Ugh I'm Melting

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

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okay I just finished binge reading this series and I'm seriously in love,,, this somehow managed to bring me all the way back into my harry potter phase holy shit

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 10 - FINAL (a yr later)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9

Summary: PART 10 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and going into the start of the battle of Hogwarts hoping to have reader by his side at the end of it now that it's all over.

Warnings: ANGST, crying, mentions of; blood, torture, abuse, war, death, murder, trauma basically everything violent :(

Words: 10.8K i apologize for any mistakes !

A/N: surprise :)

“It’s in Carrow’s office?” He asked, his nose instinctively scrunching when he said his name as if it disgusted him to even mention the man. You nodded as a wordless response in fear that Draco would be able to hear the slight tremble in your voice after a lump at the back of your throat had begun growing at the thought of going back to that awful place. It clouded your mind with darkness and echoing screams of pain as Bellatrix sat over you with her nails piercing into your skin while she demanded answers from you that you refused to give her.

You were silent as you trailed behind him, eyes trained on the top of his muddy silver hair with him nearly pulling you by your hand from how sluggishly you were dragging your feet up the stairs to the floor where everything truly went up in flames. It was almost as if he could sense your distress when you finally reached the undesired floor because as soon as you stepped foot onto the gravel and dirt-filled stone, his arm was wrapping itself snugly around your waist as he leaned over you to press a soft kiss into your temple.

"I'm sorry," he mutters quietly while his mouth was still beside your ear.

"For what?" You respond just as faintly.

"For what they did to you." He stops you in the middle of the corridor, his eyes darting towards the end of it where the office was just around the corner. "If I knew, Merlin I'd-“

"You didn't know," you frown, interrupting him as soon as you noticed his brow starting to furrow. "And it's done with now. Besides, I finished what he couldn't."

"Yes, you did." He answers with a fleeting small smile, a hidden proudness behind his words even though he half-heartedly tried to hide it. "But that still doesn't make it alright. Are you sure you're okay being here?"

You let out a deep breath before nodding up at him, forcing on a brave face so that this would be over with and you'd be reunited with your wand and on to face the next challenge that was waiting for you on the main floor.

"I'm fine, let's go," you say quickly. You grab onto the sleeve of his dress shirt and continue down the hall with him, entirely oblivious to the large statue standing tall at the far end of the way, right outside the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. Hanging upside down from the top of the statue by a thick piece of rope was Amycus, bloodied and bruised and very obviously frustrated. You didn't see him, but Draco did, and before you could notice the presence of the man who has shaken your reality with desolation and agony, you were being moved hastily towards the door of the room where your wand was lost in.

"I'll meet you inside, give me a second," he urged as he opened the door for you and continued to gently try to shove you inside. You turned to give him a questioning look, wondering why he unexpectedly was becoming so antsy in getting you inside. He stared back at you with a feeble pout and his eyebrows creased, a clear sign that whatever he was up to; he didn't want you to be around for it.

"Fine," you mumbled, forcing yourself into the poorly lit room to begin your search.

It felt sickening and nauseating being in the room again. Images of the painful night passed by in your head like a nightmare that you were made to relive as soon as you walked in. You wanted to reach out for Draco again, looking back towards the doorway where you thought he would be standing but he wasn't and the room felt emptier than it did before. You walked towards the door, holding on to the stone wall to keep you from collapsing and peeking out from behind it to see if you could spot the waves of silver hair nearby doing whatever it was that he was so adamant about keeping hidden from you.

You watched as he walked down the corridor briskly, wholly focused on something or rather someone as he moved like he was on a mission with his wand gripped tightly in his right hand.

Draco swore he was seeing red blind his vision, rage coursing through his veins as he came closer to the hanged man. He squatted down in front of him when he finally reached him, his forearms resting over his knees and twiddling around his wand in his hands with the utmost feeling of satisfaction from the sight in front of him.

The man who constantly berated and belittled him and his family, the man who made it his goal to make his life a living hell inside and out of Hogwarts, and worst of all, he was the same man who tortured and kidnapped his lover on multiple occasions now. The man who went out of his way to ruin people.

He was nothing but a fragment of what he was only hours ago, defeated and physically almost unrecognizable if it wasn't for his murderous beady eyes and permanently scowling mouth.

"What? Are you going to kill me now, boy?" Amycus questioned sarcastically. "Everyone knows you're too weak. Go ahead, prove them wrong."

