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deancaskiss · 2 years

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i’d marry you with paper rings

Summary: In all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure why he had that stupid thing in his pocket. He’d picked it up at the end of a hunt, so long ago now that it had found a permanent place in the bottom of his jacket pocket. But now, with a monster breathing down their necks, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to give to Cas... right? It was just for a case. It didn't mean anything. Except, Cas starts wearing it all the time, and now Dean can't stop thinking about it, and suddenly, Dean realizes maybe this is what he's wanted all along. If only Cas knew the significance of one little gold band.

The one where Dean proposes without actually proposing and Cas decides he very much likes wearing Dean's ring.

Word Count: 2,786 (continued under the read more). Also posted on ao3.

Happy September 18th and Cas day! Also, happy late birthday to the love of my life @capellacas <3

In all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure why he had that stupid thing in his pocket. He’d picked it up at the end of a hunt, so long ago now that Dean couldn’t remember what the hunt had been, or why he’d taken it, or what reason he had for keeping it. The damn thing had been wedged into the bottom of his jacket pocket for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there.

Until now, on this damn hunt, when Dean had shoved his hands deep into his pockets in a panic, eyes darting around to see if he could find anything that could serve as a distraction to keep him and Cas out of danger.

And that’s when his fingertips grazed over it. A distraction. A dumb one. But it could work, right? Since whatever this monster was wasn’t coming after…

Yanking the thing out of his pocket, Dean snagged Cas’ hand, earning a huff of surprise from the angel.

“Dean, what’re you-” Cas started to say.

Instead of answering, Dean slipped a ring on Cas’ finger, flickering his eyes up to Cas’, silently pleading for the angel to understand his reckless plan.

A wash of emotions passed over Cas’ face, flickering so fast Dean couldn’t even process what Cas was thinking. Cas broke his eye contact with Dean to glance down at the gold ring, intricate patterns wrapping around the band. Silently, Cas nodded, and he looked up at Dean with this soft little smile on his face.

And, goddammit, Dean wasn’t supposed to find that look so endearing. Not when Cas was his best friend and the ring meant absolutely nothing.

But, here they were, in the middle of some dingy bar, surrounded by strangers, trying to track down this monster without getting snatched themselves, and Dean had just put a ring on Cas’ finger.

Cas took a half step closer towards Dean, and Dean pressed his weight into Cas’ side.

See? They were a couple. Nothing to see here. Just two guys. Pretending to be engaged.

Dean felt Cas’ hand brush against his sleeve, a glimpse of the ring glinting in the dull light in the bar, and he felt a lurch in his chest.

“This okay?” Dean mumbled, swallowing thickly and finally forcing himself to glance at Cas.

Cas, with a ridiculously fond smile on his face, light shining a small halo from the ring onto his cheek, gave Dean a small nod. “Yes, Dean, it is,” Cas murmured.

And that was that.

For just a few minutes, Cas was his… Cas was wearing… they were… together.

“Well, for starters, if this plan is going to work, we’re going to need a ring,” Sam said, bending down to grab his bag from the backseat of the Impala. “I might have one of Eileen’s in here…”

Dean’s eyes flickered over towards Cas who was leaning against the trunk of the Impala, only to see the angel was already looking at him.

“Do you still have the-?” Dean started to ask.

Cas instantly nodded, reaching into the trenchcoat and pulling out the gold band Dean had slipped on Cas’ finger in a rush a few weeks ago.

And there was that lurch in his chest again. Cas had kept it, safe and secure, for the last few weeks. In the rush of adrenaline chasing down that last monster, Dean had forgotten all about the ring.

But now, staring at the band resting in Cas’ palm, Dean had a sudden urge to slide the ring back into place on Cas’ finger. A desire, etched deep in Dean’s veins, to make a claim on Cas, the same way Cas claimed him all those years ago with a handprint on his shoulder.

Sam flickered his eyes up after unsuccessfully rooting around in his bag and coming up empty, only to see that Cas was holding a ring in his hand. “Where’d you get that?” he asked Cas curiously.

And Dean felt that surge again, except this time it was rushing up from his lungs and catching in the back of his throat as Cas’ eyes locked with his. “Dean gave it to me a few weeks ago.”

Sam’s head snapped up towards Dean at an alarming rate. If it were any other situation, Dean would’ve made a comment about his Sasquatch of a brother breaking his neck. But instead, the words were caught in his throat.

“Gave Cas a ring, huh?” Sam teased, a knowing smirk crossing his face.

Dean frowned, kicking at Sam’s shoe. “Shut up,” he muttered. “S’not what you- it was for a case. Had it in my pocket and needed it as a distraction.”

“Sureee,” Sam said, drawing out the word, giving Dean the sudden urge to reach out and punch him. “Well, looks like you’ll have to play happy couple again, since we need an ‘in’ for this event.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, even as he flickered his gaze up to Cas. “You up for it?” he asked, softer this time, watching Cas’ reaction.

Cas smiled and slipped the ring back onto his ring finger, the same way Dean had done not that long ago. Something about seeing it back on Cas’ hand made Dean feel oddly weak in the knees.

“I’m all yours, Dean.”

Sam choked back a laugh, and this time Dean did swing back and smack Sam upside the head. Mostly to cover up the way his heart seemingly kicked up a notch or two hearing those words from Cas’ lips.

It was late, and Dean couldn’t muster the energy to keep his eyes open any longer. The book he had spread out on the library table could serve as a passable pillow, right? Not the best way to sleep, hunched over with his back at a rather uncomfortable angle, but truth be told, he was too tired to even attempt to get up and walk down the hall to his room.

Instead, he let his eyes flutter closed, resting his cheek against the worn pages of the book. Just as he was about to drift off, he felt a warm hand glide over his neck.

“Go to bed, Dean,” Cas murmured quietly, nudging Dean gently in an attempt to get him to move.

“M’fine here,” Dean grumbled, refusing to move even though Cas’ hand was now settling on his shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas said, a little more firmly this time. “You’ll hurt yourself sleeping here. I can keep researching while you get some sleep.”

“Can sleep here.”

“No, you can’t,” Cas said, hands shifting until the angel was pulling Dean up.

Dean swayed, letting his weight drop against Cas as they made their way down the corridor to his room.

One step. Two. Three.

Dean froze, causing Cas to stumble to a stop.

“Dean?” Cas said, steadying them both as Dean’s tired brain started to catch up.

Cas had touched him… fingers grazing across his neck. And there was… Dean swore he felt something cool and-

Reaching out, he snagged Cas’ hand and moved it up until he could see it in the dim light of the Bunker’s hallway. A soft gold glint caught Dean’s eye.

“You’re wearing the ring?” Dean murmured, his thumb tracing along the weaving pattern across the band.

There was a soft rustle, and when Dean dragged his eyes up from the ring to Cas’ face, he could’ve sworn there was a tinge of redness to Cas’ cheeks. But he must’ve been imagining it, right? Just his tired brain playing tricks on him.

Cas glanced down, and then forced them both to start moving again. “Just… forgot to take it off after the case last week.”

Humming tiredly, Dean let Cas guide them into his room. Cas stopped at the doorway, watching as Dean flopped down onto his bed. Closing his eyes, Dean let out a breath as the tiredness tugged at his consciousness.

Blearily, he cracked one eye open, catching Cas still lingering in the doorway. “Keep wearing it. Looks good on you,” Dean mumbled, before he allowed the exhaustion to pull him down down down until he was asleep.

Now Dean was aware of it, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at it. During a hunt or driving in the Impala or in the Bunker during movie night. His eyes were constantly drawn to the gold ring wrapped around Cas’ ring finger. Dean’s ring. On Cas’ hand.

And, oh God.

Dean loved it and hated it.

Because that was his ring, right there, sitting snug on Cas’ finger like it belonged there. But God, it wasn’t for the reason Dean wanted it to be.

The longer Dean stared at the ring, the longer he let his gaze memorize the way the gold band fit on Cas’ hand, the more he yearned for it to be real. For the ring to be… more than a ring.

‘He just wears it because it’s comfortable’ Dean had convinced himself. ‘It’s just Cas being Cas. It doesn’t mean anything.’

Except he wanted it to.

But Cas didn’t. Otherwise he would’ve said something, right?

So instead, Dean just stared at the ring and pined.

This was a bad idea, Dean thought to himself as the rom-com movie played out on the screen. He should’ve never let Eileen and Sam crash his and Cas’ movie night. Because now he was sitting on the floor next to Cas, stuck watching some cliche love story.

Which wouldn’t have been all that bad.

If there wasn’t some massive sappy scene currently playing where the man was pulling out a ring, snagging the protagonist's hand and holding her close as he professed his love.

Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and he carefully glanced over. Cas had his head tilted down, fingers twisting the ring back and forth on his finger, an adorable look of confusion creasing his brow.

And then, slowly, Cas was lifting his gaze to Dean’s, and their eyes locked.

“Say yes. Please, say yes. Marry me?” the man said on the screen.

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas, long enough to see the woman nod, and the man slipped the ring onto her finger, kissing the band before leaning in to kiss her.

The room felt like it was spinning, and Dean stood up in a rush, spilling the bowl of popcorn across the floor as he made a beeline for the door.

God. Oh God. Shit shit shit.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Dean leaned his weight against the counter. Why had he given Cas that ring all those months ago? Of course Cas wouldn’t want… and after seeing that… shit. How was he ever supposed to-

“Dean?”

Fuck.

Cas hesitated, taking a couple steps closer, before stalling out just before he reached Dean.

How was he supposed to turn around and face Cas? How was he ever going to be able to admit that the ring wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not at first, but now… now Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Cas that way. About Cas and him… them… together. And now-

“Do you want the ring back?”

Lungs freezing, Dean spun around, breath catching in his throat as he watched Cas twist the ring back and forth a couple times before he gently slipped it off of his finger.

And that part stung. Stung in a way Dean couldn’t even begin to explain. A stab at the way Cas rejected something Dean had given him. A burn at how Cas didn’t want it anymore. An agonizing ache at the emptiness Dean felt at seeing Cas’ hand without a ring on his finger.

“Why would I want it back?” Dean asked, a sudden rush of anger and hurt melting his lungs and causing them to move again.

“Because…” Cas started, his eyes flickering to the doorway, in the direction of the movie still playing, the distant sound of the characters voices floating down the hallway. “Because you didn’t mean it like that.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “And what if I did?” he asked, the words coming out as a whisper. “What then?”

There was a moment, when Dean finally forced himself to look up to see Cas’ expression, where their eyes locked, and Dean felt like he was drowning and floating and falling all at once.

Cas took a hesitant step forward, and then another, until he was gently nudging into Dean’s space; effectively pinning Dean against the counter, no escape and nowhere else to look but directly at Cas.

“Isn’t this a little backwards?” Cas asked softly.

Huffing out a laugh, Dean flickered his gaze down to Cas’ lips, before darting up again to meet Cas’ eyes. “What about us has ever been conventional?” Dean shot back.

There was that smile again. The same soft smile Cas had the very first time Dean put the ring on his finger.

Except now, Cas was pressing the ring into Dean’s palm, guiding Dean’s hand closer until their fingers were intertwined. Cas leaned closer, his lips hovering over Dean’s as he murmured, “Yes.”

Pulling back slightly, Dean tilted his head as he squinted at Cas. “Yes? What is that supposed to mean? Yes to what?”

Slowly, Cas guided Dean’s hand. In a very deliberate motion, he put the ring between Dean’s fingertips, and then nudged Dean’s hand forward until the band was secured back onto his ring finger again. “If you did mean it like that… I’d say yes.”

Dean laughed, quiet and breathy, as he glanced down at the gold ring, sitting on Cas’ finger again. He’d just put it there for a second time and Cas said-

“You’d say yes?” Dean repeated, dragging his gaze back up to Cas.

“Yes, Dean, I would,” Cas replied.

This time, it wasn’t Cas leaning in. It was Dean.

Dean leaned forward and captured Cas’ lips, his heart kicking wildly against his chest as Cas let out a soft little gasp before he was kissing Dean back.

Lips parting and exploring, mapping each other for the very first time. The tiny little crackled lines across Cas’ lower lip and the warmth of Cas’ mouth as Dean teased over Cas’ tongue with this own. The way Cas fully leaned into the kiss, his hands fumbling all over Dean as he pushed closer closer closer, chasing Dean’s lips over and over again.

God, if this was Heaven, Dean never wanted to leave.

The way Cas broke the kisses with stuttered breaths and dizzying gasps had Dean utterly weak in the knees. There was something about the quiet shared pants as Cas’ hand’s settled on the back of Dean’s neck that made Dean shiver; cool metal grazing across sensitive skin.

Dean tore his mouth away to catch his breath, only to have Cas chase him into another kiss a second later.

Oh God.

Kissing shouldn’t feel this good, but now that Dean had a taste of it, he never wanted it to end. Cas tasted like honey and the summer breeze and a jolt of lightning all at once. It was electrifying and Dean couldn’t get enough.

Cas tilted his head, his lips gliding along Dean’s at the perfect angle, and Dean let out a groan, slipping his hands around Cas’ waist and tugging him closer, until they were pressed firmly against the counter.

This time, it was Cas who broke the kiss, huffing sharp breaths against Dean’s cheeks before he was pressing their foreheads together.

“I thought a first kiss was supposed to come before getting engaged?” Cas teased.

Dean grinned, tilting his head up to catch Cas’ lips in another kiss, and then another, and then one more just because he could.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who said yes. You should’ve come and kissed me sooner. I put that ring on your finger months ago,” Dean said, pressing his lips to the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Cas smiled, and Dean could feel the shape of it against his lips. Oh yes. He could get used to this. “Stop wasting time and kiss me now,” Cas mumbled, turning his head to find Dean’s lips in a proper kiss.

Tracing the outline of Cas’ lower lip, Dean leaned in and took his sweet time kissing Cas; long and deep and ever-so-slowly. By the time they came up for air, Dean felt like his lips were tingling with a hint of Grace and Cas’ eyes were glinting in the kitchen lights.

Briefly, Dean wondered if he should take Cas on a date. Somewhere nice. A first date to celebrate their engagement. But as Cas leaned in again, lips pink and swollen from kissing, Dean decided that all he wanted to do right now was kiss his fiancé breathless.

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velidewrites · 10 months

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To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

@elucienweekofficial

Chapter 1 - They Don’t Understand You

Despite the cushions imported from Sangravah, Elain Archeron was supremely uncomfortable.

She’d always been particularly skilled at hosting, but then again—it had always taken place at her own house, and her guests…well, for starters, they’d never had the nerve to show up uninvited.

Eris Vanserra had no such qualms, it seemed.

“Tea?” she asked him tightly, trying her best not to squirm at those watchful, amber eyes. Even with the spring in full bloom, the male still somehow managed to look pale, his freckled skin resembling frost dotting the autumn leaves. It made him look even more out of place in her sister’s home, the sunlight almost skitting from his presence as it poured through the open windows.

Where was her sister, anyway? Elain would have uttered a mental call for help had it not been for the shields she’d spent so much time hardening over the past few months—and now she was not entirely sure how to lower them enough for a daemati to comfortably slip in. Not that she’d ever truly want that to happen, though.

Eris’s lip curled into a smile. “How very kind of you.”

Elain reached for the pot, silently thanking the forgotten Gods for keeping her hands from shaking. Her eyes fixed on the pink roses painted atop the porcelain as she poured him some of the golden liquid, the colour very much resembling something—someone—she decidedly did not want to think about right now.

She blamed Eris for this—it had been months since she’d last seen a Vanserra at the River House. She could only hope the Autumn heir would be on his way as quickly as he’d appeared.

The sun offset the auburn of his hair nicely where it reached him, though, and Elain supposed Eris was handsome if she opted to forgo that cruel smile twisting his mouth. There was no denying the male occupying the couch opposite from her was no friend—no matter how much he’d claimed to be one. Even if she hadn’t heard the stories—from Feyre, from Rhysand, or even the Morrigan herself—Elain liked to think her own judgement was sharp enough to set her instincts on alert. Right now, as her gaze lifted to meet Eris’s, drawn towards him as though by some magnet, they screamed one word and one word only:

Run.

But Elain continued sitting on her billowy, sky-blue couch, her whole body rigid enough that she might as well have turned into a statue. Eris simply sipped from his cup, lazily leaned back in his seat as his arm settled on the dark, wooden armrest.

Something flitted outside the window behind him, something large enough that Elain had no doubt it was not one of the chirping sparrows that liked to frequent the gardens. No, this was an owl that landed on a nearby apple tree, its tawny feathers unmistakable no matter how strange it was for one to appear in the middle of the day. Elain stiffened even further, her spine nearly a straight line now that her shoulders rolled back in discomfort.

His red brows knitting over those cunning eyes, Eris looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Elain, seemingly finding nothing out of the ordinary that could have led her to such a reaction. His lips eased back into a smile as he asked, “Something wrong, Lady Archeron?”

“Forgive me if I’m not entirely content with a Vanserra in my living room.”

Eris chuckled, looking more amused than offended as he noted, "How terribly your mate would take to such words, I wonder.”

“Stop calling him that,” Elain snapped, the words leaving her throat before she could really think them through.

The winning flash of his amber gaze told her she should have. “Ah,” Eris hummed, his pale features twisting into curiosity. “So you have not yet accepted.” His long, slender fingers drummed on the polished wood. “The High Lord will be...pleased to hear this.”

