Mars

This will probably be the shortest part, besides possibly the epilogue. There is a possibility that what is now part 5 will be split, but I'm not sure yet (the reveal will happen in the next chapter no matter what, don't you worry).

Word Count: 4.5K ish

Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species), semi-unreliable narrators, feeling insecure, more angst, talk of pregnancies and complications during pregnancies (see previous note about medical inaccuracies, but with more fae and magic nonsense), past child abandonment, Rhysand means well

Part 3 | Part 5

————

Azriel's wing coils gently behind you, its warmth seeping through the back of the couch, soothing some of your aching muscles. The shadows curl lazily about the room, humming contentedly. A soft smile pulls at your lips, eyes lethargically following their swirling movements. Azriel's arm drapes around you, his touch light, leaning into you as much as you are him. He insisted on taking you to his apartment after you reunited in the garden, keeping you close as you and the parents-to-be arranged a time for their appointment in a few days.

The two of you barely said a word when you arrived; Azriel discarding his leathers before sitting next to you on the couch, the shadows depositing warm mugs of tea in your hands. Your fingers flex gently around the mug, the contents seemingly charmed to remain the perfect temperature. Azriel takes a long, slow sip, eyes never leaving you.

The soft cushions relieve some of the stress on your spine, muscles still throbbing after spasming earlier. During the kiss. Just the thought has your smile growing and warmth rushing up your neck. You have only been kissed a handful of times, but they weren't… like that. A spark of warmth filling every part of you, the need to feel him more important than breathing, all your pain momentarily forgotten. It was the first time the bond flared so brightly since it snapped, the only time it brought a gentle warmth and love and acceptance and no pain.

Azriel nuzzles your hair softly, you can feel his smile against your scalp. "What are you thinking about that has you blushing so prettily?" he hums.

You turn to him slightly, flush deepening. "Just you," you admit in a whisper.

Azriel's smile broadens. "Oh, yeah?" he murmurs, amusement dripping from his voice. "What about me?"

Ducking, you hide your face in his shoulder. "The garden," you whisper.

He hums, pecking the crown of your head. "I meant every word."

You still, his words breathed into your skin hours ago echoing in your mind.

You are everything. So perfect.

I love you so much. My beloved.

I'm yours.

Your pulse climbs into your throat and you draw your hands in until you can feel the warmth of your tea on your stomach, almost enough to disguise the void opening there. You could feel the sincerity in his words, his earnestness flowed through the bond. You want so desperately to believe them, and you had for a brief, perfect moment.

Then your lower spine spasmed and reality flooded back. You aren't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. He only calls you such things because you keep a part of yourself from him, a part that dictates your entire life. Such sweet nothings will die on his lips the moment he learns, as they have for everyone else in your life.

"Hey," Azriel murmurs, tenderly guiding your face out of his shirt. He studies you with a quiet intensity. "Where did you go?"

You try to force a smile, but it's shaky. "Nowhere," you try. Azriel hums, unconvinced, eyes not leaving yours. You take a deep breath, gaze sliding to a shadow curling serenely on his shoulder. "I- I didn't mean to ruin everything with your family," you breathe.

His brows cinch, eyes flickering between yours. "Oh, my love," he whispers, voice soft and thick. Shaking his head, he leans in slowly until his forehead rests on yours. "You didn't ruin anything," he vows, the words gentle but heavy.

"But… the Hight Lord–" you start.

"Was wrong," he finishes gently, running his thumb across your cheek. "He never should've spoken to you that way. He knew those questions were inappropriate and asked anyway. If anyone ruined anything, it was him, not you."

You purse your lips, taking a shaky breath. The High Lord may have asked the questions, but only in response to you, your job, your trip to the Dawn Court. It was still your fault in that way, but you knew Azriel would never see it that way.

Your eyes drop to his chest. "I'm sorry about this morning," you breathe, shifting to try to relieve the ache from your twisting spine.

"Y/N," he whispers reverently, his voice catching. His other hand cups your jaw, his tea disappearing into the shadows. "That was not your fault. None of this is your fault." Gently, he tilts your head up, ducking to catch your eyes.

"But, if… if I wasn't there it wouldn't have happened. She never would have been kicked out," you insist quakily.

Taking a deep breath, Azriel closes his eyes. Your pulse thunders, hot tears burning behind her eyes. It really shouldn't surprise you; despite his flowery language, he can't deny that. Still, the jagged bond writhes in your chest, the hollowness in your stomach growing.

"Y/N," he says softly, his eyes opening, lined with silver tears. "My kind, sweet, beautiful, selfless Y/N." He smiles shakily as your face heats. He forces himself to take another deep breath, his eyes locked on yours. "Your presence may have been a catalyst, but her actions, her words, are hers and hers alone. It is her responsibility to bear, my beloved. Not yours. Never yours."

Your breath picks up, faster and shallower than before. Azriel's fingers tense against your cheeks, his jaw ticking as he studies your face. Stiffly, you force yourself to nod once, just to put him at ease. It works, his hands and shoulders relax a fraction, a sigh escaping him.

"It looked like you wanted to kill her," you breathe, voice steadier than you felt.

Azriel tenses again, eyes widening as they flicker across your face. You know of his job, of course, heard the stories that circulate about the… less savory aspects. Today was the first time seeing him fight, watching as the kind, gentle shadowsinger morphed into the deadly Spymaster. You thought it would scare you, distantly you were aware it should scare you, but it hadn't. Fear had been coursing through your veins, but Azriel was never the cause. Rather, it had fascinated you in a way you don't think it should; it made somewhere deep inside of you feel… safe.

You keep your face neutral, waiting patiently. It was a part of himself he hasn't shared with you and you aren't going to force him. You know all too well what it must feel like, to keep something secret for fear of rejection. But it was different, you reason; he has a family who has stuck by his side, while you… The only constant you have is Madja and you suspect she only tolerates you because you pay for her tonics.

"I… I considered it," Azriel admits in a tight breath.

Your lips pull upward in a small, shaky smile, his eyes track the movement, brows furrowing. Slowly, you lean in, watching him closely, your lips pressing softly onto his cheek when he doesn't pull away. His body shudders, wings twitching from the slots carved in the couch.

You pull back a fraction, smile steadying, his head turning slightly, your eyes meeting his hazel ones again. Mentally, you map every line, ridge, diamond, and fleck, noting the hundreds of colors that appear to glow in the sunlight.

Hesitantly, you lean in again, gaze flickering to his lips. His fingers tense against your cheeks, a soft breath escapes him as his lips twitch upwards. For a moment, your lips just brush each other, both your breaths already quickening in the shared air. The touch sent a painful shiver up your spine that you ignore. The shadows dance excitedly, urging you both closer. Time seems to slow, your very being gravitating to him, the bond clawing in your chest, begging for your mate's touch.

Drifting forward, your lips slot perfectly in his. You both sigh in relief, lips languidly beginning to move as one. The shadows take your tea and your hands immediately come to lightly grip his shirt, pulling his body flush to yours. The bond roars in triumph, heat pouring into your stomach and somewhere lower, demanding more. Carefully, you pull back before the need fully overtakes you, the bond screaming in protest.

Leaning your forehead against his, you both smile, cheeks flush. "I'll be honest," Azriel pants, a hand tucking a small lock of your hair back, "that's not how I thought you would react."

Your brows furrow, smile dimming slightly. "It wasn't too much, was it?" you ask quickly, trying to pull away.

Azriel's grip keeps you in place, shaking his head as your mouth opens again. "It was perfect," he breathes, pressing forward until his lips meet yours again for a brief moment. "You are perfect."

You relax into him, eyes fluttering closed, limbs heavy, even as your mind spirals, fighting against his words. Once he finds out about your condition, about the bond, this… fantasy he made of you will crash and he will leave. You're sure of it. Everyone has before him. Why should he stoop so low as to accept you? You who are weak, uneducated, poor, who has spent the past 24 hours ruining different parts of his life. How he was not embarrassed by you already, you don't know. It was only a matter of time, you concluded the night you met him in Madja's clinic, before he left you for someone better, as is his right.

"I wish I got to meet your family," Azriel murmurs, breaking your thoughts.

Your eyes snap open, pulling back sharply, wincing at the shooting pain up your spine. "W-what?" you breathe.

Azriel's brows furrow, his hands dropping. You had told him that you grew up at the Silver Oaks Orphanage when he asked about your family in the past. The words had stuttered out, face flushed with shame. Az had simply taken your hands, gently explaining how the Lady Nyssa had all but adopted both him and the General. He had never pushed or asked for an explanation.

His soft smile remains, a hand gently reaching up to grasp your wrist, thumb running tender circles along your pulse point. "Your parents, my love," he tries again. "I wish I could meet the fae who blessed me with you."

Heat flares up your neck and cheeks, you shift away, the shadows stilling around the room. You don't remember much about your parents, but you remember their voices, the disappointment, the disbelief, the yelling. They still echo through your dreams, along with your begging; begging them to believe you, that you weren't trying to get out of work. Mostly, you remember their silence, their disbelief in Madja's diagnoses. Then they were gone, leaving you with the old healer, refusing to take you back.

You still see them every once in a while, your parents and siblings, selling their crops in the market. You're always careful to stay away from their stall.

A tear burns a path down your cheek, you pull your hands away from him, furiously wiping your face. Azriel's smile fades. "If- if you truly want to, then we can- I mean, you are- if they–" you stammer, breaths coming too fast, too shallow, before you stop yourself.

They don't want you, never have, why would that change now? And if they told Azriel why they left you behind, he would just follow suit. Your breath shudders, the bond roiling at the thought.

"Hey, hey," Azriel chides gently, taking your hands in his, guiding them away from your face. "Breathe, my love," he commands softly. Shadows press in around you, whispering against your skin, a light grounding weight on the back of your neck. They pulse against you, slow and steady, miming a deep breath.

You do your best to copy, focusing on their steady weight against you, on the light brush of Azriel's thumb on the back of your hand. It takes several moments, but your breathing does start to even, although your heart continues to pound against your ribs. "That's it, beloved. That's it," he encourages. "What were you trying to say?"

Lips trembling, you force a steady breath, eyes focusing on where his hands hold yours. "It's just…" you push past the lump in your throat. "They own a farm, maybe two hours from the city. It- if you t-truly want to meet…" you trail off as his hands tense around yours.

His brows cinch, a muscle in his jaw flexing. "They're still alive?" He asks, voice almost a growl. Flinching slightly, you nod. "And… you were raised at Silver Oaks?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but it remains low.

Slowly, you nod, breath shuddering again. "They- I–" you stammer. "I was six when… when they…" you couldn't get the words out, eyes closing as more tears fall, missing how Azriel's eyes darken.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, voice cracking.

Slowly, he gathers you into his arms, drawing you to his chest. Placing a tender kiss on your hair, he holds you as you attempt to keep your breathing even. "I was too much," you admit thickly through your tears. Azriel goes still beneath you, but you keep your eyes closed, basking in his warmth, his wing curling around you. "I couldn't help on the farm, so I wasn’t worth keeping," you repeat, the threat constantly thrown your way until they made good on that promise.

Azriel's breathing picks up slightly, but he stays eerily still beneath you. You take another breath, the shadows nudging you encouragingly. Exhaustion pulls on the edges of your mind, dampening the walls you normally keep around the memories. "I- I was no use to them," you heard yourself saying, "not after Madja–"

A loud knock echoes through the apartment. Your words die as you stiffen in Azriel's hold, eyes snapping open. The shadows still around you, their indistinct voice shifting from soft whispers to a harsh hiss. Azriel tenses beneath you, blinking the silver from his eyes, gaze hardening at the door.

You are both silent for a long moment, barely breathing before the knock sounds again. "Az," the High Lord's voice is dampened through the wood, low and hoarse, almost tired, "it's me."

You scramble in Azriel's hold, sitting up as much as you can, ignoring the rippling pain along your spine. Azriel's arms remain firm, not caging you, but keeping you close. Your heart thunders, eyes flickering wildly across the room. Instinctively, you grip tightly onto Azriel, pressing back into him. Your breath comes fast and shallow, a few hot tears burning your cheeks. The shadows flock to you even as their swirling ceases.

Azriel pulls you back into his chest. You don't resist, nearly collapsing back into him. Your body trembles in his hold, the High Lord's accusations from the night before echoing in your head. Rubbing a hand along your arm, Azriel gently shushes you, his shadows running along your body. "It's okay, my love," he hushes, voice barely a breath. "If he doesn't hear us, he might just leave." Azriel tries to add some levity to his voice, but it remains tense.

Your gaze slides to him, blinking rapidly. "Does that normally work?" you whisper, breathing shakily.

"Az, I know you're in there," the High Lord sighs, his voice echoing through the quiet apartment. "Please, can we talk?"

Azriel lets out a long, controlled breath. "Worth a shot," he mumbles. You try to laugh, it coming out a huff through your tight chest.

Slowly, carefully, Azriel shifts to settle you on the couch next to him. Grabbing your hands in one of his, he gently tilts your head until you're looking him in the eyes. "Listen to me, my love," he whispers, his gaze searching yours. "You don't owe him anything. You don't have to talk to him or even see him if you don't want to." You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to nod. A muscle feathers in his jaw. He leans in, pressing a long, gentle kiss to your cheek. "I'll deal with him," he says, voice low as he pulls away.

Slowly, Azriel stands, stalking towards the door.  The shadows surround you tightly, whispering against your skin. Your hands shake, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you force your breath to remain calm. You stand, mostly unaware of the action, turning towards the door, drawing the shawl around you tightly.

The door swings open silently, and you have to take a step to the side to see around Azriel. The High Lord stood in the doorway, dark circles under his eyes, a hand running through his hair. Azriel studies him, keeping his wings drawn tight. Rhysand lets out a relieved breath, smiling weakly at his brother. "I wasn't sure you were going to answer," he admits softly.

"I almost didn't," Azriel retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rhysand nods slowly, licking his lips. "I…" he starts, sighing softly. "I want to apologize."

You watch in silence, hugging yourself in the shadows' embrace as Azriel scoffs. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I know," Rhysand says, pursing his lips. "But, showing up at her place unannounced didn't seem like the best course of action," he chuckles breathlessly.

Azriel growls, taking a step towards his High Lord. Rhysand's voice fades and he tenses, squaring his shoulders, almost like he's preparing for an attack. "And you thought showing up here unannounced was better?"

The High Lord flinches slightly. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have… fuck," he breathes, running his hand through his hair again. "Can I please just speak with her? To apologize and explain."

Your breathing is still heavy and your pulse echoes in your ears, even as the shadows attempt to guide you towards the couch again. "What is there to explain, Rhys?" Azriel snarls, hands clenching at his sides. "You made your opinion very clear last night."

Rhysand lets out a heavy breath, nodding slowly. "I–"

"She doesn't want to see you," Azriel continues, cutting him off. Your grip on your shawl tightens.

"But–"

"No," Azriel barks, wings extending slightly, blocking your view of the male he considers a brother. "She does not want to see you. You don't get to argue your way out of that, Rhysand. If you have something you want to say to her, then tell me and I can pass it along."

You take a step back, your calves hitting the low coffee table behind you. The shadows rush to stabilize you, the soft thud echoing through the apartment. Azriel stills, head whipping towards you, his hard expression softening slightly, his wings extending further, almost hitting the walls. A hand flies to your mouth as if that will soften the sound, neck and cheeks heating, your back protesting the shock. Gently, the shadows guide you away from the table, but you can't bring yourself to sit despite their prompting, so you stand next to the couch, eyes fixed on the rug beneath you that doesn't look like it's from the Night Court; Summer Court maybe, or Day.

"She's here," Rhys breathes, somewhere between a statement and a question. Azriel's gaze returns to him, a low growl rumbling through his chest.

You can hear the High Lord shifting on the other side of Azriel as your mate squares his shoulders. "Just say what you came here to say, Rhysand," he demands, forcing his wings to fold just enough to provide you a sliver to see the High Lord.

Rhysand tracks the movement, eyes finding you almost immediately, a long, careful breath escaping him. "Look, I… I am sorry. Truly. I jumped to a conclusion and refused to be swayed when it turned out to be wrong. I never should have spoken to you like that, never should have… interrogated in such a way, never… well, there are quite a few things I should have done differently," he admits, just loud enough for you to hear. Your grip tightens around your shawl, the other hand coming down to wrap around your middle, eyes stinging.

"It's just…" he continues, voice bordering on desperate, "you have to understand. I've known Az since we were children. He's my brother in all but blood. In many ways, I know him better than I know myself. And I know that when he loves, he does so with his whole self, willing to put everything on the line for those he cares for," Rhysand pauses, taking another breath, eyes flickering to Azriel. "And there… there have been times when that has been used against him, against the Court." Your eyes jump to Azriel, his back still turned to you, wings almost fully tucked in, but his shoulders tense.

Pursing his lips, Rhysand looks back to you, your wide eyes meeting his for a brief moment before they drop again. "I will always do what I need to, to protect my family and my Court. So, when I recognized you as the one who had the private meeting with Theason, I wrongfully assumed the past was repeating. I pushed because I thought I could catch you in what I assumed to be a lie. And when one of the first things you answered was something we were explicitly told by our healer not to do, I thought I had."

Rhysand's eyes close for a moment, his lips pursed. Your breath picks up slightly, a few tears falling. "But then, you went into your reasonings and… either you were a really good liar, or you were telling the truth and Feyre, my mate, suffered from something with such a simple solution because we…. because I refused to look in the right places. I needed you to be lying just to prove that we didn't miss anything, that we did all we could, that what happened to Feyre was inevitable, and the only thing I could point to was your meeting with Thesan."

The High Lord chuckles drily, running a hand over his face. "Of course you can't tell us specifics of what you spoke about with him. I know how confidentiality works, and I used that against you. I am deeply sorry."

Quiet breaths shake your frame. Azriel turns slowly, watching you with a carefully neutral expression, hands still clenched at his sides. You don't even hear him move, just feel the shadows split apart before his arms wrap around you. You lean into his chest, letting his scent engulf you as you try to control your breathing, keeping your gaze fixed on the rug.

"I am not saying any of this to excuse my words," Rhysand continues. "What I did was inexcusable, but I did just want to give you a bit more context so, hopefully, you can understand where I was coming from. What happened last night, what I did and said, had nothing to do with you and should never have happened. I don't think there are words to express how sorry I am."

Your breath shudders in your chest, Azriel's arm tightening slightly around your waist, and you force yourself to nod, unable to find words. Your head hurts, dry tear tracks mar your face, your thoughts moving like molasses. The muscles in your back rage, begging you to lie down, even Azriel's support only offering slight relief, and all you can focus on is how much you want this to be over.

Rhysand takes another deep breath, nodding stiffly. "You should go," Azriel says, the gentle rumble soothing your frayed nerves.

"Yeah, of course," Rhysand agrees. His eyes find you once more. "We are having a birthday dinner for Az next week. You are welcome to come, Y/N. Only if you want, we understand if not." He gives you a sheepish smile before turning to leave. The shadows make quick work of closing the door behind him.

Your body falls into Azriel, knees buckling beneath you. Azriel doesn't flinch, gingerly guiding you back to the couch and gathering you into his lap. Your muscles ease slightly, but are still tense in his hold. Azriel sits too still beneath you; his only movements are his careful breaths and a hand rubbing soft circles along your upper back.

Everything around you feels distant and out of focus. The feel of your mate's body and his scent are the only things that feel real. Distantly, you are aware of what emotions you should be feeling: disbelief, anger, guilt, and shame, but it all feels so far away. Azriel's voice cuts through the fog gently. "I'm sorry," he breathes into your hair. "I've got you, my love."

The shadows trace gentle patterns up your arms and around your neck, and you melt further into the haze, taking comfort in the nothingness. Somewhere out there you feel the shadows guide Azriel's hands to better support your strained back, although even the pain in your back feels distant; it wasn't often that you are able to remove yourself so fully, so you embrace the opportunity.

Exhaustion pulls on your mind as you nestle further into your mate's chest. The High Lord's voice echoes through your mind, most of it disjointed and muffled, but one part breaks through. "Someone hurt you?" you ask, tongue heavy in your mouth, your words barely a breath.

For a moment, you don't think Azriel hears you. He doesn't react, tracing soft circles along your back and arms. Azriel stiffens slightly after a few seconds, the meaning of your words dawning on him, his hands hesitating for a brief moment before continuing on their paths. "Out of everything Rhys said, that is your first question?" he asks teasingly, but his voice is strained. Your grip on him tightens and Azriel lets out a long, slow breath. "It was a long time ago, my love," he admits softly, his arms tightening around you.

Carefully, you turn your head to look up at him, the odd angle angering your already inflamed muscles. "Where are they now?" you demand in a whisper.

Azriel looks down at you, wetting his lips, eyes softening. "Gone."

"Gone?" you repeat.

Studying you carefully, Azriel nods slowly. "Dead," he amends, voice clipped, adjusting his hold on you but not letting go. "She's dead."

Something odd settles in your chest at his words: relief and satisfaction and something almost protective. Nodding stiffly, you settle your head back on his chest, eyes fluttering closed. "Good."

————

Fun fact: the original plan was to have Rhys appear unannounced at her door. But then I thought about it and realized Az wouldn't leave her alone after the dinner and the training, so… here we are. The conversation had to be reworked with Az, but it gets us where we need to go in the end.

Thank you all so much for reading!

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“Sit-“

Azriel murmured under his breath once you had stepped inside his townhouse. You felt your eyes narrow at the man, crossing your arms across your chest while he seemed to pay no mind. “Excuse me?”

“Sit.” Az didn’t even look up from where he had plopped down on the couch next to you. The audacity of this man. You should’ve left. Instead, you dropped down to sit next to him.

“I’m sitting. Now what?” The brattiness tinged over your tone yet the dealer's lips twitched into a sly smirk. “Whatchyu need?”

“I literally…” you sighed, trying not to let the heat between your legs pool too much. How did this man turn you on yet annoy you all in one?

“I told you when I texted you. Just some bud.”

His arm lazily draped around the back of the couch. Your pulse jumped through the roof as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. “How much you need, doll?”

“I have…”

Pausing for a moment you dug through your purse, drawing out the crumpled up twenty and holding it up with your own small smirk.

“A twenty- I see. I could do a gram or…” Azriel started to speak as he reached over to the coffee table, getting a baggy and a scale ready. You swore you noticed his hazel eyes darken just a touch. “… I could do more…”

More. More weed? Right? Your face flushed up. It seemed you both were thinking the same damn thing. “How?” The question jumped from your lips eagerly.

“I wouldn’t mind throwing some more in for a pretty face like yours… Especially if—“

He was being confident of course. It should’ve annoyed you. But for some reason, it only made that second heartbeat thump between your legs faster. “If what?”

So. Damn. Bratty. But you wanted him to spit it out already. Az let out a low and dangerous chuckle. Hanging his head off the back of the couch while his tongue grazed over the inside of his cheek.

“If ya wanna use those gorgeous full lips of yours to compensate.”

It came out nonchalant but there was a growl aching to escape from his throat. So straightforward. You couldn’t help but blink at the dealer for a few moments. Processing it.

But that damn shit-eating grin of his stayed plastered across his features. Even while he grabbed one of his pre-rolled joints and sparked it up.

“Like a blowjob?!”

You almost sounded offended. Almost. Yet again he let out that cocky laugh of his. Raising his brow while he puffed on his weed. “You said it, darlin’. Not me.” The. Fucking. Nerve.

Although you couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide the fact that you really fucking craved him. “You wouldn’t last a minute with my throat game.”

“Ha- wanna bet?”

The tension was heating up between the two of you through the back-and-forth bantering. “You know what?”

“Hm? What’s that, doll?”

Before he could spew anything else, you leaned in and kissed him. Your lips locking with Azriel's. His hand instantly wrapped around your throat while your tongues swirled roughly together.

A damned good kisser. Fuck.

A husked groan seeped between his lips, holding the burning joint with his free hand. “You taste fucking sensational-“ Az growled as you started to kiss and lick down his jaw, to his neck.

“I know—“

That siren-like stare of yours burned to his for a split second before you dropped down to your knees. Teasing your fingers along the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

“Confident, aren’t ya?”

With a simple nod, you let one of your hands trace over the outline on his pants. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. This man is fucking hung. You felt your heart jump in your chest. “Hard, aren’t ya?”

Biting your lower lip to hide the growing smile across your face, Azriel's brows rose in amusement. Finding someone to match his style of banter and jokes was something new.

“Hard not to be when I got you down on your knees like that.”

He muttered, shifting his hips forward as you finally tugged his sweatpants down. His blood-filled length popping right out. Hard as a fucking rock. Veined to perfection and ready to burst.

“Well… let me work my magic—“

That was the last thing you had seductively whispered before starting to go down on him. You started simple. Kissing the precum right off his tip. Licking from his balls all the way to the top.

“Fuuuuck— such a damn tease.”

You let your tongue lick across your top teeth as you slowly stroked his cock. His darkened gaze burning down into yours as he took a hit from his joint. Blowing the smoke smoothly up above him.

“You know… I could go slower—“ You bratted right back, his head snapping down to yours with a domineering look glistening in his eyes. “You’re a fucking brat.”

With that his big hand found its way into your hair, wrapping it around into a ponytail as you pulled yourself closer to his dick. “Open.”

Another demand. But you obeyed. God- did you obey. Instantly. Those once siren-like eyes turning to a submissive doe-eyed gaze. Wrapping your swollen lips around his massive length.

“There you go- good fucking girl.”

A satisfied growl emitted, taking another long drag from his drug while you sucked him off. Azriel was definitely having the time of his fucking life right now.

He pushed down on your head, forcing his cock deeper down your throat. Your muscles stretched around it while you gagged, tears pricking your eyes. “Relax your throat, doll— there ya go- fuck. Just like that.”

Fuck. Did this man talk you through it. Mascara smeared under your eyes from the tears. But Azriel fucking loved this sight of you. Loved it.

“Such a pretty mess for me, aren’t we? A greedy little slut suckin’ me off so she can get some more weed.”

Your panties? Fucking soaked. Absolutely drenched. All you were doing was blowing him. Why the fuck did it turn you on so much? His hand kept a tight grip on your locks as his hips started to thrust harder. Faster.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that— Fuck. You’re gonna make me bust-“

Azriel's head hung back for a moment while he drilled down your throat like a damn jackhammer. Before you knew it you felt his warm seed explode down your throat. “Swallow.” He demanded through his groans and heavy breathing.

Once again, you obeyed. Swallowing every last drop of his cum before slowly pulling off his cock. Saliva dripped between your lips as you giggled. “Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?”

His free hand grabbed you by the throat, gently bringing you into a softer kiss and helping you up. “When I want, yes.” You teased him right back while you sat beside him.

The half-smoked joint was handed to you, taking a long dragged-out puff as he nodded his head. “You good? Need anything?” He asked through his glazed-over gaze. Definitely as high as a kite.

“Just my weed and I’ll be on my way-“

He playfully rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “What? Don’t wanna stay a bit?” Az asked you as you both fell into a soft laughter together. He got your baggie ready. Giving you plenty more than what you asked for.

You just knew you’d be returning to him for weed. For drugs. The banter. The sex. The vibes between you both. It was just… Too damn good.

dealer!az has been taking over my fuckin brainnnn yall 🫠🤤

“Sit-“

Azriel murmured under his breath once you had stepped inside his townhouse. You felt your eyes narrow at the man, crossing your arms across your chest while he seemed to pay no mind. “Excuse me?”

“Sit.” Az didn’t even look up from where he had plopped down on the couch next to you. The audacity of this man. You should’ve left. Instead, you dropped down to sit next to him.

“I’m sitting. Now what?” The brattiness tinged over your tone yet the dealer's lips twitched into a sly smirk. “Whatchyu need?”

“I literally…” you sighed, trying not to let the heat between your legs pool too much. How did this man turn you on yet annoy you all in one?

“I told you when I texted you. Just some bud.”

His arm lazily draped around the back of the couch. Your pulse jumped through the roof as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. “How much you need, doll?”

“I have…”

Pausing for a moment you dug through your purse, drawing out the crumpled up twenty and holding it up with your own small smirk.

“A twenty- I see. I could do a gram or…” Azriel started to speak as he reached over to the coffee table, getting a baggy and a scale ready. You swore you noticed his hazel eyes darken just a touch. “… I could do more…”

More. More weed? Right? Your face flushed up. It seemed you both were thinking the same damn thing. “How?” The question jumped from your lips eagerly.

“I wouldn’t mind throwing some more in for a pretty face like yours… Especially if—“

He was being confident of course. It should’ve annoyed you. But for some reason, it only made that second heartbeat thump between your legs faster. “If what?”

So. Damn. Bratty. But you wanted him to spit it out already. Az let out a low and dangerous chuckle. Hanging his head off the back of the couch while his tongue grazed over the inside of his cheek.

“If ya wanna use those gorgeous full lips of yours to compensate.”

It came out nonchalant but there was a growl aching to escape from his throat. So straightforward. You couldn’t help but blink at the dealer for a few moments. Processing it.

But that damn shit-eating grin of his stayed plastered across his features. Even while he grabbed one of his pre-rolled joints and sparked it up.

“Like a blowjob?!”

You almost sounded offended. Almost. Yet again he let out that cocky laugh of his. Raising his brow while he puffed on his weed. “You said it, darlin’. Not me.” The. Fucking. Nerve.

Although you couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide the fact that you really fucking craved him. “You wouldn’t last a minute with my throat game.”

“Ha- wanna bet?”

The tension was heating up between the two of you through the back-and-forth bantering. “You know what?”

“Hm? What’s that, doll?”

Before he could spew anything else, you leaned in and kissed him. Your lips locking with Azriel's. His hand instantly wrapped around your throat while your tongues swirled roughly together.

A damned good kisser. Fuck.

A husked groan seeped between his lips, holding the burning joint with his free hand. “You taste fucking sensational-“ Az growled as you started to kiss and lick down his jaw, to his neck.

“I know—“

That siren-like stare of yours burned to his for a split second before you dropped down to your knees. Teasing your fingers along the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

“Confident, aren’t ya?”

With a simple nod, you let one of your hands trace over the outline on his pants. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. This man is fucking hung. You felt your heart jump in your chest. “Hard, aren’t ya?”

Biting your lower lip to hide the growing smile across your face, Azriel's brows rose in amusement. Finding someone to match his style of banter and jokes was something new.

“Hard not to be when I got you down on your knees like that.”

He muttered, shifting his hips forward as you finally tugged his sweatpants down. His blood-filled length popping right out. Hard as a fucking rock. Veined to perfection and ready to burst.

“Well… let me work my magic—“

That was the last thing you had seductively whispered before starting to go down on him. You started simple. Kissing the precum right off his tip. Licking from his balls all the way to the top.

“Fuuuuck— such a damn tease.”

You let your tongue lick across your top teeth as you slowly stroked his cock. His darkened gaze burning down into yours as he took a hit from his joint. Blowing the smoke smoothly up above him.

“You know… I could go slower—“ You bratted right back, his head snapping down to yours with a domineering look glistening in his eyes. “You’re a fucking brat.”

With that his big hand found its way into your hair, wrapping it around into a ponytail as you pulled yourself closer to his dick. “Open.”

Another demand. But you obeyed. God- did you obey. Instantly. Those once siren-like eyes turning to a submissive doe-eyed gaze. Wrapping your swollen lips around his massive length.

“There you go- good fucking girl.”

A satisfied growl emitted, taking another long drag from his drug while you sucked him off. Azriel was definitely having the time of his fucking life right now.

He pushed down on your head, forcing his cock deeper down your throat. Your muscles stretched around it while you gagged, tears pricking your eyes. “Relax your throat, doll— there ya go- fuck. Just like that.”

Fuck. Did this man talk you through it. Mascara smeared under your eyes from the tears. But Azriel fucking loved this sight of you. Loved it.

“Such a pretty mess for me, aren’t we? A greedy little slut suckin’ me off so she can get some more weed.”

Your panties? Fucking soaked. Absolutely drenched. All you were doing was blowing him. Why the fuck did it turn you on so much? His hand kept a tight grip on your locks as his hips started to thrust harder. Faster.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that— Fuck. You’re gonna make me bust-“

Azriel's head hung back for a moment while he drilled down your throat like a damn jackhammer. Before you knew it you felt his warm seed explode down your throat. “Swallow.” He demanded through his groans and heavy breathing.

Once again, you obeyed. Swallowing every last drop of his cum before slowly pulling off his cock. Saliva dripped between your lips as you giggled. “Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?”

His free hand grabbed you by the throat, gently bringing you into a softer kiss and helping you up. “When I want, yes.” You teased him right back while you sat beside him.

The half-smoked joint was handed to you, taking a long dragged-out puff as he nodded his head. “You good? Need anything?” He asked through his glazed-over gaze. Definitely as high as a kite.

“Just my weed and I’ll be on my way-“

He playfully rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “What? Don’t wanna stay a bit?” Az asked you as you both fell into a soft laughter together. He got your baggie ready. Giving you plenty more than what you asked for.

You just knew you’d be returning to him for weed. For drugs. The banter. The sex. The vibes between you both. It was just… Too damn good.

dealer!az has been taking over my fuckin brainnnn yall 🫠🤤

“You got half of the answers wrong, anyways,” Draco tutted from where he held the crisped parchment up. Pansy snatched it from his grasp.

“You guys are impossible,” she groaned, a frown larger than the one she usually wore crowding over her face.

“Calm down, we’re usually pretty tolerable,” Mattheo said, throwing an arm over the girl’s shoulder. She pushed it off, earning a chorus of mockery from the other boys.

“I can’t—we need another girl friend,” Pansy stated.

“Not a problem,” Theo said, earning him a slap over the head from Enzo. He winced, reaching for the back of his head, rubbing the area that Enzo’s palm had collided with. “She meant all of us, and not a girlfriend,” he said.

It was at that moment that the door to the dungeon creaked open, six heads turning towards the perched stone wall at the sound. In walked a girl in their year, her head down as she held an open book in her hands, oblivious to the group’s stares as she made her way towards the dormitories.

“Her,” Pansy said, her eyes locked on the girl’s figure as she left. She smirked, making her way towards the dormitories, five boys at her heels.