:readmore:

He gave in to the itching to press his wand against Carrow’s throat, letting the hawthorn tip dig harshly into his artery. The killing curse was ready to roll off his tongue and put an infinite end to the destruction Amycus brought. He wanted it more than anything, to be the one who took him out, but as the idea became more realistic with each passing millisecond and with his hand starting to tremble, he knew he couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to, how much he deserved it; he couldn’t.

“I knew you couldn’t,” Amycus croaked once Draco’s wand moved away from his throat.

“I’m not like you,” he mutters bitterly. “I’m not a murderer.”

“You’re right,” Carrow responds coldly. “You’re nothing. You’re a blood traitor, you're weak."

Amycus' words were a broken record to him, the same phrases being repeating over and over again like a never-ending torturous cycle of all his biggest insecurities enlaced within a few remarks. If it was a year ago, maybe even a few months ago, or weeks - he would have believed his insults. Just like he always did when they were fired at him, he doubted himself and his character, his strength and skills. But he was growing tired of giving in to his struggles, of giving in to false beliefs.

"Is blood traitor the only insult anyone's got?" The classic sneer on Draco's face was one he always used to wear, his blood boiling even further as he stared down at Amycus' careless expression. Even if he was hung upside down, body battered and bruised, his evil spirits never left him.

"It's the only one that matters," he replied. "You think you got yourself all sorted out now? You think those people down there would welcome you with open arms knowing where your family's loyalties lie? You're looking for someone to blame for your troubles, blame that foul muggle-loving darling of yours. I was only ever trying to help you."

"Help?" He let out a disbelieving scoff mixed with a short chuckle, "is that what you call threatening the lives of the people I love?"

As you watched from afar, gnawing at your bottom lip anxiously while grasping the doorway in fear that in any second the script could flip and it would be Draco who was in danger. You wanted to intervene, you could see Carrow's eyes darting around the corridor, switching gazes between you and the blond raging over him and you were scared that evil would conquer and he'd somehow find a way to hurt the two of you without either of you expecting it.

"It doesn't matter what I tell you anymore, you're lost."

It was Carrow's sheer tone of confidence that pushed Draco over the edge he was teetering off of. He stood up from his kneeling position without wasting another breath. Amycus Carrow was purely wicked and there was no point in trying to make conversation with him.

The interaction just solidified Draco's wrath, and though he refused to kill him, he wasn't past causing him pain and he wasn't above using the Death Eater's body as a receiving end to his crucio. His time with the enemies did increase his power and his effectiveness. He didn't even have to say the spell or force his will to do it, it just flowed from the tip of his wand and seeped itself deep within Carrow's body. He made sure to wordlessly use the 'oscausi' spell before his torment as well, glad to see Amycus' mouth disappearing and shutting him up before his agonizing screams met your ears, something he didn't want you to hear no matter how much this monster deserved it.

He continued his torture until he was pleased; until he saw tears of blood escaping beady eyes and defeat completely wash over the man. Draco lowered his wand, letting out a breath of relief and eyeing the disaster in front of him again. Amycus thrashed around, his momentary defeat fading away as his swinging body attempted to break free but the younger Death Eater wasn't finished either.

He lifted his knee, the Italian leather shoes he wore were the last thing Amycus saw that day before Draco slammed his foot down onto his face with a powerful kick, knocking him out cold and fast. He checked for a pulse, found a weak one, and nodded to himself with satisfaction.

That was enough for him.

When he turned back on his heels to rush down the hall, he wasn't expecting to see you standing at the end of it where he purposefully hadn't left you. He briefly stopped in his steps, watching you cautiously to see if what you caught had bothered you, but it didn't. You briskly began walking towards him, his body still in a bubbling rise of fear until you were in front of him wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. You felt him relax in your touch, his hands smoothing over your lower back and encircling around your hips.

"I'm sorry you had to witness me like that," he apologizes with pained eyes. "I just had to make him hurt."

"I understand, Draco," you sympathize with his revenge. Although you didn't particularly enjoy seeing your lover so violent, Amycus was someone whose downfall had been long overdue.

Draco walked with you into the dingy office, the stone floor covered in hundreds and thousands of tiny gravel particles that shook from the ceilings with each hit the castle took from the outside. You heard a muttered 'Lumos' coming from the blond, the majority of the room now all of a sudden glowing with a cold white light, flashes of your last moments in there flickering across your mind like a nightmare you couldn't escape now that everything was becoming visible. You took a deep breath, moving forward hesitantly in short scuffles around the area you saw your wand discarded when it was taken from you.