The High Lord. Not Father, not even Beron—the High Lord.

“He will hear nothing,” a deep, booming voice sounded behind her.

Elain’s shoulders nearly fell with relief.

“Rhysand,” Eris crooned, his free hand lifting to sketch a mocking bow. “How kind of you to join us at last.”

Her brother in law circled the couch, moving to take his seat beside Elain, his power thrumming around him like blood pulsing thickly in one’s veins. Elain guessed his neglect to conceal that dark magic was purposeful, even if the way he sat gave none of his tension away.

“I’m not in the habit of entertaining unwanted guests,” Rhysand merely said, his own cup of tea appearing beside him with a half-wave of his hand. Elain shifted slightly.

Eris continued as though Rhysand had not spoken at all. “I jest, of course. Lovely Elain has been such pleasant company that I find myself, ah…unwilling to discuss her predicament with my High Lord.”

Elain frowned. “My predicament? I don’t—” she started, though the question died on her lips as she noticed darkness coiling around them like snakes, ready to strike.

Rhysand tapped a finger on the armrest, the sound scraping as a sharp, dark talon replaced his usually immaculate nails. “Horrible Eris seems to be under the impression that your mating bond means you fall under the jurisdiction of the Autumn Court.” Elain’s eyes widened, but before she could gasp out in protest, Rhysand added smoothly, “Though perhaps he needs a reminder that so far, it remains unaccepted.”

Eris let out a dramatic sigh, the sound lingering on the already heavy air. “So I hear,” he said, utterly unbothered by the living night slithering at his feet. “Such a shame,” he mused. “After all, we could all be one, happy family.”

Elain’s own magic stirred in her veins as though in protest. “You could never be my family.”

She hopelessly wished for the words to deal enough of a blow that Eris would simply get up and leave—but instead, his mouth curved into a smirk as he remarked, “How terribly sad.”

Beside her, Rhysand sneered. “We’ll send you a Solstice invitation, if it makes you feel better.”

But Eris’s amber eyes remained fixed on Elain, the Autumn prince seemingly deigning the High Lord’s jab to be unworthy of his time. Whether the obvious dismissal had bothered Rhysand at all, he did not show—still, Elain had managed to catch a flash of annoyance in her brother in law’s gaze, there and gone like the flicker of a star.

“How terribly sad,” Eris repeated simply, “that, just like your captivating sister, you, too, are wasted in Rhysand’s pretty little court.” He shrugged. “I suppose at least lovely Feyre has found her purpose here.”

“Get my mate’s name out of your lying mouth,” Rhysand spat, darkness now openly simmering around him.

Eris’s expression shifted into that of triumph. “I always forget what a pleasure it is to visit the Night Court.”

The comment seemed to cut through Rhysand’s rising anger—the small wrinkle between his brows smoothed out, and his talons slowly retracted as he leaned back in his seat, though the watchful darkness remained. “Just say whatever you came here to say, Eris,” he told him, his aloof composure back as though he never lost it in the first place.

Eris clicked his tongue. “I thought news of my dear father’s dealings would’ve piqued more of your interest,” he wondered.

“I seem to have no time for your games today.”

“Ah.” Another smile. “Of course. And how is the little prince doing? Forgive me, Rhysand, but I never took you for a particularly fatherly figure.”

Rhysand sipped his tea. "That means little to me considering your basis for comparison. Now get on with it.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Fine.” But his eyes darted back to Elain, a silent question in his stare.

“I keep no secrets from my Inner Circle,” Rhysand said. Elain’s grimace vanished as quickly as it appeared, her face expressionless before her brother in law returned his attention to her. “Unless you’d like to leave, Elain?”

You’ll always have a choice here, Feyre had once told her. Elain had nearly scoffed then.

Her choice had been taken away a long time ago.

She had no intention of letting herself be dismissed, though—especially now that she'd learned the purpose of Eris’s visit revolved around the same court that felt entitled to her person more than she’d ever want it.

Elain would rather be dead than step foot in that wretched place, really.

In some way, she already was.

“I want to hear this,” Elain simply stated, and Rhysand nodded for Eris to continue.

The male sighed again. “Very well, then.” He crossed an ankle over a knee as he studied some invisible flaw on right thumbnail. “Beron has left for the Continent.”

The room shrank, all the air knocked out through the window without warning. Her chest tight, Elain watched as Rhysand’s eyes flashed, then melted back into their usual, dark pools of violet, and suddenly the fresh garden breeze flowed into her lungs again. She released a shuddering breath.

“I’m sending Azriel.” The words were indisputable.

Eris set back his tea. “No.”

“Your opinion means very little to me right now, Eris.”

“When has it ever? If Beron has truly allied himself with Koschei after the human queen’s downfall, going to the Continent is a risk we cannot take. All I know is that a formal invitation from Rask arrived last night and this morning, Beron was already gone.”

Rhysand’s fingers tapped on wood again, no talons in sight this time. “Then it was likely feigned.”

“Obviously. But, to the knowledge of my court and anyone else concerned, the High Lord is on a diplomatic visit to discuss Autumn’s lumber exports to the Continent, and anyone else’s presence there would only put them—and this alliance—in danger.”

“Azriel can stay hidden well enough.”

Eris scowled, perhaps the first true emotion Elain had seen from him since he arrived. “From Beron—perhaps. But even your spymaster’s shadows cannot keep him from Koschei’s dark magic.” He angled his head, auburn hair catching the faintest glint of sunlight. “Surely you would not risk your court’s safety like this.”

Rhysand wouldn’t—Elain was sure of it. That did not mean Azriel would share such sentiment.

She dismissed the thought as soon as it arrived. Taking it upon herself to stop him would be a…mistake.

Rhysand said, “So you would rather have us sit idly, then. Do nothing.”

To Elain’s surprise, Eris nodded. “If you still care about our shared goal, you will trust that I am doing everything in my power to see it through until the very end. In the meantime, I suggest you make use of what resources you have now to find out how to eliminate Koschei before Beron closes whatever deal he’d offered him.”

Outside, the tawny owl flapped its wings.

“I’m afraid the Troves do not hold the answers you’re hoping for,” Rhysand said coldly, his mind no doubt drifting to the last time they’d been used.

Elain tore her eyes off the window to look at him again. “We do not need the Troves,” Elain spoke, the two males’ attention snapping to her immediately. “We need Vassa.”

Eris’s smile became lupine. “Not just a pretty face, after all.”

Rhysand snarled.

Eris held up a hand. “Lady Archeron is right—the firebird queen knows more of Koschei than any of us do.”

“You’ve already spoken to her—months ago,” Rhysand pointed out. “Cassian and Lucien have, too.”

Eris shrugged. “That was a different time. Koschei no longer has Briallyn and her Crown, and Vassa is the only link to him we have left. Perhaps it is one worth…exploring.”

Rhysand considered. “Vassa is a fragile ally, but an ally nonetheless.” He stood, the matter seemingly too pressing to continue the conversation any longer. “I will consult this with my High Lady.”

Eris drained his tea, the quiet clank of porcelain being set atop its plate sounding his agreement. “Contact me when Feyre Archeron makes up her mind.”

And with that, he winnowed away.

So had the owl, a lone apple resting in its place.

______

Nyx was a peaceful sleeper, thank the Mother.

Smoothing a tattooed hand over her son’s blanket, Feyre smiled lightly, watching his tiny, rosy lips part in a gentle dream. Nyx’s mind was like a soft cloud, casting shadows of images and sounds toward her mind before she even managed to stop them. He’d be a powerful daemati—some day.

The baby dreamed of his father’s face—of a blue so deep it was almost violet, stars twinkling among it with a quiet, silvery glow. The dream then shifted into swirls of dark—into floating tendrils of the night, caressing his tiny form as he took breath after breath.

He was perfect, and alive—they all were, Feyre reminded herself with tears lining at her eyes. They’d made it, and now…now they could finally be a family. She swallowed thickly at the thought, her own mouth parting to mirror her son’s little smile.

“You are so beautiful,” Rhys whispered, and Feyre’s smile widened before she looked up to meet her mate’s gaze. A tendril brushed against the steel gate to her mind, and Feyre invited it in, the picture of herself leaning over Nyx safely tucked in his bassinet appearing in her mind. “Will you paint it?”

Feyre nodded, then reached out a hand. “Of course.”

Rhys moved from the doorway he’d been leaning on, at her side in two quiet steps. His hand captured her own as he brought it to his lips, placing a small kiss atop her knuckles. Feyre tugged for him to stand beside her, until Nyx’s both parents stood over him, two guardians watching a precious gift.

She rested her head on his arm—his shoulder being out of her reach did not come without advantages, since she got to revel in the feel of his muscles beneath the fine, midnight jacket. Rhys chuckled, and she buried her nose further in the dark fabric. “I missed you,” he told her softly.

“You saw me half an hour ago,” she reminded him, earning a kiss atop her head.

“Far too long a time,” Rhys said, then sighed, as if some invisible weight had suddenly returned to his shoulders at the thought. “Eris was here.”

“I know.”

Rhys hummed. “You heard?”

“About half of it.” She jerked her chin playfully towards their son. “I’m afraid this one kept me occupied for the latter part of the conversation.”

The smile returned to Rhys’s full lips. “He takes after his mother in mischief.” Feyre’s eyes narrowed.

“Hmmm.”

Quietly, the two of them moved outside of the nursery, the door clicking lightly behind them as Rhys led them toward the bedroom. “Elain seemed to be holding her ground, though,” Feyre pointed out.

Rhys nodded. “I had no doubt that she would,” he said, and Feyre sighed.

“It’s not that I doubted her—I just…wish it wasn’t her Eris bumped into.”

Rhysand squeezed her hand. “Your sisters are adults, Feyre. You cannot protect them forever—though I know you would, if you could only have your way.”

Feyre sighed. “If there’s anything I learned from Nesta, it’s that my sisters are well capable of protecting themselves.”

“Elain did show some claws today,” Rhys agreed.

“Oh?”

Her mate’s power grazed her mind again, and Feyre let him in as Rhys filled in the blanks of the discussion she’d missed. She watched the conversation and wordlessly listened to Eris’s refusal to let them engage—though, as much as she hated to admit, she partly agreed with the Autumn male about the gravity of the risk.

Azriel will want to go, Rhys’s voice slid into her mind.

Too bad, Feyre responded.

A twinkling laugh sounded in her head. So commanding, my High Lady.

Feyre rolled her eyes. Prick.

She laid on their soft bed, sinking into the plush mattress, letting the first hints of sleep sting her eyes despite it still being the early hours of dusk. So what would Eris have us do? she asked Rhys. We are not using the Troves to try and kill Koschei—we don’t even know if that would work.

No, Rhys agreed. But your sister suggested that we speak to Vassa.

Feyre’s eyes shot open. “Vassa?” she asked. “Why?”

Rhys took his seat beside her legs, wings unfolding to stretch over her form. “Eris thinks we can make good use of the link between her and Koschei. I do not know how.”

Feyre considered. “I promised Vassa I would find a way to break her curse.”

Rhys’s expression shifted into that of concern. “You promised you would try.” He skimmed his knuckles over her arm. “I doubt she blames you for failing the first time.”

Because she had—less than two months ago, when Helion Spell-Cleaver wistfully told her that not even her power—the powers of seven High Lords combined—could cleave an ancient magic woven into blood. And though Vassa had tried to hide her disappointment in her letters, it took no daemati to know the firebird queen’s despair burned more and more each day.

There had to be a way, Feyre knew it, someplace deep down that she was too blind to discover. If she could only see…

Feyre jolted up.

“What is it?” Rhys frowned, his wing brushing protectively against her back.

Feyre half-turned to face him. “Elain.”

Rhys’s eyes flashed. “Is something wrong with her?”

“What? No—we use Elain to investigate that link.” She crossed her legs over the mattress. “Elain’s a Seer, Rhys—what if exposing her to Vassa’s magic triggers some kind of vision? Some kind of…answer?”

Rhys chewed on his lip. “Elain has met Vassa before, Feyre.”

“Not directly,” she countered. “And, what if…what if we could somehow kill two birds with one stone?” Rhys’s brows rose, and Feyre rolled her eyes. “Alright, that’s a bad analogy—I mean, what if the answer to killing Koschei—without all of us dying in the process—is the same answer to breaking Vassa’s curse?”

“You think killing Koschei would break Vassa’s curse?”

Feyre sighed. “I don’t know anything, Rhys—which means no matter what we learn, we’ll be all the smarter for it.”

Rhys leaned in to plant a kiss on her shoulder. “Resourceful as always, Feyre darling.”

The words made her grin. “You love me for it.”

“I do,” came the reply. “And for everything else.”

______

The house was falling apart.

Lucien gave it two years at best. The War had ravaged it so thoroughly that the paint peeling off brick by brick was truly the last of his problems. The upstairs bedrooms, thankfully, were still somewhat intact—though he could probably do without the moths in his closet, taking up permanent residence in the sleeves of one of his finest jackets.

His finest jacket was long gone. Lucien wondered if she’d kept it.

He smothered the thought instantly, his day already miserable enough that adding more onto the pile would likely lead him to some entirely unreasonable choices—like winnowing straight to Night, which was a choice he could not afford to make at this particular time.

Lucien had very little reason inside of him left, actually, which meant going to Night was definitely out of the question. He’d been keeping himself occupied well enough, from the more bearable tasks like being Jurian’s errand boy (for some reason, the Mad General’s presence in the village created more unease than Lucien’s scarred face and metal eye ever had), to those like visiting Spring, which was another thing Lucien decidedly did not want to think about right now.

The truth, as adamant as he first had been to admit it, was that being in the human lands had proven to be exactly the escape Lucien needed. There was nothing in Prythian for him left—he hadn’t stepped foot in Autumn since that fateful, Cauldron-damned trip with Feyre just before the War, and frankly, Lucien did not think he’d ever see its orange-gold woods again. Spring, like an ever-present thorn in the back of his mind, was another court that used to feel like home until it hadn’t, and though it was a land he hadn’t exactly been exiled from—Tamlin sure didn’t care enough to bother with issuing an official order—Lucien had slowly begun to wish he had, so that Rhysand would finally stop sending him there. Tamlin is not a threat, Lucien had told him about two months ago, Not to Prythian, anyway. Rhysand seemed to understand, because Lucien had not visited Spring since then—but still, the possibility of ever returning for some calamity-related reason loomed over him like a dark cloud.

So Lucien stayed at the human lands, patiently without ever truly knowing what he was being patient for, negotiating whatever peace talks Feyre asked of him and whatever ridiculous errand Jurian would find a way of asking for. There were only two times Lucien had refused him—the first one, which was entirely unselfish, was when the mortal man had fallen ill in the last month of winter. Lucien had forgotten that human healing prolonged over almost outrageous amounts of time, with Jurian’s relentless coughing for two weeks straight nearly having driven Lucien out of his mind. A broth of sorts had originally seemed like a reasonable request—but when the general had requested his favourite wolf stew, Lucien took perhaps more satisfaction than it had been appropriate in telling him the meal had been outlawed nearly a century ago.

His chest clenched as he remembered an entirely different kind of wolf—yet another thing he would never see again.

The second time Lucien had refused Jurian was when his friend had announced he required a new weapon—and had specifically requested Illyrian steel, a metal unachievable during his time.

Lucien had denied him immediately, feeling terrible afterwards for slamming the door in his face.

He had not visited the Night Court since the Winter Solstice.

Lucien had awoken less than an hour after he’d finally fallen asleep—after his racing mind had finally come to terms with the fact that another year had passed and nothing changed at all. He’d shoved the disappointment, the primal longing he’d failed to tame on more than one occasion, deep into the place in his heart that he’d locked away when he’d been first chased out of Autumn. Sleep had come somewhat peacefully after that, knowing that, the next morning, he would be back at the manor, ready for Jurian’s latest whim that he naturally could not get done himself since the frightened the “other humans” for reasons unbeknownst to the general himself. He hadn’t had the heart to tell him that, while Lucien could easily glamour his own scars and golden eye, there was no magic in the world that could mask the haunted look in Jurian’s stare, ever-present since he’d been put back together by the Cauldron. It had startled the humans enough to close their shops and clear the streets an hour early when they’d seen Jurian wander the market square for the first (and last) time.

As he’d drifted away into a dreamless slumber, something had surged through him so powerfully Lucien had found himself struggling to find a breath. Its tug on his rib had been so familiar it ached, the source of the feeling practically impossible to deny. It had set every single one of his nerves on high alert, like a fox perking up its ears after having sensed a danger of some kind, his blood running molten like a liquid flame. There had been no danger, but the godsdamned tug had been more than enough to make Lucien worry—it translated into something restless, something like…anticipation.

He’d shot out of bed, not bothering to throw a shirt on—he ran hot even in winters—and exited his room, listening for any sounds from the room across the corridor he knew was hers.

Except that she had not been in her room—he’d heard her downstairs.

“…on me?” her quiet question reached him, so small he might not have even heard it had it not been hers.

Lucien had never moved more quietly in his life, stopping only at the top of the curved staircase, hidden from those downstairs but having enough view to watch the back of their silhouettes through the gaps in the balustrade. He knew it was probably not right to listen in—hell, he might have even scolded Feyre for eavesdropping a lifetime ago—but, somehow, his body had frozen into place, as though that very tug had commanded him not to make a move.