She stopped in front of the door, causing the boys to stop in their tracks. “What are you doing?” she asked indignantly, as she pulled the heavy wooden door open, stepping through. “This is the girl’s dormitories,” she slammed the door shut, leaving the bewildered faces of the boys behind.

The group was quick to realize that recruiting you wouldn’t be as simple as they had anticipated. You had somehow ignored Pansy’s incessant attempts at persuading you the night before, much to her dismay. Now, with six pairs of eyes suddenly searching for you in every place—the entrance hall, the classrooms, the corridors, even every time the common room door swung open—they soon noted that your values contradicted with those of a traditional Slytherin in many ways.

“Bloody hell,” Enzo mumbled halfway through a mouthful of toast, his eyes landing on you down the table. Confused, the others turned to face you. The sight made Mattheo choke on his pumpkin juice, Blaise patting him on the back through his heaves.

You had made your way over to the Gryffindor table, handing Neville Longbottom his Remembrall, which had rolled across the room to under your house table. The boy was obviously startled by the sight of your green robes in front of him, but took the ball from your hand gratefully, a shaky “T-thanks,” leaving his lips. You shot him a small smile, before making your way back to the end of your table—murmurs of astonishment echoing throughout from the Gryffindor table. “She’s in my Herbology class—she once helped me with my Mandrake when the blessed thing bit me,” they overheard a nearby Hufflepuff telling the huddled group around her.

“Great, now everyone thinks we’ve gone soft,” Theo dramatized, as they watched you take your seat back at the Slytherin table, helping a First Year to place an enchantment on their knife and fork to cut their sausages for them.

Almost as quick as they were to realize your compassion, they were reminded why you had been sorted into Slytherin. “Five points will be taken from Slytherin,” Snape said lowly, much to the delightment of the Gryffindors in the class. “She had it coming,” you mumbled curtly, your wand still clenched tightly in your hand, as another Slytherin student escorted a sobbing Millicent Bulstrode to Madam Pomfrey’s.

Your momentary outburst was hurried, yet they had caught it. Your Potions partner, Millicent Bulstrode, had launched her haughty self against you in an attempt of stirring her own potion first, knocking you off your feet. “You bitch,” you shrieked, before green sparks illuminated from the tip of your wand. Suddenly, Bulstrode let out a loud shout as her potion exploded in her face, boils quickly forming over her thick skin.

The attention of the entire class had been caught from her scream, yet the six students of your own house had already been staring at you, watching the moment unfold. Their jaws stayed dropped—Draco sniggering alongside Blaise, Mattheo’s eyes dilating heavily, Theo looking as if he were to court you right then and there. Pansy looked over at them, rolling her eyes. “You guys are so thick,” she said, as she turned her attention back to her potion, Enzo accidentally adding one too many drops of Sopophorous Bean juice from his own distraction.

“I don’t know about this, guys,” Enzo said solemnly.

“Stop worrying,” Mattheo said, clasping a hand on the worried boy’s backside. “Once we ask her, she’ll almost certainly be enamoured.”

The group stared at the enchanted box of chocolate frogs they’d purchased at Hogsmeade on the weekend. After Mattheo casted a simple enchantment on the purple box, the chocolate delicacy inside roared to life—transfiguring into a real frog, brandishing a note in its mouth.

“Get that-that thing away from me,” Blaise muttered, disgusted.

“Oh, come on. It’s cute,” Mattheo cooed, picking up the slimy creature from where it sat perched in the chocolate box.

Suddenly, the amphibian fell from Mattheo’s grip like a bar of soap, falling to the floor of the Entrance Hall.

A yell echoed throughout the halls.

The group stood there, watching as the frog scurried through the halls, leaping onto the hem of a Second Year Gryffindor’s robes, teeth digging into the flesh of her calve where her robe ended.

“Reparifage!” you shouted from where you’d emerged at the sound of the chaos, wand pointed at the frog dangling from the girl’s robe. The frog fell limp, plummeting to the floor and shattering into thousands of brown pieces—it had turned back into chocolate.

You saw the crumpled note laying beneath the crumbs.

“Oh, no,” Enzo said, quickly turning away to avoid facing your reaction.

You bent down, picking up the paper from its corner, dusting off the chocolate crumbs.

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo

You recognized the Latin Slytherin motto that the whole house had familiarized themselves with—“If I cannot bend the heavens above, I will move Hell.”

You looked up to face across the hall, spotting the group of Slytherins looking incredibly guilty, staring right back at you as smugly as they possibly could given the circumstances.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, before crumpling the note in your hand—throwing it back onto the floor as you escorted the trembling Gryffindor student to the hospital wing.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Mattheo spoke too early, as another one of the frog’s from the pack of chocolates launched itself at Enzo, latching onto his nose.

You walked through the corridors sluggishly, the feeling of eyes boring into your from every which way overwhelming—whether it was due to the news of your outburst in Potions earlier that had spread throughout the school like wildfire, or the fact that it seemed like six faces seemed to be following you at all times.

With your books clutched tightly against your chest, you made your way towards your next class, before colliding with someone’s chest, books toppling to the ground.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, bella,” a familiar voice called out. You looked up from where you had crouched to retrieve your textbooks, spotting the familiar boy. “Theo,” you sighed in acknowledgement, as he lended you a hand up. “So, you do know me?” he said, flattered. “Of course I do. We’re in the same house, remember?” you asked flatly, before turning away from the boy, who now stood perplexed at your words. “Wait, wait,” he jogged to catch up, his long legs taking him a lot quicker than yours.

“Then, wouldn’t you want some more friends from our house? We’re kind of the most popular of the Slytherins,” he persuaded.

“Not for good reason,” you said, continuing down the corridor speedily.

Theo stared after you, watching as your robes swished behind you as you left once more.

“Did you speak to her?” Mattheo asked eagerly the following morning. As Theo recalled his brief interaction with you to the rest, they had convinced Pansy to attempt to talk to you, too—before you could pretend to be dead asleep, as you had the first night, Pansy recalled bitterly.

The boys huddled around Pansy as she departed from the girl’s dormitories. “She said she ‘isn’t interested in our lot,’” she recited, finger quoting as she spoke.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mattheo asked.

“She probably saw you fall off your broomstick into the stands the other day,” Draco reminded, the others sniggering.

“Where is she?” Enzo cut off Mattheo before he could retaliate, craning his neck in hopes of a girl opening the dormitory doors just wide enough.

“Already left, said something about needing to read over a Latin book in the library,” Pancy said.

“So, she’s smart, beautiful, and a Slytherin?” Theo wondered aloud.

“Yeah, and she’s not your future first wife,” Pansy remarked.

Incredulously mouthing “first?”, Theo was cut off by Draco. “Brilliant,” he said.

“What?” Mattheo asked.

“Theo, you know Italian, and that’s basically the same thing,” Draco said.

“It’s not-,” he began.

“Oh, who cares? Let’s just go,” Pansy said, already making her way out of the common room to head towards the library.

The five boys stared after her, her determined demeanour unmissable. “Are we sure we want another girl in our group?” Mattheo asked after her.

Every section of the library felt as if a world of eyes lingered on you for far too long. Every corner you turned, every shelf you tiptoed to reach, every window you passed, felt as if your presence was being surveyed.

You had realized why that was when you spotted none other than Mattheo Riddle sitting at one of the wooden desks of the lot, his eyes not-so inconspicuously boring into you over a book he held in front of his face. It was far too easy to recognize his curled hair, you thought bitterly.

Quickly turning away from his line-of-sight, you passed by a student who towered over you, standing in the middle of a row of books, holding one open in his hands, spine cracked down the middle. You did a double-take, noticing Theodore Nott. You quickly clutched the books you held closer to your frame, speeding away once more.

“Why the rush, darling?” a voice called from behind you. You turned, spotting a boy with familiar blonde hair, Pansy Parkinson at his side.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” you said, pushing your way through the wooden doors of the library, leaving before any other words had to be exchanged with the group.

“Well, that one has quite the attitude,” Blaise said, making his way around the corner with Enzo.

“I know,” Theo, Mattheo, and Draco said simultaneously, a shared look of infatuation mirrored in their eyes.

Winter rolled around faster than anyone could’ve expected, the school grounds limned in snow and ice glands.

“Wow, mate, she got you good,” Blaise admitted as he stared at the sight of purple forming on Enzo’s nose. He clutched the tip of his nose, red crimson dripping down onto the white snow from the hex you’d casted at him.

“In my defence, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Mattheo said, hunching over to catch his breath through his hysterics at what had happened.

You had been walking through the school grounds, the hood of your robe covering the top of your head to ward against the falling snow overheard. As you walked, the group watched you from their comfort under the cement roof of the castle. “Five galleons if you offer your scarf to her,” Mattheo told Enzo, throwing a few Sickles into the air with a cupped palm. “I don’t know..” he said. “Come on, don’t be a wuss,” Mattheo said, him and Blaise pushing him towards the grounds.

Enzo stumbled, before reluctantly taking his scarf off from around his neck, walking hurriedly behind you to catch up. The sound of Draco sniggering echoed behind him, but his eyes stayed locked on you. As he neared you, directly behind you now, he raised his arms over your head, attempting to place the scarf on your neck. You, who hadn’t seen him from the hood you wore, shrieked, pulling the soft material off of you, immediately drawing your wand and blasting him in the middle of his face—his nose taking the brunt of the impact.

“Oh, shove OFF,” Enzo shivered out, as Mattheo had reached for a fistful of snow, rubbing it against the boy’s bleeding nose to clean off his face.

Mattheo, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy joined in a chorus of laughter. Theo smirked, before striding determinedly across the snowy lawn—following your snow-pathed footsteps.

The four sped to catch up with him, incredulous. “Now what?” Pansy asked. The six of them attracted many lingering stares from other students they passed as they entered the warm castle—the group notorious for mischief, and, judging by their determined strides, they looked to be up to no good.

The six weaved through groups that crowded the corridors—receiving a mischievously encouraging tune from Peeves, and a holler of “Snobby Slytherins on the loose!” from Fred and George Weasley.

They watched as you made your way down towards the dungeons, catching up to you on the steps. Theo threw his arm around you. “You alright there, signorina?” he asked, as Mattheo extended an arm around your other shoulder. “Quite the ordeal you’ve been putting us through, love,” he said. “Very reluctant, yet oddly.. entertaining,” Malfoy admitted from behind the two boys. Pansy ran in front of you, walking backwards as the two boys walked you towards the dungeons—Blaise and Enzo standing to either side of them.

You hunched your shoulders, finally caving. “What do you want?” you asked.

Pansy—ever the self-proclaimed spokesperson of the group, took offence. “We can be quite interesting, you know. We’re not all that bad,” she said.

“You yourself should know how misconstrued these presumptions about our house students are,” Theo chimed in. “I’ve heard the rumour about me hexing four Third-Years in McGonagall’s class. They got it all wrong, through—it was only two, and I didn’t hex them, I turned them into badgers—ever-fitting for their ludicrous house,” he clarified.

“Come on, you’re gonna have to get used to us—we’ve already been bugging you for weeks on-end,” Draco said. “

“You can be our amica—our heiress, if you will”, Theo said, removing his arm from around your shoulder—Mattheo doing the same, bowing in front of you to offer his hand.

“Heiress?” you scoffed. “You guys are ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a grin.

Yet, as they followed you into the common room—Mattheo guiding you through the entrance with his extended hand, the feeling of someone holding onto the small of your back, and Pancy talking your ear off about how you had to join them on their next Hogsmeade visit—you knew they’d won you over.

© angelicchris

notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ guys help me i’m like eighty percent sure there’s already a fanfic with an ending similar to this one — if you know which one, please let me know so i can give credits to the author and make sure that all’s good !!

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, 18+

There is a special place in hell for men like Michael.

You can see her through the window by the door. Her big eyes are looking at where you are, paws against the glass. Her mouth opens, and she scratches at the window, and your bottom lip trembles as you set your hand down where she touches.

You could care less about the things you left inside. Your clothes, your bags, your shoes, even your fucking computer can stay behind, but not her. Your tabby cat is inside, sitting by the window, and Michael changed the fucking locks.

You bang on the door for an hour. You leave, come back, keep banging, but no one ever answers. You've never felt this desperate or uneasy, but every time you come back and see her by the window, you nearly lose all of your composure. It isn't fair. She doesn't belong to him. He can take years from you, take your money, take your sanity, but he won't take her. You'll come back every single day. You'll become a nuisance. You'll never let him relax. Until he gives her back to you, he will never know peace.

A single day passes before you decide it's time to take drastic measures.

The nearest military base is situated a good distance away, but not so far that you won't drive to its neighboring city. There's a small main road with a few local shops, including a few restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and the crown jewel—a pub.

It's just after supper time when you ring the bell above the door walking inside. On a Friday evening, it's lively, packed close with warmth and tall pints and plastic baskets full of chips and greasy fingerfoods.

There's a lot of military around here. You can tell by their haircuts and the way they chug their glasses; but you aren't looking for baby-faced rookies with too much pent-up aggression. You're looking for the meanest guy in the room, and that means someone with scars and someone who goes cloudy behind the eyes when you ask him how he's gotten back from where he's been.

That man is sitting at the far booth with his back to the wall. A place where he can have an eye on the rest of the room at all times. Big, gloved hand wrapped around a sweating glass, gaze focused on the foam of his beer as he pretends to listen to whatever the red-cheeked man across from him is laughing about.

You ask the bartender what they're drinking and order another round, picking up each glass and making your way towards their table. You'd be nervous if you weren't so determined. You stand awkwardly beside the table before his friend notices you there.

"Tha' fer us, bonnie?"

He juts his chin out at the drinks you're holding, and you set them down with a nervous smile.

"Yeah," you look between them. You fixate on the big guy, who barely squints at you over his drink, and you bite your lip. "I was hoping you had room for one more."

His friend cackles, "aye. Always fer a pretty face."

"Cute," you swallow. "But…I wasn't really talking to you."

The bigger one sits up at that. He leans back in the booth, rolling out his shoulders, and you hop up onto the seat next to him. His friend seems to get the message, picking up his new drink and tipping it towards you before taking a long drink of it and going to find a warm spot at the bar.

"Lookin' for advice or a fuck?"

"Neither," you say softly. "You're big, yeah? Are people…generally afraid of you?"

He laughs, and when he wipes at his masked face, you see a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve that adorns his massive left arm.

"Suppose."

"Great. How much for you to be my bodyguard for a few hours?"

He kisses his teeth under the mask, and then he turns his head to look down at you. His eyes are half-lidded, the skin looking a little greasy under the eye-black smudged there, but he's so calm and collected and amused. You've amused him; you're entertaining him. It's the most interesting thing that's happened to him all week, and you hope you're keeping his attention.

"Wot's tha' include?"

"It's gonna be illegal," you mumble, biting your bottom lip. "Just a little bit."

"Tha's my specialty, love."

"Not murder," you clarify, and he just shrugs. "Just…a little breaking and entering. Maybe some intimidation."

"'s Friday night, swee'eart, at least offer me somethin' fun."

"This isn't funny," you suck in a shaky breath. "It's…" You look down at the sticky pub table, swallowing again. You dig your nails into your own legs to keep your composure. "I need to get something back. Something that belongs to me. So it's not really…it's not really stealing."

A pregnant silence falls between you. You fail to keep the tears at your lash line back, and you quickly use the back of your hand to wipe your face gently. You think about your cat scratching for you on the other side of the window. You think about her sweet face; you think about Michael forgetting to feed her in the mornings as he usually did, and how he never changed the water filter in time even when you asked him to.

"'m Simon."

The low timbered voice breaks you out of your inner spiral. You look up at him again, and when you meet his eyes, you're finally able to let out a breath of relief. You don't know why, but there's something extremely soothing about sitting next to him. About being in his vicinity. He's so large and takes up so much space, but it's warm there, and he's not as mean as his outer layer might suggest. He's calm, and the way he presents himself tells you that it is not by luck that he's still sitting beside you.

You tell him your name, and his gloved hand touches under your chin.

"Olright, love. Lead the way."

Every time you have ever come back to this apartment, you have met the closed door with dread. A little fear. You feel none of that; not with the apparition at your back. You knock on the window beside the door, and like always, she appears. She meows on the other side, her eyes wet as she scratches and sniffs. You look over your shoulder at Simon who tilts his head to the side.

"This wot he stole?"

You look back at her on the other side of the window, shrugging.

"No," you say softly. "But it's all that matters."

The jiggling of metal brings your attention back to him. Simon is at the door, a multi-tool in one hand, and he's focused intently on working the doorknob until you hear the sound of a lock turn and then the door opens. The chain on the door jangles just as Simon opens it slightly, and you watch with rapt attention as he sticks his arm inside for just a few seconds, and then he swings the door open wide.

You push past him, reaching for the cat. She meows loudly, coming right to you, and you coo as you bend and pick her up from the floor. Loud purrs and sweet chirps follow as you hug her to your chest. You pet her little head, turning towards the living room. You used to keep her carrier behind the couch, and you find it as you go searching for it, exactly where you left it. You slip her inside and zip it up.

"What the fuck is this?"

You freeze, standing up straight and turning. You're caught, definitely—you knew he must have been home by the fact that the chain was latched, but you tried the nice way. You weren't going to get your cat back by being patient, not anymore.

"I'm just getting her, I'll…I was just leaving."

"Fuck no, you broke into my flat."

"Our flat," you snap back, putting the straps of the carrier over your shoulder. "And I'm leaving."

Michael looks like he's going to take a step towards you, but then he notices the dark shape in the corner of the room. He frowns a little, squinting.

"Who the bloody hell is that?"

You turn just in time to see Simon take a small step forward. The sudden movement seems to terrify Michael; he scrambles backwards into the kitchen counter, making the plates behind him fall off the counter and shatter onto the ground. He nearly trips over himself trying to get distance, and Simon seems to think it's very funny. He laughs, chest heaving, and he looks down at you as he gets closer.

"Flopping like a fuckin' fish, he is, in'he?"

Michael looks around frantically before he finds a pair of prongs. His hand shakes as he holds the pointy end towards Simon, spitting at him.

"Get the fuck out of my flat! T-The both of you!"

Simon's reaction tells you that maybe he has a few wires crossed in his head. He steps forward instead of away, laughing still, and you watch warily as he tilts his head to the side and nods his head towards Michael.

"Go on, then, mate," Simon taunts. "Try it."

Like a fool, Michael obliges. You flinch when Michael swings, but Simon tilts his body at just the right moment to dodge. He smacks Michael's arm, but he tries again—and like playing footie with a child, the weapon is now in Simon's hand, and then oh—

Michael's screaming as it pierces through his open palm.

He bleeds a lot less than you thought he might. Sadly, also, his blood is as red as yours. You thought he might be a little less pathetic at a moment like this. It is a gift, however, to see him bursting into tears as Simon grips the collar of his shirt and leans over him.

"Lot like you like to take things that aren't yers, tha' right?" Simon spits. "Like to punish and intimidate and fuckin' take, even if ya aren't owed."

"Please—please just get out, take her, fuckin' please!"

"Oi, wot's all this?" Simon snorts. "Now yer pissin' where you stand cause it got too real, eh? Got wot was comin' ta you? Reckon it's not like you thought. Reckon you thought she'd come hat in hand, beggin' for wot she deserves, but you wouldn't know good cunt even if it sat on yer face, yeah?"

"Please…"

"Simon—" You try, but he tsks, shaking his head.

"Nah, love, he's gonna learn," Simon murmurs. "Have you learned?"

"Yes," Michael squeaks, and you're not longer staring at the blood dripping on the hardwood, you're oogling at the giant man standing in what once was your kitchen that's starting to look more delicious by the second.

"Good," Simon breathes. "I know where ya lay yer head, mate. Know where ta come back if things aren't quiet on her end. You'd do well to remember tha'."

He releases Michael with a shove; Michael sinks to the floor, hands trembling, and Simon makes his way towards you to put a hand to your back and turn you around towards the front door.

"Need anythin' else?" Simon asks. You're too speechless to say anything, so all you do is shake your head. You clutch the carrier closer; she meows from inside the bag, and Simon nods his head towards outside so that you start moving. The door shuts behind you both, and then you're being led to his truck, ushered into the passenger seat, precious cargo on your lap as you breathe a huge sigh of relief.

The drive is quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You don't realize until a few streets over that you're smiling; a big, sparkling grin that's taking over your face, and when Simon rolls his truck to a stop at a red light, you lean over the center console and give his masked cheek a big, wet kiss of gratitude.

"Got a death wish or somethin'?" Simon turns to look at you, glaring from under the mask. It's so hard to be scared of him. He just put the fear of God into your terrible ex-boyfriend so you could get your precious cat back; he scared him shitless—literally—and he did it looking this good.

"Is that what a kiss gets me?" You ask. You slide your hand down his bicep, swallowing the drool when you feel just how solid and beefy he is under that hoodie. He fills it out too well. He must be so fucking handsome under that mask; there's no way he wears it for anonymity, he must be so hot, he wears it so he doesn't have to swat away all the boys and girls when they usually buzz around him like moths to light—

Maybe death is really this sweet. This good. Your cat is snoozing, safe and sound, in your bedroom with a full belly. The lights are on low; soft orange glows from well-placed lamps, giving the entire living room a warm feeling. There's a man on your couch with his belt unbuckled, mask halfway up his face as he pants because his cock is in your mouth, and he tastes like sweet, sweet victory.

"Ahh—fuck."

You nuzzle your nose up the length. He's so hard; you don't think a man has ever been this hard for you. He's leaking so pretty, dribbles down the length that you catch with the tip of your tongue, forcing him to hiss and spit and bite his knuckles. He keeps his hips still, but his hand around your hip squeezes the flesh there nice and tight, borderline bruising when you suck his tip a little too softly. You lick a stripe around the head before leaning back up towards him, and his hand around your hip curls against the back of your neck as you share a messy, wet kiss.

You twist your wrist, pumping his cock with a gentle glide of your palm, and he grits his teeth between kisses, touching his forehead to yours.

"Oll tha' for a cat, yeah?"

It is true. You did do it for her. But you did it for you, too.

"Not just the cat," you whisper, smoothing your thumb along the tip. He kisses you again, slower this time, and you groan into his mouth as you squeeze your thighs together. "Look at you…"

"Fuck—" Simon grunts, and his other hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and you giggle as he scrunches his nose. "Don't say shit like tha'."

You can't with his mouth on your cunt. He's laying flat on his back on the couch, legs too long to fit. Boots against your blanket, you'll whine to him about it later, but now both thighs are on either side of his head, and he's slurping with a hot tongue. You cup both sides of his head, dragging your hips, and while normally you'd think twice about dropping your weight on someone like this, the ease at which he hoisted you up his chest tells you Simon's a big, big boy—and he can handle whatever you give him.

"Gonna let me handle things from now on," Simon murmurs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you yelp when he smacks one side of your ass. He's waiting for an answer, and you took too long to give one.

"Y-Yeah," you breathe, leaning your head back. You feel yourself dripping between the legs, flooding his mouth, but he curls his tongue all the same. Uses two thumbs now as he hooks his arms around your thighs to pull the wet, sensitive skin back so he can drink what he's owed. He said he takes payment like this, getting his fill; he says he's never really satisfied until there's cum in his mouth and some in your cunt, and he's not gonna leave your flat before becoming familiar with those two, mutually non-exclusive events.

"Yeah, y'r pretty, olright," Simon laughs, but there's no more humor when he bounces you on his cock. Oh, he hurts a little. He told you he might, but then you're really there, knees on either side of him as you clutch onto the meat of his shoulders and hope to God he doesn't let you go. "Told you tha' you'd feel it, didn't I?"

"Yeah," you whisper, cupping that face of his, half-revealed to you, and you rub your thumbs down his scarred cheeks. Gorgeous, even with eyes that dead inside. "'s big."

"Don't—" He snarls, holding down your hips, shaking his head. "Wot did I say about sayin' shit like tha', eh?"

Life has spoiled you. Life is too good. Life is your pet curled up between your pillows and warm beneath the blankets, and life is fucking the sanity out of big, pudgy military men with blood under their fingernails and their breath stuck in their throat. You've rendered Simon to nothing but grunts and sputters. He's focused on keep the rhythm, arms clasped around your middle as he fucks up into you and pants into your neck. You reach for the back of the couch, digging your nails in, and all you can do is cry and take it as he keeps bringing you back down again and again and again.

The kiss you share is starved. You're so hungry, your hand slipping under the mask to cup the back of his head, and he draws your hips down and holds you there as he licks into your mouth and relishes in the pulsing of your cunt. This is what he fights for, maybe.

Not the glory. Not for the good of others. Not for Price and his self-guided moral compass, not for Laswell and her targets, not for revenge, not for blood, not to save the world. It's so he can come back here onto home soil and fuck a gorgeous girl without ever being interrupted by the sound of anything but her.

Her. You. Whatever she is, what you are, what you will eventually be—it manifests itself in the very room he's in, and he's got it between his teeth, and he won't be letting go for anything.

Nothing at all.

He's smoking a cigarette by the open window as she makes tea. He smiles, just barely, with teeth a little yellow when he sees you burn your hand a little as you pour the water into a misshapen mug.

"Olright?" He asks. The mugs shake a little as you bring them back into the room, precarious as you overfilled the mugs. He takes one from you and takes a long sip, flicking the cigarette out as he watches you get settled. You set your mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward to give him that same sweet, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Never better."

Belly full. Eyes bright. You are nothing like the woman that propositioned him just a few hours ago. A monotone, piss-drink evening, and then a scared, desperate girl asking him if he was willing to do something a little off the books.

Fucking finally. The world was just starting to get a little too dull.

It's the middle of the night when he hears the creak of a door. The sound of a little bell. You're laid out on your side, having just fallen asleep. The movie on the telly still plays, but Simon has turned the volume down. The light flickering from the screen is enough that he sees the cat trot into the room, eyes searching for you and seeing the two of you settled there.

She comes over slowly, sniffing the toes of Simon's boots, and then she closes her eyes as she rubs her face against his leg. Low purring, headbutts, and then she's putting a paw to his boot and looking up at him with the same big, wet eyes her mother has. Simon reaches down, scratching under her chin, and then she's curling up on his lap, little head next to yours as he leans back and takes it in. The sight for sore eyes. The thing that makes his medals and his stripes and all the money in the world look worthless—cheap.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said quietly, still pretending to look at the gloves that neither of you would be buying.

“I have not seen your face since you dropped me on the terrace and then vanished into the night.”

“I did not vanish,” he argued, but his voice wavered. He finally met your eyes, and the wariness in his gaze only made you more exasperated.

You had spent the last four days torturing yourself with all of the possible reasons Azriel had disappeared. You had agonized over the very real possibility that your brief moment of foolishness in Windhaven had sent him right into the arms of his mate—because that was exactly where he should be.

You had nearly kissed him, and you knew he knew. He was the spymaster, for fuck’s sake. He was fluent in the art of body language. He knew you were about to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen of your pseudo-childhood home, and he pulled away from you. He pulled away, then ferried the two of you off to Velaris, and he disappeared. For four days.

Until now.

Because he wanted help buying Cassian’s birthday gift.

The slimy mixture of mortification, humiliation, and jealousy turned your stomach sour and your heart cold as you stared at the male across from you. Maybe it was hypocritical to be mad at him for the very thing you had done to him not long ago, but it felt justifiable at the time. It still did. You were acting out of self-preservation. Azriel—well you didn’t know what Azriel was doing, actually, which made it all the more infuriating.

“Will either of you be buying something today?” the female manning the merchant table asked pointedly, breaking you from your stupor.

You smiled at the female, fighting a wince at the irritation in her gaze. “Sorry, not today. Thank you for your time.” She pursed her lips in disapproval, and you hurried to add, “Your work is lovely.”

Azriel sent his own apologetic glance toward the female as he laid down the unfortunately ugly gloves, then he stepped around the table to grab you by your elbow and guide you away. You pulled away from his touch as soon as you were away from the disgruntled merchant, glaring at him. His hand fell to his side, curling into a fist. “We always buy Cassian a gift together,” he said.

“Not always.”

“Fine, for the last decade.”

“Well,” you said, voice tight, “things are different.”

Azriel reached for you again, pulling you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the market. “What does that mean?”

Sometimes you felt like you were losing your mind. You had been in love with him for over five centuries. You didn’t know it was love for that long—you didn’t really even let yourself consider it until much, much later—but it didn’t change the fact that it was love.

You had spent every night for the last couple of months replaying every memory you had with Azriel, trying to pinpoint when things changed for you. When did you fall for the male that was your closest friend? The soul-crushing truth was that there never was a change, there was never a shift that sent you toppling, because you loved him from the very beginning.

And it did not make sense to you how he could not feel even a fraction of what you felt for him, when you had lived through it all together.

Anger flared deep in your chest, smoking out the words tumbling around inside you before you could think them through. “Because you have a mate,” you snapped. “You should give Cassian a gift from you and your mate.”

Azriel might have tried to say something, but you didn’t stop. “Is that where you disappeared to? To be with her?” you asked, the center of your chest fracturing outward with every word. “Will she be there tomorrow? At Rita’s?”

The ache in your chest was somehow worse than it had ever been, so many clashing sources of heartbreak melding together into one messy and convoluted vat of poison. It was unfair. You should be able to shop with your friend for your other friend’s birthday without having an existential crisis over it, but this was too much. It was all just too much.

Azriel, to his credit, looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

Sometimes his oblivion to the heartache he had caused you, unintentionally or not, hurt worse than anything else.

“You have to be fucking kidding me—”

His hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm and unrelenting as his shadows swallowed the two of you whole. As soon as they deposited you on a familiar outcropping of the mountains overlooking the city, you shoved away from him, your fury building irrationally fast.

“Don’t do that,” you gritted through your teeth.

Azriel looked like he was at a loss. “I want to talk to you without the whole of the Velaris market square watching us.”

You stared at him, your arms falling to your sides. “You want to talk to me.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you.” His hand fell to his side, his wings drooping slightly behind him. “I don’t understand what is happening,” he said, and the quiet desolation in his voice made your heart twinge, despite everything.

“What do you mean?” you murmured, looking down at your boots.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his eyes wild with more emotion than he usually ever showed. Then his voice softened as he said, “Please. Please just—” He shook his head. “Things have been different,” he finally said, and all you could do was stare at him as your heart thundered against your chest, your mind racing to find a way to protect yourself from any more heartache. “Since that night at Rita’s, things have been different.”

You couldn’t stop the scoff that flew from your lips, though regret sliced through your chest at the wounded look on Azriel’s face. His throat bobbed as he stared off into the forest behind you. “Y/N,” he rasped, “I don’t know what I said.” He looked at you, and Mother, his eyes were glossy. “I don’t know what I did that night. I—I know I told you I have a mate,” he hurried to add, and the words seemed to feel like sandpaper against his throat. “I know that, but my shadows refuse to tell me anything else and, I just, I’m sorry if I said or did something—”

“You did nothing wrong, Azriel,” you cut him off quietly. As angry and hurt as you were, as much as you wished he had done something you could rationally hate him for just so it might dull some of this pain, you could not let him go on thinking he had done something terrible—not when all he had really done was find something everyone could only hope for. “You—” You swallowed hard, shoulders deflating as you forced the words out of your mouth. “You told me you found your mate, and you said nothing but lovely things about her.”

He looked like he didn’t believe you.

“I promise,” you said softly. “You had fun at Rita’s, and I helped you home, and you told your friend about something wonderful. That’s all.”

He stared at you for a moment, blinking slowly. Silence wrapped around you like a stiff blanket, scratching at your skin with every passing second. The sunlight beating down on your face was unseasonably warm. It felt wrong to be illuminated so brightly while Azriel grappled to tear apart the invisible walls you had desperately built between you. There was nowhere to hide.

Azriel stepped closer, and you hated the small hitch in your breath. You hated the way he noticed, and you hated that his steps faltered when he heard. You hated that there were mere feet between you, and he still felt worlds away.

“Why didn’t you visit my mother with me?”

Your eyes snapped to his, guilt sliding down your throat. “I—”

“And don’t lie to me,” Azriel cut you off, near pleading.

And what could you really say? That you were worried his mother would see your broken heart the second she set eyes on you? That you were worried you would have to endure his loving confessions about his long-awaited mate to his mother—his mother you loved and that you had known for centuries? That jealousy so potent and toxic would eat you alive and ruin anything that might still be salvageable of your friendship?

“I couldn’t.”

It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t explain anything, but it was the only thing you could say that was not a lie, and that was not as baring as the truth.

Azriel shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You know,” he said quietly, “I thought maybe things were okay, when you asked me to go to Windhaven.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, thinking about how there was never any question of who would go with you to Windhaven. You were selfish, and there was never anyone else that could have gone with you to that camp.

“And when you came to me that night,” he continued, his eyes slowly falling back to yours. He looked lost, and you hated it. He huffed out a sad laugh. “I was actually grateful that we were there. That things felt normal.” His nose twitched, and his shadows seemed to spread outward in agitation. “Then you were pissed at me again.”

You shook your head slowly. “It wasn’t you I was angry with,” you said quietly. “Not really.”

Azriel looked at you incredulously. 

You looked up to the sky. “Fine,” you admitted. “I was pissed at you for taking over.”  You were pissed that he felt the need, that he acted like it was his duty, to protect you from some self-righteous male. 

You were not his responsibility.

“I did not take over.” Azriel moved toward you, his boots stopping mere inches from yours, and you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. “You can be pissed at me all you want, Y/N, I don’t care. No one will speak to you that way and get away with it.”

“I do not need—”

“I am always going to protect you!” His hands came up to cup your face, his gentle touch a startling contrast to the ferocity of his words. You stared at him wide eyed, his own gaze searching yours. “I told you that. You know that,” his voice softened exponentially, but his words were spoken with fervor. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care if it pisses you off. I don’t care. I’m sorry—” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep before letting it out slowly. “You are the most important person in my life,” he said softly. Your eyes burned. “I will always protect you with my life.”

Your hand came up to curl around one of his that was still cradling your cheek. Your mind was racing with his words. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. A foolish, hopeful part of you wanted to consider that maybe—maybe he did feel the same. Maybe—

But you could not forget the terrible reality that he had a mate.

