else’s hand.”

Crawling onto his lap until her knees were slotted on either side of his hips, she stroked his cheek with her fingers, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “You are, without a doubt, the most thoughtful man I have ever met. And this ring,” she held her hand between them, “is the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid my eyes on. But it means even more to me because you had a hand in its creation. I will never stop questioning what I have done to deserve you.”

He pressed her palm to his chest, over his heart. Let her feel its thundering beat. “You deserve better than me, Elain. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you that you made the right choice in me.”

“We deserve each other, Azriel. You are my life, my always.” Like she needed to prove it to him, she kissed him, melting into his embrace as she pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders and then started working on his tie, loosening it to pull it over his head.

Sensing where her intentions were going, he stopped her from shrugging off her scrub top. “Hang on,” he breathed heavily against her lips. “I have cameras set up around the penthouse to capture the proposal on video. Let me turn those off before we do anything.” Az rose on his knees, lifting them up slightly to reach into his pocket for his phone.

But Elain’s hand on his wrist had him freezing, and looking back into her eyes. “Leave them on.”

Surprise had his brows shooting into his hairline.

She slid her fingers back into the hair at his nape. “I want to record this entire moment. Just for us. Please, Az…”

Her nails scratched at his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. He would’ve asked her if she was sure about it, knowing a sex video was a very personal, dangerous thing to commit to. But looking at her face, he didn’t need to. Az could read the unending trust, the assuredness of her answer without her having to voice it. So, he set his phone on the ground, gripped the hem of her scrub top, and pulled it over her head.

Elain’s fingers went to his shirt, flying down the buttons to help him shrug out of the garment.

It took some maneuvering, but they managed to get each other undressed and her back onto his lap, him on his knees. His cock was hard and aching to be sunk into her warm, wet heat, but Az took his time to worship her body. Kissing her neck and delicate collarbones, sucking marks everywhere he went. His teeth grazed her pert nipple, suckling it until her back arched and she moaned, low and throatily.

Elain’s hair cascaded down her back, tangling in his fingers gripping her and keeping her pressed into him. She pushed her pelvis forward, rubbing him between her legs and producing just the right friction that had them both groaning. “Az,” she whined. “Please…” Her scrunched-up face of pleasure was the sexiest, most adorable thing.

“What do you need, Elain?” he breathed against the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you need.” Azriel licked that sensitive spot behind her ear making her shudder in his arms.

She clutched him, fingers gripping him hard enough that his tanned skin would be peppered with little bruises.

Fuck he loved wearing her marks on his body.

Fingers gripping his hair, she let out this needy little sound that had his balls tightening. It was like his body was wired to her touch, her presence, the cute little noises she made when they were hot and heavy. Just a simple sigh from her lips could have him hardening in his pants in the most pathetic way. He was utterly a goner for her. Mind, body, and soul, he was hers and she was his.

“I need you,” she cried, tugging on his hair.

It wasn’t enough for him. “You have me, El. I’m right here, love,” he murmured into the skin of his neck.

Elain made a growling sound, her hands in his hair tightening and forcing him to look up at her. Her eyes were blown wide with lust, wholly dark with just a ring of brown around her pupils. “I need you inside me, Az. I need your cock. Fuck me, please!”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, slipping his fingers between them and circling her entrance. “Fuck, Elain. You’re so wet and needy for me, aren’t you?”

His touch had her crying out, hips undulating and grinding against his hand. “Now, Azriel,” she demanded.

Who was he to deny his queen—no. His fiancée… His large hands engulfed her rear, lifting her. “Put me where you want me, love.”

Elain reached between them, grabbing his cock in her small hand and pumping him twice, spreading the slick that had rubbed on it from between her legs. She lined him up and slowly sank, taking him inch by glorious inch, filling her, stretching her fluttering passage until he was completely submerged in her wet pussy.

He held her still, giving her those few moments to adjust to his size, and if he were being honest, the time he needed to collect himself so he didn’t bust a nut upon their initial joining. He always had to take a few moments to catch his breath when he first entered her. She just fit him so damn well, like she was fucking made for him. Azriel had been with a lot of women but never had anyone felt as heavenly as Elain. “Fuck me, El. You’re so goddamn tight.”

Her breaths grazed his neck as she buried her face into the junction of his shoulder. “I can see you inside me,” she whispered like she was trying so hard not to come right there too.

You and me both, baby, he almost said. Instead, he looked down between them, and sure as fuck, there was a bulge in her lower abdomen, his dick imprinting itself in her body. “Jesus fuck,” he groaned. He released one hand from her ass and placed his palm over the bulge, adding pressure to it.