It was needless to say that what he’d seen next made him not want to step foot in the Night Court again. But there she was, his mate, the one he had never even asked for but the Cauldron had somehow deemed him worthy of one anyway, leaning in for a kiss from another male. It had been then that Lucien realised that perhaps Elain Archeron was not a gift from the Cauldron—but a punishment.

Lucien had not stayed until morning to say his goodbyes. He hadn’t even gathered his things when he’d winnowed away straight from the upstairs corridor—he hadn’t cared if their lips had met in the end or not, if anyone had cared enough to stop them, if Lucien himself had cared anymore. He was simply…gone.

He still thanked the Mother for finding Jurian and Vassa in the living room that night. His friends had drunk themselves into oblivion and immediately invited him in. Lucien had spent the rest of that Winter Solstice listening to Jurian sing some old marching hymn from before Lucien’s time before they all fell asleep at last.

Yes—there would be no visiting the Night Court for Lucien.

He felt somewhat guilty, though. It had been two months, and he still hadn’t met Feyre’s son—though she’d promised to visit him once their healer declared Nyx to be strong enough to be winnowed. Feyre had made no comments on his decision to stay away in her letter, though there was a hint of question hiding behind her words. Lucien, to this day, had not answered it.

The old wood squeaked beneath his feet as Lucien made his way toward the study. The door was already-half open, which meant that either Jurian had fallen asleep behind the desk again, or that Vassa was back.

He found the female—woman, he mentally corrected himself—utterly consumed by a piece of parchment in her hands, her cerulean eyes tired as though draped over by a fog.

“Rough day?” Lucien asked, and her head snapped up in surprise. It was another adjustment Lucien hadn’t exactly gotten used to yet—after centuries in Prythian with the Wall separating their two worlds, there were still more than a few things about human instincts and behaviours Lucien needed to learn about.

Her features eased into a crooked smile. “Something like that,” Vassa said, then motioned for him to sit.

Lucien shook his head. “You deserve some time alone.”

Vassa scoffed. “Please. I spent the entire day alone—and the day before that, and the day before that, too. Now sit, Lucien.”

He chuckled. “Alright.” The bottle-green armchair groaned under his weight as he settled, a small giggle ripping free from Vassa’s throat. “I hate this house,” Lucien complained.

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine, I don’t. But we could do with some improvements.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Lord,” Vassa mocked. “Shall I fetch you some hot stones to put under your blankets before bed, too?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re a queen, you know. You can’t fool me—the only one of us who seems to enjoy these conditions is Jurian.”

Vassa rolled her eyes. “Okay, you got me.” She tossed the parchment to the side. “I take it your day hasn’t been particularly joyful, then?”

He had been sulking more than ever recently. “What’s that?” he asked instead, gesturing toward what seemed like a letter.

Vassa bit her lip. “It’s a letter,” she confirmed, averting his questioning gaze. “From the Night Court, the ah…the spymaster delivered it about twenty minutes ago.”

So much for avoiding the subject.

“Did something…happen? Lucien began carefully, taking note of Vassa’s leg bouncing anxiously as she mulled over her next words.

“I…” Vassa sighed. “Well, no. Not yet, anyway.”

Lucien grunted in frustration. “Vassa, will you just tell me what is going on?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, Lord Lucien. Feyre Cursebreaker is coming to the manor tomorrow evening—and she’s bringing her sister.”

Lucien frowned. “What the hell would Nesta Archeron want from any of us here?” He couldn’t possibly imagine the viper herself gracing his doorstep for any reason other than to snap his neck in half. Perhaps that really was why Nesta was coming, he thought with no real amount of sarcasm.

Vassa’s lips thinned into a line. “Not Nesta.”

Oh. Oh.

“Yeah,” Vassa said, seemingly reading the words simply by looking at Lucien’s face. “I can’t exactly tell them not to come, can I? Should I?” And she would—if Lucien asked, she’d send a letter to reschedule, though by the time it reached Velaris, Elain and Feyre would have probably managed to travel here and back ten times at least.

“No,” Lucien said. “Why—why are they coming?” Why was she coming? As far as Lucien had been made aware, Elain was starting to feel like her old self again—the female she had been long before Lucien even knew of her existence—settling into the Night Court and, within its borders, making a home for herself. Feyre had spoken of her volunteering to help the citizens of Velaris rebuild—to regrow the lands the War had plundered in whatever way she could.

He’d made the mistake of asking if she’d worn the gloves. She hadn’t.

Lucien hadn’t asked Feyre anything about his mate again.

His mate—as though their bond was not as good as rejected at this point. Perhaps he’d use tomorrow as an opportunity to ask her to end this torment, though that persistent tug in his chest roared at the very thought. It was the truth, though—it had been two years. Elain wanted nothing to do with him. Elain already had a home.

Even thinking her name made his stomach twist.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Vassa’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “The Cursebreaker said the matter was too delicate to be trusted over a letter.”

“I thought you said the shadowsinger delivered it personally.”

Vassa shrugged. “Perhaps they didn’t want him to know, either.”

Lucien seriously doubted that. If there was anyone well-versed in whatever threat was sure to be approaching, it was the Night Court’s own spymaster. Lucien supposed he didn’t have to actually like the male to give him that credit—Azriel would have been trusted by Feyre and Rhysand with the matter, which meant it was serious enough that this whole ordeal was necessary.

Vassa’s head cocked to the side as she surveyed him, her tired eyes sharpening as she asked, “Will you be there?”

Would he? Since the letter had been delivered right into Vassa’s hands, Lucien was fairly certain Elain was not coming to see him, specifically—rather, there had to have been something requiring her particular skillset badly enough for her to come along. He’d seen it done enough times over his tenure as courtier to know how to read between the lines. If Elain Archeron herself was returning to the human lands, she was not coming as Elain Archeron, but as a Seer.

He told Vassa as much. “She will not want me there.”

Vassa hummed. “You don’t know that. Perhaps—”

“No perhaps,” Lucien cut in, earning another sigh from Vassa. “Will you fill me in on what happened after they’re gone?”

Her brows knotted into a frown. “Where will you be while they’re here?”

Lucien grimaced. “Jurian needs a jacket.”

______

If there was one thing Nesta Archeron knew about herself, it was that she never backed down from a fight.

“I’m going,” she pressed as their small group exited Rhysand’s study, “and I don’t care if you plan to stop me. You can certainly try, anyway.”

Feyre looked to Cassian, who merely offered a one-shouldered shrug—Nesta would kiss him for it later. Her sister sighed. “Nesta—”

But Nesta cut in, “If the threat is as dangerous as you say—”

“The threat is not in the human lands,” Feyre countered, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument.

Too bad.

“I don’t care,” Nesta repeated. “I am going in her stead. If Elain—”

“Elain wants to go, Nesta,” Feyre sighed, her inky-black markings swirling as she ran a hand through her long hair. “It was her idea and she wants to—she wants to see it through.”

Nesta scowled. “It was her idea?” Surely whatever Elain had said to Feyre earlier, her younger sister had misinterpreted it. Perhaps Elain suggested that someone should go to the old Nolan manor, with little relation to that ugly house and the people currently occupying it.

Nesta had no reservation to voice her doubts. “You must be mistaken, Feyre. Why on earth would Elain want as much as set foot there?”

Feyre cut her a knowing look. “Perhaps she feels that she has something to prove.”

Nesta’s jaw tightened. “She needs to prove nothing.”

“I know that,” Feyre sighed again, “but I don’t know if Elain would agree. She cannot be tending to her gardens forever—she said as much herself.”

Nesta remembered that conversation very well.

“Lucien will likely be there,” Feyre offered, no doubt thinking she was being helpful.

She bit back a snarl. “I do not want that male anywhere near Elain.”

“He is a good male, Nesta,” her sister told her, and not for the very first time. “You may not like the fact that he’s her mate, but you know better than most that he’d die before he let anything bad happen to her.”

Nesta looked to her own mate, standing by her side as always, who in turn gave her a small smile. A silent understanding passed between them—through the bridge connecting their souls—and Nesta realised that she did know, as much as Cassian did, that they both would be damned if they allowed for any danger to get near the other.

Cassian placed a warm, broad hand on her lower back, his thumb swiping lightly over her black dress, the touch grounding her and settling something restless within her, replacing it with a soft, golden light.

Nesta said calmly, “At least let me go with her.”

Feyre’s expression turned incredulous. “Walk with me?”

“I’ll see you back home,” Cassian told Nesta without missing a beat. She squeezed his hand and followed Feyre down the hallway.

They pivoted left to a sunlit room, nearly every inch of the space splattered in a vivid colour—Feyre’s private painting studio seemed to grow messier every time Nesta visited. The back wall tapestry, previously featuring fading ivy leaves, was now almost entirely covered by a mural of Velaris. The Sidra snaked through it, the silver-blue paint somehow gleaming a quiet light, leading her gaze from the River House itself to the small picture of the townhouse, one among many, then the bright colours of the Rainbow, then finally the House of Wind—Nesta smiled at the sight of her home, towering over the city like a watchful guard. Feyre took her seat on a small, wooden chair by the easel displaying a white canvas, empty aside from a single, brown streak across its centre.

“What are you painting?” Nesta asked her, taking her own seat on the couch behind her.

Feyre glanced at the canvas, something like exasperation twisting her features. “I haven’t decided yet.” She turned to Nesta again. “Elain wanted to go alone.”

Nesta stilled. “No chance.”

“Obviously,” Feyre agreed. “But it took a lot of convincing for her to let me go with her, and I worry that if I ask for you to join us as well, she’ll turn back on her word and this whole plan will go to hell.”

“Why should you go with her, then, and not me?” There was no malice in her question as she asked it—whatever reasons Feyre had, they must have been serious if she’d asked for this conversation to be had in private.

“For starters, it was me who promised Vassa to break her curse. We’ve been,” she hesitated, “corresponding. It’ll be good for her to see a somewhat familiar face if we are to seek her aid.” Feyre leaned forward an inch. “Nesta, I worry about Elain.”

Nesta smirked. “She would hate hearing you say that.”

“I know. Which is why I asked to speak with you here—I don’t know where Elain is.”

Nesta frowned. “I thought she was at the house.”

“She might be,” Feyre said, “or she might be out. She comes and goes every day—and I’m glad, truly glad to see her eager to help the people and rebuild what was lost in the War. But this is no life, Nesta—she lives for everyone but herself.”

“Perhaps that is the kind of life she needs right now.”

“Perhaps,” Feyre agreed. “But this—Elain asking to be part of this task, to leave Velaris, to use the powers that she’d once wanted no part of—it could be a sign of something bigger for her. Don’t you think she deserves to try?”

“Of course I do,” Nesta said. “Of course I do. I just…I worry.”

Feyre chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

Nesta sighed. “Tell me what you learn as soon as you get back.”

Feyre nodded. “If there is anything to learn at all.”

______

Elain despised the manor.

The Nolan family had a number of estates in the human lands, but this one Elain was perhaps the most familiar with. There had been a time when she found its ambiance charming, with its squeaky wooden floors and aged carpets—it felt like the foundations of the house carried years of history, history Elain had once hoped to become a part of.

Did you think you could come back here? the words roared in her head. Live with me as this…lie?

It was exactly what Elain was.

A lie. A mistake.

Elain smiled brightly. “Thank you for having us on such short notice.” She took a quick glance to her left, yet another half-empty room revealed to her sight. She’d counted four of them on the ground floor, exactly as she’d remembered—though, under its previous occupants, there had been considerably more clutter, now most of the furniture draped over by large, white cloths. Elain wondered just how many possessions the manor’s current residents truly owned—far less than what she would expect from the likes of royalty.

The tall figure walking in front of her grunted in what Elain could only assume was an answer. Seeing the Mad General in person after so many months and only two steps away from her made her more squeamish than she would’ve liked to admit—he was imposing in a manner akin to that of Cassian’s, though their powerful frames and a sword strapped across their backs was where their similarities ended. Elain couldn’t pin it down at first until Jurian’s brown gaze had finally landed on her and held. Though his face appeared indifferent, there was no denying the torment hiding behind his stare, holding the corners of his mouth stiffly in place.

At least Cassian smiled sometimes—often, actually, now that his bond with Nesta was sealed and a silver band was wrapped around both his and Nesta’s ring fingers. Elain quickly let go of the memory, the very thought of rings in this place causing her breath to fall flat.

Jurian led them down the hallway, and Elain began to notice things she hadn’t spotted before. The house was old and stuffy, and way too dark, with hardly any windows carved into the space except the few out front. The one thing she had at the River House, or even the wretched House of Wind before that, was the unobstructed access to sunlight—cold and somewhat faint with Velaris’s mountainous climate, but sunlight nonetheless. Feeling it kiss her skin settled the dread that would often build in her heart, the heart that always expected to be submerged in an ancient, icy darkness—and clear the fog that so often descended upon her vision without warning.

She was apparently now expected to summon that fog, though from Feyre’s look as she explained the nature of Elain’s role in this assignment, Elain suspected the Night Court had little hope in her Seer abilities producing any fruitful results. She supposed they could all only wait and see.

A small window miraculously appeared as they passed what seemed to be a study, and Elain cast it another glance—she didn’t realise dusk had already passed, the greyish light darkening into a deep, star-flecked blue. Somehow, the human lands seemed to host a lot less stars than the Night Court sky, their light dimmer, too, as though not entirely comfortable enough to display their full glory. It was not how Elain remembered things—the sky she used to lie beneath merely two years ago was a thing of spectacular beauty. The chance unnerved her, but she forced herself to look away—back to the dark, dusty corridor.

“Has Vassa returned yet?” Feyre asked beside her, the question making Elain’s thoughts scatter until her attention was back on the matter at hand.

Jurian stopped in front of a large, wooden door that Elain recognised as the entrance to an old drawing room. “Yes,” he said, his eyes sliding to Elain then back to Feyre again. Her sister reached for the iron handle, but Jurian’s hand on metal stopped her in her tracks. “Feyre,” he began, his voice dipping into a softer tone, so at odds with his gruff expression and haunted eyes. “I don’t know how much more disappointment she can take.”

Feyre stiffened beside her. “I am only trying to help.”

Jurian looked at Elain. “And what is your stance on this?”

Elain opened her mouth, but Feyre held up a hand. “My sister is not your enemy.”

Jurian hummed. “That remains to be seen,” he said, then opened the door.

Unlike most of the house, the drawing room was nearly exactly as Elain remembered it—a floor of splintered, chestnut wood with bookshelves of the same fashion climbing the back wall, a worn-out tapestry displaying rather graphic scenes of a hunt, and—rather ridiculous—pink couch, half-eaten by moths, waiting opposite two armchairs at the very centre.

Elain looked around the room and found only one person waiting for them—Vassa stood near the windowsill, she, too, looking out to the night sky. Elain loosed a breath.

“Vassa,” Feyre began in a manner of greeting, “it is good to see you again.”

Elain had forgotten just how beautiful the human queen truly was, her reddish-blonde hair offsetting the golden brown of her immaculate skin. She was only two years older than Elain, from what Elain had been told, her eyes of cerulean blue sharp with youth and grace. Still, there was a weariness in her gaze—a sense of fatigue Elain could only guess stemmed from an endless flight as she roamed the skies at the first break of dawn. Elain had seen it—the vision came to her in her sleep.

“Cursebreaker.” Vassa turned, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” A glance at Jurian. “I trust the general has not been bothering you too much in my absence.”

Jurian’s gaze narrowed on her, though his lips curled up at the challenge.

Feyre said, “We only just arrived.”

“I see.” Vassa gestured toward the middle, where a teapot and four cups had already been set on the low, round table. Four, which could only mean one thing.

Feyre seemed to notice this, too. “Is Lucien joining us tonight?”

Vassa settled on the couch, Jurian following closely behind her as Elain and Feyre took their seats opposite the pair. “I’m afraid—”

“He’s busy,” Jurian finished for her, Vassa looking at him with reprimand.

Whatever Feyre thought of her friend’s absence, her eyes did not betray a thing of it. “I see,” the High Lady simply said, then turned to her left. “My sister Elain.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Elain said, letting another smile grace her features.

Jurian said nothing, his knuckles white as he poured himself a cup of tea.

Vassa sipped from her own. “I was under the impression you found no solution to breaking my curse.”

Feyre met Vassa’s gaze, her blue-grey eyes sincere. “If there is one thing I’ve learned since being Made, Your Majesty, it’s that hope is not a thing to be given up quickly.”

Indeed, Elain thought to herself, her own eyes trailing toward the window as though with a mind of their own.

The only sight that met her was the overgrown garden, mishandled so neglectfully Elain was practically itching to go outside and bring life back into the land. Unfortunately, she had another task at hand, one far too pressing to dare another look at the tall, dying grass.

Feyre asked, “I was wondering if…if you could tell us how you got cursed.”

Jurian’s brows flicked up. “What good will that do?”

Vassa placed a hand on his broad arm. “Jurian, it’s fine.” She looked at Feyre again. “Though I’m afraid I was unconscious for the most of it. Briallyn’s soldiers had taken me from my bed in the midst of the night, and I sustained an injury to the head,” she explained, Jurian’s body going rigid beside her. “When I woke up, I realised I’d been laid atop a dark, murky lake with blood dripping down my palms.”

The image pushed into Elain’s mind, and she shifted in her seat.