You loved him so much. It was intertwined with every fiber of your being and every thread of it throbbed with painful longing and hope that it might finally be recognized. Every thread was fraying with dread that it might never be tied off, that this love might be unmoored forever until you completely unraveled.

“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, and you closed your eyes as his thumb grazed the top of your cheek. “You’re shaking.”

Your eyes flew open, and you suddenly pulled away, his touch falling away from your face abruptly. 

“Y/N—”

“I’m fine.”

You were not fine.

You had to get out of there.

“Wait, Y/N—”

You shook your head, your wings flaring out before you really even thought about flying. “I have to get Cassian a gift,” you muttered. Then you took off into the sky, leaving Azriel and your heart behind.

You shook off the tendril of shadow that clung to your wrist.

~ ~ ~

“And explain to me, Rhysand, why I should take this young female into my court?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you fought against the urge to lean against Azriel. Your muscles trembled from the weight of your exhaustion and dread that this disillusioned plan would all collapse around you at any moment. You could not appear weak in front of the High Lord, not if you wanted this plan to work.

You could stand on your own two feet.

Azriel’s pinky grazed the back of your hand, a gentle touch that could easily be an accident, but then his wing bumped into yours, and you knew Azriel was far too careful for accidental touches. You let yourself breathe in deep, let the comforting and familiar scent of Azriel wash over you as Rhysand argued with his father.

Rhysand’s mother stood a step back from him, but still in front of you and Az, watching their exchange with pursed lips. Rhysand and his father had been talking in circles, their voices growing louder and the room growing darker with every passing minute.

“I think that’s enough,” Rhysand’s mother cut in, without an ounce of fear in her voice. 

Rhysand and his father both went silent. Then his father’s eyes narrowed. “The boy must learn how to advocate for himself, Melina—”

“And he has, my Lord,” she agreed placatingly. She stepped closer, and Rhys fell back to stand beside you. “But this is ultimately my request of you. She is Rhysand’s friend, yes.” She glanced back at you with so much warmth and pity it made your stomach twist. “But she has no one. She is of no use in Illyria, no one who cares for her.”

Your eyes burned as her words lodged in your chest, the truth wrapped around them like barbed wire. Azriel stepped closer to you, his arm now nearly pressed against yours. The High Lord’s eyes fell to the two of you, and maybe you should have stepped away, maybe you should have moved closer to Rhys, but the thought of leaving Azriel made your head spin. So you stayed in place, with your arm pressed against Azriel’s, and his shadows licking against the back of your neck and hands.

“No one but us,” she continued, her voice softening, and it took everything in you to keep your tears at bay. “She is not safe in Illyria. Let her stay in the House of Wind. Let her work for me. I need the help.”

The High Lord was quiet for far too long. You desperately wanted to grab Azriel’s hand, but you didn't move. Instead, you waited, the four of you silent as you prayed to the Mother the High Lord agreed.

“Alright,” he said. “She can stay.” You were going to throw up. “But you are mine.”

He wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes slowly followed his gaze, slowly looking at the male standing still beside you.

“Father—” Rhysand started to protest, taking one step forward, but the High Lord cut him off.

“That’s my condition. You want her to stay here? Fine. She can stay. But so does he.”

“He still has to pass the Blood Rite,” Rhys argued.

“Fine,” the High Lord agreed. “You will finish your training, complete the Blood Rite in Spring, and then you will come work for me, Shadowsinger.”

This was insane. Azriel couldn’t sign his life away to the High Lord just because you asked for help.

“But father—”

“Okay.” Azriel stepped forward, his warmth vanishing from your side. “I agree, on one condition.”

“Azriel—” you and Rhysand both spoke at the same time. He glared at both of you.

The High Lord grinned. “In addition to her sanctuary here, you mean?”

You hated that he had yet to refer to you by your name, but you knew that, really, it was inconsequential compared to what your fate would be in Illyria.

“Yes,” Azriel said.

He was so large, standing in front of you. His leathers were stretched around muscles that lined his body, and his wings were wide behind his back that was ramrod straight, his head held high as he met his High Lord’s eye.

You weren’t children any more.

The High Lord waved his hand at Azriel. “Go on.”

“Y/N keeps her wings.”

You stopped breathing.

The High Lord raised his brows, but said nothing.

“Y/N stays here and works for the Lady of Night, and she keeps her wings.” He spared a brief glance at you, and when his eyes met yours, you finally released the breath trapped in your chest. “And I will work for you.”

An inexplicable warmth washed over you, working outward from the center of your chest, thawing the icy terror that you had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, even as you now feared for Azriel. You worried it was selfish to feel such relief when Azriel was practically signing his life away for you.

The High Lord smiled. “I accept.”

~ ~ ~

“We need to talk.”

You glanced at the male behind you, shaking your head as you focused on the training bag in front of you. You landed another punch, a heavy thud reverberating through the room. “Not now, Cassian.”

You heard his steps draw closer as you continued throwing punches, relishing in the dull ache blooming around your knuckles. The sun was just starting to rise, but you had been here for hours.

Cassian caught your fist before you could land the next punch, his face looking unimpressed. “Yes, now.”

You yanked your hand away, scowling at him as you shook your hand out. “What do you want?”

He raised his brows, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cassian. You're my dearest friend, Cassian. I’m so happy to celebrate another year of life with you, Cassian—”

You grabbed his shoulder quickly, your eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Mother—Cassian—”

Cassian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Y/N.” He pushed gently at your shoulder, knocking your hand away from his own. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Still,” you murmured, shame making your face warm. You looked down to start unwrapping the cloth around your hands, then you looked back up at him sheepishly. “Happy Birthday.”

He grinned, tugging you into his side. “Thank you.” Then he turned you toward the terrace, guiding you to lean against the cool stone railing not yet warmed by the morning sun. “Now, we need to talk.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

He leaned forward on his elbows, looking out over the city before glancing at you. “What’s going on with you and Az?”

You sniffed, rubbing at your nose as you looked out at the city, mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said pointedly, shifting his body so he faced you. “Why are things so damn awkward?”

Your face was hot now, and you wished you could pass it off as the sunlight hitting your cheeks. “They’re not,” you lied, terribly.

Cassian scoffed. “Y/N,” he said, unimpressed. You met his eyes warily. His eyes narrowed. “First, you avoided him for weeks. Then, there was the lovely dinner from Hell—”

Gods.

“—then you refused to visit his Mother—”

“He told you about that?” you interrupted, that same shame from when Azriel confronted you yesterday curdling in your stomach.

Cassian paused, seeming to think over his words before just saying, “Yes.” Then he kept going, “Then there was Windhaven, which we will also be talking about, by the way. Then he avoided you for days—”

So he was avoiding you.

“Then he apparently saw you yesterday, but walked into Rhys’s office like a storm cloud, and has been in a foul mood since.” He studied you quietly, and you knew he was leaving out every ounce of unbearable tension and awkwardness that had infused every minute between the events he laid in front of you. “So tell me,” he said, voice softening, “what happened?”

You could probably tell Cassian. You could probably cry, right now, in front of him on this terrace—on his birthday, no less—and he would not hesitate to try to pick up your broken pieces and find a way to glue them back together. He wouldn’t judge you.

But you felt too fragile to do that right now, and he deserved better than that on his birthday.

But he also deserved something, and maybe it would be nice to hand off just a piece of the weight crushing your soul.

“Do you know who his mate is?” you asked quietly, your voice as small as you felt.

Cassian was quiet for so long that you turned to look at him, and when you saw the painful understanding in his eyes you thought you might actually cry. “He hasn’t told me,” is what he finally says, looking back out over the city.

You chuckled weakly. “That’s not a no.”

His lips twitched. “It’s not a yes.”

“Cassian,” you said, staring at the side of his face until his eyes met yours again.

He sighed, leaning heavily against the balcony now. “I don’t know, no.”

Oh.

You bit your lip, not sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to hear. Maybe that he did know, and he hated her? Maybe that she was a terrible match and he didn’t know what the Mother was thinking?

You didn’t know.

“Nothing makes sense, if I’m honest with you,” Cassian said.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced at you. “I mean Azriel and his mate.” He tossed his hand toward you haphazardly, as if that cleared anything up.

“What?”

“I didn’t know he told you he found his mate.”

You blinked. You felt like he was talking in circles.

“Cassian,” you said, voice flat and tired. “We were all at that dinner.”

Cassian shook his head. “I mean before that.”

You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, well,” you said, “he did.”

His mouth twisted in thought. “Right. Surprising.”

“Cassian, what does this have to do with anything?”

He shrugged. “How long ago did he tell you?”

You threw your arms out. “I don’t know!” You did know. “A couple months ago? After Rita’s.”

He hummed. “Which is when things started to get tense—”

“Cassian,” you cut him off, your heart starting to race. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

Cassian immediately sobered, his expression turning serious. “Azriel found his mate over a year ago.”

You went cold. His words practically shoved you outside of your body, and you were floating just a few inches away from where you stood in front of him, grappling to reorient your already fractured reality to his words. “What?” you rasped.

Cassian shrugged, as if this was an entirely inconsequential detail. “He told me and Rhys a little over a year ago.”

You blinked. “So this entire time he—”

Cassian killed your words with a hard stare. “He what, Y/N?”

“I had no idea,” you said quietly. You had no idea things had changed so much sooner than you were even aware.

Yet they hadn’t, had they? Azriel never acted any different toward you. You were the one that made everything turn sour.

You frowned. “Over a year ago…we were at war,” you said slowly.

Cassian didn’t say anything.

“I thought he must have met her in Velaris, but—” You were going to be sick. “Oh gods, is it Elain?”

Cassian whipped his head to you. “What?” he asked. “Are you insane? Elain is mated to Lucien.”

You shook your head, all logic having been replaced with sick terror. “Mor then—”

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake,” Cassian said, cutting you off quickly. “It’s not Elain, and it’s not Mor.”

“You said you didn’t know—”

“Well I know it’s not them.”

“But—”

“I don’t know where or when he met her,” he said. “He didn’t tell us anything. He just…told us he had a mate. We were pestering him and he snapped, and then made us swear not to say a word because she didn’t know. That’s all, but I’m also not a fool.”

You scowled, recognizing his insinuation that you were a fool.

You were also tired of this conversation, and you were tired of the emotional whiplash. After a long beat of silence, you said, “Is it Nesta?”

Cassian growled, his eyes flashing with brief rage. You smiled, relieved that your jab landed successfully. His nostrils flared. “Enough.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward on the balcony again, letting your head droop. The two of you stood in silence for a while, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky as the sounds of the city slowly waking up washed over you.

Velaris had always felt like home.

Even that first night you crossed the city’s borders, clinging to Rhys and Azriel in mild terror, something settled inside you as soon as you were within the city’s limits. The air was cleaner. Fresh. It was still just as cold as Illyria, but it didn’t have that bitter tang that licked at your skin when you crossed the camp’s borders.

The air smelled like salt and jasmine. It was so unlike the stale and rotten air that wafted through Windhaven that, at the time, you could hardly fathom that a whole city full of faeries lived here. Now you were one of them.

“I heard about Windhaven.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders falling. You were tired. “Cassian,” you said, a warning, but he shook his head.

“I’m done talking about Az.”

You rolled your lip between your teeth and looked out over the city, taking in the soft and joyful life that pulsed through the streets. The stark contrast between here and an Illyrian camp was sometimes so jarring it made your bones ache. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not sure what else to say.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You saved that girl.”

You let out a bitter laugh, refusing to meet his eyes. “Right,” you said, “or I just made it worse for her after we left.”

“You didn’t.”

His words held so much certainty, you couldn’t help but turn to meet his gaze. Cassian wasn’t necessarily one for platitudes, but how could he know that for sure? “What?”

“You didn’t make things worse,” he said. “You saved her wings.”

“But how—”

“I’ve been to Windhaven every day since your return,” he explained, his voice unusually soft. Your eyes burned as he stared back at you with overwhelming sincerity. “I’m headed there after this. No one will touch her wings. They all know what will happen if anything happens to that girl—oh.”

You threw yourself into Cassian before he could finish his sentence, your arms circling him in a vice. He let out a soft chuckle before he quickly returned the hug, one hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “This is much nicer than, What do you want, Cassian? Not now, Cassian—”

You squeezed him harder. “Shut up.”

~ ~ ~

“I want to teach you how to fight.”

You barely glanced at Azriel as you slid another book back onto the shelf. “Me?” you asked, disbelieving.

Azriel followed behind you as you pushed the shelving cart further down the aisle. “Yes.”

“Why?” you asked, pointedly sliding another book back into place.

Why me? Is what you didn’t say. I’m a scholar. I’m the High Lady’s right-hand. I’m not a warrior.

“Why not?”

You ignored him, continuing on with your shelving duties—which, really, were not yours, but there was also no one else willing to voluntarily work in the library. At least, no one that the High Lord had authorized. You liked being here anyway, and the few librarians scattered throughout didn’t mind.

“You are more than capable.”

You hummed. “Yes,” you agreed. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

Suddenly Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, and he had you twisted around so that your chest was pinned to the book shelf. His point was clearly made, but still he didn’t move away. His body was pressed against yours, his chest grazing the base of your wings with every inhale.

His lips might have briefly brushed the shell of your ear before he said, “I’m serious, Y/N.” His grip on you relaxed, letting go of your arm that he had pinned behind your back, but he didn’t move away. “War is coming.” Which sounded very serious, but all you could think about was how his body was pressed against yours, and his breath was warm against your ear. Goosebumps pebbled along your arms.

Azriel pulled away, and you had to blink yourself back to reality before you slowly turned around to face him.

Your face was warm. Azriel seemed unaffected—serious and stoic as always.

“This city is meant to be impenetrable, I know, but—” He cut himself off, looking away.

“You’re worried,” you said quietly.

He nodded. His shadows slowly curled around your ankles, one gliding up your leg to then curl around your wrist. “If we go to war,” he said, voice hushed, “I won’t be here.”

Your stomach twisted. It had been years since you moved to Velaris, and years since Azriel had become the High Lord’s spy. Your time with Azriel was fleeting as it was. Stolen moments peppered over the years whenever he could slip away, but he has always been around. Sometimes months passed without talking to him, but you knew deep in your bones that if Azriel was worried about this war, it would happen, and he would be gone much longer than a couple of months.

“I just want to know that you’re safe,” he continued, as if he thought he still had to convince you. “I know it might be complicated for you,” he said slowly, gently, as if he was coaxing a timid animal. “Training, I mean. After everything that happened in Windhaven. But it would just be me, and—”

“That was a test,” you cut him off, realization washing over you.

Azriel’s mouth shut, his eyes wide.

“That—” You gestured between him and the bookshelf behind you. “You—you were seeing how I would react?”

Azriel looked only mildly guilty. “Yes.”

Irritation flared in your gut. He was right, of course. You had never spoken about why you never trained. You had never even told him outright that you didn’t want to, but the offer had always been there, unspoken, waiting quietly, and you never took it. Now Azriel was forcing you to confront it, and he knew fully well why you might be hesitant to let someone put their hands on you.

But Azriel had just pinned you to a shelf with his entire body, and not even a flicker of fear arose inside you. Fear was the last thing you felt.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel eventually said. You knew he meant it, but you also knew he didn’t regret it. 

“No,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek once as you contemplated his words. “You made your point. And you’re right.”

Azriel’s gaze was a mix of sympathy and worry. “I’m sorry—” he started to say again.

“I want to know how to fight,” you cut him off. His shoulders seemed to visibly relax at the words, and your stomach fluttered at the flash of pride you might have seen in his eyes. You weren’t doing this for him, though. You needed to be able to defend yourself. It was unwise as it was that you had gone this long in the House of Wind without learning.   

“But I also want to know how to hide,” you said, and his eyes glinted with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin when you added, “Like a spy.”

~ ~ ~

Your steps faltered as soon as you felt his presence. Your blade wobbled as it came down, losing its clean momentum from your misplaced footing. You growled in frustration, slashing the blade through the air once more before spinning around.

Azriel was standing there in the shadows, watching you quietly.

“What are you doing here, Azriel?”

He walked closer, the moonlight illuminating his face as he stepped into the clearing. He studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sword in your hand. “You’re late for Rita’s.”

You glanced at the sky, your heart dropping when you realized just how far the moon had traveled. You had meant to leave at sunset. “Fuck,” you cursed. Your grip tightened on your sword as you ran a hand through your hair, cursing again when your fingers got caught.

“It’s okay,” Azriel said, voice soft. He moved closer to gently guide your hand away from your face, then smoothed a hand over your hair. He smiled softly when he pulled his hand away, almost hesitant. “Cassian won’t mind.”

You stared at him, taking in the way the moonlight illuminated the hazel of his eyes and glinted off the inky strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He was wearing a black button-up that clung to his body perfectly, molding the contour of his muscles with perfect definition.

You blinked, then shook your head. “It’s not okay,” you grumbled, taking a step back.

Cassian had just spent the morning of his birthday comforting you, letting you lean on him. The least you could do is show up to his birthday party.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, “It’s okay. They were only just leaving the River House when I left to find you. I told them I was picking you up.”

You frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, like the question amused him. “You weren’t hard to find.”

You tried to argue, wanting to point out that you were in a random clearing in the mountains, but Azriel silenced you when he stepped closer again. “You were sloppy,” he said, nodding toward the sword.

“I’m aware,” you snapped.

“You’re fighting angry.”

“I know, Az,” you groaned. “I don’t need the lecture right now.”

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said gently. He stepped even closer, the heat from his body pressing against your skin. “Lift the sword.”

“We’re late,” you warned.

“So what’s a few more minutes? Lift it.” He circled around you, moving so that he stood at your back. You waited a moment, but eventually lifted the sword again.

“Good,” he murmured. He was crowding your space now, his body brushing against yours. You could hardly breathe. “Lower your wings for me?” he asked softly, a low hum that reverberated through your body.

Your wings lowered.

Azriel’s arm covered yours, his hand enclosing yours that held the hilt of the sword. “Right now,” he said, practically talking directly into your ear. “You’re angry, and it’s making your movements messy, because that anger is radiating in every direction. Your body doesn’t know what to do with it.”

You swallowed hard, your breaths heavy as you let the truth in his words wash over you. You were angry. You had been angry for months, and sometimes it felt so loud and potent that it might just consume you. It felt like there was nowhere for it to go.

“I always taught you not to fight angry—but, really, that’s shit advice,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“You care too much to not get angry when you’re fighting,” he continued. You weren’t sure if you should be insulted, but then he said, “That’s not a bad thing, Y/N. Just channel it. Let that anger stabilize you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath when his other hand grazed the membrane of your wing, your body going still when that hand settled on your hip.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said quietly, his body also going still.

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it, but you nodded your head anyway. “It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly.

A beat of silence passed, then Azriel’s hand slid a little closer to your front, his fingers grazing your abdomen. “Direct that anger to your core,” he murmured. His tone had permanently dropped, a low lull in the delicate silence around you. His hand slid back to your hip, then pushed you to step forward with him. “Let that anger guide your movements. Don’t let it force them.”

The two of you stepped back, and his chest was flush with your back. “Now swing. Let your anger extend into your blade. Keep it sharp and defined.”

You closed your eyes for just a moment, taking a deep and steadying breath as you gripped the anger swirling through you. You imagined it as an anchor, locking your mind and body as one. You imagined it as sharp as the blade in your hand. You imagined it washing over your muscles, powering the force of your movements. You swung the blade in one of the most complicated moves you knew, the angles between movements sharp and defined with an elegance you had been reaching for all night.

You grinned as you finished, relief you had been desperate for settling over you. Azriel’s touch fell away, and you turned around to meet his eyes.

He was smiling too. “Now we can go to the party.”

Your grin only widened. “Thank you.”

Azriel’s smile then wavered, his expression suddenly sobering. “Y/N,” he said, “about yesterday—”

“Az—”

“I’m sorry.”

You stared at him. “You’re sorry? Az, you did nothing—”

“I did nothing wrong, so you’ve said,” he brushed you off. “But something is upsetting you,” he went on, voice gentle again. “And Windhaven—it was hard. I know that. And I wasn’t there for you when we got back, and so I’m sorry for that.”

You looked away, eyes falling to your boots, your toes mere inches away from Azriel’s. You shrugged a little, then finally met his eyes again. “I haven’t really been there for you that last couple of months,” you admitted quietly. “So I guess we’re even. Or, really, I still have much to make up—”

“We don’t do that,” Azriel interrupted softly.

“Do what?”

“Keep score,” he said. You felt warm all over as you stood under his gaze, relishing in the comfort of this male you had known and loved your entire life. Just his presence, without worrying about mates or relationships or boundaries that may or may not exist for the first time in months, was enough to quell the fury and despair that had been warring inside your soul for weeks.

You nodded, knowing he was right.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” he promised. “But for tonight,” he said, a smile slowly stretching across his face again, “Let’s have fun and celebrate our friend.”

Your own smile didn’t quite reach your eyes as you half-heartedly joked, “Will you be getting as drunk as our last night at Rita’s?”

Azriel grabbed your hand, jostling it lightly between you before tugging you close again, his shadows already creeping in around you. “No,” he hummed, mirth in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn tonight.”

Your grin was real as you said, “I like the sound of that.”

~ ~ ~

You weren’t kidding when you told Azriel you liked his plan for tonight—specifically, you getting drunk.

He had taken you back to the House of Wind, and he waited for you to bathe and get dressed before taking you to Rita’s. You would like to think that his cheeks were tinged pink as he grabbed your waist because of you—because you were in a silken dress that shimmered in the moonlight and defined every curve of your body, and you felt good, for the first time in a while.

The two of you were silent as he pulled you in close by your hips, his chest lightly brushing yours before his shadows cocooned the two of you in their familiar embrace. Time always seemed to bend when you traveled through the shadows, warping around your body in a way that felt too fast and too slow all at once. The entire time your eyes were glued to his, his own gaze unwavering as he stared back.

You were in front of Rita’s before you could blink, and yet it felt like those seconds with Azriel’s hands on your body and his eyes stuck to yours had stretched into years. Your heart was racing again. It was becoming a problem.

You stepped back, breaking eye contact with an awkward cough. Your body felt far too warm in the chilled night air. Azriel’s hands fell away from your waist, and you took a second to smooth your hands over your dress, recentering yourself before walking into the crowded tavern.

Azriel watched you, and eventually you forced yourself to smile before meeting his gaze again. “Here we go,” you said with a grin that felt too tight on your face.

You didn’t wait for Azriel before you pushed through the door, the dim lighting and cacophony of music and voices disorienting at first. You scanned the room for your friends, and it wasn’t until Azriel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back and pointed toward a corner of the room that you found them.

He laced his fingers with yours before you could even take a step, guiding you through the sea of bodies. His skin was warm against yours, and you relished in the feeling of your hand in his. He pulled you closer to him when an especially tipsy faerie bumped into your shoulder, jostling the two of you.

Eventually you reached the booth everyone was crammed in, Cassian sitting on the end with a wide grin. You expected Azriel to drop your hand, but he only squeezed it tighter when the two of you stopped in front of the table. Your face was hot when Cassian’s gaze dragged up from your hands to your face.

His eyes were already glossy in the dim light, and empty glasses were scattered across the surface of the table. You hoped he kept his questions and observations to himself tonight.

He pushed up from the table, with Nesta stabilizing it frantically as he bumped the corner and glasses clattered together. Cassian didn’t notice, and he pulled you into him for a hug, effectively breaking Azriel’s hold on your hand. “You’re here!” Cassian cheered.

You laughed as your face squished awkwardly against his chest, his arm squeezing your waist on just the verge of too tight. “Happy Birthday, Cass,” you said again, even if you already saw him this morning. This morning felt forever ago anyway.

Cassian pulled back, his gaze set on the male behind you. He kept one arm around your waist before he reached for Azriel, tugging him into a clumsy hug that you were still held hostage in. The three of you were a mess of arms and wings, Azriel’s body half covering your own and Cassian held you both by one arm. 

Azriel would deny it, but he was smiling as Cassian hugged him. Even if he didn’t wait long before extricating himself from the messy embrace. You managed to break away too, your hands squeezing Cassian’s forearms once before falling away. “I’ll have to give your gift tomorrow,” you told him.

Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Az already gave me—” His words died as his gaze flicked behind you, and your neck felt hot. Cassian’s smile faltered, but you could tell he fought to keep it on his face, even if the alcohol running through him had eroded his already thin filter. “I can’t wait,” he said.

Your smile was tight, and you were ready to escape the awkward tension that had fallen over you. You locked eyes with Mor on the end of the booth, relief washing over you when she stood up. She grabbed your hand, immediately dragging you toward the bar as she declared it was time for more drinks.

She dropped your hand once you reached the bar, her gaze sympathetic as you gathered your bearings. You didn’t hear what she ordered as you took in the crowd around you, the floor flooded with dancing bodies and loud music. Mor handed you a glass of blue liquid, and you didn’t bother asking what it was before you tossed it back.

Which might have been a mistake, because it was foul.

You gagged, clanking the glass down on the counter. “Mor, what the hell was that?”

She also gagged as she downed her own, her class clinking against yours as she sat it down. “Disgusting,” she said, wiping her mouth. Then her eyes glinted. “But effective.” She waved toward the bartender ordering another round of something that hopefully didn’t taste like acid.

She leaned against the bar while you waited, her gaze flitting up and down before settling back on your eyes. “I figured it was that kind of night.”

You leaned against the bar next to her, your arm brushing hers as someone bumped into you. “Yeah,” you said with a weak laugh. “You could say that.”

Mor glanced toward the table with your friends. You followed her gaze, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met Azriel’s, who had taken Mor’s seat at the booth. His shadows were mostly hidden behind his wings, but a few stray ones pulsed to a slow beat. You averted your gaze, your skin feeling even more flushed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mor asked, and you were fairly certain she knew more than you had ever told her, just like Cassian, and Nesta, and probably everyone else around you.

“Nope.”

The bartender brought your drinks, and Mor handed you another glass, this time with a pink liquid. “This one is better, I promise,” she said, then clinked her glass against yours. “Let’s get drunk.” Then she tossed the liquid back.

You grinned, following her lead, relieved when the liquid was smooth and sweet. “Let’s dance,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sat the glass down, the two of you giggling as you pushed into the sea of bodies.

It was hot. So many bodies brushed against yours, so many faeries overheating the room as you all moved to the music. Song after song drifted over you, and Mor came and went with drinks in hand more times than you could count. Your blood felt fuzzy, your entire body vibrating from the alcohol coursing through your veins and the electric buzz that permeated the air.

At some point Cassian and Nesta joined you, periodically dancing with you and Mor when they weren’t entirely absorbed with each other. Your head was light and hazy, and you almost forgot why you had felt so heavy before.

Then a hand grabbed your waist from behind, familiar scarred fingers curling around the curve of your hip. You leaned back, your body connecting with a warm chest you knew better than your own skin. Your skin was hot and flushed, tingling all over as the scent of salt and cedar and something so uniquely Azriel enveloped you.

Your head lulled against him, your body moving against his in time with the music. His other hand settled on your other hip, and you let him guide your body however he saw fit. Your heart was racing and your stomach was fluttering, and you never wanted this feeling to end. You never wanted Azriel’s grip on your body to fade, and you never wanted another male to touch you like he was now. You wanted him to claim you in this crowd of people. You wanted everyone to know that you were his.

You wanted everyone to know that he was yours.

Azriel had always been yours.

Your hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet your gaze. You had to tilt your head back to see him, but Mother above, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the most beautiful male alive, and you wanted him so much it hurt.

Why did it have to hurt?

You turned around to face him, his hands never leaving your hips. Your chest grazed against his, and you met his eyes as he continued guiding your bodies together in a dance that was for the two of you alone. Your eyes never left his, his own eyes glossy in the lights streaming across the room. He had a lazy smile on his face that made your stomach flutter, and when he tugged your body closer you sucked in a sharp breath.

“Azriel,” you murmured. In the back of your head, you thought it should have been a warning, but really it was a plea.

Your arms looped around his neck as his thigh slotted between yours, and you thought you might die when your core grazed the rough fabric of his pants. The hem of your dress was undoubtedly rucked indecently high, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more. You wanted everything.

Azriel slowly ground your bodies together in a rhythm that you thought might have loosely followed the music, but it was hard to tell. It was hard to think of anything other than the building pleasure low in your belly and Azriel’s hands on your waist and his breath against your cheek. You guided his head up with your hand splayed on his cheek, and when he met your eyes he looked like he might devour you there in the middle of Rita’s.

It was exactly how you had always wanted him to look at you.

You wanted him to want you. You wanted him to forget about anyone else that might think they had a piece of his heart, because Azriel was yours.

Azriel’s tongue briefly wet his lips, and you didn’t think before you pushed yourself up on your toes to capture his lips with yours. 

And he kissed you back.

Your head was floating, possibly completely detached from the rest of you. You weren’t entirely sure you were even still inside your own body, except for the feeling of an undeniable warmth that flooded through your chest. Azriel’s hands slid from your hips to the back of your thighs, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress and tugging it down, all while his lips chased yours.

His hands gripped your legs tight, his fingers undoubtedly leaving indents in your flesh as he simultaneously tugged you closer and kept your dress from sliding too far up. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere your body touched his, leaving your entire body vibrating. The sounds of the music and the voices around dulled into a muffled buzz, your entire world view shifting to focus solely on Azriel.

Your skin was hot with want, flamed only by inconceivable stores of repressed emotions and desire breaking through the surface. You wanted to curl inside of Azriel and never leave. You wanted this moment to stretch for an eternity, bottling up the euphoria coursing through you and never letting it fizzle away.

One of his hands had migrated to your face, cupping your jaw in a way that you thought might have been reverence. The touch was so gentle compared to the firm grip his other hand still had on your thigh, guiding your body against his lazily as your lips melded with fervor.

Why had you never done this?

Well, you had once—

His teeth nipped your lower lip, making you gasp at the light sting before his lips latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. Your stomach flipped, and your heart was pounding as he moved down the column of your throat, the drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and the two of you careened to the side a bit, his grip tightening on you as a low growl rumbled from his throat. The floor still tilted beneath you even as he held you upright, and you blinked once, and then twice, willing the feeling away.

Then you were engulfed in darkness that was cool against your skin, and you were stumbling backward until your back met a wall. Azriel started laughing against your neck, his hands still holding your hips, and he was likely the reason you didn’t completely crash into the wooden wall behind you.

You started laughing too, vaguely recognizing that you were outside of Rita’s now, only the moon lighting the dim alley. The air was cool, but it only made you feel more flushed, more exposed now that you were alone with Azriel. 

Azriel resumed his kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he slotted his thigh back between your legs. The pressure at your core was consuming, traveling upward in shaky tendrils that stole your breath and twisted your stomach.

There was a cacophony of sensations traveling through your body. Azriel’s hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. His whispers that sounded like “perfect” and “beautiful” but you couldn’t be sure because your ears sort of felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The tension in your core that felt like a confusing blend of impending euphoria smeared with doom.

Your breaths started to grow faster, and fuck, it was really hot.

The world was spinning.

You gripped Azriel’s shoulders, and at first he sank further into you, his body melting into yours. Then your motions slowed, and your mouth was watering, and you must have pushed him back a bit, because his lips were no longer on your skin, and his hands were cupping your face.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing your face slightly to drag your eyes to him. You blinked, trying to focus, but the high you had been riding was crashing down fast, and your head was no longer blissfully floating. “Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your gaze back to him again. “Are you okay?”

He sounded worried.

Maybe you should be?

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last shot Mor gave you, or the one before that.

You might be really drunk.

You might—

You threw up.

Everything came rushing up, and you crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the stone hard with stray pebbles biting at your skin. You heaved, and heaved, expelling the monstrous cocktail of alcohol you had tossed down throughout the night.

Gentle hands brushed your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you shook, irrational fear coursing through you. Maybe you were dying.

But eventually the nausea passed, and while your head still spun and your thoughts were covered in mud, you knew you were not, in fact, dying. You were just drunk.

Far drunker than you had ever been, but still just drunk.

You were also crying, but your tears were quiet and quickly wiped away by Azriel with gentle hushes. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, or maybe it sounded more like a whimper. Your throat hurt. You weren’t sure what exactly you were apologizing for, but you felt like it needed to be said.

“No,” Azriel choked out, wiping his thumb under your eye again. He swayed a bit, or maybe that was you. “My turn to take care of you, right?”

You closed your eyes, smiling a little, leaning your head back against the wall that you somehow had ended up sitting against. Your chest pulsed with warmth again, washing away the chill that had crashed inside you, and replacing the uncomfortable heat you had been washed in moments ago. 

Azriel lifted you, your body curling into his chest with ease. You hid your face against his chest, the thump of his heart calming your still racing one.

Azriel would take care of you.

You loved him.

~ ~ ~

a/n: I won't lie this part was a little hard for me to write because it felt it little bit like a filler but I needed it to get to the next part which I'm excited for!!

A sixth one comes through, your phone buzzing angrily. You roll your eyes, and for a long second you seriously consider drowning the damn thing in the abandoned beer glass next to you.

He doesn’t get to call you, like you’re some wandering child. He doesn’t get to get angry about you being out, when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place. And you told Sam to tell him that you’d be here. So really, this is Dean’s fault, then Sam’s, then yours.

The call goes to voicemail. You flip the screen back over, and take a long drink. If it’s really that big a deal that you’re out without him, he can put on his pants and come get you himself.

And he won’t. And that’s part of the problem.

Dean’s going to lecture you about safety when you crawl back in the morning, and you’re going to roll your eyes. He’ll ask you if you think something’s funny, sweetheart? You look him dead in his pretty eyes and say I don’t know, is it? He’ll get angrier. You’ll get angrier. Sam will try to mediate, and you’ll throw something at him before stomping off. Dean will chase after you, and wrestle you back into the room while calling you a brat.

When you get tossed down on the mattress, you’ll sink your nails into his shoulder, because you do every time. You want to drag him down with you, to make him feel this the same way you always have.

To big, too much. Too soft in all the wrong places, and too spiked everywhere else. There’s a sharp, angry shell around your heart that’s grown like an exoskeleton. It’s got wires and teeth that snap, whenever Dean gives you a little too much attention. You can never tell if it’s trying to eat him or latch onto him anymore. You don’t think it really matters.