Elain moaned, her arms tightening around his neck as she held him closer to her.

“Ride me, El.”

On shaky legs, she rose until only his tip remained inside of her and slowly sank back down. The sensation of the added pressure was indescribable. His name tumbled from her lips in the most delectable sound.

He guided her into slow thrusts down onto him, wanting to make this more about intimacy than just fucking. Elain’s high sex drive often had them fucking quick and hard. The rare times when he’d slow them down because he wanted to make love to her too were some of his favorites. The tenderness of their fingers linked while he rolled his hips into hers, their constant eye contact. Azriel wanted this one to be like that. So, when she started to pick up her pace, he slowed her back down with his palm cradling her behind. “It’s not a race, baby. Take your time.”

Elain’s gorgeous eyes blinked open, understanding why he wanted to take it slowly. She cupped his face between her palms, her engagement ring sparkling in the candlelight, and kissed him. It was heated, but it wasn’t the clash of teeth and tongues like they normally did when they had sex. Pacing herself, she rode him leisurely, savoring every inch of him, every pass of his cock over the spot deep inside her.

He twisted his hand still pressed to her abdomen so he could circle her clit with his thumb.

Her body shuddered and she broke off their kiss to whimper. With her forehead pressed to his, he could watch every twitch of her face. “Azriel,” she drawled out the syllables of his name. “I’m so—so close. Don’t stop.”

Drawing her lips in for another kiss, he breathed into her mouth. “Never.”

It only took a few more strokes down his cock until she crested into her orgasm, her sweet pussy fluttering around his member and drawing him to his pleasure.

Elain’s arm reached down the middle of his back, nails digging into his tattooed skin and clawing him as her release washed over her. She clung to him like he would be ripped from her. But like hell was anything ever coming between them again.

He would burn the entire world to the ground for her.

Azriel used his strength to slide her up and down his cock, prolonging their combined pleasure and pushing his seed deep inside of her. She’d be leaking it for hours after much to his masculine pride and male satisfaction.

Her body went limp against his chest as she panted heavily, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. “My fiancé,” she grinned into his neck.

He chuckled lightly. “Fiancée does have a nice ring to it, but I can’t fucking wait to call you my wife.”

The soft, feminine laugh she let out brightened up the darkest corners of his heart, his soul until he was flooded with light. “My future husband,” she corrected. Her fingers danced along his jaw. “I love you, Azriel. Wherever life takes us, I’m blessed to have you by my side through it all. Now and forever.”

Capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, he gently laid her down on the floor. “My heart, my body, my soul is yours, Elain. Only and always yours.”