Vassa’s smile was strained. “I don’t know much about magic,” she said honestly, “but after my blood had touched the water’s surface, I felt a searing pain in my veins. The sun rose, and I was transformed.”

“A curse woven into blood,” Feyre muttered, Vassa nodding her head in agreement.

“Unbreakable, from what I hear. I don’t think even Koschei himself would be able to undo it.”

“Perhaps killing Koschei is the only act we need to break your curse,” Elain supplied, repeating Feyre’s words from earlier this morning as they’d gone over the assignment.

Vassa barked a laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

“I don’t mind fighting yet another war,” Jurian declared. The added “for you” lingered in the air.

The human queen’s gaze softened. “I do. This world—both of our worlds—have endured enough wars already.”

Feyre looked inclined to agree. Elain pressed, “Nobody is speaking of war, Vassa. I’ve seen things—in my visions—flashes of onyx. A box he possesses that could put and end to…to all of it.”

Both Jurian and Vassa stiffened, neither of them uttering as much as a word.

Then, “The box is indestructible,” Vassa said quietly. “I’ve tried.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing. “When?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jurian said, cutting Feyre a sharp look as though she were responsible for the behaviour of her sister. Elain swallowed her anger, building like a lump in her throat. “There must be another way.”

Feyre said calmly, “That is precisely why Elain is here today.”

Vassa’s gaze swept over them both. “I thought your visions could not be controlled.”

Who had told her that? “That does not mean I can’t try,” Elain said, then forced a smile back onto her lips. “I have recently grown stronger in my abilities.”

A flicker of surprise reached her from Feyre’s side, the question like a tendril brushing against her mind. “The shields,” Elain explained out loud, and Feyre frowned, seemingly not expecting her sister to keep her away from her mind for as little as a conversation.

But Elain continued, “Let me do this—let me at least try to help you.” Feyre’s expression softened.

“Koschei poses a grave threat,” her sister added as she turned back to Jurian and Vassa. “The rumours of his alliance with Beron are resurfacing.”

Vassa drew in a long, long breath.

To everyone’s surprise, Jurian snickered and looked to Vassa again. “I told you war would catch up with us even in this godsdamned house.”

Vassa rolled her eyes, but her shoulders seemed to loosen slightly. “Sounds to me like we can kill two birds with one stone.”

For some reason, Feyre smiled at that. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“How do you propose we do this?” asked Jurian, his gaze surveying Elain closely.

Elain studied the table. “You will not like it.”

“You haven’t been able to induce a vision before,” he pointed out, leaving no more doubt in Elain’s mind that a certain someone had spoken to them about her abilities. She smothered her frustration deep where it could not be seen—especially by a daemati. “What makes you think you can do it now?”

Elain said, “My visions are triggered in two ways: either by sleep or my senses. Sometimes, it can be the taste of whatever I’m eating that appears again in the future, or the scent of a room—or the feel of an object as I touch it.” Elain looked at Feyre. “If only the box was here,” she sighed, “I could perhaps hold it and see if anything comes to mind.”

“The box isn’t here,” Jurian snapped, “so tell us whatever else you had in mind.”

“Jurian,” Feyre warned, but the general did not take his eyes off Elain.

Elain cleared her throat. “The curse is woven into blood.”

There was a beat of silence before Jurian said, “No.”

“Jurian—” Vassa began.

“No,” he repeated. “What she’s suggesting—you want to—what—taste Vassa’s blood?”

Even Feyre seemed concerned at the very idea.

“Of course not,” Elain said calmly. “The scent should be enough.”

“No.”

“Jurian,” Vassa interjected, squeezing his arm again. “I am willing to try this. It’s only a cut.”

“I will heal her right after it’s done,” Feyre assured them. Jurian gritted his teeth loud enough the sound nearly echoed through the room.

“Give me your knife,” Vassa ordered, Elain recognising her voice as that of a Queen’s.

He only sighed deeply before reaching for his boot, a knife appearing in his large hand as the steel caught a golden glimpse of the chandelier above.

Vassa took it from him and placed the blade to her palm.

“Maybe I should—” he started, but Vassa only rolled her eyes. “Ready?” she asked, that cerulean stare settling on Elain once more. Elain nodded.

She was far more than ready.

Elain blinked as the blade slashed across Vassa’s palm, a trail of blood immediately staining her golden brown skin. A tangy, metallic scent filled the space between them—and something else, like withering moss mixed with raw, pungent earth. The musky scent overpowered the iron quickly, its stench somehow dry and humid at the same time, bringing tears into Elain’s eyes as it filled her nostrils.

Tears and nothing more.

Feyre frowned.

Disappointment filled Vassa’s eyes, still fixed on the crimson liquid now dripping down her waist and onto the old, green carpet. “I don’t think—”

Jurian’s tone was smug. “It seems that the magic demands a sacrifice in return.”

Elain snapped her head to him. “You can’t possibly think—”

His mouth curled. “Afraid of a little cut, Seer?”

Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Give me the knife.” And, with a single, sharp breath, she sliced through her own palm.

Her blood, its shade the same deep red as Vassa’s, was slightly thicker as it began pooling in her open palm. She could feel three pairs of eyes fixed wholly on her, but Elain only looked at Vassa. “Your hand, please,” she asked, praying the others’ attention would keep them from asking how, exactly, Elain had figured out this was the only way.

The prayer was shoved to the back of her mind as Vassa placed her hand in hers, Elain’s vision flashing a blinding light.

She searched through it frantically, chased by a white-hot flame that seemed intent on keeping her from seeing whatever it guarded, but Elain was resilient. She let her mind be flooded with images and sounds and scents until they all blurred into one. Elain squinted, looking for the answer she so badly needed, the answer she’d come here for, but, as the final picture cleared into view…

Elain yanked her hand away, and the vision was over as soon as it began.

She blinked—once, then twice, then three times as her eyes readjusted to her surroundings—she saw the pink couch first, vibrant and infuriating as she took in the woman sitting on it, her leg bouncing in anticipation, then the man beside her, then finally the stars behind.

“Well?” Jurian’s sharp voice pulled her back into reality. “What did you see?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaimed, and Elain flinched, following her sister’s gaze.

The cut on her palm had been replaced—with a bright, scalding burn.

“Oh,” Elain said a shade pathetically. “I’m sorry, I…” she started, looking up from her hand to meet Vassa’s eyes once more.

Looking into them, she found nothing but pure, unrestrained fear—there and gone before anyone could prove it was there in the first place.

Vassa blinked, too.

“You’re hurt,” Jurian said, reaching for her wrist where, just in her palm above, a burn mark of the same shape gleamed furiously, demanding attention.

“It’s…alright,” Vassa said, not tearing her gaze from Elain for a moment. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Jurian snarled. Feyre stood. “Let me help you with that,” her sister said, leaning over Vassa, a gentle light soon shimmering from her tattooed hand.

Elain’s chest felt tight as she examined her own wound. “I have to stay,” she whispered.

“What?” Jurian growled as Feyre turned to face her again.

“I have to stay,” Elain repeated, daring a quick look outside the window again, as though looking for the stars’ reassurance. “We need to try again.”

Feyre sighed. “Elain, it’s alright if—”

But, to her surprise, Vassa started, “She’s right. You—you’re welcome to stay here. As long as you’d like.” She blinked a final time, as if waking up from a daze.

“What did you see?” Jurian asked—herself or Vassa, she was no longer sure.

“I saw the sun,” Vassa said quietly. “I saw myself standing beneath it.”

“And you?” Feyre asked Elain.

She lied, “The same thing.”

Vassa only looked at her again.

Elain continued, “We need to keep trying until the picture becomes more clear.”

Feyre hesitated. “Alright…how long do you need to stay?”

Elain took a long, deep breath. “Until we get the answers.”

Until she found what she’d truly come here for.

And before Vassa figured out the light burning her to ash was not the sun, but Elain Archeron herself.

_____

Lucien returned just before daylight broke over the sky again. He’d spent hours wandering the cobblestone streets, fighting every last one of his instincts compelling him to drop everything and just—show up.

Somehow, though, he’d managed to keep his distance, even the moment he’d felt her arrival, wrapping the air in that sweet scent of jasmine and honey he’d known once and had not forgotten it since. It was a test of his patience, which had already been hanging on by a thread since yesterday—since Vassa had announced his mate would be coming.

He’d caught her just in time, the question leaving his lips before he’d even entered the house. “How was—”

“Lucien,” Vassa breathed. “She’s still here.”

Lucien stilled. “What?”

“Elain is staying,” she repeated, but she must have been teasing him for some cruel reason, because there was simply no way his mate had willingly decided to remain at his home with Lucien present.

The two, slender hands gripping his arms in near-desperation told him this was no lie—that Elain’s scent still lingering in the air was no remnant of her presence, but a painful reminder of her closeness. Lucien’s breath fell flat, a thousand questions and more flooding his mind one by one until he was no longer sure where to start. Had she asked about him, had she mentioned him at all? Was she under the impression he wouldn’t be returning for a while? What happened over there that made Vassa practically lunge for him as he showed up on the manor’s doorstep?

Something told him his questions would have to wait as a familiar, burning flame sizzled in Vassa’s eyes. Lucien straightened, recognising it in a heartbeat as the final shadows of the night began fading away. She had a minute left at best.

“Go,” Lucien told her, hating that his confusion ended up prolonging her pain. “Go now. We’ll talk about this later—I’ll ask Jurian to fill me in—”

But Vassa was already shaking her head, “He won’t know—Lucien, he doesn’t understand—” Her shoulders shook, a tremor passing through her body as she loosed a final, shaky breath. “Lucien,” the queen repeated before the creature took over at last. “Something is very, very wrong.”

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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tubbybunnysblog · 2 months

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Measurement Day

This is my very first collab! And I’m so it’s with the very talented @mortiskiller we used they same starter to create two new stories enjoy!

Fem feedee/ non gendered feeder

Cw: light choking, weigh gain mentioned and struggling.

I sat on the couch, huffing my belly which is completely overfed and sat on my thighs heavily. Since I woke up this morning, I had been eating, it started out with waffles and eggs and bacon and of course, my morning weight gain shake. Then it was wings for lunch covered in sauce and served with fries with another shake, and then dinner was almost an entire pot of creamy pasta that I knew was filled to the brim with extra butter. I run my hands up and down the sides of my belly, trying to soothe my aching gut when I hear my feeder’s voice “Alright fatass stand up” I look up to see my feeder standing there with a measuring tape. “W-what?” My lip quivered as they clenched their jaw. “I said stand up, it's measurement day.” They spoke through gritted teeth.

Their voice sent shivers down my spine I had completely forgotten about it, and now they were standing in front of me, expecting me to stand up when I could hardly breathe. I was so full. “don’t you think I could wait a little bit?” my face goes red as they lean down in front of me wrapping there a long hand gently around my neck. “What is the piggy princess too big to stand up?” They purr tracing my bulging double chin with their thumb. “N-no I’m just really full but I can do it.” They step back and cross their arms. “Then do it. Go on.”

I put my hands down on each side of me and push-up through my sausage fingers. I puff as my chubby arms didn’t have enough strength to lift my flabby ass. I start to rock back-and-forth, trying to get enough momentum. I begin to wheeze as no matter how much energy I exerted I was just too full. “I can’t…” I look back up to my feeder and see them smirking at me “alright give me your hands tubby.” I reach for their hands and grab them, despite my arms being weighed down by my bingo wings. “brace yourself.” I whine as they pull me to my feet stepping back as I wobble to gain my balance.

I let them lead me to the bathroom which was already set up with everything else. My knees wobble, as I step onto the scale. “what does it say?” it’s been along time since I’ve been able to see the number from behind my huge gut. They smile as they look at the number “very good baby 536 pounds you’ve gained 15 in just over a week someone’s been greedy haven’t we?” I blush, smiling as they run their hand over my stretch mark covered belly. “I mean it’s obvious from blush on your face and they wetness down here that you’ve been stuffing yourself for me.” I shiver weak in the knees as they whisper in my ear. I could feel their hands wrapping the measuring tape around me. Their hands felt like heaven on my fat. For months they had been making me swell perfectly by engineering food to make sure that I gained as much weight as possible. I couldn’t help but imagine them, bending me over a cake. And brought out of my Daydreaming as the gasp “what?!” I look at them nervously “ looks like someone has outgrown the measuring tape~” They growl into my ear. “Go sit back down we need to celebrate~”

#feedee belly #feedee feeder #feedee encouragement #feeding kink #feedist #feed me #fatty #fat piggy #dark feederism #fat rolls #feederism writing #feedee perspective #feedee writing

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kindofsortofmaybe · 11 months

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New Hair

gustholomule ficlet based off of @secretly-of-course’s adorable comic here!

——————

Matt plodded along the path he knew well, strolling to Augustus’s house under the red summer sky. It was hot, some time past the afternoon but not yet at the cool relief of twilight, and the stifling heat and humidity added to Matt’s sour mood.

There wasn’t any reason for it, really. Not just one, at least. It was just one of those days, the kind where everything goes just a little bit wrong. He had forgotten his lunch, for starters, and had spent all day working in the heat on a near empty stomach. And something about the guys at the construction site had just irritated him that day, and he was tired, and… well. It was just one of those days.

Matt wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and cringed. Hopefully I don’t stink too much, he thought, though he knew he probably smelled less-than-pleasant. He hadn’t bothered to shower or clean up after work, instead heading straight to Augustus’s house. After a long day, he just wanted to see his best friend and wallow in his grouchiness—and besides, it would be funny to see the look on Augustus’s face when he realized that Matt still had the grime of the work day all over him. He snickered at the thought.

The steps of the Porter’s porch creaked just a little as Matt climbed toward the door. Tha-thunk: two knocks, clipped and crisp. His eyes wandered around the porch as he waited, snapping back in front of him when the door opened to reveal his best friend.

Matt took in a sharp breath and his sour mood suddenly dissipated. Gus’s hair was—he had changed it. His usual style was traded in for thick locs, and small gold rings were scattered throughout. He looked… Titan, he looked amazing, and Matt knew he was staring and was certain he was blushing, but he couldn’t process what he was seeing fast enough to cover it up. Where a coherent train of thought should have been was just the word pretty.

Gus didn’t seem to notice him staring. Almost as soon as he had opened the door, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Dude,” he said, “you are so nasty right now. You really think I’m gonna let you into my house like that?”

Matt paid him no mind. “It’s different,” he finally managed, cringing internally at his strangled voice.

“What?” Augustus furrowed his brow. Matt swallowed thickly.

“Your hair. It’s different.”

“Oh,” Gus laughed, reaching toward his hair. “Look, I know you found the perfect haircut when you were eight years old and never looked back, but some of us like to mix it up once in a while. What do you think?”

Matt grinned. He should have shot back with some quip or insult, but he was still in a bit of a stupor. “Pretty,” he said, and hearing his own smitten voice snapped him back to himself. His face burned brighter than ever.

“Looks pretty— I mean, you don’t, your hair is, uh, pretty nice, it looks… nice… and… yeah,” he finished lamely; he had realized about halfway through that there was no salvaging the compliment and gave up trying.

Gus looked confused for a moment, and then started laughing.

“Thanks, I think.” He smiled at Matt, his cheeks now a bit red as well. “Are you gonna come in, or are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“Shut up, Porter,” Matt grumbled as he shoved past Augustus into the house, but there was no bite to it. His irritation from the day was all but forgotten, replaced by a fluttering in his chest that grew stronger every time he glanced at Gus and his new hair.

#hehehe they’re so silly #thank u for the idea/brainworms amanda #i hate u 🫶🏻 /j #maybe writes #toh fanfic #gustholomule #gustholomule fanfic

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rpmemestorehouse · 2 months

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Dark Souls II (2014) Starters

Change wording as needed

“They all end up here, all the ones like you.”

“ Tisn't easy being old…”

“Fair traveller, I know that you must have a story. Why else would you visit such a place?”

“I will remain by your side. Till this frail hope shatters…”

“If you proceed regardless, your fate will be more terrible than mere life or death.”

“One day, you will walk those grounds…without really knowing why.”

“Long have I awaited one such as you, one who might shatter the shackles of fate.”

“I am [Name]. And like you…I lost everything, and now I'm here.”

“To be alive…to walk this earth…That's the real curse right there.”

“I'd forgotten how much comfort a little companionship can bring.”

“Still flirting with madness?”

“Who are you? Oh, it doesn't matter, just help me open this door.”

“You, stand back. This is dangerous work.”

“Now, there's a time for travels, but you can't wander the world forever. Even you must have someone waiting back home...”

“Hmph, I'd given you up for dead. Almost had me worried, really...”

“Oh, sorry, I...Please, do have a look at my wares. I could really use the business...If you'd be so kind...”

“Oh, I was hoping that you would come. I've stocked some new things, and I thought you might be interested.”

“Oh, by the gods...Why the hell am I here?”

“Oh, no, I'm afraid...sorry, I'm afraid this is a fake. It's not worth much at all.”

“Oh...Undead, are we? And one without much time remaining.”

“Oh, yes, you may call me [Name]. Enchanté.”

“Oh, don't feel bad. I'm sure your mother's still proud...Hee hee!”

“You give something, to gain something. That's the way humans like it, right?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I was just…daydreaming, I think.”

“When I first came to this forsaken land...It was...um...hmm...? Err...A curse...? Err...Something about a curse...”