Dean hates you. He thinks you hate him. He’s going to grab your knees and pin them to your chest, and you’re going to be the only woman in the world who he doesn’t notice flush against him. He’ll hiss that you can’t just go running around alone. That it’s not like you, to be reckless. You spit a fuck you, his grip will get tight, and he’ll shove you away to go take one of his long showers.

Sam will tell you to stop testing him. You’ll tell Sam to eat himself, and go back to sulking like a child in the corner.

Only Dean can do that to you. You hate and love him for it.

When you met—on a hunt that didn’t matter, until it did—he made you all giggly and dumb. Years of training and a mind that could never slow down, turned to goo from one roughish, lazy smile.

“You like trouble?” He’d asked you, trying even then to talk you out of a hunt.

“No. No one likes trouble.”

Dean had chuckled. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart. Most girls like you love it.”

You’d snorted. “Girls like me? What’s a girl like me?”

“Gorgeous.” He’d smirked, like he’d been dying for you to ask. “Smart. Mouthy-“

“Mouthy?” You’d cut him off, rolling your eyes. “Are you from the 60s?”

“No. But you’re provin’ my point.”

“You didn’t have a point. You were just trying to sleep with me.”

Dean had raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty. But- Is it working-“

“No.”

It had been. If Sam hadn’t come back to the car two seconds later, you would’ve climbed into Dean’s lap like a whore. Which wasn’t what you were. It wasn’t what you did. Sex with a half-stranger, sex in general, you didn’t toss your body around easily. You’d never been able to do the removing emotions part of casual sex. You’d always managed to come up with a million reasons not to, most of them looking something like have a hookup, get pregnant, the father’s already gone, the baby’s born with cancer, you love it anyway and it dies in your arms, if you’d been more responsible the baby would’ve solved climate change, everyone dies in a fiery explosion.

But you’d looked at Dean, and seen no death or path out that didn’t end in light. He’d grabbed your thigh in the dark of the car, and you’d flushed and smiled to yourself like a schoolgirl.

“You wanna know my middle name?” He’d whispered to you, later that night.

“That’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard-“

“It’s not a pick up line! I’m askin’ you a question-“

“But it’s going to turn into a pickup line.” You’d said flatly, and Dean had given you a boyish smile that almost made you forget that he was covered in vampire blood.

“You already know me so well,” he’d cooed, and you’d snorted.

“You’re predictable.”

“So you’re never gonna wonder what I’m thinking.”

You’d shoved his face away with a hand, still giggling. This was usually the point in a hunt where you started thinking about what came next. How long you had to get out of town, how much food you’d need to eat now before you got to your next stop—if you eat too much, you’re going to overstuff and get sick, if you don’t eat enough you’re going to be weak and pass out behind the wheel and cause a fifty car pile-up—and if there are any strings you needed to wrap up on the case.

But Dean had been smiling at you. And that had felt like the only thing that mattered.

“C’mon, ask me what my middle name is-“

You’d covered his mouth with a hand, shooting him a stern glare. His eyes had gleamed with affection, and something deeper you try not to think about now. It hurts too much. It makes you mourn for something that was never even yours to have.

“Only so you shut up,” you’d whispered. “What’s your middle name.”

You’d dropped your hand, and Dean had touched his lips like he was in some telenovela. You’d fought a smile. You’d never known someone could be so handsome it made your heart ache, and so cute you thought you’d explode.

He’d puffed out his chest, and grinned at you like he won the lottery.

“It’s Trouble-“

“It’s Adam.” Sam had called from the table. Dean had looked at  him like he’d just murdered a puppy, and you’d laughed so hard you almost fell off the bed.

And you’d thought something was growing. You’d been a foolish girl, who thought the dorky, handsome hero in front of her would give chase, when she turned him down.,

If you could go back, you’d slap yourself in the face and tell you to get it together. Dean Winchester is Dean Winchester. You listen to the what the shadows whisper. You knew his reputation before he smiled at you in the low light of his car. You’re smart. Sam goes to you for research advice, you’ve come up with whole new ways to kill demons and trap angels. You fucking knew better, than to fall in love with Dean.

You should’ve known better.

You didn’t.

So you attached yourself to them like a little, leeching parasite. You followed them around, the Winchester’s shadow, and fell more in love with Dean, and got your heart broken every night when he slipped out of the bar with another woman on his arm.

You’d gotten mean. You’d started getting short with him, and he’d fueled the fire building in the cavity of your chest by being a dick. Suddenly you were too inexperienced for every hunt. Too young to be out alone—you’ve had that fight more times than you can count—or too tense and tightly wound to think clearly.

He’s the one who doesn’t think clearly. He’s the one who drinks himself to death after a hunt and has literally fucked monsters because he can’t be bothered to plan ahead. He drags you and Sam to towns because he’s got a good feeling about them. He tells you to just relax, princess, and you want to punch him in his stupid, pretty face.

But you still love him. You love him so much you think it’s going to kill you. And you keep that locked in the deepest chamber of your heart, because he never needs to know that you still get stupid and soft for him. If he finds out that the first time he tried to leave on a hunt without you, you almost started crying in the middle of the bunker kitchen, he’ll look at you like you’re crazy.

And you are crazy. You know that. You’re a fumbling, wild ball of worries and sneers, and Dean would never want a nagger. He’d never want a younger woman who acts like she knows better—even though you do—and who needs him to be perfectly attentive and affectionate every second of every day.

You’re in love with a man who hates you. And if you had to listen to him fuck that secretary through the wall all night, you were going to kill yourself on their bed.

So now you’re at this loud, disgusting bar, drinking something that you’re praying numbs the pain, and smiling so wide it hurts your face.

The abandoned beer’s owner came back. He’s a broad shouldered, smirking man with a clean cut face, and lighter hair. If you get a little more squint, he looks just like Dean. If you get a little more buzzed, he’ll sound like him too.

You hate causal sex. It doesn’t count if you’re pretending it’s Dean. It doesn’t count if it makes this stop hurting.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here?” The man drawls, leaning across the bar.

You giggle, and it sounds distant to your ears. “Drinking.”

“Yeah?” The man smirks. “You like drinkin’, doll?”

You shake your head, swinging your feet and spinning in the bar stool. The man raises his brows.

“You sure you don’t? You’re goin’ through that thing fast.”

“It tastes bad.” You wrinkle your nose. “Feels good.”

The man’s smile turns wolfish. Your phone starts to buzz again, and you glare at the screen before shutting it fully off.

“Boyfriend?” The man asks, and you shake your head.

“He wishes.”

No, he doesn’t.

That’s the problem.

And you keep flirting—if it can even be called that, because you mostly babble about hating the drink you got and hating Dean and loving the man’s drink because Dean likes that one too—and the man’s hands find their way to your lower back and thigh.

“Why don’t I help you forget about Dean?” He winks at you, and you shrug.

The world is mostly just blurred colors and lights now. Everything feels awfully light, in a way you’re not sure you like.

But you like forgetting about Dean more. So even though you want to tell this man that it’s impossible to forget about Dean, you’re also just lost enough to want help finding your way out.

“Okay.” You beam at him.

You make it to the parking lot—his arm around your waist, herding you like a lost lamb—before Dean ruins everything. He always ruins everything.

There’s a shout of your name, almost ripping through the hazy fog of your drunken mind. You were feet from the man’s car. Just a few more steps from having fun, which you’re bad at doing, but maybe if you practiced, Dean would like you more.

From the look on his face when you turn around, it might’ve actually made him like you less.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He marches across the lot with a scowl, hands balled into fists and gaze fixed solely on you. “I almost made Sammy file a missing persons report-“

“’M not missing.” You stick your tongue out at him. “’M right here. Stupid.”

You mutter the last word under your breath, and Dean freezes. He blinks slowly, gaze raking over your body. That’s not fair. It makes you feel all warm and puddley. Your core floods with heat, and your knees get weak, and he’s get looking at you.

Dean takes a half-step forward, his voice dropping low and rough. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

There’s a larger gust of wind. Dean’s eyes gleam in the golden light of the parking lot. He looks a little like an angel. You trip standing up, then giggle when the man pulls you back up. Dean’s jaw drops, his brow knitting tight.

“You’re fuckin’ wasted.” He mutters, shaking his head. “Jesus, sweetheart- C’mon.” He steps forward, reaching out a hand. “Let’s go.”

“Nuh uh.” You pout, shaking you head. “I’m not drunk-“

“You’re standing like we’re on a freakin’ ship. Come on.” He flexes his hand, and you cross your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t get to win. “I’m having fun.”

“We can have fun back at the room-“

“The lady said she’s having fun.” The man next to you pulls you tighter into his side, fingers curling on your hip like a lock. “Screw off, pal. I got here first.”

And Dean recoils, looking at the man like he’s noticing him for the first time. You can’t read his expression in the low light, but it seems angry. Or just annoyed. Or indifferent. His jaw looks sharp and clenched. You want to lick it.

“Listen, bud.” Dean snaps, glaring down at the man. “This ain’t a who got here first thing. My girl’s drunk. I’m takin’ her home, or I’m punching you in the face.”

The man is silent for a moment. He and Dean glower at each other, and you frown between them. There’s something poking at your drink addled brain, but it’s spelling a word you can’t read. All you can really figure out is that they’re being weird.

“You Dean?” The man asks.

Dean’s eyes narrow. His shoulders square, the way they do before he’s about to swing at a demon. “Yeah. And?”

“Nothin’.” The man smirks. “Just… Thought you’d be God, based on how she was talkin’ about you. But,” he chuckles, tipping his chin. “You’re just a little bitch.”

Dean’s jaw ticks. You don’t need the lighting to figure out what he’s thinking now. You can almost feel it, rolling off of him in waves.

He’s pissed.

He looks the man up and down, and if he throws a punch, you know he won’t be the one who goes down. You’re drunk enough not to worry about the violence of it. All your useless thoughts can spin around is the idea of Dean fighting for you. Of his massive arms flexing as he knocks down the other man—who, the longer your Dean stands in front of you, looks less and less appealing—and scoops you into his arms like the princess he mocks you with being. Then he can wrap his arm around your head and fuck you against the hood of his car, until you’re drooling all over his cock.

You giggle at nothing, a unignorable heat pooling between your legs. Dean’s attention snaps back over, and you beam at him.

Something in his gaze shifts. He lets out a slow breath, and stretches out a hand.

“Let’s go, princess.” He beckons with two crooked fingers, and you almost stumble forwards. “We can watch whatever you want, alright? I’ll get you some of that ice cream you like, and- Sammy can watch with you, if you don’t want me around. Just-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Get over here. Please.”

He sounds so tired. Tired and almost sad. Your feet move without your permission, and you reach to take his hand.

The man yanks you back, and you yelp.

“Remember what you told me, doll.” He drawls in your ear, loud enough for Dean to still hear. “Remember how he treats you.”

Dean scowls. “You stay out of this-“

“He doesn’t care.” The man ignores him. “You told me, he doesn’t love you.”

Dean opens his mouth, something stricken flashing over his features. You feel a little sick.

“C’mon. I got you.” The man rubs your hip, smiling gently. “Show him what he’s missing. He can bitch about it, alone all night while you get fucked real good.”

Dean’s face is a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has an expression like someone just punched him in the gut.

And it’s not the fucking real good that steels you. It’s the reminder that Dean won’t be alone. He has his secretary. And you’re allowed to have your random bar man, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Dean rasps your name. “Come here-“

“You come here.” You snap, and it’s meant to be a sharp, killing blow that makes him sigh and give up.

If you were a little less drunk, you would’ve known that was never going to work.

Dean’s throat bobs. He exhales like he’s going through the trials of Hercules, rather than arguing in a parking lot. He rubs his jaw, looks up to the sky like he’s praying, and chuckles. It’s dry and flat, but so deep and rough. You shiver at the sound, and almost fall right into him again.

“Alright.” Dean mutters, shaking out his arm. “Fine.”

He marches forward, clocks the man across the jaw, and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It happens so fast your body is still catching up with it, by the time he’s halfway back to the car. You realize you should be thrashing and shouting when you hear the Impala door unlock. Your body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate though. Dean’s back is warm, and his hand is resting near your ass, and it’s making you putty for him to play with.

He did it so fast. He didn’t even break a sweat or give the man a chance to fight back, before he grabbed you. When he lowers you into shotgun, he does it so gently. Like even after getting on his nervous, you’re precious cargo. He brushes the hair from your face, hunched over as you settle into the bench.

You blink at him, still drunk and confused. Dean still has that strange look in his eyes, his lips parted as you just stare at each other. His hand lingers on your cheek. You lean into the touch, and his nostrils flare.

Across the parking lot, there’s a roar of his name.

Dean sighs, and stands up. He walks around the hood of the car, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the car. You watch his fingers move like a starved woman. You want him to put them in your mouth, and you almost tell him when there’s a slam on his window.

The man is shouting at him, veins bulging and eyes bugging. He looks nothing like Dean now.

And Dean doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even look at him. He just puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the lot. If the man gives chase, you don’t see. You’re too busy staring at Dean.

The first half of the drive is silent. Low music plays on the radio, and you watch Dean in the moving light of the road. Long shadows and dim streetlamps make him look like he fell out of a dream. Your arms twitch to wrap around him. Your eyes are heavy, your head intoxicated by the rich, amber and smoke smell of his cologne. If you lay your head in his lap, you wonder if he’d shove you away.

“You weren’t actually gonna go with him.” Dean mutters suddenly, and you blink.

“Huh?”

“That douchebag.” His fingers flex on the wheel. “You weren’t gonna fuck him.”

You frown. Useless, exhausted tears prick at your eyes. You don’t even know where they’re coming from. Just that you feel small, and you’re tired, and Dean’s dragging you back to the motel just so he can fuck another woman with peace of mind.

“He’s not even your type-“

“You don’t know what my type is.” You grumble, sinking into your seat.

Dean huffs a laugh. “I’ve seen what kinda guys you find hot on TV. He was ugly.”

“He wasn’t ugly-“

“Yeah, he was.”

“You’re ugly.” You snap, and Dean laughs. You get why. You didn’t even convince yourself.

“Only on the inside, sweetheart.”

Your lips wobbles. For some reason, that pushes the tears out of your eyes. You sink into the bench, wrapping into a tight little ball that Dean won’t be able to pry apart. You can’t stop the tears, but he doesn’t get to have more leverage.

Dean clears his throat. “Are you crying-“

“Shut up.” You sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

He murmurs your name, voice softer than before, and you lean against the window.

“Shut up-“

“You’re fuckin’ crying-“

“Dean!” You glare at him through the blur of the tears. “Just- Leave me alone!”

Dean’s silent for a second. But only a second.

“Did he hurt you?” He grunts, something hot and angry lining his words. “Before I got there, did that son of a bitch-“

“He barely even touched me, you just- You fucking-“

“I what? What the hell did I do-“

“You hate me!” You shout, and Dean goes horribly still. 

“Don’t be insane.” He mutters your name, glaring out at the road. “I don’t hate you.”

You scoff, hugging your knees tight to your chest. “Yes, you do. You hate me, and you- You never let me have any fun-“

“That wasn’t fun, that was a lawsuit.”

You don’t even have a good comeback to that. He’s probably right. It just makes you angrier.

You turn away from him all together, watching the trees blur past in the window. You’re certain you’re going to be sick now. You close your eyes, the tears still flowing, and hide your face behind your hair and in your knees.

Dean sighs. His voice gets softer again.

“Listen, you’re drunk, alright? You’re gonna feel better in the morning-“

“No.” Your words are muffled, but you know he’ll still hear them. “I won’t.”

“Yeah, you will. I get a million of these drunken… feelings.” He says the word in an oddly tight tone. “You just gotta sleep them off.”

You laugh, wet and weak. “Whatever, Dean.”

“I’m trying to help-“

“No, you’re not.” You hug yourself tighter. “You just wanna get back to her.”

He’s silent again. You can hear his fingers drumming on the wheel. Almost hear the frown in his voice when he finally speaks.

“Who the hell are you talking about.”

“Your secretary lady.” You grumble, bitter and tired.

“You mean Katy?”

You grunt. “I hate her.”

“I- Princess, I sent her home like- Two hours ago.” He pauses. The air in the car feels oddly heavy. “Moment Sammy told me you were gone.”

You huff, but don’t respond. You can’t think of anything. You can barely understand what that means.

“You hate her?” Dean’s voice is so quiet you almost miss it.

“Mhm.” 

“You barely even talked to her-“

“I don’t care.” You mutter, rubbing away the tears on your cheeks. “I hate her.”

“Why-“

“’M tired.” You pull your face out of your knees, and find Dean staring at you.

He clears his throat, and looks back to the road. You think you’re going to start sobbing again, when he stretches out an arm around your shoulder.

Neither of you say anything, when he slowly pulls you into his side. You haven’t been this close to him in a while. He’s just as warm as you remember. You’re already half-asleep, just from a few seconds of his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder and your face pressed into his neck.

“I didn’t like him that much either.” Dean mutters suddenly. “Your bar guy.”

You hum, nosing at his jaw. He smells good.

“I wish you’d tell me.” He adds. “When you were goin’ out. I’d come with you-“

“I don’t want you to come with me.”

Dean tenses. He doesn’t pull away. “I’m fun at bars, sweetheart..” His voice is too casual. “We’d have a good time-“

“You’d have a good time.” You grumble. “I’d be alone.”

“I wouldn’t- If we went out, I wouldn’t ditch-“

“Yes, you would.” You yawn, and you’re crying again, but it’s softer.

Even now, Dean makes everything easier.

You wish you could hate him more than you love him. You don’t think you’re ever going to manage.

“You hate me.” You whisper, sleep already pulling on the corners of your brain. “’S not fair.” 

Dean swallows. His fingers still on your arm. “Why not?”

“’Cause I-“

You cut yourself off with a yawn. Dean mutters your name, and you shake your head, burrowing further into his side. You need to be as close as possible. You need to sink something into him that he can never wipe away, the same way he did with you.

“I love you,” you mumble. “And you hate me. And- It’s not fair, Dean.” You tremble, letting out a soft, pained breath. “Not fair.”

And sleep drags you under. But right before the world fades, you could swear you hear Dean’s low voice, and it floats through your dreams.

“I don’t hate you, baby.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Dean hasn’t spoken to you since last night.

You get up in the morning with a migraine and shame burning your face. You remember all of it. Every painful, whiny moment. You acted like the lovesick, annoying girl he accuses you of being. You told him the thing you swore you’d never say aloud. Once Sam tried to make you admit it, and you dumped a glass of iced tea over his head. You’d whimpered Dean’s name into your pillows while you touched yourself, and you’ve told yourself to get it together in the bathroom mirror, but you’ve never said it aloud.

And you just told.

You ruined everything.

He gives you meds and a glass of water to help the hangover, but he doesn’t look you in the eyes. You pack up the rooms and hit the road, but he doesn’t look in the rearview mirror to check on you even once. You bite the inside of your cheek and refuse to cry again. That will just make you seem more pathetic than you already are.

“What’s going on with you two.” Sam mutters when you stop at a gas station, hanging over your shoulder in the candy aisle.

“Nothing-“

“Don’t lie.” He gives you a flat look. “You’re not even fighting, which means you’re fighting.”

You peer up at him with a flat expression, and he sighs.

“You know what I mean. What the hell did he say to you.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

Sam mutters your name, and you grab a candy bar, flipping him off over your shoulder.

“Just drop it, okay?”

“No! I can’t drop it! I live with you guys, and- This is so much worse than when you were acting like you hated each other-“

“Sam-“

“You can’t see his face while he’s driving.” Sam hisses, grabbing a pack of almonds. “He’s either going to punch himself or cry, and that’s gonna be a whole freakin’ thing. Just- Talk to him-“

“He can talk to me.” You grab a pack of jerky. You can’t help it. Dean must be hungry too, and despite all your common sense, you still love him so much the world is slipping out from under your feet. 

Sam pleads with your name. You shake your head.

“Please. Drop it.”

He examines you for a moment, then sighs. He agrees to drop it. It doesn’t make anything better at all.

Because Dean’s not even being mean or overbearing or annoying. He’s just silent. And Sam’s right.

It’s so much worse.

Normally by this point in the ride, you’ve been fighting so much that Sam turns up the radio until you can’t hear each other. You’ll poke his neck to annoy him, and he’ll swat you like a fly before cornering you against the car when you stop for food. You’ll shove him and march into the diner. He’ll stomp after you and sit too close in the booth, making you press your thighs together with every mocking word. He’ll flirt with the waitress, and you’ll daydream about throttling her every time she bats her eyes. Dean will keep your knees against each other’s, while he gets her number, and you’ll pour a bunch of salt over his pie when he goes to the bathroom.

You’ll shove at each other, until one of you snaps and stomps away. You’ll cry yourself to sleep that night, because he hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

But you don’t even have any tears left, and Dean doesn’t hate you.

He just can’t stand to look at you, now that he knows you love him.

Sam gives you worried looks, while Dean glares silently at the road. His fingers drum on the wheel, and you hug yourself tight. He might not be looking at you, but you can’t stop looking at him. If he asks you to leave, it will kill you. If he doesn’t ask you, but never speaks to you again, you’ll just wither away into nothing. But you can’t be the one to break the silence. You’ll only make it worse.

You stop at a diner, and the waitress has the biggest boobs you’ve ever seen and the kind of honeyed smile that usually makes Dean smirk.

Today he doesn’t even look at her. You have to order for him, which makes the waitress glare at you, as if you’re responsible for him sulking so much he doesn’t care about boobs—and you are, but she has no way to know that—and you give her a tight smile.

Dean doesn’t thank you for the food, but he looks at you for the first time all day. You blink at him, biting back the pout threatening your lips. You’re not going to break here, in broad daylight, with Sam right there.

Dean lets out a slow exhale through his nose, and looks back to his food. You blink away the useless sting behind your eyes, biting your inner cheek until it’s swollen. Sam gives you a pitying look. You shoot him a glare.

“He still sat next to you.” Sam mutters while Dean checks you into a motel, that night. “Whatever happened, he’s not that mad at you-“

“Sammy!” Dean calls from the desk. “The lady needs our IDs!”

Sam sighs, going through his pockets as he walks over.

Dean’s gaze meets yours, and you flush. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you fucking hate it. You thought you knew all his expression. You thought you knew him. You thought he’d at least have the guts to turn you down like a man.

Instead his tongue flicks over his lips, and he rips his gaze back to the desk attendant. You hate her. You hate him. You love him. Your head hurts, overflowing with too many thoughts that you can’t even pick them apart. You want to scream and cry and run and sink into the floor. It’s not fair of him, to do this to you. You’re going to be sick. You want to drown your sorrows in as many drinks as you can find.

You settle for curling into your bed, hiding your face in the pillows, and crying until your body is limp and your throat is sore. He knows you love him. He hates you. He’s never going to look at  you again, and you’re going to turn into a ghost. An evil, angry ghost. One of the ghosts that he has to kill. Then he’s going to kill you, and you’re going to turn into a demon, then you’re going to start the apocalypse again, and everyone ever is going to die because you told Dean you love him.

You cry until you can barely breathe, then a little while after. It was silent. There was no way Sam and Dean would hear it, even through the door joining your rooms.

But there’s a creak, and you sniff, turning your head just enough that Sam will be able to hear you.

“I’m fine, Sam-“

“Not Sam.” Dean mutters, and you freeze.

You don’t move. You don’t dare. Dean clears his throat, and you hear him shifting on his feet. He’s close enough to be fully through the door. You hear it close behind him, and bunch the sheets in your arms.

“I- Uh- I was hopin’ we could talk?”

You still don’t move. Dean coughs. His voice is even rougher than usual. Normally, if you had the brainpower, you’d be worried about him.

“Can you look at me?”

You scowl at the pillow in your face. “No.”

Dean mutters your name, and you cut him off with short words.

“Go away, Dean.”

“No, we need to- I got some shit to say, alright-“

“I don’t care.”

“Trust me, princess, you’re gonna care about this-“

“Stop calling me that!” The words rip from your throat, sudden and broken.

You flip over, moving to your knees, and Dean stumbles back like you punched him. His face is red, and there are bags under his eyes. He’s still handsome.

Asshole.

“I-“

“Shut up.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes at his slack expression. “Stop- Stop calling me princess and sweetheart and- and acting like you fucking care about me! It’s fucking cruel, Dean, it was a dick move before and now- Now you know.” Your voice cracks. You can’t even say it again. “Now you know, alright? You know what I- How I am! And I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have told you, but I was drunk, and I- I was tired, and you were being nice and you’re never nice to me-“

Dean opens his mouth, and you chuck a pillow right at his chest.

“No.” You spit, pushing up higher on your knees. “No, you don’t get to talk now. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t need- You don’t have to tell me! I get it, I know what you’re going to say!” You thought you were out of tears. You were wrong. “I’m just a stupid little girl, and you see me like a fucking sister or whatever, I don’t know what I’m talking about and I don’t know how I feel and you- You’d never-“ You choke on your own words. “You’d never feel-“

He moves quickly. You don’t even get the chance to throw another pillow.

Dean grabs your face between his hands, pulling right up into his. Dean kisses you, and your sharp words dissolve into a surprised sound, then a tiny moan.

His mouth is demanding. Your lips are already parted, and when the moan pushes its way up from your chest, Dean pushes his tongue over yours with a grunt. It’s a messy and desperate, noses bumping and spit mixing. You try and shove back, but Dean just pushes further over you, and you dissolve into his touch. 

You’re panting, when he pulls away. He keeps his hands firmly planted, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lips and his shoulders heaving. His fingers are tangled in your hair. You feel small under his gaze, but not in the painful, ignored way like before. It’s like you’re being shielded. Like he’s trying to protect you from your own, spiraling thoughts by sucking them out of your face.

It’s working. You stare at him with an open awe you can feel in your chest, bubbling and light.

He kissed you.

His lips were soft and chapped in the best way, and he was even better at kissing than you imagined. He tasted a little sugary from the pie he had with dinner, and something richer that was just Dean. His touch on your is almost reverent, and you want to suck on his thumb to see if it tastes as good as his lips. You want to suck on every part of him. For science. You want, you want, you want. Dean kissed you, and now all you can feel—thundering through your bloodstream—is want.

He murmurs your name, scanning over your slack features. Your eyes flutter. His throat bobs.

“I’m gonna talk now.” He says, and you nod.

You should be shoving or fighting him, but he’s looking at you like you matter. And you’re far too tired to bother with anything but tears or pleas for more kisses right now.

“I thought-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low, dry laugh. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I got that now.” He gives you an amused, tired look. “But- Sweetheart, you called me a seductive manwhore last week.”

Your face burns a little. He’d been flirting with another waitress, at another diner. You’d wanted to slit her throat.

“Seductive is a compliment.” You mumble weakly, dropping your gaze to his chest. Dean chuckles.

“From where I was sittin’, it felt like you wanted to kill me.”

 You shake your head, the movement small between his hands. “You looked like you wanted me to fuck off. You always looked like you wanted me to fuck off-“

“No.” His grip tightens, and your attention shoots back up.

And you think you understand that expression. It’s heavy, and you have seen it before. But it’s always been a dull glint in his eyes, before he looks away.

Longing.

“Dean…” You whisper, and he leans down, pressing his brow to yours.

“I never want you to fuck off.” He mutters. “Never. Please- Don’t.”

His voice breaks. You reach up to grab his wrists, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I know I ain’t perfect. I know I’m old, and a dick, and I don’t got much to offer-“

“I like what you have to offer.” You whisper. His brow knits tighter. “I always liked it.”

Dean chuckles. “You shot me down. First time I offered it.”

“You wanted a hookup, I- I can’t do that-“

“I couldn’t either.” He looks at you under hooded eyes. “Not with you.”

You press your lips in a thin line, years of anger and sparring fading into a blur of a dull, bruising ache. He was always a wound you refused to heal. If he cuts you open any wider, you don’t think you’re going to have the option anymore.

“You didn’t seem interested.” Dean rasps. “You started- Lookin’ at me all weird and calling me names and-“

“I loved you.” You say it before you can think. Dean lets out a sharp breath, his weight pressing further down.

“But- I- You too.” He winces, like he hates the words. “I didn’t- It was never- Son of a bitch-“

He looks like it’s paining him to try and say it. And you know. You know he can’t, because he doesn’t even say it to Sam. 

But he looks like he’s going to cry. Dean never cries.

He means it. The thing you never let yourself dream of, he means it.

“I- You just- I wanted shit, and you seemed like you wanted nothin’ to do with me, so I-“

You move carefully, tugging that collar of his shirt down into the kiss. Dean goes rigid for a single, horrible second.

Then he almost melts.

His fingers dig into your skin like he can’t bear to let go. His body collapses over yours, his kisses going from the soft ones you started to fast and desperate. He kisses you like he’s trying to leave a mark, and you meet him with every bit off passion.

Dean folds you down, until you’re flat on the mattress. Your legs fly up to wrap around his torso, and he grabs one of your hands, tangling your fingers together. The kisses turn slow. A little more certain and controlled, Dean sucking on your lower lip before kissing the corner of your mouth, then your upper lip. You smile into the kiss, and a broken sound rumbles from his chest.

He pins your hands next to your head, squeezing once before he breaks away. He looks wrecked. He stares at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and your head buzzes, nice and clear of what ifs.

All that matters right now is Dean above you, and the electric heat in your body. How his hand fits so perfectly in yours. How your bodies are already molding together, and you’re both still fully clothed.

“You deserve better, baby.” He mutters, and you almost laugh.

There’s nothing better. There’s Dean, glorious and unreachable, and there’s everyone else.

“No.” You whisper, beaming up at him. “I don’t.”

Dean’s throat bobs. He lowers himself down slowly, pressing his lips slowly over yours. Like he’s still not fully sure. You hum happily into the kiss, and he takes the cue easily.

You lose yourself in him quickly. His lazy, passionate kisses and his hands, slowly tracing over your body. He starts with light touches near your hips and waist, every brush of his fingers making you shiver. You arch into it, when his thumb grazes the bare skin of your midriff. Dean groans, testing the waters with another slow graze of his fingers.

“Deeean…” You breathe against his lips, and he grunts.

“You’re so soft.” He mutters, slipping his hand under your shirt. “So fuckin’ reactive and soft.”

You whimper, heels digging into his back as he teases his fingers up your spine. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Not teasin’.” He nips at the corner of your mouth. “Just sayin’ things that are true, baby. Not my fault they make you all stupid.”

Your breath hitches, your head tipping back as your legs spread slightly. Dean hums, interest flashing in his gaze. He noticed. Of course he did. He notices everything.

“You like that?” He drawls, kissing over your cheek, then down your neck. “You like bein’ called baby? Or called stupid.”

His hand drifts up your side, until his thumb is grazing under your breast. The sensation, combined with his dirty words, makes your hips roll. A dizzy, pleased sigh escapes your lips. Dean chuckles, rubbing his thumb in a tight circle. His lips graze a sensitive spot on your neck, and your hips roll again.

“I think you like both.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Dirty girl, bet you’re already wet for me.”

You whimper, the sound turning to a sharp gasp when Dean shoves his knee right between your thighs. You buck off the bed at the sudden pressure, eyes glazing and mouth hanging open.

Dean sucks on that sensitive spot, and your whole body shivers. You can’t stand to not move, not with the heat of him all around you. His thumb drags up, brushing over your nipple right as his tongue flicks against your skin. You start to mindlessly grind against his knee, chasing just a little bit more friction. Dean chuckle, biting softly at your neck before bullying his knee further against your clothed cunt.

“That’s it.” He growls in your ear. “Messy fuckin’ girl, already humping my leg. You need it that bad, sweetheart? Can’t even wait for me?”

“I- I’m sorry-“ You whine, trying to stop your body from moving.

It doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Dean slips his hand from under your shirt and grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze onto his, and his attention just fuels the wildfire under your skin. You need him, and form of him you can get. You need him harsh and all over your body, until there’s are marks you won’t be able to wash away in the morning. You need him to claim you so deeply neither of you can back out.

Dean watches you with a gentle, but sharp awe. Like he’s trying to memorize the scene below him, that you’re sure is quiet a sight. You fucking his leg like a dog in heat, your adoration and love finally allowed to pour all over your face.

“Need you,” you breathe out, grabbing his wrist. “Need you so bad, Dean.”

A low rumble leaves his chest, his eyes getting darker with every tiny moan from your lips. His attention is almost too much. You try and turn your face into the sheets, but he tugs it back with barely a flick of his wrist.

“Dean, please-“

“Look at me.” He taps your cheek with one finger, slamming his knee forward.

Your glossy, tear-stained eyes dart to his, and he smirks. It’s soft, but dangerous. He smiles down at you, and another breath of his name escapes your lips.

“What do you want, sweet girl?” He murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Use your words.”

It takes you a second to remember how. “You,” you breathe out, and Dean’s jaw ticks. “Want you, Dean, always wanted you-“

“I know, baby,” he coos, leaning slowly down. Your noses bump, and you whimper, closing your eyes. “You want me so bad it hurts, don’t you. Bet your little pussy is fuckin’ calling my name, begging me to stuff her up.”

“Yes,” you nod, bobbleheaded and dizzy. “Oh my god, yes-“

“But how.” His voice turns stern, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Do you want me? Soft? Or,” he pushes your further down onto his knee, and your eyes roll a little back. “Hard?”

Dean drags his thumb over your lips, squeezing your cheeks into a tiny pout. You try to keep fucking his knee, but he’s got you pinned so hard against it that you can’t move. You’re trapped in a cruel kind of heaven, with everything right on the brink of falling, and Dean holding you over the edge by the nape of your neck.

“Hard,” you whisper, dragging your eyes open to meet his. He needs to see it. How bad you want him. “Wanna- Ohh-“ Your lashes flutter, as Dean starts to slowly grind his knee against your core. “Wanna feel you. All of you. Don’t- Don’t hold back.”

His grip on your jaw tightens. His voice drops a full octave. “Baby, are you-“

“Yes.” You smile at him, already a little drunk on his everything. “I trust you.”

And that seems to be what gets him. Dean blinks at you for a second, the façade of pure control slipping. You know it’s a game, and that when you’re done he’s going to coddle you like a princess. But you’re not sure he knew you knew. Not sure he understood that, even when you thought he hated you, you would’ve placed your life in his hands without even a beat of hesitation.