Covering her with his massive frame, Azriel made love to his future wife over and over again until she was utterly spent and blissfully happy.

~~~~~

It had been a month and a half since their engagement, and the entire time had been a blur for Elain. Aside from getting engaged, which she was ecstatic about, Nesta and Cassian welcomed their baby girl to the world.

They had their baby shower just three weeks before her arrival, inviting many of Nesta’s friends and coworkers and a few of Cassian’s. Azriel had been exceptionally affectionate during the whole ordeal, even going as far as to lift her off the couch and sit down, placing her on his lap.

It was a little bizarre to her, Azriel typically keeping most of his endearing affections to the privacy of their home. This overt display of it had her finally asking him what he was doing.

“Nesta’s paralegal hit on me at the grocery store a few months ago,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her.

Elain glanced towards the young girl, whom she had noticed was giving her fiancé heated looks throughout the shower. “Are you scared of her?” she teased.

Az nipped at her jaw with his teeth. “No, brat. I just want to make sure she knows I am happily taken.”

She slid her left hand to his cheek, making sure her diamond ring was on display. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll keep you safe.” And then she kissed him in a way that was highly inappropriate for a baby shower, but it did the trick. The girl stopped making eyes at her man for the remainder of the party.

And then three weeks later, her niece was born.

Sutton Mazaei was the most beautiful little girl she had ever seen. With Cassian’s dark hair and skin tone and Nesta’s blue-grey eyes, she was guaranteed to be a showstopper when she was older, much to Cassian’s dismay.

“She’s never dating,” he had said to her and Azriel when they visited them at the hospital.

Elain took careful notice of how her fiancé acted when she placed her in his arms. Was it cliché to say her uterus pulsed at the sight of him holding a baby? He looked honestly terrified about having something so small and precious in his hands. She wasn’t sure if she should ask him about it or not, so she didn’t, taking the bundle back when he offered.

Now she was at the grocery store, having offered to go get the new parents some supplies while they enjoyed their new little one. It was her day off, but she pre-coordinated with the Moonbeam twins to come with her, knowing that Azriel was still nervous about the silence from Elias.

They were in the produce section when she heard her name being called.

“Elain! Elain Archeron!”

Turning around, she saw Clare Beddor, her old coworker from the bank, waving at her.

“Clare!” she grinned, excusing herself from the twins and making her way over to her old friend. Well, a friend was a strong word for their relationship. Acquaintance felt like a better description of what they were.

The brunette pulled her into a hug. “It’s been well over a year since I last saw you,” she gushed. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Elain said honestly. “I’ve been busy with work. And my sister just had a baby. I’m shopping for her and her hus—”

“Oh, my god,” she interrupted, snatching Elain’s left hand. “Look at the size of that ring! You’re engaged?” Clare shouted, causing a few heads to turn in her direction. “Whom are you engaged to that can afford a rock like this?” She eyeballed the two men with her. “Is it one of them? Please tell me it’s not the golden blond because I’d climb him like a cat in a tree.”

Elain looked over her shoulder at the two males who were obviously pretending they weren’t listening to the entire conversation; saw the slight hue on Fenrys’s cheeks. She softly laughed. “No, they’re… well, they’re a part of my security team.”

Clare’s eyes went wide. “You have a security team? Mother, Elain. Whom are you marrying?”

“Um,” she hesitated. “His name is Azriel.”

Recognition flared in those green eyes. “Wait… You’re telling me you bagged Azriel Knight? The Azriel Knight? Multi-millionaire Azriel Knight? That Azriel Knight?”

“You know it’s weird that you keep saying his full name.”

One of the reasons that Elain tolerated Clare, but didn’t consider her a friend was one—she was a notorious gossip, and two—she was judgmental as hell. She saw the shift in the other woman’s features that had her taking a small step back. Without even seeing them, she knew Fenrys and Connall took note of that step and slowly shifted to face them.

“How the hell did you bag him?”

It was a derogative question, but Elain let it slide. “We dated in high school and reconnected about a year ago.” She didn’t need to tell her what exactly brought them crashing back together.

Clare crossed her arms, judgment radiating off her entire form. “Well, you’ll have to introduce me to his brothers. He has some, right?”

Oh boy. Typical Clare and her hunt for men. “He does. Adoptive ones, however, they’re married to my sisters.”

The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Like always, you Archerons take every good bachelor in this god’s forsaken city. Nesta had Cassian wrapped around her finger in high school. And now you’re engaged to the most eligible bachelor in Velaris. Did you leave anything for the rest of us mere mortals?”

The utter disdain in her voice had Elain recoiling. It was enough to have the Moonbeam twins come up to her and try and herd her away. But like hell was she going to let her have the last word. “Last time I checked, Clare, we’re not responsible for your love life. If you want to find a decent man, perhaps you should present yourself as a less judgmental person.” Shock rippled across her face at Elain’s comments, but she didn’t let that deter her. “Take care.”

Fenrys placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her away from the fuming woman back over to their cart. “She seems pleasant,” he muttered once they were out of earshot.

Elain snorted. “Understatement of the century.”

“How do you know her?” Connall asked from a step behind them, guarding her back.

“We worked at the bank together but she went to school with my sisters and me. Graduated a year ahead of Nesta and Cash.”

“She seemed plenty interested in you, brother,” the dark-haired twin sniped, clapping Fen on the shoulder.

Elain whipped her head to look up at the other twin. “Please, no. Clare’s not good company to keep.” She stopped in the drink aisle, grabbing a few energy drinks for Cassian. The dark circles under his eyes told her he could use a caffeine boost as he did everything he could to support his wife.

“Jealous, Archeron?” Fen teased grinning down at her.

She shook her head, huffing a laugh. “No, but I do know somebody for you if you’re interested.” Since Azriel’s proposal, it seemed Fenrys had finally gotten a grip on his feelings for her, falling back into the more friendly nature of their relationship rather than the strict, professional setting they had regressed to for months.

Those bright eyes lit up in surprise. “You do?”

Elain nodded, pushing the cart forward and making it seem like she was a bit aloof to his eagerness. “Mhmm. She’s a recently graduated nurse. Very beautiful. Dark brown hair and these emerald green eyes. Kind, courageous, and incredibly smart. I think she would suit you.”

He stopped her with a hand on his shoulder. “What is her name?”

A smile tugged on her lips. “Lysandra. Her name is Lysandra Ennar.” She watched him mouth the name like he was tasting it on his tongue. Reaching for the pack of Cassian’s preferred energy drinks, she said, “I’ll introduce you two next week.” Glancing back at the tall male, Elain swore she saw a blush dusting his cheeks when he ducked his head. Yeah, they would be really cute together.