“What a joy to meet a kindred spirit out here...”

“It wasn't there when I came here before. I don't know what explains it...”

“I have come to spread the art of miracles, a practice of which I am a disciple.”

“Sometimes I fight the urge to pack up and go back home. It is, well...I must do this.”

“Miracles began as tales told by gods. We preserve their will with lore, pray to their greatness, and are blessed in return.”

“Curses…Puzzled me out, have you?”

“Seemed like the battles would never end. Poor folk like myself had nary a place to sleep.”

“You may travel light, but methinks you bear a burden of your own.”

“Oh, you again. Go on…It's on the cheap for you.”

“Cruel, cruel world, this is...Keh heh heh...”

“Travelling all alone in these treacherous times? Well, I hope you have a very good reason.”

“There's treasure this way...But I've a bad feeling about it. I don't quite have the guts myself! Hah hah...”

“You be careful, too, my friend. For trust can be a dangerous thing.”

“Ooh, that'll leave a nice scar!”

“Transient being. This is no place for one such as you.”

“Do my ears deceive me? Who would refuse such magnificence?”

“You've achieved much, and approached a higher plane. But our path is long and arduous. We must always seek further challenges.”

“You are my greatest challenge.”

“Heh heh. You are an odd one. Normally, people keep a safe distance when they see this mask. But you...”

“Don't hesitate to call upon me. Whatever happens, I won't be missed...”

“I was raised to wield a sword from birth. Life was hard, but I never gave it a second thought.”

“I'm sorry…to burden you with talk of my fate. I suppose I've grown weary these days.”

“I am frightened...Terribly so...”

“I don't want to die, I want to exist.”

“My name is [Name]. I beg of you, remember my name. For I may not myself...”

“Your visit is welcome. I trust you've kept up your studies.”

“It is a fitting place to hone my sorceries. I suspect that I may even conjure up new spells here.”

“Never forget, young pupil… There are no shortcuts to mastery.”

“I wish to find out more about it, but as we see, this place is in ruins. Just what happened here?”

“Stay back, or you're pieces! Tiniest pieces! Hah hah hah hah!“

“Slice 'em to shreds, whoever they are! Wherever, whoever, be they near, be they far!”

“The power of flame, power of the gods… In the end, it is all beyond our reach.”

“If you walk with flame, then I salute you.”

“Still a bit stiff, I'm afraid. Heh heh heh...”

“I've been a guest for a very long time. But I don't think that anybody will miss me!“

“Do you really think you can manage the glories that are my spells?”

“Anything that has a beginning also has an end. No flame, however brilliant, does not one day splutter and fade.”

“I don't know who you are…But leave me be.”

“The Dark...Is always within you...”

“This land...lies closest to the Dark...Th-that is...that is why I came here.”

“One day…I will share your fate.”

“You've set me free. Now I can find him. The cheeky prick. He won't know what hit him.”

“I travel from land to land to hone my blade. I've heard this land was full of danger. I thought it would suit me perfectly.”

“For the good of the world, and for my own honour. I won't let that bastard live another day. Heh heh...”

“Damn! You're tougher than you look!”

“Oh, you trot along home. This place won't be any fun, not for you.”

“You want more than just a little blood. You want to be drenched in blood, mired in its foul stench. Am I right? Am I?”

“Ah, who cares? It's just another chance to spill more blood. Doesn't that excite you, hm? Heh heh...”

“Oh, it's even on my shoes!”

“I never planned to visit this gods-forsaken place. But I don't know… I just sort of ended up here.”

“I've searched every nook and cranny here. I suppose it's time to move on.”

“Oh, fancy meeting you here.“

“Oi! Mind your manners!”

“I'm on the run, don't give me away!...You're a fugitive too, eh?”

“Psst, have you heard?...Well, apparently there's this monster lady, right...”

“Gods almighty...I'm not going to die in this dump...”

“Ah come on, don't look so glum! I'm trying to be nice here! You're hopeless, I tell you...”

“I roam about, looking for a find, following my instincts. I don't care what a thing is worth. What matters is whether it grabs me.”

“Let me just say, there are lots of "legendary swords" out there.”

“This thing is amazing...Could it be a dragon egg? I feel invigorated...Just by holding it.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, don't say that. Give a bloke a chance. I'm begging you. I really should have that!”

“And now I watch the days go by, and gaze at the night sky, thinking of the finer things, far removed from war. I'd grown weary of battle, but did not realise it until now.”

“I am grateful for these peaceful days. But such contentment lies only in the here and now. Why must life be so confounding...”

“If you wish for help, summon me. I am rusty in battle, but will fight by your side.“

“Back again? Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“I owe you some form of thanks, but have nothing for you at the moment. If it would not trouble you, could you visit my abode just down the way?”

“Oh, we meet again, kind traveller. This is my workshop.“

“I require no payment this time. It is my way of saying thanks.”

“Do you find me strange? Skee hee. You humans are always this way. The way you glare at any unfamiliar creature.”

“We once had a master. He created us long, long ago. But he was born with a fatal flaw.”

“Our master was a tragically lonely soul. Eventually, his solitude eroded his very reason. In the end, he never understood...what it was that he truly lacked.”

“We seem to be at a standstill. The wounds we exchange are never lethal.”

“I have no gods to pray to. But still I pray that your journey will be safe.”

“And like every Undead, you have no future.”

“If you seek true Dark, I will grant it to you. As much as you desire.”

“The embrace of the Dark is gentle. Let it absorb your sorrows, forever.”

“Dark is the mother of all. All things were born from it.”

“Thy welcome wearest thin. Leave this place.”

“Swearest thou by the sweet-tempered sludge that laps at our bosoms?”

“I am aware of thine accomplishments, and they are not few.”

“'Twould seem some sunlight-poisoned creatures are worthy of great honour.”

“Something seems to be bothering you. Yes, yes, I can tell. It is written upon your face. You have doubts, about something you did.”

“But now, you are lost, bewildered by your own actions. You poor little thing.”

“But if your heart is yet sincere, your sins will be forgiven. Now is the chance. Demonstrate your sincerity to me.”

“Then, you wish to stand and face your own sins? Such virtuous fortitude is rare, and I sincerely commend it.”

“I am in yer debt. It's a true man who honours his debts. And I'll see mine paid.”

“Ho! Well met, friend. Good to see you well. Yes, hehh hehh, very good indeed.“

“If you still insist on having it...Then you will have to pry it from my cold hands! Gah hah hah hah hah hah!”

“Very well. I, [Name], will be honoured to chop you to pieces.”

“Who are you...And by whose permission do you stand before me?”

“Do you seek an audience with my Lord, King [Name]? Unfortunately, His Highness is absent.”

“Where am I? What has happened to our castle...”

“Welcome, visitor...Our guests are treated with honour. This is the way of our castle. Tell me if you should require anything.”

“We know nothing of the world outside. And why should we? For we will never leave.”

“Do you seek comfort, too? You poor thing...”

“Light, and all those who bear it, are unwelcome in this place.”

“I am [Name]. Guardian of the crypt. Countless dead rest here in peace. Cradled by the comfort of dark.”

“This place is welcome to all, provided due reverence is shown.”

“Tell me what you desire. Show me reverence, and I will lend you my hand.”

“Now, where shall we bury this one?”

“P-please, just stay away. No, please, don't come near me. Nothing good will come of it.“

“Do not attempt to help me. Just let me sit here, and wither quietly away...”

“By the very gods...What have you done...You've really done it...You'll never escape him...”

“Are you tormented by memories? Burdened by guilt? Now the question. Are you ready for more? If you are, then we ought to talk...”

“You could kill a dozen like that, and it wouldn't matter. I want you to kill someone of import.”

“These are for you. Don't mind the specks of blood...Heh heh heh...”

“I'll spend some time travelling the lands...Slowly tracking my new mark...”

The murk shifts and stirs. Yet another stands before us...“

“And so, you peer...Into the fog, in hope of answers.”

“Huh! You were not deserving of the mire...”

“What brazen insolence! You…forever you shall rot…”

“Turn away. And never look back. No one must ever find that which is sheltered in [this location].”

“I haven't the strength to help him myself, but perhaps one such as you...”

“You've granted my one wish...Now, I have no regrets.”

“Go on, kind visitor. May you reach your journey's end, one day.”

“Brave Undead, seek the throne. Follow the symbol of the monarch, and do what must be done.”

“That thing is a prop, a false deity. Don't be fooled, my Undead.”

“Seek the forest, you, where those wretched Giants slumber.”

“Brave Undead, you have proven yourself to me. Now, be one, with the Dark...”

“No one has come this far, not for a very long while.”

“Young Hollow, there are but two paths. Inherit the order of this world, or destroy it. But only a true monarch can make such a choice.”

“Very few, indeed, have come even this far. And yet, your journey is far from over.”

“Heheh, I believe we've been acquainted.”

“Men are props on the stage of life, and no matter how tender, how exquisite...A lie will remain a lie.“

“You, neither born with greatness, nor granted it by the fates. What is it that you seek?

“How you grapple, without falter, with this dreadfully twisted world.”

“All men trust fully the illusion of life. But is this so wrong? A construction, a facade, and yet...A world full of warmth and resplendence..”

“I am [Name]. I sought to shed the yoke of fate, but failed.“

“Not one of them stood here, as you do now. You, conqueror of adversities. Give us your answer.”

“But the question remains...What do you want, truly?”

“There is no path. Beyond the scope of light, beyond the reach of Dark...what could possibly await us?“

#ask meme #ask starter #sentence meme #sentence starter #original memes #source: video game #inbox meme #inbox starters #rp meme #rp starter #rp prompts #Author's note: happy birthday to another very awesome game - unlike the one i did for ds1 i made a point of doing this ahead of time #so i didn't have to scramble to finish it

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eternal-kosmo-ghoul · 4 months

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*°:⋆ₓₒ day 18. thigh riding

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “my special gift”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ sunshine has a special way of showing off what’s hers.

pairing: sunshine ghoulette x gn!reader

a/n: sunny deserves more love here, so i dedicate this prompt to my queen 🙏

cw: nsfw content. thigh riding. hickeys. that’s it lol

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“all i want this year is just some time with you, sweet thing.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

within the peaceful chambers of your office, you held a book with one hand, silently reading about the history of demons and infernals to yourself. you hummed contently, enjoying the time to yourself.

well… almost.

the sound of breathy pants and moans threw your reading off track slightly. ah, you’d almost forgotten about that. sighing while shaking your head, your other hand tightened its grip on a certain ghoulette’s hips, making her whine.

“i can’t concentrate when you’re moaning like that.” you stated bluntly, not removing your gaze one bit from the book.

sunshine’s fiery eyes only fluttered at your words, continuing to rut her barely clothed core onto your thigh while she made a mess of herself. the multi ghoulette just let out a lustful scoff, her sunset-shaded curls flouncing with each movement she made on you.

“can’t help it.” she panted out, smirking. “you’re irresistible.”

“i’m flattered.” you humored back, bouncing your thigh up slightly to tease sunny’s clit, making her arch her back and rub her wetness further onto your thigh.

“all i want this year is just some time with you, sweet thing.” she spoke with her honeyed words, your smirk widening in response.

this year for christmas, sunshine has been feeling extra lonely. she didn’t have a mate for starters, and she has been in a needy mood as of recently. she did not sugarcoat her words when she said she wanted to claim you, and luckily for her, you agreed. on the condition that she would have to do all the work, sunshine was more than happy to mark you up with her arousing scent to get any other ghoul to back off, while you sat back and enjoyed all of the attention she was giving you.

what a possessive little infernal she was, that only made sunny even cuter in your eyes.

“look at yourself, so desperate to make me yours.” you teased, trailing one of your hands to slip underneath sunshine’s shirt while her wet panties stained your thigh.

“how adorable.” your voice was alluring, soft, and enchanting. that very tone was the one that sunshine fell in love with over and over again, which is why she had to have you this very moment.

sunny only whined and rode your thigh deeper, her cheeks tinted in a rosy color.

“i can’t resist you.” she admitted, her mouth moving to latch onto your bare skin while you shifted your attention between her and your book.

“you just know which buttons to push.” she hoarsely breathed out.

“it’s a skill of mine.” you replied smugly.

sunny only let out a more high pitched, breathy whimper while she rutted herself onto you. her lips stayed hooked around your skin as she kissed and sucked everywhere on your neck, desperate to leave marks as evidence of you belonging to her.

you were her property, her drug, her object of affection for her to love and touch. no one else is allowed to have her.

and boy did you love what kind of effect you had on her.

her desperation caused her to leave bruising, purple hickeys all over your neck and collarbone, and they couldn’t have looked any better. sunny’s breaths grew more ragged as she sped up her hip movements on your thigh, getting closer to a release.

“shit. i’m getting close.” she warned, her voice pitched into a more airy tone, indicating that she was indeed close. sunny wrapped her arms around your neck and allowed for her moans to increase in volume.

this time, you fully put your book down and grasped sunny’s hips tightly, guiding them along your thigh as she got closer. “then cum for me.”

right on cue, the ghoulette’s hips stuttered to a stop, before she came all over herself and on your thigh, soaking her panties with her own love juices. her moans weren’t loud, but they sounded heavenly, just letting all of the fluids leak out of her needy little hole.

sunny groaned and panted heavily, leaning over your shoulder as she tried to catch her breath, and you held onto her, stroking her horns gently while she rested on you.

“good girl.” you praised, and she only whined while curling up to you, appreciating the tenderness you were providing her.

“mine.” she whispered, still rather possessive of you while she clung to you. “all mine.”

you smiled at this.

“yes baby, i’m all yours.”

and you kissed the top of her head affectionately.

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#holiday hoes event #sunshine ghoulette #sunshine #sunshine smut #sunshine x reader #nameless ghoulettes x reader #nameless ghoul smut #nameless ghouls x reader #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost smut #ghost bc smut #christmas prompts #christmas #smutty headcanons

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stardayzzing · 1 year

Note

I wanna know more about the deer!

Sorry this took so long!! This is a bit long and Im just gonna recycle the art for it but heres some more in depth information about the deer and elves!

(Sorry for any typos too!)

So for starters, EVERY greenwood/mirkwood elf has a deer. They are in a since like a piece of said elf's soul.

•The elves have a "coming of age" type situation with deer, when they reach an age similar to the age of about a 5 year old, the deer will often appear to them. Some have taken longer than others.

• The deer can express emotions similar to their elf, and even share opinions, such as not liking certain vegetables or liking the same colors!

•All deer are SLIGHTLY different. Wether their noses are a different shade, or their tails a brown color or their antlers larger or smaller. Even eye colors do not line up.

•Legolas's mother was the only elf with a doe who had blue eyes and a bright pink nose and ear tips!

•The gender of the deer does not apply to the elf though! Tauriel, who prefers she/her pronouns, has a large white buck as her deer. Legolas of course, has a doe.

Another thing about them, is that, while they are connected to a specific elf, if the elf dies or the deer dies, the other will not.

• If a deer dies, their elf will however feel extreme pain that can last many many years, though slowly fading to nothing but a dull throb. They cannot obtain a new deer though, even if the death was not their fault.

•If an elf dies and has no young offspring, they will leave and become wandering deer of the forest, though skittish of all but elves, and may at times help young ones back onto the paths.

•While elves cannot reconnect with deer, it is also not unknown to see a long forgotten deer grazing beside a deerless elf who may have been enjoying the wildnderness alone for a while.

While random deer cannot connect with random elves, some situations are different!!

•If a mother or father passes before their child reaches a certain age, it is mostly common that the parents deer will move on to be with the child instead.

•This happened with Legolas! His mother's deer watches over him now.

•Thranduil is in a similar situation.

Thranduil's, the Elk

•Despite all other elves having a deer, The first of the elvish leaders in the forest had an elk, which survived long enough to keep following the path and eventually end up Thranduil's despite everything.

•The elk, like in botfa, does die, and when it does, causes Thranduil great pain, however we all know he's capable of handling it. However, there is a mourning period to the loss of a deer/elk and afterwards, it oftens feel like losing a family member, considered almost as painful even as the loss of his wife.

•While the elk will eventually be reincarnated, should Legolas have offspring, until then, there would be no more elk.

•When reincarnated (a rare but not impossible thing that happens when some deer/elk die) instead of appearing, grown and mature, they will appear to their new elf as a fawn, small and fragile. This is the sign theyve been reincarnated rather than being a new deer.

Deer are very important to elven culture as well!

•Like how people see dwarven braids, and such things, deers are seen similarly!

•Only family can touch the deer, and a loved one. The deer seem to share this idea, steering away from strangers, huffing and puffing. Even friends can not get close to them often times.

•The only exception to this is if they are riders, which then sometimes others are brought onto their backs or enemies may of course touch them in battle. Riders have their own designated ways of still expressing their importance however, just differently from the gentler deer of the other elves that do nit see war.

•Deer will befriend another elf's deer, often times if the deers' elves are friends, but this will not allow the other elves to touch them.

•Tauriel and Legolas's deer are often found grazing and oacing together, but neither Tauriel nor Legolas will ever be able to touch nor approach them, as they simply do not feel that way for each other mutually.

Interracial children

•So this is of course a concern. Will children of say, an Elf and a Dwarf have a deer like their elven parent? The short answer? Maybe!