Dean leans down, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. His hand pulls from yours, and he wraps his arm around your lower back. His fingers tickle your sides a little, teasing the side of your breast, and you giggle. Dean grunts, pushing you further into the mattress. It just makes you giggle more.

“Somethin’ funny?” He mutters, and you can hear it again. He’s back in this. It sends a shivering thrill through your body.

You need more. And you shake your head, trying to test just how much it takes him to snap.

“You’re laughin’ like something’s funny.” Dean leans back up, glaring down at your lovedrunk, giddy expression.

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You’re about to be fucked into next week.

“Look at you.” He mutters, palming at your breast through your shirt. You gasp, arching into the touch, and Dean chuckles. “You’d do anything I told you, huh. Just to make me fuck you.”

You shake your head, and Dean chuckles.

“Don’t lie, princess. Good girls don’t lie to me.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs press around Dean’s knee, the grind of your hips short and uncontrolled. He lets you writhe below him, smirking at the pants that escape your lips.

“Does it hurt?” he coos, smearing some spit over your cheek. “Your pussy aching, baby girl? Already can’t take it?”

“N- No.” You choke out. “I can take it-“

“Doesn’t seem like you can.” He mutters, scanning over your limp body. “I’m not even touchin’ you and you’re about to cum. Can’t believe you’re that fucking easy.”

You whimper, shaking your head. “I- I’m not easy-“

“Yeah?” Dean mocks. “How many other guys you fucked?”

“Two. Just two-“

“They make you feel like this?”

“No- Never-“

“Damn right. They don’t.” Dean grunts. “You’re mine, princess. My fuckin’ girl.”

You whimper, heat rushing through you at the possession in his voice. You are his. He has no idea, how completely and totally his you are.

“Say you’re mine.” Dean orders, and you nod.

“Yours. All yours, Dean, I’m- Fuuuck-“

He pinches your nipple rolling it between two fingers. Your hips try to buck off the bed, but he’s pinned you down too well.

“Fuck- Dean- You can’t just-“

You moan, and he chuckles.

“Oh, baby.” He leans back down, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Dean nips on your lower lip, then rises back up, patting your cheek.

“Open.”

You do, without a thought. He chuckles, leans down, and spits right into your swollen lips.

“Swallow.” He grunts, and you obey.

You lick your lips for good measure. Just to see how he’ll react. His mouth falls a little open, a deep, possessive sound rumbling chest.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost fully to himself. “So fuckin’ eager. You ready to listen, princess?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and add for good measure. “Please.”

 Dean’s lips twitch. “Beggin’ and I don’t even have you naked yet. We should fix that.”

“Fix what-“

“Stand up.” Dean drags you upright with steady, but firm hands.

You follow his lead, letting him move you off the mattress and onto shaking legs. He keeps you between his spread knees, smirking up at your confused expression. He’s got one hand, steadily rubbing the back of your thigh.

“Strip.” He orders, and your cheeks burn.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off, when he just raises his brows. God, if he wasn’t begging you for attention fifteen minutes ago, you’d be putting up more of a fight. Just for the show of it. To prove that you’re perfectly capable of thinking for yourself. That you don’t need him at all.

But you think he knows that. And for once, you don’t want to have to think at all.

You peel off your clothing slowly, burning under Dean’s gaze. He’s tracking every movement, dragging over every bare inch of skin. Your top goes first, and his hands fly right up to palm your breasts. His hand is big and warm, and you bite back a tiny moan.

Dean smirks, leaning slowly forward to trail open, wet kisses over the valley of your breasts. You weave your fingers through his hair, your breath stuttering. You fumble with your bottoms. It’s a little hard to focus, with his tongue swirling around your sensitive, peaked nipple.

“Shit- Dean-“ You take a deep breath, tugging at his soft, short locks. “That’s- Mmmm-“

He sucks lightly, and you lean fully over his chest. He chuckles, flicking his tongue back and forth, and all you can think of is that sinful mouth against your core.

“I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” He kisses your nipple, before switching to the neglected one. “For me.”

You swallow, grabbing at the hem of your bottoms and tugging them down. Dean grabs a handful of your ass, slapping it once before dipping his fingers down between your thighs. You collapse over him with a weak noise, and Dean just laughs. The shame in how quickly he’s unraveling you, how wet you know you are, it just makes you ache for him more. He’s got you, needy and in the palm of his hand. He knows it. And still, he touches you like he’s been waiting to his whole life.

“That’s my girl.” He mutters. “Son of a bitch, you’re so fuckin’ wet. You been walkin’ around like this? Waiting to get bent over and turned into my little cockslut.”

“Ye- Yes.” You press your face into his hair, nails scratching at his neck. “Oh my god, Deean-“

 “Yeah. That’s right.” Dean hums as you grind down onto his fingers, teasing between the lips of your pussy. “Barely even fuckin’ touching you, and you’re soaking my hands. Jesus,” he laughs, the sound vibrating against your chest. “You’re getting wetter every time I talk.”

You keen, when the tip of his forefinger grazes your clit. It’s like being struck by lightning, making your whole body rush with pleasure and your pussy clench around nothing. He flicks it, just that once, then pulls away. You hug his head tighter, begging between your every moan.

Dean doesn’t budge. He rubs over your pussy without touching your clit again, muttering dirty words against your skin.

“Look at you,” he kisses your shoulder. “My pretty fuckin’ girl.”

“Dean-“

“Come on.” He slaps your ass again, and your knees give a little. “Like I couldn’t make you cum just from talkin’ to you.”

You flush, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you fully into his lap. Dean pauses, at the way you shiver, and pulls back. You try to avoid his gaze, but he isn’t having it. He grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, eyes gleaming and playful.

“Oh, I could, couldn’t I.” He smirks. “You’d cum for me just sittin’ here, letting me call you names.”

“No.” Your protest is short. Weak. Dean looks at you like he’s just pulled the sweetest bunny into his trap, and he wants to eat you alive.

He pulls you down for one of those kisses that’s too slow and sweet. It’s almost mocking, with how his cock is straining against his jeans, pressing into your thigh. You dissolve into it, lowering your guard against your better judgement. Dean squeezes your ass, rubbing where he’d spanked before. Your knees are jelly, your core pressed right against his denim-clad bulge.

Jesus, he must be massive. Just the idea makes you shiver, and Dean smiles against your lips.

“You’re bein’ so patient,” he coos, massaging your hips. “You trust me, don’t you? You know I’m gonna fuck you real good.”

You hum an agreement, smiling from the praise. Dean combs his fingers through your hair, sucking on your lower lips before pulling slightly back.

“You’re ready, aren’t you? I could fuck you right now and you’d take me like I was lubed up.”

You whimper, and Dean pushes you further onto his bulge.

“You gonna let me own you, sweet girl? Let me make you the dirty fuckin’ cumslut you wanna be.”

“Deaan-“ You gasp weakly. “Don’t be mean-“

“Why?” He kisses your cheek. “You like it. You’re the one who said you wanted it, baby. And fuckin’ gush,” he runs his hand between your thighs. “Every fuckin’ time I call you my dirty little girl.”

He’s right. Your pussy clenches, arousal dripping down your thighs. Dean laughs, manhandling you to stay upright as moves fully onto the mattress and lies flat on his back. You stare at him for a second, unable to move with his hold on your hips, but unsure what to do with yourself. You’re straddling him, watching with an open mouth as he pulls off his shirt and settles fully into the pillow. His cock is pushed right against your pussy. You grind down, and he hisses.

“Not yet.” He mutters at your pout. “Need to taste that sweet pussy. C’mere.”

He beckons, and your mouth falls open when you realize what he means.

“Dean, I can’t- You’re going to suffocate-“

“Nobel death.” He grins, and you scowl.

“I don’t want you to die the first time we have sex.”

“First time?” He wiggles his brows. “You’re gonna let me come back for seconds?”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

“So am I, can we do an all you can eat kinda situation-“

“Dean Winchester.” You shove his chest, and the idiot just laughs. “I’m not- I’m not doing that. I don’t want to hurt you, that’s- I’m not-“

“Hey.” Dean grabs your hand, squeezing it gently. You meet his gaze, and it’s a million times softer than before. “It’s okay. This ain’t gonna hurt me, I swear, but if you just don’t wanna, I have a lotta other ways to make us both feel good.”

He drags his thumb over your knuckles, and you take a deep breath. You hadn’t realized it. You were about to cry again.

You peer at Dean through your lashes, and he offers you a boyish, gentle smile.

“Promise it won’t hurt you?” You whisper, and he nods.

“Swear on your life.”

You nod, slowly and carefully. Dean opens his mouth—probably about to ask if you’re sure—but you’re already crawling up his chest.  

He smiles, rubbing your thighs as you settle them on either side of his head. You take a deep breath, your hands fidgeting and unsure where to rest. Dean grabs them and guides them into his hair, before kissing the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, and you almost collapse straight over him.

He laughs, digging his dull nails into your ass. “Sweetheart, point of this is you sitting on my face.”

“I- I am-“

“You’re hovering. That ain’t sittin’.”

“I don’t want to crush you-“

“You won’t.” He sighs, kissing the opposite thigh. “I got you, right?”

You nod. He trails the kisses upwards, close to where you’re sure you’re dripping on his beard. His eyes never leave yours.

“You trust me?” He rasps, warm breath fanning over your pussy.

“Of- Of course I trust you-“

“Good.” Dean kisses your clit, sloppy and using his tongue to flick the little button back and forth.

You almost shriek, the sensation overwhelming. You squirm, unsure if you’re trying to get closer or wiggle away. Dean makes the choice for you.

“Hold on.” He grunts, right before yanking you right down onto his face.

And oh.

Oh god.

You’ve been eaten out before. Even by people who were good at it. Who enjoyed it. You came before, and walked away with no complaints.

Compared to this, they might as well have just spat on it and walked away.

Dean eats you out like he’s on a personal mission for honor between your legs. Like he lost something in your pussy and he’s trying to shake it loose. His jaw works like he’s devouring the finest food of his life, his tongue dragging and pumping in and out of your sensitive opening. His nose is pressed right against your clit, and he moves it with his full face, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.

“Fuuck- Fuck!” You cry out, yanking on Dean’s hair. “Dean- Oh- Oh my God-“

He moans, and the vibration makes it better and worse all at once. You’re trembling, no way to escape it, no way to feel it less. Dean massages your ass as he works, keeping you pinned to his face, to the pleasure he’s slowly dragging out of your body.

You pull his hair again, and his time he smacks your ass with his moan. Your back arches. You have to grab the bed frame to stop yourself from collapsing.

“Dean- Deeaaan-“

You chant the word like a prayer. It’s all you can remember. The infernal man below you laughs, and you push down harder into his wet, open mouth. He grunts, and doubles his efforts. His tongue traces around your pussy before shoving back into your tight cunt, and you clench around him with a whimper.

He tightens his grip on your hips, dragging them slowly back and forth. Guiding you into fucking his face. You follow his rhythm, and swear you can feel him everywhere in your body. Your nerves light up, with every stroke of his tongue and bump of his nose on your clit. Your mouth hangs open, and you pant as you try to hold off your orgasm, building up and up and up in your core.

One of his hands disappears from your body. You’re too lost in his mouth below you to notice, until you hear it.

The sound of slapping skin, mixed with Dean’s increasing moans below you. You manage to find enough of a mind to look over your shoulder, and the sight shoots straight to your pussy, gushing on Dean’s face.

He’s fisting his cock, thick and long and a little curved. He beats it into his hand, the head angry and red, coated in a thick layer of pre-cum. You twist back around looking down at his face between your thighs, and find him staring back.

He’s been staring the whole time. Eyes dark and wrecked, fixed on you as you writhed and moaned above him. He’s getting off to it. To having you like this.

Dean moans—fully, totally moans—into your pussy, his eyes never leaving yours.

And you can’t hold it off.

“Dean- I- I’m gonna-“

He squeezes your ass, moaning against your pussy again.

Permission.

You cum with a cry of his name, grinding down onto his face through your orgasm. Your vision goes white, your whole body shaking and seizing up as Dean’s tongue strokes you through it. He doesn’t stop when you’re a trembling, dazed mess above him. He slowly shifts you backwards, cradling your body as sits up, forcing your back into the sheets, between his legs.

He kisses your clit gently, eyes shining on your unfocused, glossy ones.

“Taste better than I imagined.” He murmurs, slowly moving you further up the bed. “And trust me, baby. I lost a whole lotta sleep imagining.”

You swallow, eyes darting to his still hard cock. Dean follows your hungry gaze, then laughs, angling it to rub between the lips of your pussy.

“You’re really that needy, huh.” He teases. “Not enough for just my mouth. Gotta have my cock, too.”

You hum, too lost in the feeling to even protest. You’re flat on your back, legs hiked up in the air and over Dean’s shoulder, fully exposing your poor, swollen pussy to him. He slides his cock right between the slick lips, the tip bumping your clit. You pout up at Dean, spreading your legs wider to try and urge him on. He raises his brows, pausing with his cock pressed over your clit.

“Already too fucked out to talk?”

You nod, and pride and worry mix in his eyes.

“Baby, if you need me to take it easy-“

You shake your head frantically. He promised no holding back. You want to be sore from him in the morning.

Dean sighs, lowering your legs so he can lean over your face. You glare at him, grinding your hips up against him. He pins you back to the bed with a single hand sprawled on your abdomen and a stern look.

“There’s gonna be more time for it to be rough.” He murmurs. “I been plenty mean tonight. And I love it, sweetheart, I do, but I’m gonna love anything-“

“Dean.” You push out, your voice wrecked and hoarse. “Hard. Please.”

“Are you-“

You push up on weak elbows, capturing his mouth against yours. Dean leans down, kissing you with every bit of adoration and softness he’s about to rip away for the sake of pleasure. You smile against the kiss, boneless and happy, and Dean grunts. 

“Alright.” He mutters, the darkness in his voice sending a chill down your spine. “You get what you ask for, baby girl.”

Yes.

You’d say it, if he hadn’t already stolen most of the words from your body. And you thought that it was bad before.

Dean slowly shoves himself into your dripping cunt, and you can’t remember your own fucking name.

He’s big. So big you’re not sure how you’re fitting him. His hand on your abdomen pushes you deeper into the mattress, forcing you to take every thick, veiny inch of him. You whimper, and the sound gets swallowed by Dean’s lips.

“Feel that?” He hisses, tone harsh in the way that sends a thrill to your core. “Feel my cock, filling up your tight little pussy?”

You nod, mouth hanging open. Dean bottoms out with a grunt, pulling your hips roughly up to let him hit a deeper angle. You mewl, eyes rolling back at the burning, perfect stretch of him.

“That’s right.” He mutters, rutting into your wet, hot channel. “This is what you fuckin’ begged for, princess. To be a brainless little cockslut. You can’t even talk right now, can you? Just gonna lay there and look pretty while I do all the work?”

Tears prick at your eyes. You’re so full you almost don’t think you can handle it.

Dean isn’t going to give you much of a choice.

“Damn right you are.” He mutters to himself, dragging almost fully out of you before slamming back in, knocking the air from your lungs.

You sob with pleasure, reaching up to grab at his face. Dean kisses your wrist, repeating the motion with an even harsher thrust than before.

“That’s it.” He grunts, pushing over your as he finds a brutal pace. “That’s my girl. Fit me like a glove, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever fucked, so good for me, so fuckin’ good-“

Dean groans, crashing his lips over yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding on for dear life as he fucks stars behind your eyes and lightning through your body. If you weren’t ruined for him before, you are now. There isn’t another man in the world, who could reduce you to such a sobbing, wrecked mess while fucking you like a doll, then kiss all over your face like you’re the most important thing in the world.

He’s handling your body like it only exists for him to fuck. Grabbing your hips and breasts like they’re toys, positioning in the best way for him to hit you deeper. So deep he’s finding burning, pleasurable spots in you that you hadn’t known existed before, that make your whole body light up with pleasure. You can feel him in your throat, though every single inch of you, his muscles flexing and chest heaving and cock drilling into you until your pussy is drooling and he’s just sliding in and out.

But he kisses you like he’s a soldier being sent off to war. Rough and desperate, but loving. With all the fervor of a man who’s trying to something both of you have lost the words for. You return his every kiss, and his thrusts get sharper. Deeper.

You make sounds that are supposed to be his name. The room fills with the obscene sound of his cock, pounding into your cunt. You tip your head back and he starts to bite and suck on your throat, like he really can’t find enough of you to worship.

“Shit, baby-“ He presses his nose against your jaw, voice cracking as the bed creaks beneath you both. “Gonna- Gonna fuckin’- Where’d you want it-“

You grab his shoulders, yanking him fully down. Dean groans, doubling over and pressing his mouth back over yours.

“Come with me, sweetheart, c’mon- Milk my fuckin’ cock-“

His thumb slips between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight, unforgiving circles. You scream silently, as your orgasm hits you like a train. Dean fucks you through it, moaning your name as he chases his own release. White hot cum paints your inner walls, and Dean fucks it back into you with rough grunts and shorter thrusts.

You think you might be floating. You’ve never been this stuffed up, this warm. All the mocking and harshness from Dean is gone, replaced by worshipful hands that caress your face and gentle kisses over every spot he played with. Neither of you seem ready to know. You know you aren’t at all, and Dean’s curled over you like a very heavy blanket.

You rub his back, smiling up at the ceiling. It’s quiet. You’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe forever.

Dean rises over you, still not pulling out. His eyes are glazed, his expression wrecked. You reach up to cup his cheek, and he leans into the touch.

“My girl.” He mutters, and even if he doesn’t say it like one, you know it’s a question.

“Your girl.” You whisper.

You’ve never seen him smile so wide, than before he leans back down to kiss you again.

And if you make him smile like that for the rest of your life, then you know you’ve done something right.

✦End note: the good thing about writing these fics is that it's fun. the bad thing is that i've set my standards WAY too high. ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

after a reluctant introduction to your mother, jake seresin snags an invite to dinner— not just any dinner, but tom kazansky’s annual navy summer cookout, or whatever he called it these days. all of your uncles and aunts from the service piled onto the lawn and the house, around the lake.

you loved the summer, especially the cookout. at fifteen, you’d snuck your first beer— gotten hammered on the shitty bud lights in the coolers scattered around. bradley realized first, and panicked. he was acne faced and scared. bradley was enlisting soon, to the detestation of his mother.

carole bradshaw was like an aunt to you— your mother and her were good friends, getting lunch and going to book clubs together whenever it was possible. you don’t remember when uncle goose died; but daddy told the story a lot, how he went down while mav was flying: don’t bring up that kind of thing around him, won’t get you any good. he’d warn.

when carole got sick, it was all hands on deck to take care of both her and bradley. she passed at the end of that summer, pete pulled bradley’s papers from the academy, and you seemingly were with rooster every night. it was a tough couple months, trying to be there for bradley while also balancing school. he was forever grateful for your presence that year, though. it helped him feel less alone, mad at the world.

bradley’s sitting beside you on the deck. you’re focused elsewhere however; across the yard, jake is stood beside your father at the grill. every guy you’d ever brought home was infatuated with your father, asking him questions, hearing his stories. it was different though, jake was navy too. your father harbored deep admiration for any and every aviator.

bradley shoves at you— grinning. he was like an older brother, he really didn’t want jake to break your heart. he loved his friend, he did. but bradley also knew what jake was like. he knew what jake did to girls. he didn’t want you to be another one of jake’s conquests. “what, squirt? worried that ice is taking your boyfriend from you?”

you scowl, elbowing him. you don’t take take eyes off jake across the lawn, muttering: “he’s not my boyfriend, keep it down— but, like— what could they possibly be talking about over there?” bradley leans over, confused. you turn to look at him and huff. his brown eyebrow raises, and the two of you start to bicker— you threaten to rip his mustache off his upper lip, when jake appears before you.

“do you two ever do anything other than argue?” he smirks. he’s eyeing you over his sunglasses; you can feel his glare in your gut, heat curling around your belly. since yesterday on base, he occupied your thoughts. bradley shoves at your shoulders. you nod frantically;

“we— yes, we do.” you sputter over your words. jake looks around the lawn, hands tucked in his pockets.

jake grins down at you, making a soft clicking noise with his pretty lips and nodding toward the house. his fingers beckon you closer, like calling a dog. you make an effort to peer around— your whole family is focused on other things, bradley shrugs. you reach for jake’s hand, letting him pull you toward the house.

the house is cold, empty. charlie’s napping on the couch in the foyer, some football game on the TV. jake stops at the top of the grand staircase, you collide with his back, cursing. he’s taken a framed photo off the wall, and is holding it, grinning. it’s of you, from graduation.

jake holds it up beside your face. “oh honey, aren’t you just a little cutie pie?” he coos, mocking you. you shush him, batting at his chest— yanking the photo from him. carefully, you hang it back on the wall. you shove jake into your bedroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

growing up, you weren’t allowed a lock on your door. you’d snuck over one too many boys in highschool— but when you’d graduated you managed to convince your father to reinstate it; if only he knew now.

your bedroom hasn’t changed since highschool. your comforter was pink and frilly, pictured with girls you didn’t even talk to on your bulletin board— old color coded calendar reading may 2016 jam packed with parties and shifts from the ice cream parlor downtown. posters hang on the walls of old favorite movies and artists you haven’t listened to in years.

jake hums, finger tracing over a photo of you grinning with bradley. he runs his finger over your cheek— the nosy bastard is taking his time savoring your space. six years ago, when you were starting highschool, he was in college. you’re a bit embarrassed of your childish little bedroom.

he finds a picture— your school photo from freshman year. you were wearing your purple glasses, braces. your hair was curled all cute and you looked adorable. jake turns to you; “hey, baby? can i keep this one?”

you shrug, nodding. “i don’t see why not— why do you want it?” you bounce on the balls of your feet. jake pockets the picture:

“want it for my wallet.” he smiles, stepping closer to you, he lifts your arms, wrapping them snug around his neck. you smile up at him, bashful. he was so dreamy, a prince charming. it was like he’d come right off the page of a fairytale. tall, tan, blonde.

“we shouldn’t—” you whisper quietly, your warm breaths rolling from your lips. his dexterous fingers lift, brushing hair behind your ear. you tried— really tried— not to get too attached to jake. it had been literally one day.

usually, you had to force yourself to like a guy. the ick came quickly; bad breath, ugly laugh, stupid haircut. you tried to find it with jake, but he was perfect. you could never tell him that, though. that son of a bitch.

“why?” he hums, he’s not pushy. his eyes are focused on yours so intently it makes you shiver. you turn your head, looking away from him. he lifts two fingers, moving your fake to look back at him. “not so fast, little miss.”

you glare up at him “my whole family is here, and men you respect from the navy. anyone could walk in and— i’m not in the mood to deal with it.” he sighs, backing away a step. you feel cold, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself.

he turns to you, tugging you close by your hips. stumbling, you collide with his chest. you peek up at him, embarrassed. “think you can lie to them tonight?” he hums, “after fireworks or whatever?” you nod, confused.

“yeah— why?” you tilt your head.

jake smiles, flicking your forehead. “you could stay over my place, baby. tell ‘em you’re staying at a friends house or somethin’. you were teasin’ me all day today and yesterday. need you f’real.”

you smile up at him, nodding. he was a real sweet talker— he could talk you into anything. “fine. after fireworks.” you point at him, “and no funny business. it’s bad enough bradley knows!” your voice is scolding, but jake cuts you off with a kiss.

“no promises.” he coos against your lips. you nudge him away, brushing past him on your way to the door. jake delivers a firm smack to your ass on your way by— shrieking, you slap him.

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later that evening, you’re stood on the dock, next to bradley. jake’s on his other side, eyes fixed on you. you’ve got a blanket wrapped snug around your shoulders— you loved fireworks. even as an adult.

you and your sisters help your mother clean up the lawn as people slowly start filling out one by one. jake and bradley are talking with your daddy and charlie. your dads loud, abrasive laugh echoes across the warm night air. the two men approach you next—

“see ya later, birdie.” bradley smiled, pressing his lips to your temple. he smells like beer, sweat, and his cologne, it was weird to say, but his smell always put you at ease— it was so uniquely bradley bradshaw. jake turns to you and nods. you’d almost forgotten you were sneaking over to his place after.

“later princess.” he nods, before turning and shaking your mothers hand— thanking her for her hospitality. she was a big fan of lieutenant seresin. she reminded her of your father; that’s why. they depart soon after, and your phone lights up with a text:

jake

address is 74 wood field ave

my neighbors are old

text me when u get here ;)

you can’t help but roll your eyes at jake’s texts. he texted like a college kid still, even at twenty six. you send him a thumbs up and approach your mother. “hey mama?” she hums, looking up at you curiously.

“do you mind if i stay at melanie’s tonight? i haven’t seen her in a while.” you smile— laying it on real thick. your mama was the glue of the household, sarah kazansky had a sixth sense for sensing bullshit; which meant you were a fantastic liar. she nods, telling you to drive safe.

in the house, your dad is in the living room, reading some old war book. you walk up to him, smiling. “i’m heading over to melanie’s for the night, daddy. i’ll see you tomorrow. love you.” you kiss his cheek and he smiles— for a man called ice man, he was a big softie.

“alright, lovebug. careful driving— people drink and drive a lot on the fourth.” you nod; before making your way upstairs. you pack overnight clothes into a little bag, and change into your sexy underwear. jake made you feel giddy.

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you send jake a quick ‘here’ text when you pull up in the driveway. his house is cute— an american flag on the flagpole, white with blue shutters, a manicured lawn. you can imagine his elderly neighbors watching him mow his grass— you feel hot.

jake is leaving in the doorway, waiting for you. as you prance your way up the steps of the porch, you grin at him. “lieutenant.” you salute, smiling wider. jake rolls his eyes, pulling you inside with him. he makes quick work at kissing you, sliding your bag off your shoulders and letting it drop on his welcome mat.

you pull away, giggling. shouldering past him, you look around his house— the pictures of family on the mantle, the throw blanket on the couch, the magnets on his fridge. it’s neat, military clean but lacking personality— he’s watching you dissect him, smiling.

“not bad, seresin.” you grin at him, returning to your spot before him. “less of a bachelor pad than i was expecting.”

jake grins. “didn’t have much faith in me, did you?” you didn’t, really. he laces his fingers with yours, bringing you down the hall to his bedroom. the wooden floorboards creak below your feet. jake nudges the door closed behind you both.

you lift up a photo of a woman on his nightstand. “who’s this?” you hum softly, “she’s beautiful.”

jake’s usually cocky expression is gone now, watching softly. “that’s my mama.” you didn’t know much of anything about jake’s family. you knew he had sisters and was from texas, but that was it.

you hum, biting your lip. “how many siblings do you have again?” jake reaches his hand out, tugging your lip free from your teeth.

“four, just like you. three sisters n’ me.” he hums, “i’m second in the order— my sister charlotte’s three years older, than me, stella was two years after me and my baby sister julie is eighteen.” he gets this soft little look in his eyes when he talks about his sisters, its cute.

he lifts his gaze to look at you, and reaches over to flick your forehead. “i don’t want to talk about them now. i want to focus on you.” his voice is all low and gravelly, it makes you swoon.

you sit back blindly on his bed, the backs of your thighs brushing the quilt. he moves closer to you, cupping your face in his hands.

jake’s lips are warm and soft against yours, and you can taste his chapstick on his mouth and smell the sunscreen on his cheeks. he kisses with purpose; holding your face like it’s sacred and smacking his lips against yours.

he nudges you back against his bed, grunting. his hands are everywhere; tugging your dress up, feeling up the warm skin of your thighs. your breath stills in your throat, jake pulls back enough to look into your eyes.

“you still okay with this?” you nod, frantic. jake smiles, kissing you again. your hands come up to pull at the black t-shirt he’s wearing. slowly, he pulls it over his head. you take a minute to admire him. the navy has been kind to jake seresin.

you drink him in. each ridge and valley of his tanned skin. the golden hair leading your gaze down to his jeans— he’s perfect. muscular in his arms and shoulders. your fingers come up to trace over his abdomen.

jake nudges your hands away, moving his hands to shift the straps of your dress down your arms. his fingers then shift to unzip the dress— freeing you. jake’s mouth moves down the column of your throat, your chest, and belly. you squirm under his touch.

“fuck,” you whine, nails making purchase in the skin of his shoulders. jake’s teeth scrape over the apex of your thigh. he wraps his big, heavy palms around your thighs; using them to nudge your legs open wide enough for him to lie between.

his eyes are heavily lidded, staring up at you. your fingers sift through his blonde hair, jake’s fingers lift, looping through your panties; sliding them down the length of your legs— he tosses them behind him.

“last chance t’say no.” he whispers, licking his lips. you shake your head at him, you would never dream of saying no to him, not when he looked at you like this.

jake makes his way back up your body— kissing a dark hickey into your throat. one of his hands is pressed firm against your belly, keeping you from thrashing around. “you finally gonna let me fuck you?” jake murmurs against your neck.

“please, jake,” you whine, hips lifting up off the mattress to smash against his. “m’so wet—” you plead, fingers snaking their way down into your panties. with one hand, jake collects both your wrists; pinning them over your head.

“baby, stop fuckin’ talking.” he smiles at you. “keep blabbing on and on, just lemme take care of you, yeah?” you trust him wholly, you do. slowly, you nod. lip between your teeth.

“open,” he murmurs, fingers pressed against your lips. obliging, your lips part wide enough to welcome his pointer and middle into the warm heat of your mouth. they press a gentle weight against your tongue. his eyes haven’t left yours; you whine around his digits—

jake released your wrists, his now free left hand moves under your back, unclasping the black lace bra you’re wearing. inch by inch, your bare skin is revealed until you’re fully nude before him. he looks wolfish, pupils wide in his pretty eyes.

your hands fumble with his belt, shaky and desperate to see him fully. he nudges your hands away, pulling his belt free in one swoosh. slowly, he unzips the denim and pulls it down his legs, stepping out of them. you feel like an animal, waiting for dinner.

he’s standing before you in his calvin klein underwear, smiling like a centerfold model. your hands move on their own, pulling him impossibly closer. jake laughs heartily, kissing you.

his fingers come down, brushing against the wet heat of your cunt. you’ve been dripping down your thighs since you got in his bedroom— he slips a finger inside of you, thumb rubbing against your clit. you’re squirming beneath him, tiny noises crawling up your throat and tumbling out of your lips.

he smiles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “please—” you beg him, eyes staring up into his. he nods, free hand brushing your hair from your face.

“gotta get you ready, baby.” he grins, cocky. “s’gonna hurt.” your nails dig into his shoulders, hiccuping desperately. jake pulls his fingers away, glistening. he brings them up to his lips, lapping them clean.

“don’t make me wait any longer, please,” you beg so pretty that jake can’t resist anymore. he’s propped himself above you, hand beside your head supporting his weight. he frees himself from his boxers. golden hair leads your gaze down his navel. he’s sculpted; his cock is slim, but long— a vein along the underside, his slit already leaking with precum.

you lick your lips subconsciously. jake positions his hips against yours. pelvis pressed against you. your hand guides him along to your hole, the head of him pressing into you. he inches inside slowly, the stretch makes your toes curl. when he finally bottoms out, jake presses a firm kiss to your head.

“okay, baby?” he coos, “you okay?” you nod. jake smiles.

he starts to fuck into you slowly, grunting with each press against you. you make yourself busy, peppering kisses along his face each time it reaches you. jake groans deep whenever you clench around him.

“fuck— m’already fuckin’ close,” he murmurs, adjusting his pace. your head tips backward, moaning quietly into the still air.

“me too, fuck,” you hiccup. “please, jake. m’so close.”

“c’mon, baby— where do you want it?” he whispers, fists clenched around the pillows by your head.

“inside, jake, please— m’on the pill.” you beg him. you’d been dreaming about feeling him deliver his load inside of you all night. jake almost cums when you beg— but holds off another minute before he lets go.

you manage to hold on a few seconds after, finishing while he’s still sheathed inside of you. the both of you pant loudly for a moment before jake pulls out, grabbing a damp cloth and cleaning you up.

the wetness of the towel is cold against the heat of your cunt— and jake is careful, pressing kisses to your thighs. when he’s finished cleaning up, he curls up into his cool sheets beside you. you’re zonked; drooling on his pillow.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⟡ ݁₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅　

a few nights later, its girls night. you’ve been drinking at the hard deck since four— it’s currently ten thirty. everyone was back in town for the week, so you and some highschool friends were catching up over some drinks.

jake strolled in with his naval friends at nine fourty five— your head lifted, as if sensing his presence. his eyes meet yours, and he gives a firm nod. that was all you got? a nod? bradley spots you soon after, walking up and hugging you. he knows all your friends from highschool— he makes quick work greeting them all with polite handshakes.

it’s different, this time. usually you were the one to ignore your fling at the bar. hardly ever serious with any guys from school— it felt good to hurt their egos. without realizing it, you were suddenly on the receiving end of that ignorance.

your friends leave around ten fifteen— and you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to work up the courage to go up to them. his friends all know you through bradley; slamming your empty bottle on the table, you approach.

you snake your arms around jake’s slender waist, he yells in surprise— spinning around to look at his attacker: you. he looks confused. “uhm, hello?” he looks so handsome when he’s pretending to be a stranger.

you giggle up at him, reaching to squeeze at his cheeks. he nudges your hands away, holding your wrists down by your sides. he gives a nervous look around— nobody’s watching. “why are you ignoring me?” you whine, beaming up at him.

jake’s grip on your wrists is tight. “anyone who knows your father could be texting him right now— don’t risk this, baby.” he’s scolding you.

you huff, glaring at him. “so— what’re you saying? you’re embarrassed to be seen with me or somethin’?” your words are slurred, and jake realizes just how drunk you are. he hasn’t been this plastered since sophomore year of college.

he’s getting frustrated. “no, baby. you know it’s not that. we’re keepin’ this a secret, remember?” his brow lifts. his final straw comes when you try to lean up and smush your lips against his. jake firmly grasps your shoulders, steering you toward bradley and the other pilots.

“hey, rooster.” jake sighs, “she’s hammered. i’m gonna bring her home.” bradley nods, looking you over. you’re sweating, dress rumpled and pouting up at jake. bradley sighs.