~~~

“A little birdy told me that you set up my new nurse with Fenrys,” Viviane cooed as they made their way toward the front of the hospital.

Elain flashed her an innocent look. “Should I not have?”

The head nurse raised a brow. “I don’t see him going anywhere soon; I just want to make sure he’s not going to use her and break her heart. I don’t need her quitting right after we hired her. You know I need the hands, Ellie.”

She could understand her friend’s concern, but it wasn’t fair to judge Fenrys without knowing him. “Don’t fret about them. Fen seemed really interested in her and they hit it off when I introduced them a few days ago. I don’t think that’s what this is.”

Viv looked like she was going to say something else, but didn’t as they approached the hospital lobby and found said man waiting for her. “Afternoon ladies. Good day?”

Elain smiled at him. “It was, thanks, Fen.”

He ushered them both outside, listening to the two girls chatted about the most bizarre case of the day when they were ambushed by an influx of people.

“ELAIN ARCHERON! ELAIN CAN WE GET A QUOTE!”

Flashes blinded her. She startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, then cried out when they surged forward, curling into her friend. Their shouts echoed around them like church bells ringing.

Viviane grabbed her arm while Fenrys barked out, “Get back!”

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DATING AZRIEL KNIGHT? WHEN IS THE WEDDING?”

She had no idea how the paparazzi found out about their engagement, but their swarming her had her panic rising. Elain gripped Viviane’s hand, especially when they started reaching for her, trying to pull her away from the nurse and Fenrys. Her anxiety made it hard to breathe, the air coming out in quick, short pants. And then she heard him.

“Move.” Azriel’s thundered, midnight voice and his presence had the crowd parting. He towered over most of the mob making it easy for her to spot him. The look of utter wrath on his face had some people stepping back; others fled outright. He made a beeline straight for her, pulling her from Viviane and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Head down,” he told her.

Elain had no hesitation about hiding in his embrace, fist clutching his shirt.

“MR. KNIGHT! TELL US ABOUT THE WEDDING!” the paparazzi called out, chasing after them like a hive of pissed-off bees.

Azriel ignored them, tugging her to his other car where Cerridwen already had the back door open for her. “Get in,” he said, voice softening as he spoke to her.

She climbed in, letting him shut the door behind her once securely inside, and quickly made his way to the other side. As soon as he was inside, Cerridwen took off, the other car with the Moonbeam twins following close behind. Elain let herself be pulled across the seat into Az’s lap, him not giving a shit about the seatbelt or the law.

He cupped her face in his scarred palms and let his thumb swoop over the apples of her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

Physically? Yes, she was fine. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her breathing was still short, but overall, she was fine. Mentally, however, was another story. Elain nodded. “I’m okay.”

It was obvious he didn’t believe her, but let her white lie slide.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

He grabbed something from the door and handed it to her. “Nuala saw this at the store this afternoon. I had a feeling you were going to be ambushed.”

It was the same magazine that blasted them on the cover after the fundraiser, and there they were again. Az’s portrait was front and center, taking up most of the front page. A small image of them walking into and out of the fundraiser was placed over it like a collage. She read through the headline.

Velaris’s Most Eligible Bachelor: Off the Market? Azriel Knight of Knight Securities engaged to Dr. Elain Archeron of Velaris Medical Center.

Elain flipped open the magazine to the article.

Sorry, ladies. He’s taken. Azriel Knight of Knight Securities is rumored to be engaged with Dr. Elain Archeron, a surgeon at Velaris Medical Center. Elain is the sister of the world-renowned artist, Feyre Archeron (married Rhysand Archeron [Knight]), and prominent defense attorney, Nesta (Archeron) Mazaei (married Cassian Mazaei).

No confirmation has been received by Knight’s team.

So, who is Elain Archeron? Born and raised in Velaris, she attended Velaris High and went to…

She closed the article, her skin going cold at how they blasted their lives in some sleazy tabloid.

Azriel rested his palm on her thigh, thumb stroking. “I will find out who leaked our engagement, Elain.”

But Elain didn’t need him to find out. Because she already knew who leaked it. “I think it was me,” she whispered, looking down at her fingers tangled in her lap. They hadn’t planned on announcing to the press yet, knowing they would eventually have to with Az’s status. It wasn’t something they could just sweep under the rug and wanted to be in control of the situation.