It was hard to look around, the flood of emotions almost running completely through you as tears pooled in your eyes faster than you could try to blink them away. You were positive Draco couldn't see you or hear the small sniffles you were trying to play off by talking about how dusty it was, but he was too observant and never dumb when it came to you.

He sighed to himself, his heart dropping to his stomach slightly when he saw how your gaze shifted around the room and the floor anxiously as though you were reliving whatever you had gone through in those moments when he couldn't save you. He reached out for your hand, his cold fingertips brushing against your palm and snapping you out of the daze you were in with a small almost inaudible gasp. He gently tugged you behind him, lowering his wand towards the ground and kicking around some of the debris until he finally saw the familiar wand he loved to see in your hands.

"There," he announces quietly, bending down to pick it up and dust it off on his dress shirt as if dirt had never bothered him in his life. "Back where it belongs." He places it into your palm carefully, your hand encircling around the wand tightly and holding it against your chest lovingly as if it was alive. He smiled down at you, his hand reaching up to rest on the back of your hair while he gingerly pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

"Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for, darling," he responds softly.

He took your hand again in the direction of the exit, hurrying you out of the room in quick strides until you were out into the corridor and around the corner leading you to the grand staircases.

He hesitated at the first step that would begin the descent to the first floor where the entirety of Hogwarts was gathered in the Great Hall all injured, dead, or alive. He was getting a sudden rush of fear, the same unease repeating in his head that you had already tried to hush away but it still stayed. He didn't want to be turned away and he didn't want to feel outcasted anywhere anymore.

"They're never going to forgive me. They'll probably cast me outside directly into the line of fire themselves."

"Draco," you say softly, placing a gentle palm on his cheek while your fingers brush away the wavy strands hanging over his red-tinged eyes. "In all honesty, it doesn't matter what they think. They don't know you or understand you, just what you've done and that's all most of them will ever be able to see. But as long as you know and the people you love know who you are, that's all that matters. Besides, you're not alone anymore. You're stuck with me."

An amused airy sort of half-laugh escaped his lips, a small smile on his face as he eyed you, the sight in front of him allowing another exhale of relief from his worries.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You feel his fingers graze against your open hand, his pinky absentmindedly linking around yours like you were children making a silent promise to be 'best friends forever.' "You're clever, Y/L/N, I'll give you that. Always knowing what to say to make me feel like I'm on top of the world."

"It's because I've bewitched you," you smile stupidly while the blond rolled his eyes.

"So you admit it? Are you slipping me amortentia too?" He searched your playful features, the glint of amusement in your eyes he loved and missed to see that always left him feeling breathless.

"Definitely," you answer sarcastically. "But enough stalling, let's go."

He let you lead him down the stairs, his hand held tightly in yours while his gaze stayed stuck on his feet shuffling slowly down the steps.

Your conversation was rattling around in his head for some reason, his heart a little lighter after the impromptu banter even if it wasn't the most appropriate time to joke around. But your words brought him back to the times when you weren't with him; when you were forced to separate. The days and the nights he'd be worried sick with his thoughts in a twist and his chest pounding with worry over your safety.

Sometimes through those thoughts, he would have a very odd and unworldly recurring one now and then that made him wish that really, you were just a smart witch who managed to slip him amortentia every day and that those concerns over you and your life weren't real. He sometimes felt so deeply that it scared him, feelings so raw that he couldn't possibly understand and that tore him apart if he wasn't distracting himself with something else. He couldn't help but seldom wonder if maybe the non-existent love potion you had on him faded away; so would his fears and feelings. But they never did, they only grew both more pitiful and meaningful in a whirlwind of others.

And though he often hated to admit just how deeply he felt and the vulnerability that came with it, he has no regrets about letting you in. Without you, his world would just be a dark storm of chaos and pain, but with you; there's a light at the end of a tunnel. You're the sun, the moon, and all the stars to him that light up his darkest days and help guide him and teach him in more ways than he could ever fathom.

Before he knew it, he was stepping over and maneuvering around debris from the battle, the hand holding yours feeling more clammy as you both witnessed for the first time the aftermath of what just happened in and outside the castle's walls not too long ago.

The sky was a blackened gray, a thunderous cover still sitting over the night with lingering clouds of smoke that looked like they came from fireworks but had instead been hexes and curses streaming through the air with the build-up of dust from the destruction.