•The long answer? It depends purely on luck! Sometimes, a half-elf will receive a deer, though it will not be quite the same as an fully elf child.

•Often times, half elf children get deer who have bright splotches of colors, mismatched eyes, and similar. There's nothing wrong with these deer, but their elven magic is not as strong as those in the forest, which makes them look a tad different!

Other Facts:

•When outside of the forest, the deer of the elves will often times transform to appear as horses. This is because the deer are poached at times, so to protect themselves, they disguise themselves to the outside world.

•Most deer are bigger and stronger, a fully grown elf able to ride even a doe into battle if they needed.

•Sickly elves, with ailments that can not be easily healed, would be the ones to have deer of weak builds, smaller and more frail, but still strong and happy often times.

[This is an Elf OC of mine with their buck]

#the hobbit #legolas #lotr #tolkien elves #thranduil #legolas greenleaf #mirkwood deer #concepts

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soaps-hoe-141 · 10 months

Text

Drowning In The Depths

More art by @foreverrunningfree Everyone say thank you cause this shit cute af

Part 11

Pairing: Captain Price x Male!Reader

WC: 12k

Synopsis: Come rot ya teeth. Both of them are being vulnerable, this shit as rare as a double rainbow (heh get it cause it's pride...I'm sorry).

Warnings: You will need to see a dentist after this chapter, I'm sorry. They needed, they deserved it, and so did I.

Pulling the phone away from your ear you blinked at the ended call screen for a few short moments. What the hell? Why…Just why? Why was it always in the middle of something? Shock and frustration were mixing in your head, making you grip the phone a bit tighter than you should have as you stared ahead at the wall. This was absolutely some bullshit. You felt your jaw tense, teeth clenching together as you tried to fight back that little worm of anger starting to wake up in the back of your mind.

The bed shifted under your knees as John sat back down and you watched as he leaned back against the wall with a frustrated sigh, apparently he was in agreement with your unspoken thoughts. This wasn’t an unusual thing to you, getting called away in the middle of something important, but it had been a long time since you’d experienced it and you had to admit that the annoyance was beginning to turn into something akin to nerves. Especially when the brunette beside you growled out in a low tone, "Bloody hell." Your eyes darted nervously to him, worried he was about to blame you for this.

Well not so much worried, that was maybe the wrong word. It was more like you were expecting to catch the blame. It was always your fault, especially when it was work calling you. Your ex-wife had made that clear enough, it didn’t matter if the same thing had happened more than once now and it hadn’t been you getting called away. It certainly didn’t matter than when it had been John getting called away you hadn’t blamed him in the slightest. This still felt like it was somehow your fault, like you could have changed Laswell’s mind on when she would call you. Doubtful, that woman definitely had a mind of her own.

Instead John just growled out again and shifted uncomfortably on the sheets, "Every time, every bloody time." Shit here it comes. Your eyes darted to the phone in your hand and then back to him slowly, just in time to see him run a hand down over his face. His fingers audibly scratched against the short brown hairs along his jaw, smoothing them down where they had canted up slightly.

Your eyes slid down to where his cock laid against his stomach now as he ignored it stubbornly, unable to hold his gaze in the oncoming hurricane of what would soon be his anger directed at you. It was obvious he was aching as he shifted his hips against the bed and you saw his freehand grip into the muscle of his thigh in an attempt to still ignore it. Ignore the pulsing and twitching against the skin of his stomach. The throbbing that you could feel mirrored in your own cock. God this was gonna be bad.

John cleared his throat, trying to raise your gaze to his. The Brit shifted forward in his attempt, finally earning a quick flick up of your eyes for his troubles. When your gazes met he took a breath and gave you- Wait was that a smile? His mouth turned up at the corners, it was a tight smile but a smile nonetheless. The nerves began to melt away almost immediately, and you watched as he shook his head before tucking his erection away and the Brit asked calmly, his tone only what you could describe as soft, gentle, "When did you get a phone?" He buttoned the jeans back as you continued to watch him. Almost incredulous about how well he was taking this.

That wasn't an accusatory question, it was simply a curious one, akin to a conversation starter. Your own brows furrowed a bit still expecting the other shoe to drop but he merely raised his brunette brows slowly. He was expecting an answer from you rather than just deadpan silence, you’d forgotten about needing to provide a response in order to carry a conversation for a moment. Your eyes blinked at him a couple times as you fought to regain control of your mouth.

Finally you got your thoughts and limbs back under your control. You pulled the jeans back up over the swell of your ass, ignoring the painful throb at the base of your erection. Clearing your throat you sat down beside him with a deep breath. You looked down at the phone in your hand and finally muttered, "Today actually. Wade gave it to me earlier today. I didn't know anyone even had the number, especially not fuckin Laswell." You reached out to hand it to him instinctively. Any time your ex-wife had mentioned your phone it'd been because she wanted to go through your things.

Sure there wasn't anything on it at the moment but it was still a reaction you couldn't quite suppress. John though just glanced down at it in confusion before he shook his head and gave a light huff of amusement, "No, love, I believe you. Just worried this'll mean we have twice the interruption possibilities in the future." Future, that was good. Future meant he wasn’t at least directly blaming you.

Slowly you pulled it back towards you with a slow nod. You couldn’t stop the sigh of relief, still lingering on how he’d said “Future.” Future meant this wasn’t just a few good kickin of the boots, this was something he didn’t plan on stopping, at least not soon. You hid the relief in your eyes though, the last thing you needed was for him to think you were attached or something…Right?

Quickly you looked through the phone for the first time since you’d gotten it. Funny enough everyone on the team was already in the contact list, must have been Wade's doing. It was a team phone so you gotta have the team’s numbers, at least it made sense. You typed out a quick message to the number listed in John’s contact, shooting him a simple text. A bit curious to see if the number was actually his or not. Sure enough a second later a little ding came from his bedside table and he smiled a bit, not bothering to look in its direction. “Wade really came prepared with this one.” You gave him a small smile then, catching the lines of worry around his eyes just as they melted off his face and he gave you a nod in answer.

That primal look in his eyes was gone for the moment as he relaxed against the wall his bed was shoved against. What was he worried about? You? That made something in your stomach do a flip, it felt odd to say the least, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. "You better get going then, Laswell doesn't like to be kept waiting. And she doesn't call for just any reason," your eyes widened just a smidgen as you remembered what had interrupted the two of you. Laswell, yes, that's right. You had people to interrogate and a role to play.

Sliding the phone into your pocket you took a breath and glanced down at the tent that was visible in your boxers without your pants buttoned up yet, "Almost forgot about that.” You huffed in sardonic amusement before continuing “I'll uh, if you want I can come back?" You offered hesitantly and he gave you another curious look before you quickly added, "Or not, whichever is fine. I don't have to. Just thought, nevermind-" Starting to scoot off the bed you felt a strong hand grasp at your forearm then, halting your progress as his head tilted a bit.

A little, warm smile was visible in his eyes as he leaned forward, managing to actually catch you off guard. John pressed a soft kiss against your mouth, much more gentle than the one you'd shared earlier. As he pulled away his fingers ran through the hair at the nape of your neck before he spoke again, "If you have time, of course I want you to come back, sweetheart. You're always welcome here, yeah?" His brows rose expectantly, nodding a bit of encouragement until you joined him in nodding along. Refusing to let you remain stoic, wanting to make sure that you did in fact know you were wanted.

The Brit took a deep breath and a low sigh left his mouth as the hand in your hair pulled you forward, your forehead pressing against his. Neither of you really wanted to leave, that much was obvious, but the both of you knew that work was work. When was it not? When did it not always pull you away from the best things in your life? There’d been a lot more than just leaving John eight months ago that this job had taken from you by force.

Finally though you heard him force out a quick, "Good." One of his large hands slid around to cup the side of your face tenderly, such a drastic contrast to the man who had been about to fuck your brains out not even five minutes ago. He leaned back against the wall again with another sigh and nodded towards the door before he said, "Go see what she needs. When you're done though come back here, can't forget to get your stuff, yeah? It'll be safe here. I won’t let anything happen to it. I swear by it, love. " You didn't even have to look at him sideways in order to get his reassurance, he just gave it without prompting. A proffered encouragement that normally you’d have had to beg for. John was so very different from anyone you'd ever encountered before. Drastically so.

Letting your tense muscles relax you gave another quick nod, "Ok. Yeah I'll just come back," you stopped yourself before you said something stupid but you could feel the slightest hint of a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. It was suppressed though, hidden behind that disappointment that you couldn’t stay here and finish what had been started. Well not really suppressed, more like it was muted. Like the difference between color TV and black and white. It was still there, you could still see it, but you missed some things, it wasn’t quite as eye-catching or vibrant. It was…Hollow.

Still though you forced yourself to move as you slid to the edge of the bed, pausing as you reached it. Your eyes flicked to the legs stretched out beside you, before you glanced back at his curious blue hues again, “I’m sorry.” John shook his head and was already opening his mouth to answer but for once you beat him to the punch, “But thank you, for helping with that.” His mouth shut slowly before he took in a deep breath like he was about to answer before he stopped himself and gave a single nod with a soft smile.

Standing from the bed you reached down to work on buttoning your own pants back. This damn team was gonna give you blue balls before it was all said and done. That wasn’t a worry, that was a fact. There’s no way it wasn’t going to, with how many times these fuckers interrupted the both of you it was a miracle it hadn’t happened yet.

You palmed yourself through the fabric, letting out a deep sigh as you adjusted yourself trying not to think about what you could have been doing if it wasn’t for that fucking phone call. John huffed out behind you, and when you glanced back you saw him doing the exact same thing. Apparently he too was feeling that throb that was refusing to subside. Taking a deep sigh you flexed the muscles in your arms and thighs before you zipped the jeans and fastened the belt again. This was gonna be torturous, almost certainly.

When you glanced back once more John had his face to the ceiling, his eyes shut as he took in a few deep breaths, his jaw tense and the muscles in his neck flexing. Restraining himself from doing something you were almost certain was akin to every time you’d fucked the air because of him. There was a slight grimace on his face that melted away when he realized you weren’t moving anymore. His eyes opened quickly before his blue gaze fixed on you and he tilted his head. Giving him a small smile you cautioned, “Gonna give yourself blue balls there, John. Be careful,” his gaze narrowed as you started to back up towards the door.

He sat up from the wall slowly, sliding to the edge with his gaze still firmly on your slowly retreating form. “Hier, Cerberus,” the dog hurried out from under the table he’d settled underneath once more to join you. A smirk found your mouth before you added to him, “You’ve still got my picture. Don’t think I forgot about it, have fun…Sir,” there was a shift from him on the bed as your eyes darted to the table, his gaze following just as quickly.

The picture he’d tried to take from you sat underneath where you’d left his phone. You heard the light chuckle but sadly you didn’t get the pleasure to see it. The door shut behind you with a thud and you smiled at the ground, face warm and a smile you could no longer hide spread across your face. You glanced up at the sky, a warmth that wasn’t embarrassment or arousal flooded you, something foreign and unknown. It made your heart ache in your chest, but in a way that felt so good it was kind of insane how wide it made you smile despite yourself. God what was he doing to you?

It felt like you were a disney princess and you’d just met your handsome prince for the first time or some bullshit like that. Whatever it was the kids liked to imagine they would run off into the sunset with nowadays. What kind of idiotic, immature emotions were clouding your mind when it came to him? You weren’t sure in all honesty. However, you knew they were good ones, at least good enough to make your mind whirl. It may have been a fucked up fairytale but it was your fucked up fairytale. Not to mention all the sensations rushing through you right now were enough to make you forget how stupid it was to feel like this. This was yours to fuck up now, and there was no way you were letting that man get away. You doubted there was a thing in the world that could keep you from getting your happy ending now.

Shaking your head with a smile plastered to your face, you returned your eyes to the world in front of you. You jolted yourself out of your thoughts, cheeks burning and stomach turning more than a few flips as you headed down the stairs and off on your path. The faster you got this job done the faster you’d be able to get back to him, back to the happiest you’d ever been in your entire life. Work face Speck, get it together. Your smile dropped and you raised a hand to run over your face, clearing it of the easy smile that had been stuck there moments before. Taking in a deep breath you glanced down to the Dutchie at your side as you made your way towards one of the buildings on base. Get your head in the game, there's no telling what you were about to have to do now.

You walked quickly through the hallways, somehow managing to remember the twists and turns all the way back to the interrogation room that had held Labeeb not too long ago. There was a guard standing by the door a little bit down the hall just as there had been the last time. You, however, moved to the other door and raised your knuckles. Your closed fist knocked against it and waited for a few moments. It didn’t take long though before it swung inward, Laswell standing there in front of you before she stepped aside and let you into the room. As you stepped inside your eyes flicked to the one way glass with a sinking feeling creating the beginnings of a pit in your stomach.

One of al-Mustafa’s wives and his son were sitting in a chair in the middle of the white walled room, with a plain metal table in front of her. They'd gotten his first wife, Munisa, a woman in her late thirties from Sierra Leone. At least it hadn't been the second wife with the three daughters, sure that one had been talkative, but every word she'd said had been a lie. Not to mention wrangling three children had made her somewhat immune to things like sleep deprivation and audio torture. The last thing you wanted was to be taking a knife to anyone, that was always a last resort.

You'd held all three of those women and the six children for a week, this was the same woman you’d threatened to kill already, she was never going to tell you anything. She had no reason to, so what was Laswell planning on doing? They hadn’t seen you yet sure, they’d been blindfolded on the way back to base from the warehouse and it was doubtful they would have recognized your voice seeing how easily you changed accents, but this still felt like a bad idea. The confusion was written on your face plainly as Laswell crossed her arms and gestured to the woman through the glass, “I need you to translate.” Really? That’s what had been so damn important she couldn’t wait till John and you were finished? Sure she hadn't known what you were doing, but she'd said ASAP, that you needed to get there now, so why the fuck was it something as stupid as just translating.

The annoyance must have flashed over your features momentarily because you could have sworn there was an amused smile playing at those lips. Like she was privy to information she had no need to know…She probably was, “Something wrong, Speck? Do you have something better to do?” Well no but actually yes. Someone better to do was a more accurate statement.

Your eyes narrowed at her for a moment sensing that somehow she knew, or at least suspected. Shit, had Soap gotten to her as well? Suddenly she gestured for you to follow her, “Play it like you did Labeeb. Relay my questions to her and, what was it you called it last time? Playing your role?” You gave her a slow nod at the questioning tone and she smiled before continuing, “I’ll let you go about it how you see fit. Just get me the information I need.” You followed her out of the observation room, so you did have a real reason for being here then even if you didn't like it. She was using you, that’s fair though, you were a tool. The point of the spear, or at least that was what the Navy had taught you. You stopped as she did in front of the door of the interrogation room, “And I’ll be in there with you, so no going off the rails this time.”

Oh just fuckin great. So now you get another pair of eyes looking over your shoulder. When were people going to learn to just let go of the leash when it came to you? You watched as she typed in her code for the door before she turned the knob. She paused though holding it closed as she turned to look back at you for a few moments with her brows raised expectantly and you finally sighed and nodded, “Yes ma’am. I will stay on the train tracks this time, alright?”

Her smile was pleasant enough as she pushed open the door with a nod. You added in your own thoughts though this time, 'Not like you could understand me if I didn't though.' A hint of that rebelliousness that had made you such a talented leader when you were still a SEAL peeking through your thoughts even as you fought to smother it. Just get the job done, Speck, no need to complicate shit. It was already complicated enough. “Sitz, Cerberus, bleib,” you whispered quietly to the dog, watching him take a seat beside the door before you followed the CIA agent inside.

When she stepped inside though not only did your attitude completely change, hers did as well. You stayed behind Laswell until she broke off to take a seat in the chair across from the woman and her son. As she sat down though you stayed behind the middle aged woman, just out of sight, her young son sitting in her lap with her arms wrapped protectively around him. His back rising and falling slowly as he slept in her arms.

Your jaw tensed at the sight. It had been nearly impossible to look at them the first time you’d taken those women and their children. Now, to look at this sleeping boy wrapped up in his mother’s arms, how did Laswell expect you to make it through this. Especially after you’d unwrapped all those emotions and memories with John and exposed your vulnerability once more. Hell just seeing that kid’s small body made your chest hurt, like an elephant was sitting directly over your heart and refusing to move. There was no way you were gonna make it through this, fuckin hell.

No, Speck. Not now, you had a job to do. You’ve done it how many time before? Just one more time, that’s all you needed. Just one more time and this was all going to be over. So do it. Laswell’s voice sounded first from the table as she addressed the woman, “Munisa?” A dark set of eyes lifted from the table she’d been watching studiously to look directly at the blonde woman in front of her. She didn’t seem to notice there was another person in the room yet, that was fine though, it gave you time to come to terms with your own thoughts. To put your own demons at bay and get your head back on right.

She was definitely one of the women you’d held captive for four days. Jesus fucking christ you couldn’t even look her in the eyes. Hell you could barely even look at her reflection and she still hadn’t even noticed you were there. How was she going to react when she did notice you? Her voice as she spoke made your brows furrow for a moment. She wasn’t hoarse anymore, she was recovering at least. Fuck, get it together Speck. That hadn’t been you, that had been a role you had to play. Quit thinking about it. The past is the past. Three foot world idiot. Play this role now and you never have to look at her again. “No English,” her tone was unsure and cautious, almost distrustful. Still you stayed silent, no need to draw attention to yourself before you were ready.