Gentle fingers gripped her chin and turned her face up to look at him. “Talk to me, love.”

Elain breathed heavily, shoulders drooping. “A few days ago, you remember I ran into my old coworker at the grocery store?” He nodded. “Well, she saw the ring on my hand and started asking all these questions, wanting to know whom I was engaged to. I just said your first name, but she seemed to put it together based on the size of the ring and your name. She’s a fairly aggressive person when she wants something and blames others for her failures.” Guilt washed over her. “I snapped. She must’ve gone to the press with the information for a quick buck. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, El. She took our private information and sold it. This is, unfortunately, a common issue when living in the spotlight. So we didn’t get to announce it the way we wanted to. Oh well. I’ll have my team work up something for us and we can go over it together.”

She threw her arms around his neck as they pulled into the garage under their building. “I’m fine with that. Thank you, Azriel. I didn’t mean to create more work for your team.”

He waved her off. “Don’t even worry about it. This is literally what I pay them for.” He kissed the side of her head shuffling her off his lap so he could open the door and help her out.

Fenrys and Connall parked next to them, climbing out of the car.

“What the hell is going on?” the former demanded.

Elain knew he probably felt blind-sighted by the commotion outside the hospital, and maybe a little responsible that he couldn’t control the situation.

“Our engagement was leaked. The press is hounding us for a statement.”

“Mr. Knight, we apologize for not being more prepared. I didn’t even see them outside when I went to get the car for Elain.”

Azriel waved a hand. “They know I’m difficult to capture—I’m notorious for getting around them. So, I’m not surprised they hid to get something from her. They probably assumed I would’ve coached her into being like me.”

“We won’t be caught unawares again,” Connall told him with determination.

Elain went wide-eyed. “Again? You think this is going to become a regular occurrence?”

Her fiancé gripped her hip in comfort. “Unfortunately, yes. I don’t see them backing down anytime soon. So, we’ll need a different plan of attack to get you in and out of the hospital.”

“There’s a back door entrance,” she announced. “It’s typically used by vendors for shipments, but I can get in with my keycard.”

Fenrys grinned. “We like backdoor entrances a lot.”

Az nodded in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea, at least for now. Hopefully, they’ll get tired of trying to capture you in about a week or so.”