“alright man— just. keep her safe and don’t be an ass. she’s sensitive.” jake nods, guiding you out of the bar. you stumble over your own feet, bradley watches like a hawk as the two of you leave.

natasha looks up, following bradley’s gaze. “he’s not— right?” she has heard all about jake’s lady killer behavior. “she’s like— really drunk.”

bradley shakes his head. “god no— he’s driving her home. offered to do it for me.” he nods. he can’t exactly tell the pilots jake had been sleeping around with their admiral’s daughter for the past few weeks.

javy whistles, smiling. “bagman’s trying to earn some brownie points with ice?” it’s a joke— but it suddenly dawns on bradley that this is what jake was doing. playing with your feelings for a promotion in the ranks; his jaw tightens.

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in the car, you fiddle with the AC, turning it way up and letting out a frazzled moan as the cool air blasts your overheated skin. jake’s gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white. you turn to look at him, sighing.

jake pulls up outside your parents house and you dart up in your seat. you were under the impression he was bringing you back to his place. “why are we here?” you slur, half yawning.

“where else would i bring you?” jake looks confused. “my place?” his tone is joking— but that is what you had thought. you’d been looking forward all night to crawling into his bed.

you pout, nodding. “yeah— don’t you want me, jakey?” he laughs, shaking his head. the age gap between you two had never been so apparent to him than right now. you were whining and pouting like a damn teenager.

“sweetheart, you and i both know that’s not the issue.” his tone is strict, like if he let his walls down he’d melt and lean across the console to kiss you silly.

“but i want you.” your tone is needy, jake sighs and shakes his head.

“you’re drunk out of your mind.” he’s not looking at you anymore, eyes fixed ahead of him. “i’m not going to take advantage of you.”

“you’re drunk too—” you try to argue, but you know deep down he’s sober. he would never drive you while he was drunk, he would never drive at all drunk.

“don’t try.” he’s interrupts, “i’m not going to fuck you tonight.” the words are clipped, they have to be.

“but—”

jake cuts you off again: “how many times do i have to fucking say it? i’m not going to take advantage of you!” he’s loud, voice raised. you shrink back in your seat.

“but i want you to!” you whine, arms crossed over your chest.

jake scoffs, turning to look at you. “what, you want me to take fuckin’ advantage of you? that shit turn you on?” you scowl, embarrassed. he’s usually all southern manners— but he’s swearing. it’s how you know he’s angry.

the two of you sit in tense silence for awhile. the only noise is the engine of his truck and the ticking of his watch.

you finagle with the door handle. beside you, jake sighs. he gets out of the car and comes around to open your door. you glare at him, taking his hand and climbing out of the car. he walks you to the door, hands on your shoulders.

before you unlock the front door he turns to you, he looks tired. he brushes your hair behind your ears and presses a firm kiss to your head. “call me. tomorrow.” you nod, he continues, “when you’re sober.”

he waits until you make it inside to get back in the car, he rests his head against the steering wheel, frustrated and tired. his phone dings— a text from bradley.

bradley

she get back okay?

jake

big fight. she’s home now

bradley

it’ll be okay

she’s a tough drunk

jake thumbs up the message, and drives back to his place.

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inside, you lean against the door, letting out a big breath. stood at the foot of the stairs is your mother— she’s been awaiting your arrival home.

“was that jake seresin bringing you home?” your mother crosses her arms over her chest. she had a serious expression on her face; guilt builds in your belly for making her wait up on you.

you nod. “yeah— he offered so bradley could stay at the bar—”

she cuts you off. “don’t you lie to me.” she reprimands. “i know your ways, little girl. don’t you mess up that boy’s life cause you want to rebel a little.”

your eyes widen— what?

she continues. “he has a future ahead of him in the navy. and he is four years your senior. you do this to nice boys all the damn time. so before you think about doin’ anything— don’t.”

you glare at her. “okay, mom— jesus. i’m not going to do anything. i don’t know why you think i’m such a slut.”

she gasps, scandalized. “don’t you use that language with me!” you throw your arms up and turn on your heel, marching upstairs to your bedroom. you slam your door behind you, collapsing into bed. instinctively you text jake.

you

i’m sorry about tonight

You crashed into him like gravity had been waiting years for this moment. His arms locked around you, solid and unshakable, and you clung back like a drowning person breaching the surface. 

The scent of mint and something uniquely him filled your lungs, and your knees nearly gave out from the relief of it. Of him. Emotion clogged your throat, and you closed your eyes. You’d missed him. You’d missed him so, so much, and it had killed you, not being able to be around him after everything that had happened. When they burned your mother alive, you’d had nothing left but the ghost of Xaden’s voice in your ears, and then he was gone too, like the world was determined to peel everything from you piece by piece. 

Now here he was, right where you needed him to be. 

You placed your chin on his chest, looking up . . . and up until you met those beautiful dark eyes. “Have you gotten taller?” 

His smile widened, a teasing tilt of his lips that had some hidden anxiety in your chest unfurling. “I think you’ve just gotten shorter.” His thumb rubbed circles at the base of your skull, and his eyes roved over your face like he was committing it to memory. 

Your body melted at the relaxing touch, and you couldn’t even be annoyed at his words. You tucked your head back against his chest, nuzzling into it once more. “Fuck you,” you muttered, but the words lacked any bite, your voice cracking a little as you burrowed into him. How could you be annoyed by the quip when it felt like the pieces of your broken soul might be starting to fit back together again?

A small chuckle left him, and you felt the slightest touch of his lips against the top of your head, sending warmth from his touch all the way to your toes. 

“Well, don’t mind me. I’ll just continue to stand here until someone remembers I exist.” A voice interrupted the tender moment. 

Turns out you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad about it either though. You’d missed that asshole too. “Might be standing there for a while then, Tavis.” You teased, turning your head against Xaden’s chest to grin at him. Your hands still lingered on Xaden, and you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t going to disappear if you weren’t touching him. 

“Ouch. Good to know you’re still insistent on keeping me humble.” Garrick’s grin was full of teasing as he held his arms open. “Now get over here and hug your second favorite person.” 

You didn’t want to let go. Every part of you screamed to stay, but you’d missed Garrick’s bear hugs. You peeled yourself away and ran the few feet to Garrick, letting him pull you into a hug so tight he lifted you off your feet. “I missed you, jerk.” You murmured, those emotions clogging your throat again. 

His tone turned serious, and he squeezed you so hard you could barely breathe. “I missed you too, half-pint.” Garrick said. 

You groaned at the nickname, and it made him laugh as he sat you down on the ground. “And that is why you’re only my second favorite person until Imogen gets here. Then you’re getting bumped down to third.” 

He shook his head at you, but smiled as he looked between you and Xaden. “Guess the real question is if you’re going to bump Xaden down too.” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you. 

You stuck your tongue out at him in a very mature way. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“I would.” Xaden said from behind you, his fingers brushing the small of your back again. 

You grinned over your shoulder at him, and couldn’t help but lean back into his touch. After going so long without it, you were going to soak up every second you had of his hands on your body. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” 

It was at that point they called all the new cadets to formation so they could sort all of you into wings. As you started heading to your designated locations, shivers exploded over your body when Xaden leaned down and whispered in your ear. “I already know the answer.” He whispered, warm breath ghosting your ear. “I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

You elbowed him in the side, pretending not to melt. Then you tucked that smile he was giving you away, top shelf, front and center, with all the others you’d never let yourself forget. 

——————————

You didn’t bother knocking anymore. You hadn’t knocked on Xaden’s door since the second day he moved into it. You barged in like you belonged there, like the air inside was easier to breathe than your own. You passed the desk where he sat in a chair, quill in his hand as he worked through what you assumed was homework, and flopped yourself across his sheets. Your limbs were splayed, and you sank into the familiar softness. His scent clung to the sheets, mint and leather, and it wrapped around you like a second skin. You let out a sigh. 

Nothing. 

You tried again, letting out an even louder sigh this time. 

He still ignored you. 

You tilted your head to watch him, cheek smushed into the comforter, and let out the loudest, most exaggerated sigh you could manage. 

His quill didn’t stop moving, but you caught it - the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “By all means, sleep.” He said without looking up. “You’ve clearly exhausted yourself doing nothing.” 

You threw his pillow at him. “I have done something, asshole.” 

“Oh? What?” He asked, catching the pillow with one hand, and turning his attention to you. 

“That second year.” You replied, letting out another groan. “It was not worth it.” 

“You always did have questionable taste.” Xaden said, turning his gaze back to his work. 

But his hand tightened around his quill, just for a second.  

Weird. 

“Hey, it’s hard to find someone worthy when you had the very best for your first kiss.” You teased, smirking over at him. 

There it was again, the tiniest twitch in the corner of his mouth. “We were ten.” 

“And . . .” 

He didn’t try to hide the smile anymore, turning in his chair to face you. “You bit my lip. Then ran away before I could even say anything.” 

You gasped, mock-offended. “I blushed and tripped over that dog that was hanging around your house for a while. There’s a difference.” 

“He didn’t like you for a week after that.” 

“He had no taste either apparently.” 

Xaden shook his head at you again, “You’re impossible.” 

You pouted at him. “So what you’re saying is, it wasn’t the best kiss of your life?” 

“I repeat, you’re impossible.” 

“I’d be less impossible if you’d come over here.” You said, patting the spot beside your head. “Especially after being stuck with that idiot for the last few hours.” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He stood, crossed the room, and sat beside you without a word. 

You lifted your head to rest in his lap, like you’d done a hundred times, and his hand slid into your hair, fingertips gentle and sure. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. Gods, this is what comfort really felt like. Not that awkward fumbling.  Not that second year's clumsy hands. This. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was frowning down at you as he ran his fingers through your hair. “What did he do?” 

You sighed, not faking this time. “He just wanted to fuck a marked one to say he did it.” 

The fire, anger, sparked in Xaden’s eyes, and you knew you had to quell it or that second year would show up mysteriously murdered later. 

“I took care of it, Xay. You don’t have to worry.” You told him, closing your eyes once more as your whole body relaxed when he resumed stroking your hair. Something about the way his fingers moved put you almost in a trance, “He has a nice new scar to show how stupid he is.” 

You could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. “That’s my girl.” His voice was low, proud and warm, like it had never stopped being true. 

You couldn’t help but smile. As much as this place felt like hell, it somehow felt like heaven too. Getting to be with the boys you grew up with, getting to have these quiet moments with Xaden again? It was all that you’d been craving for years now. In fact, if this was all you got to have the rest of your life? You think you’d be okay with that. 

When you opened your eyes again, and looked up at Xaden, you couldn’t help but question though, would he? He was so handsome. Easily the most gorgeous guy in the quadrant, probably the whole college, and pretty soon, someone was going to get brave enough to flirt with him. You wondered if that was something he wanted. 

You sure didn’t like the way the thought made your heart squeeze, and suddenly you had to know. “Xaden?” 

“Mhmm?” 

“Anybody caught your eye here?” You asked, biting your lip, and trying to ignore the way your heart wouldn’t slow down. 

He stared at you, and by the slight smirk tilting a corner of his lips, you got the distinct impression that he saw right through your question. “As if you’d let anyone else steal my attention.” 

Heat rushed to your face, and a warmth filled your chest. “If it was something you wanted- I could learn to share.” 

Xaden shook his head with a soft smile. “No you couldn’t, but it’s not something I want anyway.” 

You couldn’t deny the relief that his words sent through your body. Despite what he said, if Xaden wanted someone, you would learn to share his attention. You would hate it, because it would mean moments like this with him wouldn’t exist anymore, but you would do it if it meant his happiness. Knowing that you didn’t have to worry about that though? At least for right now? It took a little weight off your chest. Your hand reached up, tugging on his shirt. “If you do decide that’s something you want, you’ll tell me right?” 

Xaden reached for the hand holding his shirt, taking it in his own, and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll tell you.” He promised. 

You closed your eyes again, a slow smile forming on your lips as he continued to stroke your hair, knowing that for right now, you didn’t have to share. 

Maybe you should have told him then that he wouldn’t have to share either. Ever. But the next week, when Xaden challenged that second year that tried to take advantage of you, and then proceeded to wipe the floor with him on the mat, you got the feeling you didn’t have to. 

Xaden wasn’t going to share you either. 

——————————

The landing jarred every bruised bone in your body. You were covered in blood. It filled your mouth with its copper taste. It dripped from your forehead and into your right eye. It still leaked from your thigh despite the makeshift tourniquet. You pushed all of that aside though, because despite the attack, you were now bonded to a fucking dragon. 

“You would not be bleeding so much had you come when I called.” She said, tone dry.

You tried not to gasp at the pain in your thigh as you slid off her, landing on shaky legs, but you made it. “No, I wouldn’t be bleeding so much if the fucking crown Prince of Navarre hadn’t sent his little army after me.” When you had felt the pull of your new dragon Ailith, you had come across a secret meeting and overheard Alic’s plans to capture you and Garrick to lure Xaden out and kill him. Problem with that was that he hadn’t done his homework, sending five half trained cadets after you like you were something frail. “Besides,” you patted her leg. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the show. After all, you could’ve helped.” 

“If you couldn’t take on five poorly trained cadets you were unworthy of my bond.” She huffed, then added, “Though I admit, it was entertaining to watch.” 

You couldn’t help but agree. 

Her head snapped to the side, as if she could hear something you could not. “I believe your friends are very concerned for your safety.” Her head tilted. “Sgaeyl reports the taller one particularly agitated.” 

Xaden. 

You almost collapsed with relief, or you supposed it could be blood loss at this point. “They’re okay?” You asked, your voice breaking on the last word.

She turned her gaze back to you, and her golden eyes softened the smallest fraction. “They are injured, but they will be fine, fierce one.” She assured you. 

You heard your name being called, and turned around in just enough time to be lifted off your feet into a hug by a bruised and bloody Garrick. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.” He muttered, his voice cracking as he held you against him. 

“I’m glad to see you too.” You said, and you couldn’t be sure whether that was more blood or tears running down your cheek. “I tried - I tried to hold them off when I heard they were coming, I ran to try and distract them, but they split up and-”

“Is she okay?” A familiar voice interrupted the two of you. 

You lifted your head off Garrick’s shoulder. 

A cut sliced through his eyebrow. A bruise painted his jaw. But he was here. Breathing. Alive. “Xaden,” you exhaled. 

Garrick, sensing that you needed someone else now, placed you down on the ground in time for Xaden to step forward, cupping your face in his hands. You watched as his eyes seemed to catalogue every single visible injury on your body, and then traveled back up to meet yours. 

If you didn’t know Xaden, you would miss it. The tense jaw, the rigid shoulders, the icy glint in his eyes. Then there was the slight tremor in his hands, the crack in his armor. Xaden, who was usually the picture of control, was about to lose it. 

You placed your hand on his chest, rubbing right above his heart. “I’m fine, Xaden.” When his eyes narrowed at you, you corrected. “Okay, mostly fine.”

“How many?” His voice was low, dangerous. 

“Five.” You drew a rune with your finger on his chest, right over his heart. Slow and deliberate, just between the two of you. You wondered if he’d pick up on it. “They underestimated me.” You smirked. 

You had been hoping that you would get at least a small smile, but nothing. “Where are you hurt the worst?” He asked. 

“Xaden,” you frowned. “I’m fine-”

There was a growl from behind you, and you heard Ailith’s voice in your mind. “You are not fine. Let the tall one help you before I reconsider my choice of rider.” 

You sighed, bone-deep. Was this your new reality now? Blood loss, bossy dragons, and being taken half-dead into tents? “My thigh is still bleeding pretty badly.” You admitted. 

Without a word, Xaden scooped you up in his arms, only putting you down long enough to tell your dragon’s name to the roll keeper, and then you were back in his arms being carried to the makeshift healer's tent. He was warm and steady, one of the only things in your day that hadn’t tried to kill you, so while it caused stares, you couldn’t bring yourself to protest. 

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. You barely remembered the healer’s hands or the stab of the needle. Just flashes of light, Garrick’s murmured voice, and Xaden’s hovering shadow. 

Hours later, while everyone else was out celebrating their new bonds and another day of survival, your body decided it was too beat up to do so. You found yourself laying in bed instead, about to drift off in exhaustion when someone knocked on your door. 

When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Xaden there. He stared into your eyes for a moment, then walked in, shutting the door behind him. Within seconds you were wrapped up in the hug you’d been waiting for since you landed on the ground this afternoon. 

Your knees buckled, but his arms were already there, anchoring you to him. Every bit of tension and pain in your body was shoved aside as Xaden held you in his arms, his hands cradling you against him like you were something precious. You felt him kiss the stitches on your hairline, but refused to wince. You’d endure anything for that kind of touch. 

“I wish I could kill him again for this.” 

You didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say. The fury in his voice said everything. 

Xaden didn’t say anything else. He just continued to hold you. For a moment you wondered if he needed this more than you.

Unfortunately your leg, still burning, started to throb, and you knew you needed to lay back down. You didn’t want him to leave though. The thought of sleeping alone felt like asking your body to fall apart again. You needed him close. Pulling back enough to look in his eyes, you asked, “stay with me tonight?” 

His brow furrowed, concern etched on his face, and almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he frowned. “Is your leg still bothering you?” 

You hesitated, then nodded. There was no point in lying, not to him. 

Like earlier, he swept you right up into his arms, carrying you to your bed. He didn’t have to, it was steps away, but he did, settling you onto it. As soon as you were comfortable on your side, he slid in behind you, the warmth of his chest enveloping your back as his breath brushed the curve of your neck and his arms wrapped around you. 

This was what you needed. More than anything the healers or menders could give you. You snuggled back against him, closing your eyes and trying not to shiver at the movement of his thumb stroking up and down your stomach. “What happened?” You asked, needing to know. 

Xaden tensed, his arms tightening around you, fingers still moving against your stomach in slow, grounding strokes. You could feel his jaw clench near your temple. “I found them trying to kill Garrick. There were at least ten of them. Apparently Alic had spent a lot of time amassing his own little posse.” 

“Probably didn’t take much. Everyone wants to kiss the ass of the possible future king.” You grumbled. 

“Garrick was taking on two, and I was up against Alic.” Xaden continued. “He wouldn’t shut up. He kept talking about how he was doing us all a favor, taking us out now. That no one expected us to make it any farther than right here. If they didn’t take us out now, the dragons would. They were loyal to Navarre and would burn us the moment they got the chance.” 

Your hand reached up and started stroking Xaden’s arm, tracing along the lines of his relic. “Guess the jokes on them since we all bonded.” 

“Then he started talking about you. How he hoped they were taking their time with you. How he was hoping we were close enough to hear you scream when they finished you off.” Xaden said, his voice was dark, sharp as the edge of his swords as his arms tightened around you. “He should have shut up.” 

“They taunted me too.” You admitted. “Said they couldn’t wait to see you and Garrick’s traitor blood spilled. How they’d keep doing it until there was none of us left.” You took a shaky breath, your anger spiking at the thought. “It makes me want to scream that they’re so concerned with having us here when there’s a much larger problem out there staring them in the face.” 

“Unless someone does something about it.” 

You knew that tone. You looked over your shoulder to find his eyes watching you, as if waiting for your reaction. “What’s your plan?” You asked, because you knew by that voice he had one. 

Xaden smirked. 

And you knew everything was about to change.

——————————

A sharp, frantic pounding at your door tore you from sleep like a blade to your spine. It felt like you had just laid down, and you couldn’t be more irritated. You wanted to ignore it, curl back into the sheets, but the knocking was insistent. You groaned, walking over to the door and opening it. “You better have a damn good reason - Xaden?” 

You’d never seen him like this. You’d known him almost your whole life, and you’d never seen him so . . . on edge. His jaw was clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack. His eyes were fixed on the ground, shadows pooled under them like bruises. He stood rigid in your doorway, more like a storm held in human form than a man. “I can’t shut her out.” He croaked, still not looking at you. 

There was one “she” he could be talking about, but . . . why would he need to shut her out? “Sgaeyl?” You tried to confirm. 

His only response was a stiff nod. 

Your mind drifted to that sapphire blue bond, still fresh in your mind after only a few months. “Is Sgaeyl okay?” You asked Ailith. 

You could have sworn you heard . . . A chortle of laughter in response. “Sgaeyl is more than fine,” Ailith purred, smug and infuriating. “She’s entangled in matters of great passion. Unfortunately, so is her rider.”  

You frowned, feeling like there was a joke you were missing out on. “What does that mean? Xaden is . . . barely hanging on right now.” 

Her response was even more amused. “Sgaeyl is spending time with her mate, and the tall one needs to work on his shields.” 

Your eyes widened. Was she implying - “Xaden, what are you feeling?” You asked quietly. 

His eyes snapped to yours, black with barely restrained hunger, and your breath caught. Then they dropped, slowly, deliberately, dragging down the length of your body like a physical caress. Your skin burned in his gaze, each inch branded by want. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Wearing?” Xaden grunted out, and you let out a breath as his hands gripped your door frame, fingers digging into the stone. 

You glanced down, your frown deepening as you looked at the gown. “This is what I sleep in, Xaden,” you glanced up at him again, more and more concerned with his behavior. You reached out to him and grabbed his flight jacket, trying to tug him inside. “Come in before someone sees-”

“Don’t,” he ground out, stumbling back like your fingers were fire. “If you touch me right now, I will lose every shred of control I have left.” 

“This is almost as entertaining as watching you kill all those cadets,” Ailith’s voice spoke down the bond again. 

You didn’t find it so amusing. 

“How do I help him?” You asked. You didn’t like feeling like this. So powerless to do anything but watch him suffer. 

“I believe you can figure that out on your own.” Ailith dismissed, humor still in her voice as a wall slammed down between your connection, and she cut you off. 

You almost growled in frustration, but stopped when you locked eyes on Xaden who was still so tense you were afraid he was going to break something. “Why can’t I touch you, Xaden?” You whispered. 

His eyes darkened. “Because if you touch me-“ Xaden rasped, jaw clenched. “I won’t be able to stop. I’ll take and take until I’ve had every inch of you - and even that might not be enough.” 

It all clicked into place then. Why Xaden was so freaked out. Why he was looking at you like he was starving. Ailith’s words about Sgaeyl and her mate. Xaden not being able to shut her out. You hadn’t been bonded long, but you knew what it was like to have your dragon’s emotions override your own. 

Xaden was being consumed by lust. 

And the only person he trusted to see him like this, so out of control, was you. 

Your heart thudded against your chest at the implications. You knew how you could help him. The question was, if he’d let you. 

You reached out again, and this time he didn’t stop you, staring into your eyes as you tugged him inside your room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as you let go of him, his trembling hands landed on your hips. His nose dragged along your neck, inhaling like he was trying to breathe you into his lungs, his lips brushing the spot below your ear as his breath stuttered out, hot and shaky.  

You should’ve been scared, of what this might mean, of what it could ruin. But all you could think about was how long you’d wanted him like this. Wild. Unraveled. Yours. 

“Let me help you.” You whispered, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his soft curls. “Even if it’s the bond.” You hated how your heart cracked around the truth. Even if it meant nothing in the morning. 

Xaden’s fingers dug in so hard to your hips you were sure there would be bruises. “I won’t use you.” He grunted against your neck. 

You pulled back enough to look into his eyes. Then, you took one of his hands, and slid it down your side, keeping your gaze locked on his as you slid the warm, calloused hand under your gown. “You need a release.” You took a shaky breath as he started rubbing circles on your inner thigh with his thumb. “I could do with one too.” 

He shuddered, visibly shaken as he touched your skin, letting out a sharp breath. “You’re so fucking soft.” He growled, each word dragging rough and reverent against your skin. His lips brushed your ear, and your breath hitched. “You always have been.” 

A current of heat and anticipation skated across your skin like lightning, your nerves humming as your hands slid up his chest, memorizing every inch. “And you . . . are definitely not soft.” 

Xaden let out a choked laugh, and you held your breath as his lips brushed across your skin once more with the slightest touch. 

A soft sigh escaped you, and you bit your lip. “Let me help you, Xaden.” You whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “Please.” You knew it was going to hurt, but you also knew it was going to be amazing. The pain would be worth every second of being with him. 

Xaden pulled back then, to look into your eyes, and his facial expression almost looked pained. As if he wanted to give in, but something was still holding him back. “You have no idea what you mean to me.” Xaden said, his voice almost shattered. “I can’t risk-”

“I want you, Xaden,” the words slipped from your lips before you could think, rough and bare and years overdue. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d ever look at me like this. But this isn’t pity. This is five years of wanting you and trying not to show it. I want your hands on me. I want you in every way there is.” 

He continued to look at you, searching your eyes, and you weren’t sure what he was looking for, but you knew the moment he found it. His eyes darkened, and one of his hands reached up to cup your cheek. “. . . Fuck,” he said, the word broken and more fragile than you’d ever heard him speak, but you didn’t have time to linger on it. 

Because then, as if all the restraint in him snapped, Xaden crushed his mouth to yours. 

The world fractured at the seams - air, time, thought, all vanished. You didn’t just kiss him, you collapsed into him. Into five years of yearning, into every held breath and unsaid word. You didn’t melt. You burned. 

Xaden didn’t kiss. He consumed. His mouth was all hunger and heat, stealing every breath, every thought, until nothing was left but raw sensation and the addictive rush of him. And still, it wasn’t enough. You’d let him take everything - soul, breath, sanity - and offer up more with trembling hands.  

He groaned against your lips, his arm tightening around you to hold you steady even though you hadn’t even realized you’d been swaying. He parted your lips skillfully and tilted your head for an angle that had you seeing stars. 

Gods, kissing had never felt like this, like worship and destruction all at once. Was it because you’d only kissed lousy kissers, or was it because it was Xaden? You had a feeling it was the second. Your hands clenched into fists in his shirt because even though he was holding you up, the strokes of his tongue had you weak. You started feeling as out of control as him, all of your energy focused on kissing him back, pouring out every inch of desire into him. When the hand on your thigh slid up and he brushed your heated core, you couldn’t help but let out a whimper, wanting him there desperately. 

Xaden pulled away from your lips, letting out a shaky exhale, his fingers dug into your thigh beneath your gown, possessive, shaking. “I can’t be gentle right now,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

You let your gaze meet his, and you were sure your eyes were as dark and hazy as his when you tugged at his shirt sharply. “Who said I wanted gentle?” you breathed, dragging him closer. “I want you.” 

Whatever lingering control Xaden had vanished. 

One moment you were staring up at him, the next heartbeat your back was against your desk. Objects clattered to the floor - books, bottles, maybe your sanity - but none of it mattered. He was everywhere, and he was kissing you again, every single delicious inch of him pressed against you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His mouth was relentless, and you chased every kiss like it might be your last, sighing at the delicate slide of your tongue against his. He tasted like chocolate and churam, and you were almost positive you could get high off of it. 

His hands weren’t hesitant anymore. They roamed all over your body, dragging over your skin in a way that had chills racing down your spine. You tugged him even closer, gasping as one of his hands made its way to your breast and squeezed, sending a shockwave of pleasure down your spine. “Xaden . . .” His name left your lips like a prayer, like a plea, your body arching into every devastating stroke of his hand. 

Then you decided it was your turn. Your hand was the one exploring now, slipping through the narrow space between you, savoring how Xaden’s muscles tensed like a drawn bow beneath your touch - right up until you reached his leathers. After a second of hesitation, you reached in and gripped him in your hand, hot and heavy. 

He moved, spinning you so fast your breath hitched and your hand shot out to steady yourself on the desk. One of his hands landed on your hip while the other gripped the strands of your hair in his fist. A breath escaped as he tugged your head back against his shoulder, his grip in your hair firm, but not causing pain. “Not yet,” Xaden murmured, and then his mouth was on your skin again. 

You were going to combust. Heat, power, and want flooded your bloodstream, tangled with the bliss of his lips. He kissed every exposed inch of you until he reached the spot where your neck met your collarbone. Your heart stopped for a moment as he paused, and then he was sucking, biting, marking you as his. 

Oh gods. The idea of being his, claimed, marked, had your toes curling. You arched your hips back into him with a moan, desperate for more friction, more of him. You’d never needed something so much in your life, but if you didn’t get him inside of you soon, you were sure you were going to combust. “Xaden, I need you.” You whispered. 

His hand moved low to your stomach and held you there, rolling his hips and making you moan again. “Say that again,” he said, whispering the words in your ear. 

“I need you inside me, Xay,” you whispered again, and felt him shudder. Whether it was from the desperation in your voice or the nickname no one else dared use, you didn’t know, but it did something to him.  

The next heartbeat though his hand was back under your gown, another heartbeat and he had slipped it through the front of your underwear and between your thighs, his fingers slow, deliberate, devastating. Your knees buckled, and if he hadn’t been holding you, you were sure you would have fallen. 

“Fuck . . .” Xaden groaned, slipping another finger inside easily with how wet you were. “Is this all it takes, beautiful? My mouth, my hands, and you’re already this wet for me?” 

Embarrassment didn’t even register. “You’ve clearly underestimated how long I’ve wanted you.” You breathed, letting out a whimper as his thumb pressed against your clit. 

His hand let go of your hair, and slid around the front of your body, taking hold of your breast again. His touch was scorching even through the thin silk of your nightgown. The only thing that would feel better was his hand on your skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Xaden murmured, then cruelly, he slipped his fingers out of you. 

Your hips followed him, desperate for his touch again, but in a move that left you gasping, his hand grabbed your underwear and ripped them clean off of you. As soon as they were out of the way, two fingers slipped back inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. 

“How many times I’ve wanted to kill someone just for looking at you like they had a chance?” Xaden continued, as your head fell back against his shoulder. “You’re mine, no matter how many others you play with, they don’t matter. You are mine.” 

He was going to destroy you. Either with his words or his touch you weren’t sure. Gods had he really been feeling this way? Or was this the bond getting the better of him? You didn’t have time to dwell on it, because in the next moment his fingers slipped out of you again, leaving you aching as you slumped against him. Then you heard the unmistakable sound of his leathers dropping behind him, and when he pulled your hips back against him, you let out a low moan. 

This was happening. Xaden was about to fuck you, and it wasn’t some fever dream you’d wake up from, ashamed and alone. This was real.  

He took one of his legs and pushed yours further apart while his hands slid your nightgown up to your hips. “Tell me that no one else has mattered. Tell me that you want me.” Xaden growled in your ear, and you whimpered as he ran his cock along your slit. 

Gods he expected you to form words right now? If you hadn’t already thought the words, you would’ve been too blissed out to say them. “They were nothing. Placeholders for nights when I got lonely because I couldn’t have you.” You admitted breathlessly, as you arched your hips back against him, needing him inside you more than you needed air. “Xaden, please . . .” 

His hand flexed at your hip, and a shiver went down your spine as his lips brushed your ear. “You told me to tell you if I wanted someone. I do.” Your heart stopped as he paused at your entrance. “It’s you.” 

Then, in one deep thrust, he slammed inside of you. 

His hand covered your mouth to stifle your cry as he filled you up more than anyone ever had. While one of your hands clutched at the edge of the table, the other reached up and grabbed his wrist, digging into his skin as your eyes closed at the intensity of this moment. 

Gods you didn’t even have the right words to describe the pleasure that was pouring through your body. The closest thing you could think of was when you were flying and Ailith would go into a sudden dive. The adrenaline would crawl up your throat, all encompassing, exuberant. It was one of your favorite things. However the pleasure, the intimacy of having Xaden inside of you, topped it. 

“Are you okay?” His voice sounded almost underwater with the sound of blood rushing to your ears, but you heard him. 

You nodded, and then tugged his hand down from your mouth so he could hear you. “Don’t stop. You feel perfect.” You said breathlessly. Then, unable to help yourself, you pressed back against him, looking for that friction again and moaning when you found it. Godsdamn you were never going to get enough of this. 

“Fuck,” Xaden’s voice was raw, almost tortured, and this time there was no stopping him. He pushed down on your back until your chest was resting on top of the desk, and then slid out of you for the briefest moment to push himself back in roughly. The whole desk shook with the force of it, and you cried out again as the new angle caused him to hit even deeper inside of you. 

Xaden didn’t bother to muffle your voice this time. 

As promised, he wasn’t gentle. His pace was rough, bruising. He used a hand on the small of your back to hold you down to the table while he pounded into you, keeping you in place while his other hand dug into your hip. You’d seen Xaden out of control, rarely, but never like this. It was as if everything that you knew he kept inside of him was being unleashed, and it added an extra level of intimacy to the moment knowing that he felt safe enough to do it with you. 

You loved every second of it. 

Pleasure curled low in your stomach as heat rushed through your body, and you felt a familiar rush of power flooding you. Almost as if he could sense it, Xaden’s pace picked up even more until you could barely keep up, your hands digging into the sides of the table. “Xaden . . .” You moaned, not even sure what you were asking for. All that you knew was that you needed more.

He seemed to know though. His hand that was around your back slid around to slip between your thighs, touching you in a way that would have made you fall to your knees if you hadn't already been across the desk. His other slid up your side to cover your hand, entwining your fingers with his large ones. Xaden said your name then, raw and vulnerable, and you closed your eyes at the sound of it and the emotions it stirred in you. “I’m not going to make it long with you squeezing me like that.” He groaned, his hand tightening around yours. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing it. Your body reacting before your mind could even catch up with what was happening. “Don’t care,” you managed to say. “I’m so close too.” You told him, letting out another cry as he slammed to you again, hitting a spot that had you seeing stars. 

Your words seemed to egg him on, and his pace became relentless. There was no time to breathe, no time to absorb anything that was happening. It was a build up of pleasure that was moments away from crashing over you and dragging you under. You felt Xaden lean over the desk, his lips finding your ear again. “I’ve got you. Let go.” He whispered, and then brought his lips down to your neck while rubbing your clit. 

Like your body had been waiting for permission, you exploded. Your whole body tensed, then released in waves of bliss almost like when you were using Ailith’s power. You know you called out his name, squeezing his hand so you didn’t lose him in the ocean of pleasure he’d dragged you into. 

Some part of you heard his grunt of, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” while he sped up even more than you thought was possible until he released inside of you. 

Glass shattered, and darkness swallowed the room. 

“Xaden!” You gasped, panic widening your eyes as your other hand reached for him. 