Laswell nodded quickly to the woman before she answered in English, “I know you don’t speak English. I’ve brought a translator.” You relayed the blonde’s words in Temne, a Niger-Congo dialect. The woman visibly tensed the moment she heard your voice, her shoulders and spine going rigid in the chair. Hell even her arms tightened around the little boy, pulling him tight to her chest. The reaction only made your gaze fall from her reflection, trying to forget what you’d done to cause that and failing miserably. There was no forgetting what you’d done, just get through this.

Your eyes slid back up just as her dark hues darted up to find you in the one way glass, her eyes going wide even as you watched her breathing start to quicken. Oh yeah, she definitely still remembered you. No doubt about that. Somehow you managed to keep away any visible reaction the moment you knew she was watching, and even your voice stayed steady as you translated the agent’s words to the woman. You had done your research on her before you’d met her the first time. Originally she had been from Sierra Leone, in particular the northern province. And as she eyed you, you saw the fear that so many innocents felt when they saw you. She was not the first person to fear the sight of you though, and she likely wouldn’t be the last.

Her hands were near shaking now as she hid her son’s face from your gaze. “Get him out of here. I don’t want that devil anywhere near my son again.” She spoke to Laswell but she couldn’t communicate with the American. Her words were frantic, but there was no meaning there. You watched her as she tried to get it across in Temne, but the blonde woman merely furrowed her brows and looked up at you as if she was oblivious to what you had done to cause the fear in those eyes. As if she couldn’t see terror hidden in those dark, inky pools. Hell Laswell didn’t know though. Sure she could make a good educated guess, but she didn’t really know.

Since you didn’t know the extent of her English you maintained the role even as you spoke to the CIA agent across from her, “She is afraid of Americans, ma’am. This woman does not wish to be corrupted by your country’s loose morals.” Your accent had obviously been from the deep south just a minute ago when you were talking to Laswell outside. Now though it was obviously more local. Not quite recognizable to any particular region, but it was certainly as far from American as one could get. That skin was now shed and you’d slid into a new one, one that had your gaze darkening in a silent threat at her. Play the role and get this shit over with.

Shifting your gaze back down to the woman, you listened as Laswell spoke again, “Tell her not to be afraid. We only wish to ask her a few questions and then she will be free to go.” You nodded slowly and you weighed the words in your mind. Wondering how you could put this without relaying Laswell’s exact words. How to construe the meaning to further your own cause? A silent moment passed as Munisa glanced up at the glass and then back to the blonde woman waiting to hear what she had to say on what was almost certainly bated breath.

Finally you settled on, “We leave when you answer our questions. She can’t understand you, and if you try to tell her something that I don’t like…” Your words trailed off as you watched her in the glass, her eyes darting nervously back and forth between the blonde’s sky blue eyes and your own hues. Munisa started to shake her head slowly, about to refuse to cooperate until you said again, “You know what I am willing to do, think of your son.”

Dark pools flicked down to her son as her grip tightened on the sleeping form clutched in her arms once more. Laswell’s head tilted curiously as she looked up at you wondering what it was you had said even though you were sure she understood the gist of it all. When she looked back up at the blonde woman there was a look almost of acceptance in her eyes. There was nothing she could do but cooperate, not without risking her and her son’s life. The American woman had played her cards right once more. She had used you once again to her own gains, your past which was darkened with the blood of the innocent aiding in her quest to hunt down Al-Mustafa.

Munisa sat a little straighter, her arms still wrapped around her son as she pulled him down into the safety of her bosom. Finally she spoke again and you listened as she did her best to project confidence into her voice, “I will answer her questions. Do not touch my son, you demon.” Under any other circumstances you might have laughed, you definitely would have smiled, but not here and not now. She deserved respect and you wished you could have given it, but it wasn’t your place.

Turning your eyes to Laswell you finally stepped around the table, taking a seat beside the blonde as you translated simply, “She will answer your questions. What do you want to know?” Your eyes narrowed when you noticed the woman across from you swallow hard, she understood that, or some of it at least. You’d have to be careful with your words both in English and in Temne. When you looked back to Laswell you could see the recognition in her eyes as well.

Good. That meant you wouldn’t have to police her words as well. The American woman sat forward then, the file in her hands hitting the table now as she began the interrogation in earnest. “You are the wife of Amaan Al-Mustafa, correct?” You translated for the woman as she gave a slow, cautious nod in the affirmative. “Munisa I need for you to answer me verbally for my records,” again you translated Laswell’s request.

The woman sighed before she gave another, firmer nod and answered, “Yes I am one of Amaan al-Mustafa’s wives. He has two others, but I am his first wife.” It took you a moment to translate the words in your mind. The Niger-Congo dialects were so hard to work through sometimes considering they weren’t actual languages themselves, rather they were just different ways of saying certain words. It made your thoughts pound as you sorted through what she had said, taking a few moments as you stared at the woman now sitting across from you. Both women’s eyes were on you now as the silence began to stretch on, neither really understanding why you still weren’t saying anything. Munisa even went so far as to pull her son closer to her as she watched you, afraid she might have said something that you didn’t like.

Finally though you managed to give Laswell a translation, telling the blonde, “She is only one of al-Mustafa’s wives. He has two more.” Quickly your eyes darted to the darker skinned woman who met your gaze for only a moment before shooting her eyes down to the tufts of curly hair that her son sported. “I believe the other two are named Reema and Raita, they are sisters.” At the mention of the other two women you saw a momentary chink in her carefully created exterior. It wasn’t that much different than your own carefully constructed armor. Your eyes narrowed for a moment as you watched her before you asked her, “What is it? Are you holding out on us, Munisa?” Her jaw tensed as her mouth pressed to the soft, wiry curls atop her son’s precious head.

She started to shake her head, but when she glanced up to find your cold gaze she stopped mid shake. Had her head and neck not been covered you knew you would have seen her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Oh yeah she was definitely holding onto a piece of information, and it was your job to get that information no matter what it took. Sliding the chair back slowly you stood up, stepping around the table to sit on it beside her. Close enough that you could have reached out to touch her if you were so inclined. More importantly though you were closer to the boy now, she jolted at the change and immediately shifted the boy to her other shoulder.

It was a futile attempt to keep him away from you. Your brows knitted together in annoyance even as the little boy began to finally stir from his sleep after his mother had moved him so abruptly. Fuck, just stay quiet kid, please don’t do anything stupid. You couldn’t hurt that kid, no matter how much you tried to bluff and scare her, that was a line you couldn’t cross. It was a line you would toe but the idea of hurting that little boy was hitting too close to home.

Your own son hadn’t been much older than him when you’d last seen him. The memory of holding him as a baby still sat so close to your heart there was no way in hell you’d ever be able to bring yourself to harm the little boy in front of you. Your two kids were the only light you’d gotten from your marriage with Rachel. They were truly the only reason you’d ever even married her and stayed married. How could you put that behind you and harm this innocent child? You couldn’t.

When a pair of chocolate brown eyes lifted to find your face it felt like you were frozen. Hide it, don’t let her see it. If she sees the weakness you will lose every bit of leverage you had over her. She will know. Role, play your role, that’s it play the role. A smile lifted the corners of your mouth, but it never reached your eyes. Laswell stayed silent behind you, a faint memory now as you slid comfortably back into the skin she’d put you into. “Tell me what you’re hiding Munisa,” still her eyes stayed on the table in front of her, not able to bring herself to find your eyes.

She diligently stared back at you, even as her son whispered, “Mommy? What is-'' The woman stopped her son from speaking, trying to pull the boy back down to her chest as she did her best to keep him quiet. The child struggled in her arms though, rarely did children know what was best for them. He pushed himself up off his mother’s chest as you and Laswell both watched her struggling to control the child. Munisa was nearly frantic now as she fought to hold onto the boy. This was about to get out of hand, it was time to intercede. Time to get this over with.

You pushed up off the table and your hands slid underneath the boy’s arms, lifting him off his mother’s lap. The panic in Munisa’s eyes then was obvious, her entire body freezing in her chair. Halfway between standing and sitting with one hand braced on the table and the other on the back of the chair. You held the boy in your arms, narrowing your eyes down at her for a moment before you turned to look at the wide eyed child in your arms. He too was frozen as his gaze darted back and forth between you and his mother. Something that wasn’t quite fear but more like caution in his eyes now. “Munisa,” the woman finally seemed to breathe and forced herself to sit back down in the chair, “What are you hiding?”

Even as you held the boy in your arms she was quiet. There was no chance in the world her loyalties for al-Mustafa were stronger than her protectiveness over her own son. Your gaze shifted back to the boy in your arms who was still watching you with a cautious look, “Your name is Umair yes?” You couldn’t even help the softness that came through in your tone. It only seemed to add fuel to the woman’s fear though. A snake whispering falsities to her son. The little boy nodded in answer then and you gave another soft smile that you somehow managed to keep out of your eyes again.

Moving with the boy in your arms behind his mother and towards the door you felt the woman’s eyes on your back as you moved. Stopping at the door you put a hand on the handle before asking, “Do you like dogs, Umair?” The child in your arms nodded again, the caution beginning to melt away now, and you started to open the door, “Would you like to meet my dog, Umair?” He gave you an excited nod then, nearly vibrating in your arms with expectation. But when you pulled the door open and started to step out, looking down at the dog who hadn’t moved an inch from his place, there was a gasp behind you.

Your eyes shot back to the woman who was standing up now, about to move in your direction before Laswell grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her. “Stop, please don’t take my son. I-” she stopped herself again, almost as if it was a trained response. It probably was, al-Mustafa always did strike you as the rat bastard type even before you even knew what he looked like. “I can-” again she stopped, seeming to debate with herself but when you looked away from her down to the dog at your feet, the panic seemed to overwhelm whatever block was stopping her from speaking finally. “I can give you Amaan!”

The moment that name came out of Munisa’s mouth, bright blue eyes shot up to find you, waiting for the translation even though she already knew what it was the woman had offered. Cerberus’ head was in the door now, looking up at you with his head tilted. Even he was a silent threat, a monster that this woman had seen the last time she’d been under your control. “She said she’ll give us Amaan,” Laswell nodded slowly and looked towards the woman as you asked her, “How can you give us Amaan? I need a guarantee, Munisa.” Her mouth opened for a minute, her eyes darting between you, her son, and the American woman beside her.

It took a few seconds before she managed to answer back, “He…He is…Amaan will be with Reema and Raita and I can find them for you. I swear it. You dismantled all his contacts in the country, they are the only other people he knows here who aren’t dead. He sent them to a different warehouse with their children, it’s why they weren’t there when you assaulted the building.” You watched her carefully for a few seconds before you glanced down at Cerberus and motioned for him to follow you inside the room. Closing the door you looked at the boy with his wide brown eyes and took a step closer to the woman.

You stopped though when your eyes narrowed, “What do you mean you can find them? Do you not know where they are?” The dark hues flicked back and forth between Umair and you, relief obvious on her face now that you weren’t actively trying to leave with the boy.

Munisa took a moment to compose herself before she finally answered you, “They, well we, all have microchips. Amaan knows where we are at all times. It’s how he found us at that safehouse with the man.” What the fuck? “And I can access that for you, I will give him to you. Just please, do not hurt my son. He is innocent.” Well that was the truth. The poor boy never should have been caught in the middle of this, hell she never should have been caught in the middle of this either.

Wait. Back it up for just a moment. “You are microchipped?” She nodded, your eyes slid over to Laswell where she was still holding Munisa by the shoulder. Quickly you relayed the information to the blonde woman, your stare hardening as the American lost her composure for a moment, seeming almost shocked by the revelation. You certainly were. That man treated them like fucking dogs, hell he treated them more like cattle than dogs. At least most dogs were treated halfway decent.

You’d seen the scars that marked that woman’s body beneath the layers of fabric covering her. God you hated him more than you hated even yourself probably, and that was hard as hell to do. Laswell jumped back into the conversation then, well the interrogation anyway, “Ask her how to access the locations. And ask her where the microchips are located, we need to remove them as fast as possible.” You took another step closer before relaying the questions to the dark skinned woman.

She sighed and her hand settled near where the bone of her hip would have been. No wonder you hadn’t seen it the first time. Yes you were a monster, however you were far from that kind of monster. “I need a computer to access the locations.” You relayed the information to Laswell who was quick off the block. Her phone appeared in her hand with a flick of her wrist, like a magic trick you'd seen from that traveling circus guy one time when you were a kid.

Laswell typed out something quickly before looking back up, "Give the boy back. I will handle the rest, Speck. Be ready to go soon." Your eyes shifted to the boy who was starting to squirm in your arm, your shoulder beginning to ache with the weight of him there. You still weren't healed all the way and you'd nearly forgotten about it until just now. After you'd been holding this precious, young child for long enough to make Soap's stitches sting where they were holding the skin together in your arm.

Munisa's wide eyes still looked between you and her son, her hands raised out in front of her, a pleading look in her eyes. "Yes ma'am," you managed to get out before shifting the boy in your arms and holding him out. The woman snatched the child from you, pulling him into her chest as she hid his face away from you again. Cerberus' weight leaning against your still healing thigh was all that kept your mind from wandering now. The only thing grounding your thoughts.

Lifting your chin you stamped a look of pure neutrality on your face and stepped back, pushed the handle down, and left the room in stride. The guard standing at the door glanced at you for a quick moment before muttering, "Good evening, sir." Their back was stiff, their arms stuck to their sides as they stood at attention. You gave a simple nod to them even despite your own feeling of what you could only describe as exhaustion. It wasn’t in you to be rude to someone who didn’t deserve it though, not when you weren’t having to be ‘Speck’. Thankfully a nod seemed to suffice as their eyes returned to the wall across from them.

Cerberus’ weight against your leg drew your eyes away from them, seeming to pull you out of your raging thoughts once more. God you hadn’t seen your own kids in two years, nearly three now. Turning down the hallway and walking mindlessly through the maze of corridors you couldn’t stop your wandering thoughts. Emma would be almost twenty-one now, a junior in college. Well she might be graduating early actually, she’d mentioned that the last time you’d spoken to her. God that’d been such a long time ago now. Hell Logan was almost eleven now or wait…

You pulled the phone out of your pocket with what was almost panic as you checked the date. Fuck. He’d turned eleven already, two days ago. Yet another birthday that his father had been absent from. A twist of pain churned your stomach at the revelation. You couldn’t even manage a simple facebook message to your own kid? Rachel had been right to call you a deadbeat father. What was it she’d said again? “Just like your real dad, should have known.” A sigh left you as you navigated through the phone, adding the one app you actually used. The last string of connection you actually had to your children and your family back in the States.

Putting in your login you scrolled through your ex-wife’s page, looking at the latest pictures from Logan’s birthday party. His light brown eyes brought out your own smile, even as you continued to feel that ache deep in your gut. A knife of pain you couldn’t escape even as you pressed the button to turn the screen off and shoved the phone back into your pocket. Never should have agreed to get close to Munisa’s boy, never should have opened that damn app, and you never should have even tried to pretend you were straight. All of this heartache could have been avoided if you’d just been truthful with yourself back then.

One hand was on the head of the big Dutchie beside you, the other shoved into the pocket of your pants, finger running against the corner of the phone absently. Your eyes were glued to the tiles passing underfoot. You were so engrossed in said tiles that you didn’t even notice the approaching man ahead. Not until you ran smack into him anyway. A solid chest slammed against your own, jolting you out of your quickly deteriorating thoughts. Your gaze shot up to those almost too familiar ocean blue eyes before you blinked once and took in the sight of him.

His head tilted curiously as he watched you, a firm grip finding the bone of your hip as he steadied you, "Everything ok, love?" Not really but it was nothing he needed to worry about, and nothing that could be fixed by simply talking about. You'd abandoned your children to be here, abandoned your family so you could risk your life over here. There was no fix, nothing he could do, so as far as he was concerned…

"Yeah, I'm good. I's just thinkin," that seemed to spark interest in those eyes. Shit. Should've just left it at, you were good. Say something before he asks, if he has to ask you won't be able to lie about it. The furthest you can get from what you'd just done and what you'd been thinking about, "Bout you." The curious brows lowered and a small smile softened his features.

And like magic your own thoughts began to shift and your tight, nervous smile began to loosen and mirror his own softness. Just the idea of thinking about him turning you into a nearly giddy mess. Your mind wandered to how you'd left him, disheveled and wanting, with your picture within arms reach of where he'd been on the bed. "How'd you like that picture?" A knowing grin found your face when his cheeks started to go red beneath that brunette beard, his eyes darting down the hall as he pulled away from you.

His hands settled on his hips as he watched you for a moment before he sniffed and lifted one hand to wipe nervously at his nose. The same hand smoothed down over his mustache and then scratched at the hairs along his jaw. Damn, that’s what you wanted to do. Just run your fingers through those short hairs that always felt like pin pricks against your skin when he was kissing along your exposed flesh. When you ran your fingers through them though it always felt so soft, so soothing, like when he held you close enough you could feel his heartbeat like a soothing melody against your cheek.

A deep voice jolted you from that dangerous train of thoughts, drawing your eyes up from where you’d been watching his hand running through his beard and back to his blue depths. When you gave him a questioning tilt of the head he did a poor job suppressing his smirk before he said again, “I loved that picture, sweetheart.” He nodded his chin down the hall the way you had come, beckoning you to follow him. Quickly you fell into step beside him with Cerberus at your hip. The small, knowing smirk should have annoyed you but instead it only drew you closer. It made you want to kiss it away. Now there was a thought.