Elain laid her head on his bicep, wishing for that too.

~~~

Two months.

It had been two months since the incident with the paparazzi and Elain was still using the back door to get into and out of the hospital unseen. They had even taken it upon themselves to flood the lobby a few times trying to snap her photo, catching her once or twice and inserting her on the cover of that damn magazine. They dug into her past, blasting her sexual assault case into the public and how Graysen essentially walked from it, pulling him into the limelight.

His father filed a defamation suit against her for it, which Azriel’s lawyers aggressively shot down. And though Nesta was still on maternity leave, even she was on the phone harassing the press about privacy and threatening to turn the Nolan name to mud if they so much as even breathed Elain’s name again.

She could barely sleep; was constantly woken up with nightmares of absolutely everything. It was thoroughly exhausting. And poor Azriel was desperately trying to keep her calm, always sitting up with her at night when those dreams plagued her until he could coax her back to sleep.

Everything about the situation was absolutely ridiculous.

“It’s only going to get worse,” she said, leaning against Azriel’s desk. He was currently going back and forth with his PR team about how they should navigate the whole ordeal since none of them had expected this to last for as long as it had. “The physical wedding might put them into an actual feral frenzy.”

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration, and shoved his chair back from his desk. He turned to look at her and something about the way he did so made her gut churn with anxiety. “You still want to get married, right?” The hesitation, the nervousness in his voice told her just how scared he was that all of this might have changed her mind about him.

Elain moved, perching herself on his lap. “Yes, Azriel. Of course, I still want to get married. Nothing—and I mean nothing—would ever stop me from wanting to marry you.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her closer to his chest. “I’m going to have to add security for the wedding. There’s just no way our current team can hold back this mob.”

She stroked a finger down his chest. “What if they didn’t know when or where we were getting married?”

Those beautiful hazel eyes glanced down at her, indicating that she should elaborate.

“What if we eloped?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Don’t,” he said adamantly. “Don’t do that. Don’t let them take away our wedding.” His hands twisted her body on him, forcing her leg over his hips to straddle his lap.

Elain took his face between her palms, her diamond ring glinting in the sunlight coming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Azriel…We don’t need a huge wedding. The only thing I need is you standing by my side as we say ‘I do.’”

“You deserve to have the wedding of your dreams, Elain. I want to give that to you.”

She swiped her thumb across his cheek. “You have given me everything, Az. Everything and more. I never wanted a giant wedding. That was never my dream. I’m too simplistic to have desired something like that—you know that.” She paused, debating if she should say the rest. “Graysen wanted a big wedding. He wanted the three hundred guests and the attention from it. So, he was planning the monstrosity of a party, and frankly, I dreaded the whole idea of it. The only thing I need, the only thing I want is just to be married to you.” She leaned forward to kiss him softly. “So, whether we get married at the courthouse or here on the balcony, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be your wife.”

Azriel surged forward, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss. “How did I end up with you as my fiancée?” he asked, groaning against her lips.

Elain giggled. “Sheer persistence and ungodly attractiveness.”

He barked out a laugh, throwing his head back and exposing his throat. His amber eyes sparkled with mirth. “You’re sure about this, El?” he asked her, always checking to make sure she was certain of her decisions.

“I’m sure.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

A smile cracked across his face. “We’re not getting married at the courthouse. That I refuse. You deserve much better than the goddamn courthouse. And we’re not getting married at our place.”

She rolled her eyes at his insistence—honestly, she didn’t care where they got married, only that they did. But as she looked at his face, an idea struck her. “What about on the beach? In the Summer District? We could take the jet; invite our siblings, though I’m not sure if Nesta and Cassian will come because Sutton is so little.”

He tugged her closer into his chest, scarred fingers finding their way under her shirt to stroke her bare skin. “I think a beach wedding is exactly what we need.”

“During the sunset, at dusk,” she told him.

A chuckle passed his lips. “Of course. Whatever your heart desires, it shall be.” He leaned forward to kiss her neck, teeth scraping the soft skin. “Now for a date—when do you wish to be married, my love?”

It was hard to concentrate when he ravished her with his mouth, but she forced her mind to focus. “Next month?”

That had him pulling back to look at her face, eyes going wide. “Next month? Are you sure?”

The hopefulness in his tone nearly broke her heart. “Yes, Azriel. I want to be your wife and you my husband already. The sooner the better.”

“I fucking love you, Elain Archeron.” His mouth crashed to hers in a bruising kiss. It was hot, all teeth and tongue. “I can’t wait to take your last name.”

“You’re what?” she spluttered between his kisses.

“Azriel Archeron has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think,” he admitted like he had thought about this a lot.

She blinked. Was he serious? “Azriel, I can’t let you just take my name.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because you have an entire empire behind your last name. How would it look if Azriel Archeron was the head of Knight Securities?”

The man scoffed. “You think I care about that? It’s still my company. Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you change your name when you have a medical degree associated with it. You earned that, Elain. It’s Doctor Archeron, not Doctor Knight.”

Shit… He had thought about it. A lot, clearly. Secretly, Elain adored Azriel Archeron—AA. But she didn’t want to erase his name completely. Her fingers toyed with the hair at his nape. “What about a compromise?”