“It’s me,” He said, taking your other hand like an anchor, and you watched as the blackness - the shadows - slithered back toward him, curling along the walls like smoke. “I’ve never - I’ve never done that.” His muscles released against your back, and you felt the most gentle kiss against your shoulder as your breathing went back to normal. 

And as soft light returned to the room, your eyes landed on the plant in your window, once a modest size, now curled up the whole height of your wall, the pot it had been in shattered on the ground. “Yeah . . . I’ve never done that either.” You breathed, eyes wide.

Gods. That had really happened.

A slow, satisfied smile formed on your lips as feeling started to return to your body. Sensation returned in pieces: the cold press of wood against your cheek, the edge of a scroll digging into your stomach, the delicious heat of Xaden flush against your back - 

You laughed, unable to hold it in. “Gods, you didn’t even bother taking your shirt off.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then you heard one of your favorite sounds in the world. Even more rare than his smile. 

His laugh. 

You let out a sigh as he slid out of you, then gripped your waist, turning you around to face him. He looked so much calmer, more like the Xaden you knew, and not the desperate man who’d shown up at your door. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me without a shirt on.” Xaden said, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the view when I get it” You said, and you let your hands slip under his shirt, fingertips brushing the hard muscles of his abs that had your mouth watering and eager to trace them with your tongue. 

His eyes darkened, hands slipping lower to tease at the hem of your gown. 

You’d thought the fire had burned out, but no - he was already stroking it again. 

“You know, it’s not fair. You’ve seen me, but I haven’t seen you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Who’s fault is that?” 

Xaden smirked at you, “Can’t blame me for getting distracted when you’re wearing a gown like that.” His hands fisting in the fabric. 

A small smile tugged at your lips. The Deverelli silk clung like a whisper - barely there, hiding nothing. You loved the way it felt on your skin, but right now, all you wanted was Xaden. His hands. His lips. His everything. “Well, I’m all for fairness,” you said, and kept your eyes locked on him as you slipped the straps over your shoulders.

Xaden took it from there, tugging it down your hips, and your whole body heated once more as his eyes trailed over every inch of skin you revealed like he was memorizing it. Then he paused at a spot right above your heart. “When did you get that?” He asked, voice low, brow furrowing. 

Your heart stuttered for a moment, because you’d forgotten it existed until Xaden reminded you of it. You bit your bottom lip, unsure. You never thought you’d have to tell him, but there was no way you could lie to him after all that. “Right after our parents- ” You swallowed hard, the words crumbling in your throat before you could finish.

He didn’t need you to though. His thumb brushed across the scar again, the touch reverent. Then he glanced back up at you, his eyes still dark. “Who is it for?” 

You hesitated, but reached down to take his hand, sliding it up over the scar until his eyes met yours. “You took responsibility for everyone, no questions asked, but . . .” You squeezed his hand. “I wanted to have responsibility for you.” 

You’d never seen him like this, truly speechless. His gaze was locked on yours, and you watched emotion crash over his features in waves. Disbelief, guilt, sorrow, but then it changed to something else. Reverence, devotion, and for a second, something you were too scared to even put a name to. When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, even though it barely rose over a whisper. “You didn’t have to-”

You lifted his hand up to your lips. “I think we need to work on your communication skills, Xaden Riorson.” You said, pressing a delicate kiss to his palm. “Because I just told you, I wanted to.” 

His hand slid up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing across your jawline with aching tenderness. “You realize that mark means you’re stuck with me.” Xaden murmured, his eyes like twin pools of onyx locked on yours. 

“You should be more concerned that you’re stuck with me.” He would be. He was never getting rid of you now. 

One of those rare, gorgeous smiles tugged at his lips. The next heartbeat, his shirt hit the floor. The one after, he had you in the air, leaving you gasping with a laugh as you clung to his muscled body like a lifeline. Then your back hit the mattress and Xaden was on you, kissing you like a starving man, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

——————————

You had no idea what time it was when your eyes opened, but you knew it was still dark outside your window so it couldn’t have been long. You stretched out on your bed with a soft, blissful sigh as memories of earlier curled around your thoughts like smoke. You rolled over, hoping to find an asleep Xaden, but instead you found him sitting up,  the moonlight catching on the map of scars across his bare back. You gave into the quiet pull in your chest and sat up, leaning forward to press a kiss against one. 

He tensed beneath your touch, and you sighed, running your hands up and down the steel lines of his biceps.

“If you try to make this weird, Xaden Riorson, I swear I’ll kick your ass.” You warned, your voice low but firm. 

You couldn’t see his face, but you saw the way his jaw clenched, the thoughts churning behind his silence. Before he could spiral, you cut in. 

“And remember, I know you. I know how your mind works, and don’t insult me by even thinking I’d let you use me like that. I’ve been dreaming about what happened for years.” You pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder. “So unless you’ve decided you don’t want me-”

Xaden turned to face you, his eyes narrowing at your words. “Don’t ever think that. I could be at Malek’s doorstep, and I’d still be craving you more than death.” 

His words sent your heartbeat stuttering, and suddenly you weren’t close enough. You climbed into his lap, sliding your arms around his neck. “Then don’t fight it.” You whispered, resting your forehead against his. 

Xaden wrapped his arms around you like he never planned to let go. “I can’t.” He let out a sigh, looking so deep into your eyes, you were sure he could see straight to your soul. “But if something happens . . . If this doesn’t work - I will not lose you.” 

You didn’t want to think about it not working. You didn’t want to think about the possibility of anything other than forever with him, but you knew why he had to say it. You and Xaden were entwined, far beyond the physical. Your souls had been tangled together since that ridiculous night Garrick locked you both in the kitchen and refused to let you out until you were best friends - right around the time Xaden handed you the bigger half of his chocolate cake without a word. Xaden owned too much of your soul to ever let him go, no matter what happened between the two of you. “You can’t lose me, Xaden.” You took his hand and pressed it over the scar above your heart. “You’re a part of me.” 

His eyes flared as he felt the scar under his palm, and then moved his hand so he could press a kiss against it. “And you’re a part of me.” 

Gods let that be enough. 

——————————

You paced from the edge of the courtyard to the stone pillar and back again, arms folded so tight they might bruise.

“You’re making me dizzy.” 

You ignored him. 

“Pacing back and forth is not going to make them show up any faster.” 

You gave him nothing. 

“Xaden, your girl is making me nauseous.” 

There was a sigh, and a large hand grabbed your wrist, tugging your back into a firm chest. “I swear, being around the two of you is like taking care of toddlers.” Xaden murmured, trapping you against him with an arm around your waist. 

“Let me go so I can actually make him nauseous.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You need to relax.” His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close. “They’re going to make it across. Like we did.” You let out a little sigh as he brushed a kiss to your cheek. “Worrying is not going to change anything. Besides, I thought I wore you out too much last night for you to be this wound up.”

Despite yourself, a little smile tugged at your lips as scenes from last night began to play in your mind, sending a wave of desire through your blood. “Guess not. You’ll have to make up for it tonight, Squad Leader.” You teased him. 

He bit your earlobe, just enough to make you shiver. “Greedy.” 

You laughed, cheeks flushing. 

“Okay now I’m really nauseous. I think I liked it better when you two were oblivious idiots.” Garrick said, pulling you and Xaden out of your moment. His words may have been annoyed, but the dimple in his cheek exposed how happy he was for the two of you. 

You flipped him off with a grin. “Don’t be jealous because Imogen’s not here for you to flirt with yet.” 

“Urgh, as if. Everyone knows the only person I’d flirt with here is you.” A familiar voice said. 

For the first time in a year, you willingly peeled yourself out of Xaden’s arms to tackle your best friend in a hug. “I knew you’d make that parapet your bitch.” You mumbled as you held her even tighter. 

She laughed, returning your hug just as strongly. “No way was I abandoning you with this duo of disaster. Well, trio now, I guess.” She said, and you looked up to see Bodhi grinning behind you. 

Relief swept through you, tension melting from your shoulders. While the danger wasn’t over, you could at least keep a better eye on them now. Especially since Xaden was a Squad Leader and Garrick an Executive Officer. Not for the Squad you were in, but still, it had its benefits. It also helped that everyone was scared shitless of Xaden. 

Except for you. 

You watched as he approached Bodhi, pulling back from Imogen so you could watch the two of them embrace. “It’s good to see you, cousin.” You heard Xaden say. 

Bodhi returned his hug. “You too.” His words were short, but you could feel the emotion rolling off of him in waves. They were thick with feeling. Relief. Gratitude. The ache of finally being with family. 

“Gotta say, Durran. Thought you would have grown at least a little since last time.” Garrick said with a grin as he embraced the younger boy. 

“What’s your excuse, Tavis?” Imogen said before Bodhi could even respond as you stepped forward to give him your own hug now. “I think you’ve gotten shorter since the last time I saw you.” 

You smirked. Gods, it had always been obvious, but now it was undeniable - Imogen and Garrick still had that spark. Even if they insisted on pretending otherwise. 

Xaden sighed, and a ribbon of shadow curled around your ankle, something new he’d just started to master. A quiet, intimate kind of claim. “I take it back.” He said, his hand settling on your hip as Garrick and Imogen’s bickering hit a new pitch. “I’d rather handle you and Garrick than them.” 

You grinned over at him. 

——————————

“I won.” 

“It wasn’t a race.” 

“It was the moment I called it.” 

Xaden slid off Sgaeyl’s back with enviable ease, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at you. “When you had already started flying away. I believe that makes you a cheater not a winner.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Don’t be a sore loser.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing at his lips as he stepped towards you. “I can think of much better uses for that tongue, you know.” 

“Xaden!” You playfully gasped, slapping at his chest. “Not in front of the dragons! We’ll traumatize them.” You couldn’t help but smile though as he took hold of your hands, entwining your fingers. “Sgaeyl is finally starting to like me.” 

He shook his head, backing you up until your spine brushed cool stone. “She tolerates you.” 

“Because according to her, you make the tall one less surly.” Ailith supplied down your bond. 

 You would’ve grinned at Sgaeyl if you weren’t afraid of her literally biting your head off. “Tolerate is better than despise.” You insisted, tugging him close until his body was pressed against yours. “Ailith likes you.” 

Xaden’s smirk turned into a grin as he bumped his nose against yours. “Oh?” He said in a disbelieving tone. 

“Only because he makes you happy, fierce one. If he stops doing so I’ll gladly set him aflame.” Ailith told you, warmth edged with threat. 

Affection rolled down your bond, and your smile turned soft. “She says you make me happy.” 

Something tender flickered across his face - like you’d handed him your heart, and he knew how carefully he needed to hold it. “Do I?” He asked. His tone was playful, but you knew the question was real.  

You loved how easy it was for you to tell him the truth. “You always have, Xaden.” 

You could feel it coming off of his skin. The joy, the awe, the pride, even the four letter word you still had trouble believing. His eyes were shining as he looked at you. “All right,” he conceded. “You win. What do you want as your prize?” He asked, one of his hands letting go of you to tug at the collar of your shirt. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to that sensitive spot behind your ear that had you squirming. “Mhmm, you.” You responded, your voice already a little breathless. 

Xaden’s mouth kept moving - along your jaw, down your neck - while his fingers slid under the collar of your shirt, tugging it down enough to expose the scar on your chest. He pressed a kiss to it, and sparks shot through your bloodstream. “I’m already yours.” He murmured.

There was no deception in his voice, simply facts, and your whole body melted at the words because they were still hard to believe. You didn’t think you’d done anything in your life to deserve how Xaden Riorson felt about you, but you were going to hold it close to your chest all the same. 

Xaden moved, and it pulled you out of your thoughts as he got down on his knees in front of you, trailing kisses down your chest, then lower. “Xaden, what are you-?”

“How about for your prize . . .” His hand unbuttoned your leathers, and he shoved them down to your knees. “I’ll show you some of the uses of my tongue?” He looked up at you with a downright sinful smirk, and within the next heartbeat he had you in the air, legs lifted as he fit himself between them, cool leathers brushing your thighs, and his shoulders braced beneath you.

Heat flooded your veins, curling low in your belly despite the chill of the stone at your back. Your fingers dove into his soft, dark hair, tugging him closer. “You have such good ideas.” You told him, brushing his hair back so you could see the wicked smile that was all for you. 

Xaden’s grin turned devilish. 

——————————

“And you say I’m the one who’s always distracting you.” You tossed a look over your shoulder, voice laced with amusement. 

“Hmm?” Was all he offered in return. 

You glanced over at Xaden and groaned. He was lounging shirtless against the headboard, arms tucked behind his head, muscles on full display - tempting enough that your tongue itched to trace every inch. 

Unfair. Completely and utterly unfair. 

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Xaden said, his tone pure innocence, but his smirk and the look in his eyes gave him away.

You looked pointedly at the shadow that was teasing up your thigh with a featherlight touch. “Oh, you don’t?” 

Xaden smirked. “Sometimes they have a mind of their own. They like you.” 

A pleased smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. “Uh huh. Totally unrelated to the stupidly sexy man who’s been doing everything short of lighting himself on fire to get my attention for the last hour?” 

His eyes sparkled. “Stupidly sexy, huh?” He echoed, smug, as his shadow slid even higher, making you shiver. 

Gods you were so weak for him. It took so little for him to make you fold it was almost embarrassing. Then again, you didn’t care. “You’re not going to let me finish this, are you?” 

His smirk widened. 

You sighed, loud and theatrical, and then all but ran to his bed, diving into his arms, right where you belonged. 

Xaden laughed, threading his fingers into your hair while the other slid beneath your shirt, tracing slow circles on your spine. He then pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your face that made you smile. “That’s better.” 

“I’m going to tell everyone that Xaden Riorson is the quadrant's biggest cuddler and ruin your badass reputation.” You mumbled into his neck, returning his kiss with one against his warm skin. 

“No one will believe you.” He replied, amusement threaded in his tone as he continued to draw soothing circles on your back. 

He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to admit it. “You’re hindering my education.” 

He nipped at your ear. “Since when have you given a shit?” 

You pulled back, giving him your most serious thinking face, then ruined it with a grin. “You’re right.” You said, then leaned forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss. 

His smile curved against your lips, and before you could catch your breath, he flipped you beneath him, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thump as he settled over you. 

He slid his tongue between your parted lips, turning your laughter into something breathless. Gods you would never have enough of him. You would drown in this man without hesitation, even if it meant never surfacing for air again. Nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the way Xaden kissed you, like you were the only thing in this world that brought him peace.

A sharp knock broke the moment like shattering glass, and you and Xaden groaned in unison - you already knew who it was. “Sometimes his distance wielding is really inconvenient.” You murmured against Xaden’s lips. 

He pulled back to give you a soft smile that went straight into your box of favorites. “We’ll continue this later. We’ve got time.” He replied, getting off of you, only to pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he had no intention of letting go. “Come on in.” He called to Garrick. 

Garrick stepped in, closing the door behind him, a smile tugging at his lips when he spotted the two of you. “Cozy,” he remarked.

“Did everything go okay?” Xaden asked, ignoring the jab. His hand kept tracing slow, absent circles on your stomach.

He nodded, “They were a couple of hours late, but they got their present.” Garrick then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, his expression dimming. “They sent something back for us this time.” He tossed it to Xaden. 

Xaden picked it up, a frown already forming as he turned the envelope over in his hands. The paper crackled as he broke the seal.  

The change was instant. His whole body went rigid. In a single breath, the man you’d been laughing with vanished, and in his place was Xaden Riorson, the son of Fen Riorson, the leader of a secret revolution with the weight of Aretia on his shoulders. 

You had no idea what the letter said, but your stomach turned to stone. A cold pulse climbed your spine, and dread clawed its way up your throat. You pulled away from Xaden, your heart already fracturing as you searched his face. “What does it say?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Xaden didn’t answer right away. When he looked up, his eyes met yours, and it hit you like a punch. Disbelief, hopelessness, duty, regret and underneath it all, that cursed, beautiful four letter word. “It’s from Tecarus,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “About the deal that was made when I was younger.” 

Your heart plummeted. It was like the floor had been ripped out from under you. 

“Deal? What deal?” Garrick asked from somewhere behind you. His voice sounded distant, like it was underwater, as the world tilted on its axis.  

“To marry Catrionia.” 

You should have known. It was too easy. Too good. You were too happy. If you’d learned anything in this life, it was that you didn’t get to have anything happy. It was always going to be taken away from you. 

Xaden saw it, felt it, you were unraveling. “I didn’t think - I thought when my father died it was off -” He reached for your hand. 

You flinched away before his fingers could touch yours. 

“Well, then tell him it's off.” Garrick said, like it was that easy. Like it didn’t feel like the sky was caving in. 

“It’s not that simple.” You said, your voice as raw as your breaking heart. 

“Why not?” Garrick asked, though his voice was quieter now, uncertainty creeping in.

You gave Xaden a small, broken smile, blinking hard against the tears. “Because if Xaden marries her, we get the luminary.” You swallowed, voice barely holding. “We can make enough weapons to protect our home.” 

Silence wrapped around the room like a noose. You could feel the war raging in Xaden, torn between his duty and his feelings for you. He cared about you, he cared about you so much. That was never the problem. 

But this was your home, and sometimes that beautiful, yet unforgiving word wasn’t enough. Not when people were dying. 

Xaden said your name, soft, like a prayer, and his voice was thick with so much emotion you couldn’t sort it all. But you knew what was coming. You knew.  

You were already shaking your head as you rose from his bed. “You should do it.” Liar. Don’t do it. “It’s what’s best for Aretia.” 

He surged to his feet. “I don’t give a fuck about Aretia if it means losing-” He reached for you again. 

You took another step back. Another inch of distance you didn’t want but needed. If he touched you, you’d fall apart. “You’re not losing me, and home comes first.” You tried to smile. It trembled and fell apart halfway.

This time when you stepped back, Xaden didn’t follow.

You stepped past Garrick, who stood frozen, eyes flicking between the two of you, helpless and hollow. “We can figure out another way-” He started, but even he didn’t sound convinced.  

“You know Tecarus won’t go for that.” Your voice cracked. You turned back to Xaden as the first tears spilled down your cheeks. “Protect our home. That’s what’s most important.” You felt yourself fracturing, splintering into shards you couldn’t hold together. Not here. Not in this room where ten minutes earlier he’d been holding you in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. “I’m going to go to Imogen’s, okay?” Your voice was faltering. “You two can . . . start working on the terms.” 

Xaden said your name again, his voice cracking on it - as broken, as lost as you were. 

You ran. 

You ran as if your body might shatter if you didn’t reach Imogen in time. As if distance could save you from the ache blooming in your chest. When you made it to her room, and she opened the door, you threw yourself in her arms, unable to hold yourself up any longer. 

“Woah - hey, what happened? Are you okay?” 

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Not a single sound. You just shook your head as the tears poured, hot and relentless, down your face. 

And then, through the bond - gentle and warm, like a balm on a wound - came Ailith’s voice. “You will be alright, my fierce one. You are not alone.” 

She was right. You weren’t alone. 

But your heart was gone, still in his hands. Hands that now had to belong to someone else. 

——————————

“I’m starting to think this is personal.” You said, spitting blood out of your mouth - and maybe a tooth? 

He scowled, pulled back, and swung. “You don’t deserve to be here, traitor.” He spat, yanking your head back so hard you were afraid for a second he snapped it. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You rasped, sucking in a breath, and immediately regretting it. Yep. Ribs, definitely bruised. This guy really had some anger issues to work out. 

It was obvious now, this wasn’t about interrogation. This was their free pass to beat the shit out of you, and they were making the most of it. They hadn’t asked a single question, nothing about secrets, intel, or loyalty. Instead they had spent their time bruising up every inch of your body. It was so bad that even your squad had taken to protesting. 

They ignored them. 

Not that it mattered. No punch could compare to the pain of watching Xaden and Garrick leave every weekend, heading off to visit his fiancée. Like you’d never existed. Bile rose in your throat, but you weren’t sure if that was because of your injuries or the thought of Xaden and her. 

“Hold strong, fierce one. This is almost over.” Ailith’s voice spoke to you. She tried to keep her voice calm for you, but it was impossible to hide the underlying rage. She’d been keeping you sane during this. Well, her and your general numbness. 

Your friend leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. “How does it feel to know you’ve been abandoned? First your family. Now your boyfriend.” 

That stung. That stung more than you cared to admit. It was obvious to the entire quadrant that you and Xaden were no longer a thing. He wasn’t at your side always anymore. There were no more possessive touches. It had been months, and you couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled at you. The man you’d once always been able to depend on was now turning into a stranger. All you had left was Imogen, who probably wanted nothing to do with your depressive ass, and Garrick, caught in the middle, too loyal to both sides to choose one. Bodhi still checked in now and then, but it always felt . . . obligated. Like maybe Xaden had told him to. 

Because try as you might, you could still feel the protectiveness rolling off him every time you crossed paths. 

Not that it was doing much good now. Gods he’d be pissed if you made it out of this. 

“Personally, I think it’s what you deserve.” The man continued, his smug smile making you want to knock his fucking teeth out. 

“That is enough.” 

Ailith’s voice rang down the bond like thunder. 

So much for restraint. 

His fist froze mid air, held back to throw another punch and his eyes widened as he looked at you. 

A smirk tugged at your busted lips. “You forgot the one who’s still with me. And she’s as sick of your shit as I am.” 

Ailith’s voice spoke in your mind. “Tell that pitiful excuse for a rider that if he touches you again, I will tear the wings from his dragon’s back, and grind its bones into dust, Empyrean be damned.” 

“Pretty sure I don’t have to. He looks about two seconds away from pissing himself. What did you do?” 

“The blood of his dragon tastes foul,” Ailith purred, “But the satisfaction? Divine.” 

“Interrogation’s over. Get out.” He shot you a glare sharp enough to flay skin, then stormed out - door swinging open behind him like a white flag. 

Your head dropped forward, and the last of your strength drained away, leaving you weightless and aching. You felt a couple of your squadmates working at your bonds, but it was too much effort to try and keep your eyes open. “I’ve called for help.” Ailith murmured, her voice softer now, gentled by pride. “You did well, fierce one.” 

“That was fucked up.” Alastair muttered from your right. 

“They didn’t even ask anything,” Elara said, her voice tight with anger. You assumed they were the ones lifting you up. 

“I’ve got her.” 

“Tavis? How the hell did you get here-”

You let out a gasp of pain as Garrick picked you up into his arms. “Sorry, half-pint.” Garrick murmured, adjusting his grip as you winced. “I’m trying to be gentle.” 

You weren’t sure what caused it. It could have been the use of your nickname, the exhaustion, the pain . . . All you knew was that suddenly you couldn’t breathe. “It hurts, Garrick - all of it hurts.” Your voice cracked as hot tears slipped down your cheek. You buried your face in his neck, clinging to him with the only arm that still worked. It was all too much. 

“I know.” He said quietly, his voice strained with pain. “Let’s get you to the healers.” 

The next few hours were a blur. Even the healers seemed shocked at your appearance and got to work. Garrick didn’t leave your side, but others joined him, Imogen first, then Bodhi, all looking furious. 

However, none of them came close to the storm that tore through later that night.

Dinner had just been served. Nolon was, unsurprisingly, still missing when the doors slammed open and shadows erupted. Xaden stormed in with absolute fury in his eyes, and once he spotted you, it deepened. People scrambled back from him, making his path to you easy. “Who?” His voice was low, deadly calm, jaw clenched, shoulders coiled like a snake waiting to strike.

Of all people, he was the last you could handle seeing right now, too much pain, too much unfinished. “It doesn’t matter.” You whispered, turning away from him. 

“Yes it does.” His fingers touched your chin, and you flinched away. 

You felt the hurt rolling off of him. “Ailith took care of it.” 

“It’s my job to take care of-”

“No it’s not.” You told him, reaching down to yank the collar of your shirt down so his mark, the scar you bore for him, was on display. “My job is to protect you, and I did that by staying strong in there so I can be alive to do it another day.” 

You heard someone gasp, but since none of them knew about the scar until right now, you couldn’t be sure who it was. 

Xaden’s eyes flared as his gaze darted to that exposed skin. The reminder of what you shared. Then he looked back up to meet your gaze. “I gave you space, because I figured that’s what you wanted.” He stepped closer, his voice hardening. “That’s over. I’m not letting anything like this happen to you again.” 

It was what you wanted. How could he not understand that? Couldn’t he understand how badly it hurt? “Xaden, I don’t want-”

“I don’t care.” He snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Your mouth dropped in disbelief. 

“I’m keeping you safe, whether it’s with me or one of the others.” Xaden said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Before you could even begin to protest though, he had started walking away. 

“You’re being an asshole.” You muttered. 

“I’ll be whatever I need to be as long as it keeps you alive.” Xaden replied over his shoulder. 

What you needed him to be was the one thing he couldn’t. 

Almost as if he’d heard the thought, Xaden turned back. The look on his face, raw, exposed, stole your breath. 

Then he was gone. 

You wanted to run after him. But what good was chasing a future already promised to someone else? 

——————————

“How long do we have to wait?” You asked, kicking a rock forward 

Garrick kicked it back to you. “I say we give it another hour then take off.” 

“Thirty minutes.” Xaden said, tense and unreadable as he stared at the sky like it had personally offended him.  

“Won’t see any argument here.” You mumbled, returning the rock to Garrick who grinned at you. 

You hadn’t wanted to come. But everyone Xaden trusted to stay with you was tied up with flight maneuvers or training. So here you were - outside the wards, wasting time with Garrick and Xaden, waiting on fliers who clearly weren’t showing. You glared daggers at Xaden’s back.

“Looking at me like that won’t get them here any faster.” Xaden said, still not turning around.

“I hate when he does that.” You said, ignoring him and looking at Garrick instead. 

He wiggled his eyebrow at you. “It’s creepy, isn’t it?” 

Ailith’s voice cut through the conversation. “The fliers have arrived.” 

You stood up, tension in your bones as you heard the wingbeats of the gryphons started to fill the air. You had been on one of these meetups, but they still made you anxious. 

You weren’t the only one on edge. Garrick and Xaden both stood stiff as boards.

But as all the fliers landed, a new emotion started showing itself. 

The tension snapped into something sharper - anger. 

You glanced over at Garrick, confused, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes locked, as if avoiding looking at you at all. 

Then you looked at Xaden. Same fury, same focus, locked on one particular flier.

A beautiful one. 

But you didn’t let your gaze linger on her, instead turning back to Xaden. It was easy enough to read all the emotions past the anger. Duty. Shame. And beneath it all, disgust. 

Why would he . . . 

“Xaden.” She said, with a blinding smile. She went straight to Xaden, her black hair shining in the light as she pressed a kiss to his cheek like they weren’t surrounded by silence thick with tension. 

A kiss he clearly didn’t want. 

And everything fell into place. You now knew exactly who she was. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Catrionia?” Xaden asked, pushing her back without hesitation. 

“She insisted.” A voice answered, stepping forward. “Since you haven’t visited except for these drops the past month.” The resemblance to Catrionia was unmistakable. Same eyes, same cold smile. Definitely family. She glanced down the line of you, pausing on your face. “I don’t know this one.” She said, raising an eyebrow. 

“And you don’t need to.” Xaden snapped. 

But you spoke your name over him anyway. 

His jaw tightened.

Catrionia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and calculating. Menace curled off her like smoke. 

You raised an eyebrow. Oh. Oh. You felt her. Slithering along the edges of your thoughts, pressing like icy fingers against the door of your mind. 

“Say the word and I will flay her alive.” Ailith growled, her fury shaking the forest itself. 

You expected to feel rage. Hatred. Jealousy. But instead, all you felt was clarity. 

Because you could feel how Xaden felt about her - and there was nothing. No love. No longing. Just a sense of duty, brittle and tired. 

And from her? She saw him not as a partner, but a conquest. 

You couldn’t have him, but at least you knew he loved you. 

That would be enough. It would have to be. 

“Xaden’s mentioned you.” Catriona said, her smirk slicing through your thoughts.. “Not very often, though.” 

Well yeah, you wouldn’t talk about your ex to your fiancée either. Then you felt her again, playing at the corner of your mind. “Fliers do mind work, right?” You asked, glancing at Garrick. “What can she do?” 

Catrionia’s eyes flashed. “That’s none of your-”

“She can intensify emotions, but only ones you already have.” Xaden cut in, his eyes locked on you like he expected an explosion. 

But you wouldn’t. Because the emotions you were feeling right now were regret, and pity. “You want me jealous, angry, but you can’t get there.” You offered her a pitying smile. It made her seethe.  

“I’m not doing-”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, you are. I can feel you scraping at my shields.” 

She narrowed her eyes. 

You continued anyway. “I may not be able to manipulate emotions, but I can sense them. That means when I look at Xaden, I can feel everything he feels about you. And when I look at you, I can feel everything you feel about him.” 

You could feel the shock radiating from Xaden and Garrick, but you ignored that for now. 

“So no, I’m not jealous. I already know where I stand with him, and it’s a hell of a lot closer than you’ll ever be.” 

Catrionia might get his ring, might get his last name, but you had his love. 

And that was worth everything.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on Ailith before she decides to make you her dinner.” You said, and turned your back, walking away from the party. 

“That was almost as entertaining to watch as you taking down those cadets at threshing.” Ailith rumbled, full of pride. “Even Sgaeyl is amused.” 

Well, that might be your biggest accomplishment to date. 

“You have a second signet?” 

You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you, but you weren’t surprised that he did. You turned around to face Xaden, wrapping your arms around yourself. The bold girl you’d been moments earlier crumbled inside of you, buried under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. You nodded. 

He looked hurt, “and you didn’t tell me?” 

You didn’t respond. 

Xaden took a step forward, and gods you wanted to back away, but he was like an addiction, a craving you could never detox from. “When did you manifest?” He asked, those onyx eyes drilling into your soul. 

Of course, the one question that hurt the most. You stared past him, into the trees, willing the memory not to swallow you whole. “The first night we . . .” You swallowed, pain tightening your throat. “At first I thought it was me, just how much I felt, but then I realized . . . it wasn’t. It was hard to differentiate between my emotions and other people’s at first. Not so much now.” 

“This whole time . . . “ Xaden stepped closer, his voice caught between fury and disbelief. The two of you were in touching distance now. “When you told me to marry Cat - you knew that I love -”

“Don’t say it,” you whispered, stepping back as heat flooded your eyes, tears you didn’t want to shed. “Please don’t say it, Xaden.” 

“But you know it!” He insisted, and you inhaled sharply as he grabbed your elbows, tugging you back to him. “If you know it, why can’t I say it?!” 

“Because then I can’t pretend!” You choked out. “I can’t lie to myself if I know you know!” You swallowed, willing yourself to get back under control before speaking again. “When you stand on that altar in however many years,” you rasped, “and I’m sitting in the crowd, watching, because you had to choose her . . .” Your fists struck his chest, once. “You’ll still be everything to me. Always.” Another blow, softer this time. “And I’ll pretend. I’ll pretend you don’t know. That you pushed it down. That you’re doing your duty like I told you to, because that’s the only way I’ll survive it.” 

Xaden’s hands cupped your cheeks. “Don’t I get a say? You won’t even let me try to choose you.” 

You shook your head, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your ribs, “because I know you would, and I’m never going to make you choose between Aretia and me.” 

Xaden leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours. 

Every instinct screamed at you to melt into him, to let him hold you together like he always did, to forget Aretia, the war, the cost - but you didn’t. You couldn’t. 

Aretia had to come first. 

He sighed, his thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t know you were shedding. “I can read intentions.” He hesitated, as if saying the words alone might cost him. “It’s my second signet.” 

He could read intentions? Of a person? Gods. If he could do that . . . it was practically an inntinnsic. It would get him killed. 

“You’re the only one that knows.” He added. 

Your heart stuttered. He hadn’t told anyone? Not even Garrick? You clutched his shirt tighter, like maybe that could hold the truth between you. “I won’t say a word. Xaden, I swear no one will know-”

“I know.” Xaden interrupted. “I trust you. I’m telling you because that’s why I’m not on my godsdamn knees right now fighting for you . . . because I already know you’ve decided you’re not worth choosing. Not over Aretia. Not even for me.” 

He was right. There was nothing he could say that would make you change your mind. Your home was worth so much more than you. 

Xaden pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes and let the emotion behind it soak into your bones. “I wish it could be different.” You whispered. 

He exhaled, long and quiet. “I wish you’d let it.” 

——————————

The air felt wrong. 

Not in any obvious way, but in the prickling, bone-deep way that told you something was about to go sideways. 

The scary part though was that there was no reason for it to be. There was no rogue activity, no wards that had been breached as far as you knew. It was just another weapons drop, routine as it came. So why did your spine feel like it was trying to crawl out of your skin? 

Why did you feel so anxious? 

You glanced over at Xaden and Garrick who were having their own conversation a few feet away. They didn’t seem to notice anything odd. Was it you? Were you being paranoid? 

“It is not just you, fierce one.” Ailith’s voice reassured down the bond. 

Your stomach dropped. If Ailith felt it too, then it wasn’t nerves. It was something real, and real meant dangerous. 

“You’ll let me know if you see anything weird?” You asked her. 

She scoffed. “You know you don’t need to ask.”

You turned your attention back to Xaden and Garrick, tapping your fingers against your thighs until you couldn’t control it anymore. “How much longer?” 

They both turned to you, Garrick rolling his eyes. “We’ve been here for ten minutes, half-pint. They’re not supposed to get here for another fifteen.” 

But Xaden, Xaden knows your body better than anyone, and his eyes shift to your hands, still tapping against your thighs. He looks up and meets your gaze, jaw tensing. “What's wrong?” 

Before you can even respond, Ailith’s voice enters your mind again, sharp and urgent. “The fliers have arrived.” 

You brush off his concerned look. The fliers are here. You can finish this drop and get the hell out of here. You forced your voice steady. “Nothing, let’s hurry up.” 

Then the fliers stepped through the trees, and every alarm in your body went off. 

You’ve been to enough of these drops to recognize the small groups of fliers you always end up trading with. The groups might change, but there’s always at least one familiar face. 

Here there are none. 

Then the emotions. You cracked the door open to Ailith’s power and they came rushing in. Hunger. Greed. Thrill. As you looked at each of them in turn though, one emotion stood out among all the others. 