John may have gotten to have his fun but you’d been called away to do some less than enjoyable things. Now that he was here it was all you could do not to jump him in this fuckin hallway. You’d always thought that maybe it was just because you had some good self control, or at least a modicum of self respect. Yeah that was a blatant lie. You’d just never been completely head over heels infatuated and attracted to someone else.

The brunette beside you had completely unraveled the idea you had begun to believe that maybe you just truly weren’t attracted to anyone. Like you’d put yourself above those kinds of feelings. Sure there had been McCann but you’d never acted on those desires and even that had taken years to grow into something more than friendship. Whatever this was with John it was burning hotter than the sun and you knew it was going to consume you if you weren’t careful. Hell, let’s be honest, it was already consuming you, the only option now was to just ride it out and enjoy.

“Are you listening to me or are you still thinking?” Again the man beside you jolted you from your thoughts. Son of a bitch you’d gotten distracted again. You shot him a quick look, finding him already watching you as the two of you took a turn towards the squad room.

Taking in a breath you lifted your chin and offered him an apologetic smile, “Sorry bout that, John.” He shook his head about to say something along the lines of ‘Don’t worry about it,’ or ‘It’s ok, love.’ You didn’t give him the chance though, quickly saying, “I’m listening now though. You’ve got my undivided attention.” You leaned towards him as you walked, your shoulder brushing against his and your lips nearing his ear as you added, “I promise, angel.” The flush in his cheeks, which had finally begun to recede, returned in an instant and he smiled a bit wider, clearly still enjoying the name you’d given him.

There wasn’t a chance in hell you were about to let him think that you didn’t care about what he had to say. You’d been on the receiving end of that for twenty years, you knew how that felt. No one deserved that shit, especially not him. This man deserved the world and you’d give it to him if you could.

He stopped outside the squad room and put in the code for the door before he pushed it open and repeated himself, “Laswell texted me and said we had new intel finally. I’m guessing you had something to do with that, eh?” You gave him a quick nod in response as you followed him into the squad room. At least you didn't have to nearly kill someone to get the information this time.

The squad room was devoid of the others, either they were on the way or they hadn’t gotten the call yet. That was fine, you didn’t want to deal with all of them right now anyways. You’d had enough of their bullshit for one day already. John didn’t even know that they all knew. Fuck, they all knew. You really should tell him that they all knew exactly what both Soap and Ghost had seen in their Captain’s bunkhouse. God that was gonna be a hard conversation to have to say the least.

Not right now though. John still wasn’t done talking, pay attention, “I didn’t think you’d have time to go back to my bunkhouse so I went ahead and fixed the shirt back how you had it. Everything’s inside it and I locked the door, it’ll be safe in there.” This man was a fuckin dream, no one deserved him, especially not someone like you. God he was perfect.

John slid a key into the lock of the door to his office before he opened it and led you inside, “Laswell was about to call all the boys in, probably within the hour, anyway.” Again you gave him a quiet nod to show you were listening, unsure how else to engage in the conversation. It was still weird having someone trying to talk to you rather than just talking and expecting you to listen. You felt almost like you were navigating a minefield of what to do and what not to do. Except you had the overwhelming feeling that Price would never explode at you the same way that your ex-wife would have.

You didn’t notice the quiet look he leveled at you, concern riddling his expression for just a moment before he hid it when your eyes found him once more. “You sure you’re ok, love?” A simple nod and smile were all he received in answer before you took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Just smile and nod and eventually he’ll believe…right?

He leaned back against the desk, his hands bracing on the edge as he fixed you with a narrow eyed look. Well damn. Yeah he wasn’t believing your smiles and nods anymore. You’d been quiet for too long and he was on to you. Speak, now, or he’ll drag this shit out of you by force, “I’m fine, Price.” That name had him shifting against the desk, his face going blank as he receded into his own thoughts for just a quick moment before you managed to add, “Kinda disappointed I didn’t get mine today since you’ve been keeping me so well satisfied but other than that I’m just…peachy.” You couldn’t help the small smile that turned up the corner of your mouth at that. He didn’t understand it, but you did, and it served to make the heartache just a bit lighter.

A bandaid over the emotional pain you’d just been fighting so diligently to hide from him. The hint of a smile on your mouth, what had been a mask moments before, was now turning more genuine by the second. Even if you didn’t truly feel it at first just pretending seemed to go a long way as you focused on the brunette and the expression he wore which was quickly becoming more and more flustered. God he was adorable, he was everything you’d never experienced before, and he was quickly becoming the only source of happiness in your otherwise lonely and dull life. Shit.

John huffed and shook his head, his hands releasing the edge of the desk and they were about to cross over his chest before an impulsive thought shot through you. Your hand reached out and took his of its own volition, without even consulting with your mind for its opinion. You held the weight of it in your palm, your eyes tracing the lines along the back of his hand, the faded scars and the popping veins and the dark hairs that covered his skin like a fine dust. It was an experiment with the feel of both of your calluses rubbing together, the rough texture of dry, well-used hands running across one another. It was a foreign feeling to hold another person’s hand, especially a man’s, but it felt…good. Warm. Heat seemed to radiate off every part of his body, warming what you hadn’t even realized was ice in your veins until just now.

The open wounds of your soul stitched together merely by his presence alone. A balm for your aching soul with the addition of his touch. It was a soothing sensation that you usually only felt running over your thighs and hips when the both of you were naked and panting and needy. Now though, with it running against the worn and torn skin along your own palm it wasn’t nearly as sensuous, but damn if it didn’t feel ten times more intimate than anything you’d had with him recently.

Hell it was reminiscent of the first night you’d met this man who was changing your life one step at a time. When you’d been sitting on his couch and he was doing everything in his power to keep you wanting for more from him. It wasn’t like you’d never held hands before, it wasn’t a foreign concept to you, but his was the first you’d ever actually wanted to hold before and been able to hold without the possibility of guilt or shame swallowing you whole like a pit in the earth. There was truly never any shame when it came to John Price, not unless you were the one making it anyway.

Swallowing hard, your gaze shot up, looking up at him beneath long eyelashes to find him watching you with a quizzical expression. Curious as to what you were doing, but obviously pleased to be the one you were doing it with. You couldn’t blame him, it was doubtful you’d have done this with anyone else but him. Was this what all those old country songs were about, or any song really. Not the slow and sad ones but the other ones, the ones you watched couples dance to at bars. The ones who always made your chest tighten while a longing for something you’d never experienced before rose in your chest.

“What’s your favorite song?” The question escaped you before you could stop it. Your brows furrowed and your forehead wrinkled up at the memory of the pain that sat right at the tip of your sternum where your xiphoid process sat just beneath the skin. It traveled upwards, making your throat tighten almost painfully before you forced it down, still watching him carefully. Though you did release your grip on his hand then, sitting back in the chair with a nervous glance down at your still warmed palm. The scratch of where his calluses had run along the length of your own still fresh in your mind.

Your question must have caught him off guard just as much though because he didn’t answer even when you finally looked back up at him. His face was set in stone, his expression and features chiseled into the wall of granite he’d been carved out of, marred only by the occasional scar and the dark, flat moles that occasionally dotted his skin. It was almost like he didn’t understand the question so he didn’t want to answer, or maybe he wasn’t sure how to answer. It was your turn to be a bit more forceful though it would seem, “I asked what your favorite song was, John. I’d rather not have to ask again.” The ocean hues were boring into you as they narrowed now, his intense gaze setting your face on fire though his mirrored your own. A light flush working its way onto his skin.

Ignore it and he will answer, don’t give into him this time, stay strong. That was probably the hardest thing in the world to do though. Not give in to him? John Price? The man who you literally couldn’t deny anything, even when your life was in danger. Even when he had a gun to your head. It felt like an eternity of this. His blue gaze stuck on your face, eyes watching and examining with deliberate slowness. Almost like he was trying to throw you off as much as your question seemed to have thrown him.

Finally though he cleared his throat and gave you an unsure shrug, “Don’t really have a favorite song, love. Just listen to whatever strikes my fancy at the time.” You leaned over, resting your elbow on the arm of the chair as you watched him now, your hand raising to rest your mouth against the back of the knuckles on your hand. He shifted against the desk again before his arms finally managed to cross over his chest without you impeding their progress this time.

There was a weakness there, you weren’t certain what it was causing it but you could see it. Your relentless gaze picking away at it as he tried to hide it, tried to hide his shifting hips and his gaze that would flick away for half a second before finding yours once more. It was barely noticeable, almost like it wasn’t happening at all. Had you been of weaker mind and spirit you might have believed that it wasn’t, that it was your mind playing tricks on you.

At least up until he sighed and muttered, “Quit looking at me like that.” Huh? Your face lifted back up, hand dropping to hold onto the arm rest. You tilted your head curiously. He finally couldn’t help it, his mouth splitting into a smile as he said simply, “Don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?” You shook your head in answer and he relaxed finally, you could see the muscles untense and his posture slouch just a bit, “Feels like you’re interrogating me. Mind not doing that, Speck?”

Your face broke out into a wide grin then, “Oh, is that what’s got ya all shifty and flustered?” John huffed in amusement and shook his head. His fingers were still digging into his biceps though and when they tightened you knew you were right. “Just tell me whatcha like to listen to, angel.” His mouth tightened into a thin line, his eyes shutting for just a moment as he controlled some kind of urge.

Of course you didn’t know why he was controlling it but maybe he just wasn’t in the mood, or maybe yall didn’t have the time. Whatever the reasoning was didn’t matter though because he finally gave in, his voice dropping almost a whole octave as his gaze landed on you once more, “I like a little bit of everything. Ever since that night we met though I’ve been…” He stopped and watched you for just a moment before he asked, “Why don’t I just play it for you, eh love?” Oh now that was interesting. You couldn’t help but sit forward in the seat at the offer, a nod signaling that yes he most definitely should just play it for you.

He fished in his pocket for his phone as you stated quickly, “I haven’t heard any good music in years. Most I’ve gotten the privilege to hear was some damn elevator music during my time in the UK.” You smirked a bit at that, it wasn’t a humorous smirk though, it was one almost of disdain for the financial situation you’d found yourself in over the past few years. There was a quizzical look in the other’s eyes before you shrugged and gave him an easy smile to ease what you took almost as worry from him, “I can’t afford any of those apps and I haven’t been back in the US for a while. And any music out here I can’t really enjoy, not like the music back home. I’m too worried I’m about to get shot in the head every damn second I’m outside the wire. And the music’s good, but it’s not…It’s not what I grew up with, ya know?”

John’s hand lowered slowly with the phone still in it, the heavy phone finding the desk beside where he was leaning against it. You held up a finger though, glancing to the side in thought before you corrected, “I take that back actually. Soap was kind enough to serenade all of us in the showers when we got back. So I have heard that ‘music’ if you can call it that.” Your eyes darted back to his face to find his soft little smile, a pleasant reminder of the good that surrounded you when he was near.

The Brit chuckled a bit and nodded, “I can imagine. That’s why I always get in and get out as fast as possible. Anything to avoid listening to Katy Perry and Celine Dion on a loop. Kid has a set of lungs on him. I can tell you that.” Your smile turned genuine once more and you gave a short laugh. John’s smile widened and he leaned forward, grabbing your hands before hauling you out of the chair. Widening his stance until your hips were slotted perfectly between his thighs, “What kind of music do you like then, love? Pop? Rock? Or uh I think Ghost likes that loud stuff, heavy metal, you like that?” Your gaze slid down from his eyes to his mouth before returning to those deep pools you could have drowned in, and would have willingly if he’d asked.

His head tilted questioningly before you shrugged and answered, “You mean like when I’m back in the US?” John nodded in answer, his hands snaking around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles against the point of your hip seemingly absent-mindedly. You were anything but. It made your skin run hot, a searing burn running directly up from where he’d planted his hands at your waist and flushing across your cheeks in red hot waves. Swallowing hard you had to force your mind to focus, your mouth opening to answer though for the first couple tries it stayed stubbornly silent. At least until you managed to answer, “Guess I’m a bit of a cliche, John. Country music usually, new and old, I don’t really discriminate.”

John gave a slow, almost appreciative and understanding, nod. One hand slid up your side, on a warpath north. Your shirt caught against his palms and bunched in certain places before it crossed the threshold at the collar. Fingers were sliding over the muscle of your neck before stopping at the line of your jaw, “That’s not a cliche. Just a by-product of circumstance. I imagine it’s comforting to hear the music of home, sweetheart.” His fingers were still resting against your jaw as his thumb ran against the point of your chin. Barely more than a soft swipe over the facial hair that had grown there.

His mouth turned up in a gentle smile before he pulled gently at the hairs there and whispered, “The beard looks good on you.” The fingers holding your face pulled you down towards his mouth, but before you could reach what you so desperately sought he stopped your downward descent and whispered in front of your lips, “I mean it. Looks amazing,” your eyes darted between both of his, seeking sincerity and of course you found it. He was always sincere. John Price did not give idle or false compliments, he sought the truth and he told the truth. Always.

The grip on your chin loosened and he let you finally press your lips to his. Soft and sweet, so much of what you never knew you needed from someone. This wasn’t the ‘tough love’ you were so used to receiving, this was a tender sort of care. His hand slid around to the back of your head, your eyes squeezing shut as you leaned into him. John’s free hand rested at the small of your back, holding you close as the two of you enjoyed one another. You were losing yourself in him, in his touch and the way your facial hair rasped against his.

When he pulled back it took you off guard, leaving your mind feeling as if it was missing a vital piece of itself. An ache starting in your chest as he watched you, until you managed to open your eyes and find his soft gaze. Your eyes glanced down to where your hands were bracing on either side of his hips against the desk. Finding his blue hues once more with your head tilted questioningly and your mind on the verge of annoyance at being stopped for the second time today. And this time it wasn’t even some out of the loop third party, it was the fucker you were trying to…well…fuck.

The hand at the small of your back was suddenly gone as John reached for his phone once more. You hadn’t heard it ring or buzz, what the fuck was he doing? Why were you being left high and dry? What was so damn important on that fuckin phone that he felt it was necessary to leave you wanting?

And then the music started. The annoyance that had begun to appear on your face falling away like the drop of a hat. Your expression went blank as the melody rolled out of the phone’s speaker. You stared down at the screen for a few seconds, the album cover for Cody Johnson’s On My Way To You staring back at you as it played. It was clear you weren’t sure what he was doing, or even how to react as your eyes returned to his face.

John couldn’t help the small smile on his mouth as he set the phone back down on the desk and asked, “This one good? This is your kind of music then?” Your confused expression changed then to almost a bewildered amusement, a short chuckle leaving you before you saw the amusement mirrored in his eyes as well. His hands found your hips again before he stood from where he’d been sitting on the desk, pushing you back a step as he muttered, “I’ll take that as a yes then, love.”

Your arms slipped around his waist as you sighed and nodded, “Yeah John, this is my kinda music.” He gave a satisfied nod, seemingly proud of himself. The lyrics were turned into a whisper, somewhat muted by the snort you couldn’t muffle and the expression on the brunette’s face that you couldn’t quite place. “How did you even get this? You got one of them fancy apps or somethin?” John shrugged as his hands slid a bit further around, his forehead leaning down to rest against yours even as you felt the fingers digging into the flesh of your backside.

It wasn’t completely unexpected when you felt him rock you a bit in his arms, your foreheads pressed against one another and his hands keeping the two of you locked together. It may not have been what you initially wanted but you had to admit, this was just as good. Maybe it was even better, actually. A soft smile found its way onto your lips as you listened to the words playing.

Your eyebrows rose as you suddenly felt his chest vibrate against yours and he hummed along to the song, not quite believing what you were hearing even as he whispered the words, “All the damage done, I was just passin’ time, kinda just passin’ through, on my way to you.” It was shocking enough to hear the Brit singing a country song, it was even more shocking to hear him sounding so familiar and so easily American as he did it.

Brunette brows rose as he watched you during the short silence in between the verse and the chorus. His eyes squinted ever so slightly as he held his smile at bay. The deep voice went quiet as the two of you returned to listening to the song, his arms rocking you steadily though not actually in time with the music. Just enjoying the dancing and the closeness that it brought without having to worry about being on beat.

Lips pressed lightly to your forehead before he pulled you closer, your cheek resting on his shoulder and his chin on yours. Your throat felt tight and only seemed to get more so as you strained to get out the words, “All the boats I’ve missed, all the hell I’ve cause, all the lips I’ve kissed, all the love I’ve lost, I thank God for that, I guess he always knew, I was on my way to you.” In all your life you’d never felt the need to cry so much. Hell you’d never been so close to someone that you felt comfortable doing that. It was an overwhelming sensation though, a feeling you couldn’t hold onto anymore though.

The tears slipped down your cheeks in rivulets, staining the shoulder of his shirt. And as the two of you continued to dance slowly to the music, even as the song changed, you could feel even him relax against you. It wasn’t just you. John was feeling it too. Tears were soaking your shoulder as he found comfort for whatever it was ailing him in your touch. Two halves of a whole that had finally been pieced together to put two of what seemed like the most distanced of people in one another’s path. And thank God for that.

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