His brow raised. “I’m listening.”

“We hyphenate. Knight-Archeron.”

Az pursed his lips. “No.” Surprise lit her features, then melted when he continued. “Archeron-Knight. Your name comes first.”

Her eyes soften as she looked at this gorgeous, kind, completely beautiful man. “Azriel and Elain Archeron-Knight. It sounds perfect.”

He closed the distance between them, sharing a special, intimate moment between them. “How about I show the future Mrs. Archeron-Knight just exactly what that name does to me?”

With barely a thought, Azriel had her out of her shirt, bare from the waist up. His mouth went right for her breast, sucking her nipple deep until her back arched, a sultry moan passing between her parted lips.

But Elain had other ideas, halting the progression of his lips. When he looked at her curiously, she flashed a little smirk. “I have other ideas.” Rolling her hips down onto his, she slipped off his lap, stripped out of her bottoms and underwear, and knelt on the floor between his legs. “You’re going to let the future Mrs. Archeron-Knight show you exactly how much you mean to her.” Raising herself on her knees, Elain dropped a kiss on his hardening cock, still confined by pants.

Azriel hissed, threading a scarred hand in her thick locks. “Baby, you’re too fucking good to me.”

Elain had never really enjoyed giving blowjobs. Graysen liked receiving them but he never reciprocated after she finished him. But after that night when she had given one to Azriel, she found that she enjoyed it. She liked giving him pleasure, hearing just how much she affected him and the praise that tumbled from his lips made her eager to get her mouth on his cock. It also didn’t hurt that he tasted fucking good—as weird as it sounded.

He didn’t often let her go down on him, always wanting to save himself to sink his hard member into her wet heat. But when he did give in to her, she fucking devoured him.

Reaching up, she popped the button on his jeans and tugged down his fly. She slid her hand in, stroking his cock twice before tugging his pants and boxers down to his knees. Looking at Azriel’s erect cock was always a sight to behold. His sheer size, the vein feeding it always made her mouth go dry.

“You looking at my cock like it’s a fucking meal is about to make me combust, El,” he groaned, fisting the hold on her hair.

Elain gripped him tightly, earning a heavenly sigh from his parted lips. Licking him like her personal lollipop, she wasted no time in engulfing him with her lips.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, using her hair as leverage to control the speed and depth of her bobbing.

She worked him deep into her throat, breathing steadily through her nose as he pushed her farther and farther down. Elain relaxed the muscles of her neck until he slipped past her mouth and she gagged, spit drooling from her lips and onto her hand. Her fingers twisted, sliding over the rest of his hard member that she couldn’t fit into her mouth.

Elain sucked, cheeks hollowing as she pulled that pleasurable sensation from deep in his gut. He was getting close, she could tell by the sounds that came from him, how his fist seemed to tighten further in her hair, how his cock twitched between her lips.

Just when she was about to slide him down her throat, they heard it. The distinct sound of the elevator doors opening.

She tugged him out of her mouth with an audible pop, eyes widening in alarm when Rhys’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Azriel?” he called out.

Elain snatched her clothes from the ground and scrambled under his desk, Az following close behind her and sliding his chair far underneath to avoid him seeing his naked thighs and his hard-on.

“Office,” he grunted out, annoyance ringing clear in his voice.

Light footfalls came from the hallway and then she heard her brother enter the room. Elain was grateful that Azriel’s large desk went down to the floor, shielding her in shadow.

“What do you want?” her fiancé demanded.

“Well, hello to you too, brother,” Rhys purred. “I came to pick up the camera set.”

She had forgotten that with all shit going on, the constant digging into their personal lives, they had suggested their siblings put up some extra protection around their homes. Just to be safe. Azriel supplied them with a few extra camera equipment pieces that they could place around the house and monitor from their phones. Cassian had picked his and Nesta’s set up the day before, bringing little Sutton with him while Nesta took a break to shower and get some sleep.

“It’s on the counter.”

Elain had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling at Az’s brusque tone. Reaching forward, she gripped his cock again, the surprise had her fiancé’s knee slamming into the desk.

“Fuck!” he bellowed sliding his large hand on top of his leg to rub at the hurt.

There was a pause before Rhys asked, “Are you all right, man?”

She kissed his injury, then began to tease him, licking a stripe from base to tip on his dick.

Azriel cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” His tone of voice told her he was indeed, not fine. Not fine at all.

Elain wrapped her lips around his head, sucking quietly. Truthfully, she wanted to see how long he lasted before snarling at his brother to get out.

“Okay, well since you’re such pleasant company today,” Rhys said sarcastically, “Where’s Elain?”

Her name on her brother’s lips had her freezing, wondering why he was asking about her.

“She had to run to the grocery store,” he lied. “Why?”

Elain heard Rhys shuffling from foot to foot.

“I have this bite on my arm that’s getting large. I wanted her to look at it.”

“She’s a surgeon, Rhys,” he snapped. “Not your primary care physician. Go see your doctor for that shit.”

Elain struggled to stifle her laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shaking with the effort. Poor fucking Rhys. He was receiving the nasty end of Az’s temper without knowing why.

“You know, perhaps you should have her—” he stopped.

“Have her what?” Az gritted out between clenched teeth.

She slid him back into her mouth, hoping to relax him a bit, feeling the tension in his thighs. Slurping him down without making a sound took more effort than she anticipated, but she made it work.

“I was going to say, ‘Have her take care of you when she gets home,’ but I’m getting the distinct feeling she’s doing that right now.”