Malice. 

You glanced at Xaden, but he wasn’t looking at you. You knew his body too though, and you watched as his hands clenched into fists, showing the underlying tension. You had no doubts he was reading their intentions, and with the way he shifted, a step to the left, between you and them, you knew. He didn’t like what he saw. “Who are you? Where’s Syrena?” 

You stood up, letting the weeds by the trees creep forward towards the unwelcome company, while you watched Xaden’s shadows do the same. 

“She got a little . . . tied up,” said the man in the middle, his grin all teeth and venom. “Sent some of us on without her.” 

Xaden’s arms crossed over his chest, and his voice was like a blade. “She knows we only deal with her.” 

“Yeah, well . . . we’re not here to make deals.” He said, taking a step forward, slow and smug. “We’re here to take. Whether it be weapons . . .” His eyes drifted to all three of you, pausing once he met yours. “Or lives.” 

For a second, you felt it, Xaden’s rage boiling in your chest like it was your own, then - 

“Now!” Xaden barked, and the world exploded into motion. 

Shadows surged, vines lashed, and Garrick’s gusts howled like war drums. 

It was a blur after that. You and Xaden tripped them with creeping weeds and writhing shadows while Garrick hurled them backward with blasts of wind. You thought it was going to be quick. The three of you moved like you were one weapon, and the six of them didn’t stand a chance. 

Then a flash of brown - 

A rune arched through the air and struck near your feet. 

Pain detonated inside your skull, sharp and blinding. A high-pitched ring screamed through your head. 

You crumpled, hands flying to your temples, your knees slamming into the dirt. The world twisted and wobbled. The sound blocked out everything else. All you could think about was ending that pain, now. You forced your eyes open only to find yourself blanketed in a wall of dense, coiled, and trembling shadows. 

Xaden. 

Even now, with all six of those fliers out there, he was protecting you. 

You could barely think, but your heart cracked open all over again. You had to make it stop. You couldn’t do anything until this debilitating ache was gone, and you had to protect Xaden. He was going to burn himself out if he had to keep this shield over you and fight. 

You clawed your way through the fog in your mind, searching for the sparkling bond between you and Ailith, and you yanked. 

The roots obeyed your call, inching closer and closer through the Earth until they found the rune and wrapped around it. The power that held it together was strong . . . 

But so were you. 

You dug deep, teeth clenched, fingers curled into the soil. You picked at the seams, found its weakest joints, and - 

Snap. 

The silence after the ringing was louder than the pain. You dropped, boneless, heart thudding in your ears.

“FIERCE ONE!” Ailith’s voice pounded into your skull.

“I’m okay,” you rasped, or maybe you thought you said it. You allowed yourself one breath, then two. “Are you coming?” 

“The trees are too thick, but we’re getting as close as possible. Sgaeyl has suggested burning the forest down-”

“No,” your voice cut in fast, firm. “We don’t need the attention. We’ve got this.” You staggered to your feet, bracing against a nearby tree as the world tilted, then steadied. 

“Say the word,” Ailith hissed, “and the whole place burns.” 

You didn’t doubt her, or Sgaeyl. Even Chradh would probably love to assist. So if you didn’t want this whole operation to be found out, you had to get out there. Now. Taking one more deep breath, you took a step through the shadows, feeling them caress your skin as you did. 

Garrick was holding off two of the fighters. Xaden had three. That wasn’t going to work. 

You cracked the door wider to Ailith’s power, the ground answering with a guttural tremor. Roots erupted from the ground, fast, violent and hungry. Two fliers, one near Garrick, and one flanking Xaden, were snared mid-swing. You clenched your fists, and the vines did the rest.  

Their necks made the same sound the rune did. 

Xaden glanced at you, a flicker, but the relief in his eyes gutted you. Then the shadows behind you collapsed inward, pooling like ink before surging forward. They wrapped around his last attacker’s throat like a noose. 

Xaden didn’t hesitate. One step forward. A blade driven clean through the chest. 

Garrick dispatched his with brutal efficiency and moved to your side. 

You closed the door on Ailith’s power, your skin hot with overuse, and fought every urge you had not to fall to the ground. 

“Took you long enough,” Garrick muttered, breathing hard, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth. 

“Fuck you,” you said, still breathless, but you gave him a weak smile. 

Garrick smirked, placing a hand on your shoulder as his eyes swept over you. “You okay?” 

You nodded. “Will be. As soon as we find out how those assholes knew we would be here.” 

Then everything fractured.

A twig snapped. 

Xaden’s head jerked toward the sound - toward you. 

Shadows burst from him in an instant. One set yanked Garrick back. Another lashed past you, but - 

-Xaden didn’t wait. 

He tackled you, a hard blur of motion and panic. 

Two roars echoed through the forest, loud and unmistakable ones of your dragons. 

The two of you hit the ground hard and rolled. Your ribs ached. Dirt filled your mouth. You clutched him close, not knowing what had happened, just that you still had him, until the world stopped spinning and he was under you. 

“Xaden?” 

He didn’t respond.

You scrambled off of him. “Xaden, you fucking idiot! Why would you-”

He wasn’t moving. 

“No. No. No. No-” The words cracked out of you like glass breaking.

You touched his face, fingers trembling as they pushed back sweat-damp hair, the other resting on his hip, right under his armor. You couldn’t find a wound, any blood, but hidden in his hair, you found a bump. You dropped your hand to his neck, searching - 

There. It was there. Fainter than you wanted, but it was there. 

He was alive. Unconscious, but alive. You were going to kill him when he woke up. He was going to get the biggest fucking lecture . . . 

But then awareness creeped into your bones that something still wasn’t right. 

Your hand was wet. 

You pulled it from his hip, the red staining your skin, and glanced frantically at Garrick who had bypassed the two remaining fliers Xaden had killed to pick up a dagger, its silver blade covered in red. “Garrick . . .” You said his name like a prayer, a whisper, even though it felt like you were screaming. “Garrick!” 

He was at your side in a second, eyes locking on the wound your hand was pressing over. “Shit, shit, shit -” 

You shoved the panic down, swallowed it whole. There wasn’t time. Xaden was alive. He was still alive, and you had to get him out of here to a mender fast. You were responsible for him and you’d be damned if you let Malek take him like this. “Garrick, you have to get him out of here. Now.” 

Garrick shook his head. “Xaden will fucking kill me if I leave you here-”

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t take him right now. Do you understand me? For the love of Amari, get him out of here and to a mender now.” Your voice was sharp as steel. “Don’t argue. Go.” 

He stared at you a second longer, but then nodded. 

Together, you lifted Xaden and helped get him onto Chradh so Garrick could get him to a mender faster. Garrick mounted behind him. 

You watched as they flew off. Sgaeyl followed close behind. 

You watched your heart vanish into the sky. 

Only then, when he was gone, when the adrenaline burned off, and your body remembered the pain did you collapse. 

Ailith, settled beside you, folding her wing over your body to shield you from the world, as if even the forest didn’t deserve to witness your unraveling. 

“I told him not to choose me.” You whispered, voice cracking. “I told him, and then he -”

“Maybe, fierce one,” Ailith said softly, her breath a warm balm against your numb skin. “Choosing you is not a choice he gets to make. Maybe his heart has already made it for him.” 

She leaned closer, her voice a gentle hush. “Just as your heart has chosen him.” 

——————————

As you stumbled into the healer’s quadrant, dozens of hours later, limbs aching and mind frayed, you couldn’t help but be thankful it was the weekend. That meant no classes. No Battle Brief. You couldn’t have sat still through one even if you tried. Not without knowing how he was. 

Your eyes scanned the room frantically, not unlike they had right after you had crossed the parapet so long ago. It took you seconds to spot Garrick, standing sentinel at the end of Xaden’s bed. 

You didn't even think. You bolted, shoving through any people that were in your way. “Is he okay?” You choked out, your heart hammering so hard in your chest it felt like it might shatter your ribs. 

Garrick pulled you into a tight, grounding hug. “He’s okay.” He whispered into your hair.

Relief swept through your body in a wave, and the weight of it would’ve sent you to your knees if Garrick hadn’t been holding you. 

He was okay. He was okay. 

You didn’t realize you were crying until Garrick pulled back and gave you the space to wipe your face. His expression softened as he glanced back at the bed. “They gave him something to knock him out. He would’ve been awake by now otherwise.” 

You exhaled shakily. “Probably a good idea.” You said with a weak smile. “He’d be storming out of here against healer orders if he could.” 

“Bastard nearly took my head off trying to argue with the mender.” Garrick looked back at you then, a small frown forming on his face. “Did you run into any trouble on the way back?” 

You shook your head. No patrols, no enemy sightings - just the chaos in your own head, which felt more dangerous than anything else out there.

“Come on. You’ve been flying for hours. Sit.” He led you to the chair beside Xaden’s bed, and you couldn’t even find the energy to protest. 

Then you made yourself look at him. 

He looked peaceful. It reminded you of the nights that you’d fallen asleep together, and the rare moments when you’d woken up before him. Gods how you missed it. The weight of the world gone from his face as he dreamed, his arms holding you close like his favorite pillow. You’d almost never seen him like that again. 

You couldn’t help it. You’d almost lost him. With trembling fingers, you reached for his hand, covering it with your own and giving it a squeeze. 

Garrick’s voice broke the silence. “We need to have a talk.” 

Well, you had wondered how long it would take him. 

You didn’t look up, instead you kept tracing the lines of Xaden’s knuckles with your thumb. 

You heard him let out a sigh, and then he slouched down in the seat on the other side of Xaden, stretching out his legs. “You two, especially you, are being stupid and stubborn.” He said, his voice tired. 

“You know that’s a trait we share.” You said, shrugging. 

“And normally that only gives me a mild headache. Lately it makes me want to bash your heads together.” 

You looked at him then, and felt a stab of shame. Garrick had been caught in the middle of you and Xaden’s mess from the beginning, and now this. You knew that it had to suck. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly. 

“He didn’t hesitate when that knife started flying toward you.” Garrick’s voice was level, but there was a tightness under it. 

“I know.” 

“He’d do it every time. You know that right?” 

You swallowed. You wish you didn’t know that. 

“So this whole, choosing Aretia over you thing? It’s a lie you’re telling yourself. He’s never going to do it.” 

“Taking a knife for me isn’t the same as choosing a whole province -”

“It is when he could have died.” 

The sharp edge in Garrick’s voice cut you off. That tone, the one he usually saved for idiot cadets who couldn’t follow orders, startled you into silence. 

“That dagger was meant for you.” He said, quieter now, but more dangerous. “And he still took it. That’s choosing you over everything.”  

You looked away, throat burning. He was right. You knew he was right. Xaden would have taken that dagger for you over and over again without hesitation, like you would for him. “I can’t - I don’t know how to make him stop.” 

“For the love of Amari, you can’t!” 

You jumped. Garrick never yelled at you.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, dragging in a breath like he needed to stay calm. This time when he spoke his voice was more even. “He’s in love with you. He has been for ages. I know you know that, and I know he knows that.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I want you to ask yourself one thing: can you make yourself stop loving him?” 

The question hit you like a slap. It wasn’t something you’d ever considered. You didn’t have to. There wasn’t a version of this life, or any other, where you didn’t love him. You were always going to. 

Your voice cracked as the truth clawed its way out of you. “Why . . . Why would I even try?” 

“So you wouldn’t have to be miserable for the rest of your life, because half-pint-” his eyes softened. “That’s what you’re resigning yourself to if you can’t make yourself stop loving him.” 

You glanced down at Xaden again, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes. Gods he was so beautiful, too beautiful to be hurt because of you. Your heart stuttered at the thought of even trying not to love him. 

“I - I can’t.” The words burst from you, raw and unguarded. “Garrick, it'd be like losing a lung. I wouldn’t be able to breathe-”

He gave a grim nod. “Maybe you’re okay living like that. But are you okay with making him live like that?” 

The words sank like a dagger straight into your ribs. 

“You’re responsible for him right?” Garrick said, pointing to where the scar on your chest was hidden. “Then stop being selfish,” His voice didn’t rise, but it cut. “Stop pretending this is about duty. Start thinking about his happiness. Because I’ll tell you something right now, Xaden is fucking miserable without you.” 

The air vanished from your lungs. You never wanted that. You never meant to make him miserable. You thought . . . you were helping. Instead of being torn between you and Aretia, you took yourself out of the equation. You convinced yourself that he would move on. That he’d settle, find some measure of peace with Cat. 

But it had been months, and you knew he still felt the same way about you. It hadn’t dimmed at all. 

He still loved you. He hadn’t moved on. 

And neither had you. 

“And I know you’re miserable without him. Godsdamn you two are my best friends and deserve happiness more than anyone I know. Fucking take it.” 

“Gods will you two stop arguing already?” 

The voice was rough, gravelly with exhaustion, but you’d know it anywhere. 

Xaden’s eyes were open, and he was looking at you with a softness you didn’t deserve. 

Relief tumbled through you like a wave. Gods for a moment you thought you’d never see those eyes again. It took everything in you not to crawl into that bed and bury yourself in him, but you hadn’t earned that. 

“I wouldn’t call it an argument.” You said, forcing lightness into your tone. You glanced at Garrick, gave him a faint smile, then squeezed Xaden’s hand. “More like a lecture. Fitting since you’re about to get a hell of one.” 

Xaden groaned. “Figures.” 

“Well, honey bear, I’m going to leave you to that.” He said, reaching out to squeeze Xaden’s shoulder. “Have to tell everyone why they haven’t seen your pretty face today.” 

“Or you could not.” Xaden replied. 

“And miss the chance of lining up more lectures for you? No way.” He replied, but then the teasing look on his eyes faded somewhat and his tone turned more serious. “I’m glad you’re okay, man.” 

Xaden gave him a nod, the kind that said more than words ever could. “Me too, brother.” 

Garrick ruffled your hair as he passed, earning an eye roll that you didn’t really mean. His hand lingered for a moment longer on your shoulder, and then he leaned in close and muttered just for you, “Fix it.” 

Then you and Xaden were alone. 

There was silence for a minute while you stared after Garrick, but then your breath caught as Xaden threaded his fingers through yours. Your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d held your hand like that. You had forgotten how perfectly his fingers slotted between yours, like they’d been made to fit. How could you have ever thought you could give this up forever? 

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the rest, but Xaden squeezed your hand, grounding you. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice soft in the morning light. 

You laughed. A choked, incredulous sound. You turned back to him, a look of disbelief all over your face. “Did you seriously ask me that after you took a damn dagger for me?” 

He shrugged. The bastard shrugged. “He was aiming for you. I stopped it from happening. I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of this damn -” Xaden then started moving, slinging his legs over, and you didn’t miss the wince when he did. 

You shot to your feet, placing your free hand on his chest. “Xaden Riorson.” You snapped. “You have been stabbed. Keep. Your. Ass. In. This. Bed.” You said, pushing on his chest with enough force to make him lay back down. 

Xaden sighed, and closed his eyes like a man surrendering to the inevitable. “All right. Go ahead and let me have it. Tell me how pissed you are.” 

“Pissed?” you echoed, your voice rising. “Pissed?! Xaden I was terrified!” 

The words burst out, and once they did, the dam broke. 

His eyes opened again, watching, listening, and you couldn’t stop. 

“You have no idea how that felt. You could have died! Gods, I couldn’t breathe when Garrick flew off with you! What if he didn’t get you there fast enough? What if you died? What if I lost you, and it was my fault -”

Xaden shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been-”

“Don’t bullshit me.” You snapped, your voice breaking. “You almost died for me. Despite everything I’ve done to you. Despite the fact that I told you to put Aretia first over and over again-”

“And I’d do it again.” Xaden interrupted, firm. “And again, and again, if it keeps you breathing.” Xaden sat up, using his grip on your hand to tug you closer. “I’m not living in a world without you.” 

Gods the way he said that. Like it wasn’t a decision - just the truth. How had you ever doubted him? How had you convinced yourself he’d choose anything, but you, when you’d give up everything for him? 

You sat down on the bed, bringing his hand to your chest so his knuckles brushed against where your scar for him was. “And you think I’m okay living without you?” 

Xaden’s eyes dropped to where his knuckles brushed the fabric hiding the mark that tied you to him. Then he met your eyes again, and the flash of grief you saw there nearly shattered you. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do?” 

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. You had been trying to push him out of your life without even realizing it. You thought it was for a noble reason, making him keep his focus on Aretia instead of you, but . . . a part of it was hoping that if you kept him at a distance, it would dull the ache of missing him. But it hadn’t. It never would. 

And you didn’t think you had the strength to push him away again. 

You shook your head, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. “Not anymore.” 

Xaden’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears, gentle, reverent. “What are you saying, love?” 

“I told you once not to say that,” you whispered, your breath catching.

The smile he gave you, soft, wicked, and adoring, should’ve come with a warning. It melted every part of you, and the box in your mind, the one that stored all of your favorite smiles of his, cracked open after the longest time of being shut. “Yeah, I’m not hiding it anymore. I love you. And I’m done pretending I don’t. I’m ending the deal with Poromiel. I won’t spend another moment allied with people who threatened you, and I sure as hell won’t marry that throne-chasing manipulative viper.” He said, and you couldn’t help but let out a strangled laugh. “So the engagement is off, no matter what you’re about to-”

“-I love you too.” You blurted, cutting him off. “Gods, I love you so damn much, and I can’t take another day not being able to call you mine-” 

He didn’t let you finish. Xaden’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing into yours like it had been aching for years. 

Oh gods. You had almost forgotten. You’d almost forgotten how perfect his lips were. How they obliterated every thought from your mind. 

How they felt like home. 

You clutched him closer as he deepened the kiss, desperate to keep him there as you let yourself drown in him, the mint and leather smell, the heat of his body, the delicious taste of him. And you couldn’t help but ask yourself, how could you have ever let him go? 

He slipped his tongue in your mouth, and you moaned,  which caused the horrible reaction of him pulling away. He didn’t go far though, his lips still brushing yours as he spoke. “You make that noise again, and we’re going to traumatize half the Healer’s Quadrant.” 

You leaned forward, nipping at his bottom lip and grinning at the growl that he made in response. It heated your whole body. “Mhmm, promise?” 

Xaden shook his head for a moment, and the smile he gave you would have made you collapse if he wasn’t already pretty much holding you up. “You’re such fucking trouble.” He murmured, and then distracted you with kisses down your throat. 

Gods maybe you should’ve helped him sneak out of here before you had this conversation. 

This time when he pulled away, your eyes were closed, but you opened them again when his gentle fingers found your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Before you go sweet talk a Healer to get me out of here so I can take you back to your room and make up for months of not fucking you, I want to make something clear.” 

Gods, he was going to destroy you, and you couldn’t wait. You bit your lip, nodding for him to continue.  

“You’re not leaving me again.” he said, his voice low, but unyielding. “Not for Aretia. Not for another man -”

“As if anyone could-” 

He silenced you with a thumb to your bottom lip. 

“Not even for Malek’s godsdamned doorstep. I will follow you. Always. You are mine, love. I won’t let anything take you away from me again. Especially not you. Understand?” 

Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest at the sincerity in his tone. There was no doubt that he meant every word he said, and honestly? Being by Xaden’s side for the rest of your life? Rebuilding your home together like you’d always wanted to? 

You couldn’t imagine anything happier. 

True to his words, the housekeeping droids had in fact left us two outfits, one to sleep in and one for the next day. As Maul and I settled in for the night, I tried to get him to tell me where we were going, but he wouldn’t budge. Finally, I accepted that this would truly be a surprise and let it be as we both fell asleep. 

The following morning, I woke up to breakfast in bed before we got ready and headed to the hangar. To my surprise, Dasar and Totin were there to see us off. 

“You two go enjoy yourselves before my nephew gets here,” Dasar said, giving me a hug. 

“Well, I am hoping we will, but someone won’t tell me where we’re going…” I said, playfully cutting my eyes over at Maul. 

“Oh, don’t worry, he got our input on it, we wouldn’t let him take you somewhere you wouldn’t enjoy,” Totin said, giving me a hug as well. 

“Alright, well I am trusting you then… Congratulations, you two. I hope you both enjoy the rest of your wedding celebrations.” I said with a smile. 

“Thank you, and thank you for your help, it means the world to have my best friend play such a big role in my big day.” Dasar said. 

“You’re welcome, now stop that sappy crap, or I’m going to start crying.” I said, fanning my eyes. 

Maul said his congratulations and goodbyes as well before we boarded the ship. 

“Wait here, darling, I will go put our location into the ship's navigation,” Maul said, leading me over to one of the cushioned benches on the ship. 

When he returned, I asked once again, “Where are you taking us?” 

“I’ve already said you’ll have to wait and see… we should be there in about six or so hours… so, we have plenty of time, just the two of us.” He said, leaning in close. I could feel his breath against my neck. 

I smiled to myself, and instead of playing into it, I took the opportunity to try to get more information about our destination. 

“Oh, will we have company at our secret destination?” I asked, still tilting my head to give him better access to press his lips against my neck. 

He huffed a laugh against my neck before pulling away. I turned to face him, and he was smiling slightly while shaking his head, “I don’t plan on it, no… but why wait?” 

This time, I gave in. Our lips met and turned to face him more. My hands found the bottom of his tunic and tugged it up to untuck it. 

“Eager, are we?” Maul teased against my lips. 

“You started this.” I shot back. 

Maul pulled away fully from me. The look in his eyes was one I could never grow tired of seeing. The one that meant he was about to absolutely ruin me. 

“Perhaps we should move this to somewhere more comfortable, hm?” He asked, already standing up. 

He turned and offered me a hand up, which I took. Once, I was standing when a quiet alarm sounded through the ship. We were about to jump to lightspeed. Without a second thought, Maul pulled me against him and adjusted his stance slightly, preparing for the ship to make the jump and shudder slightly. After he was certain that there was no more risk of me losing my balance and falling, he released his grip on my hips and slid his hand into mine to lead us to the sleeping quarters on the ship. 

He guided me to the bed, where he gave me a gentle kiss before grabbing the hem of my top and pulling it over my head. He returned the favor and pulled off his own tunic before giving me another gentle kiss. 

Then his lips slowly left mine and began trailing down to my neck. Then from my neck to my collarbone, from my collarbone to my breast. He continued leaving a train of kisses down the side of my belly, right down to the waistband of the sweatpants I was wearing low so they sat under the lower curve of my belly. Admittedly, it wasn’t the sexiest outfit I could have been wearing, but I knew we’d be traveling today and I wanted to be comfortable… not that Maul seemed to mind. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look like this?” Maul asked, looking up at me from where he was now kneeling in front of me. 

“A few times, yes.” I teased, knowing he loves to remind me how much he enjoyed the way I looked currently. 

“And I will continue to do so.” He vowed, reaching up to grab the sides of my pants just below the waistband. He pulled them down gently. Then, upon seeing that I had nothing on underneath them, he sat back some to look up at me and raise his brow muscle at me. 

“What? I figured wherever we were going may take some time to get there…” I admitted. 

Maul didn’t answer, just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of my thigh. He was still leaning slightly to the side, he kept leaving a trail of kisses as he inched inward, closer to my core. And all at once I realized where this was going. 

He pulled away and sat back again, “Go sit on the bed, my love.” 

I couldn’t help the heat that rushed up to my cheeks as he said it. I obeyed his request and sat on the edge of the bed as he came closer. He positioned himself right between my legs. 

“Lie back, let me take care of you.” 

I did as he said and relaxed into the plush mattress and soft bed sheets. He wasted no time peppering kisses up the inside of one of my thighs, then turning and giving my leg the same attention. Then, when he reached my core again, he was so close I could feel his breath, sending shivers up my spine. 

A low growl-like sound left his lips before I felt his tongue slip into me. His movements brought a gentle sigh from me, as I relaxed evermore into bed while he continued to fuck me with his tongue. 

I was already getting breathless when I felt him pull away slightly, only to adjust himself, and this time, his mouth went to my clit. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending my senses into overdrive. 

“Oh fuck, Maul.” I said, head tipping back slightly as my hands grabbed the silky sheets below me. 

My moans mixed with the wet sounds of his work as I was getting closer to my climax. 

“M’close. Keep going…” I all but begged, as if he would actually stop. 

A few moments later, my legs were shaking, and I was coming. Maul moved from my clit back down to lap up every drop of my release that he could. When he was done, he sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up and coming over to lay beside me. I turned my head as he leaned closer and kissed me gently. 

“Can I return the favor?” I asked, already reaching for the waistband of his trousers, but he caught my wrist gently. 

“Perhaps later.” He said gently. 

Usually I would argue, but my mind was still fuzzy. Maul scooted closer, and I leaned into him more. Despite the warmth still flowing through my body, I nuzzled up against him. 

“How does a warm shower sound?” He asked gently. 

I hummed in response. 

“Is that a yes?” He asked. 

“Only if you join me.” I said. 

“Of course.” He said before kissing the top of my head. 

It was times like these when I was beyond grateful that the man I loved enjoyed traveling in style. Most ships' refreshers are tiny. Hell, in most refreshers on ships, you could do your business, wash your hands, and take a shower without really moving from a single spot. This ship, however, was the opposite. The refresher was quite large, and the shower had enough space for two. So that is where Maul and I found ourselves. Maul was always so gentle with me after sex. It was one of my many favorite things about him, honestly. 

I was bundled in a thick coat that Maul had insisted I wear before we even left the ship. I followed him down the transport ramp and promptly forgot every complaint I'd had about not knowing where he was taking me.

"Oh." The word escaped me in a breath.

Then another.

"Oh my Maker..."

Mountains. Endless mountains.

Towering peaks stretched across the horizon, their tops buried beneath brilliant white snow that glittered beneath the afternoon sun. Dense evergreen forests blanketed the lower slopes. They too were blanketed in snow, their dark green poking out against the pristine white landscape.

Everything looked untouched. Peaceful. Beautiful.

I stood frozen at the bottom of the ramp, staring.

Snow drifted lazily through the air around us. Actual snow. Not a holo. Not a picture. Real snow.

A grin spread across my face before I could stop it.

"Maul."

He stopped beside me. I looked up at him. Then back at the mountains. Then back at him.

"Maul."

There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes now.

"I assume that is approval."

I laughed. "Approval?" I gestured wildly toward the scenery. "This is incredible."

The smile threatening his expression softened slightly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I simply stood there staring at everything. The fresh snow. The forests. The mountains. The crisp cold air.

It was unlike anywhere I'd ever spent any meaningful amount of time. Mandalore had never looked like this. Dathomir certainly didn't.

And despite the little traveling I had done with with Crimson Dawn, most of it involved spaceports, cities, casinos, meetings, and compounds.

Not this. Never this. Eventually, I glanced over at him.

"You planned this?"

"Obviously."

"How long?"

His expression became suspiciously neutral.

"Technically? ...Several months."

My eyes narrowed. "Technically?"

A slight nod. “It is technically an investment."

I nodded and looked back at the mountains. 

"I've always wanted to visit somewhere like this."

"I know."

The simple answer made me blink.

Then he continued, “That is why half the entire planet will be set aside. Left alone, untouched by whatever Crimson Dawn business might be moved here.” 

When I looked back at him, his gaze remained fixed on the scenery.

Not on me. The mountains. The snow. Anywhere except directly at me. Which meant he was about to say something sincere. Something he still wasn't entirely comfortable saying.

"I know I have not taken you many places."

My smile faded slightly.

"Maul…"

He continued before I could interrupt.

"You have spoken before about wanting to travel. Properly. Not for business. And I know that this isn’t exactly that, but…" he took a deep breath, “I hope it is a step in the right direction. I want you to see the galaxy, I want our son to see the galaxy… but I want you both to be safe. The thought of taking either of you somewhere that I do not have control, somewhere you could get hurt… or worse. I…” another pause, “I don’t know why I feel this way. I know you are more than capable of protecting yourself and that you would do whatever you needed to in order to protect our son. I wish I could let go of this… feeling, but anytime I try to convince myself it will be okay, it just comes back… I’m sorry.” 

I stared at him for a moment before stepping in front of him. I knew how difficult apologies were for him. But I wasn’t too sure that this warranted an apology. 

“Maul, look at me.” I said, taking both of his hands in mine. 

He reluctantly turned his gaze away from the mountains and down at me.

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting to protect us. And that feeling is anxiety. It’s normal and honestly quite expected when you’re in love in our line of work and when becoming new parents. It’s okay… and honestly, it’s quite sweet. You bought…” I stopped myself briefly as it occurred to me that the likelihood of that was slim, Maul rarely did things the easy way. “Acquired an entire planet for us. That takes care of me wanting to travel, you wanting to keep us safe, and both of us wanting to expand Crimon Dawn. It’s perfect, Maul, thank you.” I finished by lifting up onto my toes slightly and kissing him. 

We stayed for a few more moments before Maul pulled one of his hands from mine. “Shall we head to where we will be staying?” 

I nodded, and he began leading me to the cabin nearby.  It sat about halfway up the mountainside. There was a large open path in the trees that served as a landing area for our ship, which I was happy and extremely grateful for, knowing that if I would have had to hike up that mountain, it would have done me in. 

As we approached the cabin, I took in the view that surrounded us even more. Snow-covered trees. Frozen streams. Towering cliffs. And complete silence.

No Crimson Dawn. No guards. No datapads. No advisors. No meetings. Just us.

The cabin itself was small. Not tiny. But cozy. Built from dark wood with a stone chimney and a steep roof covered in snow. Warm light glowed from the windows. And somehow that made it even better.

"Oh, I love it."

Maul looked mildly surprised.

"You have not even been inside."

"I don't care."

I pointed dramatically at the cabin, "It looks like something out of a storybook." I said, thinking back to the books I used to sneakily read as a child from the library in the palace. 

He stared at it. Then at me. Then back at it.

"I am uncertain what a storybook cabin is."

I laughed.

"Trust me. This is one."

He shook his head and continued toward the door.

Inside, the cabin was just as perfect. A large stone fireplace dominated the living room. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling. Soft blankets covered oversized couches. A kitchen sat off to one side. A staircase led upstairs. There were a few modern conveniences hidden throughout, enough to keep things comfortable, but otherwise it was surprisingly simple.

No towering technology. No luxury penthouse aesthetics. No elaborate décor. Just warmth. Comfort. Home. Even if just for a week.

I slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in.

"It's perfect."

This time, Maul didn't look surprised.

Almost relieved.

"I thought you would like it."

I wandered toward the fireplace. Then the windows. Then the couch. Then immediately toward another window. Everything was fascinating.

I heard him chuckle quietly behind me.

"Excited?"

I turned around, "Very."

"Good." The softness in his voice made me smile.

Outside, snow continued to fall gently across the mountains. Inside, a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. And for the first time in months, there was absolutely nowhere either of us needed to be. No responsibilities. No meetings. No empire.

Just a week in the mountains. Together. And honestly? I couldn't imagine a better place to spend the last few months before our son's arrival.

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You fainted, that was your father’s excuse for why you blacked out during the night. Feyre was summoned by some estranged aunt to help her on her deathbed, and you couldn’t take the stress of being without your twin so you fainted. No word of the faerie that stole her away. It was like they’d completely forgotten the whole affair. Only Nesta had a knowing glint in her eye whenever she looked at you, like the two of you alone remembered the truth of it. Some fae magic, you suspected.

You wanted to revolt in desperation.

The next morning, only 6 or so hours after Feyre was taken, Nesta took all the money Feyre earned and hired the mercenary that bought the pelts to escort Nesta to the wall. You knew in your core that it was pointless. Humans had no hope of standing against a faerie like that to steal her back. When Nesta returned home frozen and empty-handed you knew you were right.

Then your family’s lost wealth found its way back into your father’s pocket. The Archeron household was affluent once again. You knew it was not a mercy from forgotten gods or fortune finally smiling upon you like Father and Elain proclaimed from grinning mouths. Feyre paid for the blessing in her blooc, and that knowledge haunted you in the night.

Elain fell into what you might call a depression if you were being particularly forgiving. She drifted from place to place in a quiet haze where before she at least showed that she had wants or needs. Her claim was that she was worried for her dear sister, all alone with a dying woman.

Nesta seemed somehow sharper around the edges than ever before. After she abruptly ended her relationship with Thomas Mandray, she took no suitors. Something happened, you were certain, but if she wouldn’t speak of it, you wouldn’t ask. Her, you happily avoided wherever possible.

Truthfully, you avoided them all. You resented them, and that resentment squeezed your heart almost as much as your twin’s kidnapping. You rarely went home to the newfound Archeron manor. Instead, you revitalized the old cottage into a place of your own. Feyre’s paintings and the ironwood bed were the only things you cared to preserve. The drab and barren became a wealth of rugs, blankets, and warmth.

Some would have dubbed it ridiculous--a young lady living alone in the woods.

You called it peaceful. For the first time in your memorable life, you weren’t beholden to your sisters’ whims. Or their attitudes.

Hell with them, you swore. Hell with all of them.

~

“What do you mean she was here?!” you screeched. 

Nesta stared down her nose at you. “The beast freed her. She said they fell in love, and he sent her back to protect her from some other faerie monster.”

Rarely was Nesta a liar, at least not about matters where truth would hurt. Your heart raced in your chest. Why would Feyre not visit you if she was back?

As if Nesta could hear your thoughts, your eldest sister continued, “We told her you were happy, living alone in the hovel. I assume she understood that you would prefer to be unbothered by anyone.”

You would kill her. Already, your body lunged at her, hands poised to strangle her statuesque throat. Only the hands of Elain’s suitor trapping you against his body saved her. “I’ll kill you,” you swore aloud to seal the vow with spoken word. Rage filled your every pore; you felt you could spit fire and burn off all her pretty hair in one go. “My sister--”

“Our sister--”

“My twin returns, and you say nothing? You do worse than say nothing and warn her away from me? You are a vile, twisted thing, Nesta Archeron, and no one will ever love you.”

She appeared, as ever, a queen gazing down at a peasant. Unmoved by any venom you could spit. “She returned to the faerie lands to save him, the beast that took her away,” she informed you coldly, seemingly unmoved by your wrath. “Feyre made her own choices in loving him as well as in the decision to avoid you. Hate me all you like, but those facts will never change.” Her eyes flicked up to your captor.