Elain choked, Azriel coughing to cover up the sound.

“Mhmm,” Rhys murmured, a twinkle in his voice that told her he knew exactly what was going on. “So, I’m just going to go. See you later.” His footsteps echoed out of the room and then he called out, “Bye, Elain!”

She waited until the elevator doors pinged before she started laughing.

“Do you think that was funny, you naughty girl,” Azriel said, sliding his chair out and hauling her from under his desk.

She grinned. “It was a little funny.”

“You sucking my cock while I tried to have a conversation with my brother is funny?” he asked incredulously.

Elain raised a brow. “It didn’t sound like you were trying to have any kind of conversation with him, baby. You were most definitely trying to get him out.”

“Because you were sucking my cock under my desk without a care in the world that we had company. And for that, you should get punished. Over my knee. Now.”

His change in posture, the way his voice took on that dominance had heat rushing to her core. She was wet already, but now she felt herself pulse around nothing, dripping with need. Elain rose on shaky legs. “What are you going to do? Spank me?”

Challenge flared in him. “You bet your sweet ass, I am. Bend. Over.” It wasn’t a request.

Was she really going to allow him to do this? Elain knew if she told him no, he’d stop immediately, but the curious creature inside of her, the one that he had coaxed out of her, was peeking an eye open at the idea. “Will it hurt?” she hesitated, fingers gripping each other.

His face softened, sensing her internal war. “There is a fine line between pleasure and pain. Will it sting? Yes. It will. But it is also pleasurable too. I promise not to take it too hard with you this first time. And if you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop at any time.” He held out a hand to her, an offering to try something new.

Elain hesitated just a moment longer before she took his hand and let herself be tugged over his lap.

Deft fingers swept between her legs, feeling how wet she was. “So needy for me already, my love. Let’s see how drenched we can get you before I fuck you against my desk.” He kneaded her backside, and Elain felt the blood rush to her cheeks at how exposed she felt. “We’ll start you off with five smacks. Count for me.”

Without giving her any other warning, his palm came down on her cheek, skin clapping skin. Elain yelped at the surprise assault, her body convulsing from it. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it stung a bit. Remembering he gave her an order, she gritted out, “One.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, rubbing over where he smacked before bringing his hand down again.

“Two,” she breathed, feeling herself getting wetter already.

“Louder, Elain,” he demanded, running his hand over the curve of her cheek. “I can’t hear you.”

“Two,” she squeaked again, earning another caress over her backside in satisfaction. By the third smack, her body melted into him, becoming more aroused. It didn’t help that his length was currently digging into her side. “Three,” Elain moaned, head bowing.

Az chuckled. “I can see your slick running down your legs, baby. Are you getting turned on?” he asked just as he brought his palm down again.

“Four.” She was barely able to focus over how fucking stimulated she was. Her backside was sore, but fuck did it send delicious tingles up her body.

His hand came down a final time.

“Five,” Elain cried out, body positively aching for release.

Two thick fingers plunged inside her center, meeting no resistance from how turned on she had become. “Good fucking girl, Elain. You took that so well and look at how soaked you are.” His voice was practically a growl as he pumped in and out of her, his thumb pressing down on her clit.

“Az,” she groaned, fingers clutching his body. “Feels good.” The words tumbled from her lips in a slur.

He pumped and stretched her, stroking that spot that had her shaking. “Come, my love. I need you to let go.”

She was barely hanging on as it was, erupting into her orgasm with a scream. Elain’s body clenched around his fingers still fucking her as she fell, and fell, and fell into her release. A surge of liquid ran down the backside of her thighs.

Azriel’s head dipped and then his tongue was licking her there, intensifying her pleasure and building her up at the same time. “My sexy girl looks so good when she comes,” he groaned into fluttering, pink sex. Pulling his fingers out of her, he readjusted her until she was straddling him and sank her onto his cock.

Elain’s arms automatically went around his neck, holding him close as she moaned from deep in her chest. She had slid onto him with ease, her body molding itself to accommodate his size and girth. Fuck he felt so good stretching her, filling her. She said as much out loud.

His hands on her hips raised her up and down his length, helping her fuck him. It was exquisite to feel him pulse inside of her. Every stroke had her seeing stars in her blissed-out state.

Azriel kicked off his pants and boxers, shuffling Elain in his lap before he rose from his chair and pinned her against the window, the cool glass a stark contrast to her heated skin.

Elain’s legs went around his waist, using it as leverage to match him thrust for thrust. “Az, please!” she cried out, tipping her head back against the glass.

He sank his teeth into the junction of her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

The slight pain mixed with the pleasure of his hips snapping into hers had her cresting into oblivion again. Elain’s body pulsed, milking him and sending him hurdling into his release, spilling deep inside of her as he pushed into the hilt and stayed there, groaning into her skin.

They were sweaty and breathing heavily, each coming down from their high. Her delicate fingers swept through his damp hair, brushing the locks back from his face and forcing him to meet her eyes. She had never seen those amber irises shining so bright as they were then. “I can’t wait to call you my husband,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss him softly.

A sound pitched from his throat as he carried her over to his desk and began to ravish her again.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved these fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

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Taglist:

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

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