It was painful, seeing people searching around still and calling out for whoever they were looking for. Bodies of Death Eaters and Scattered wands and ends of them that seemed to be snapped in half and dumped randomly. Giant holes blasted in the middle of the walls and so high up towards the tall ceilings that it looked like half the room was gone. It was silent, but mournful cries were ringing throughout the air and groans of pain coming from those who were injured. Everyone you had seen so far looked just like you and Draco did; dirty, disheveled, anxious, and dazed in a numb state.

You felt him get closer to you when you walked towards the wide-open doors of the Great Hall that sounded busier as you approached. You could feel the turmoil inside, the grief and the pain. Emotions were running high and strongly enough so that anyone who entered the room would feel it.

Draco swallowed thickly as he looked around, his stomach churning with shame as if it were his fault why everything and everyone was in anguish.

You looked up at him almost knowingly, your thumb soothingly running back and forth over the back of his hand while you gently squeezed it. You knew him well enough that he would start blaming himself, just like he always did much to your dismay.

You continued to lead him through the masses, both of you ignoring the furious glances in your direction as you trailed through with the very prominent silver-haired Slytherin who everyone now knew was associated with the Dark Lord and his servants. You heard a couple of hateful mutters, but it was relatively quiet as you ignored those too and kept your search for Madam Pomfrey with trembling and careful steps. Draco kept his eyes downcast, some of the spots of blood on the ground made him feel dizzy but it was better than anything else in his surroundings that he refused to acknowledge any more than he already had.

Madam Pomfrey was scurrying around a back corner when you finally found her, sweat dripping down her face and her uniform stained with grime and scarlet marks. The second she saw you, her hands flew up in surprise on either side of her head, the motion being followed by her hands suddenly clamping over her mouth as a shocked and visibly grateful expression crossed her face.

"Y/N!" She wailed quietly, her hands bunching up at her skirt while she moved around the area to meet you halfway. You weren't expecting her to pull you into a hug, her hand smoothing over the back of your hair as she pulled away and seemingly inspecting you for any injuries. "I'm so glad you're okay, dear. I overheard someone saying they saw you and Professor Carrow on one of the top floors and they weren't sure if you made it out alive before they left. I've been worried sick, I don't know how much more loss I can take."

You blinked hard, trying to register her impromptu vent and concern over you as if you were the most important person to her in the room. "You worried about me, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Why, of course!" She exclaimed as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. "I didn't watch you grow up, mend your injuries, and help you learn the beauty of healing without growing a soft spot for you. I sometimes feel like you're the daughter I never had."

You gave her a warm smile, her random confession making your chest feel a little less heavy. You were sure she was riddled with feeling the need to speak her mind and telling people how she truly felt about them after seeing all the deceased, all the people who she didn't get a chance to talk to, or whose loved ones didn't get a chance to either.

"While I have you here, a lot of people need tending and it's only a few others and myself, would you-"

"No need to ask," you quickly agreed, it was a no-brainer. Your hands were itching with the need to help, it was the main reason why you chose to come down. "Where do you need me?"

"Anyone you see who needs it."

She gave a curt nod to Draco who she may or may not have ignored just the slightest and gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before she rushed over to someone behind you who had been calling for help.

You turn slowly to scan the room, cot-ridden people some covered in bandages and some holding onto their wounds while they waited for Pomfrey or anyone. You decided to focus on those first, Draco trailing closely behind you as you began making a beeline towards the people who looked to be in the worst shape.

Your wand was now held tightly in your shaking hand, the stress of doing real Healer work being something more common than you could have imagined now being right in front of you. You were still learning, still strengthening your skills but they were still sufficient, a natural gift you carried with you.

The first person you helped was a sixth-year boy, one you remember seeing on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as soon as he was in his second year as one of their more skilled Chasers. You remember seeing him play, so determined and full of rough excitement especially when he would be in a match against Slytherin. But now he was here, bleeding out on a cot with his hands held tightly over a spot on his waist and the light gone from his eyes. He was barely alive, nearly defeated and it made you want to scream out of sadness and frustration.

"Draco, I need your help," you said quickly as you observed the wound, pulling the boy's hands away from his side. "I need you to lift him up while I check him from the back."

"What?" He wished he heard you wrong, but he knew what you were asking him to do.

"I need you to lift him, please, hurry," you say to him again and this time he hastily moved to lower himself to the ground beside you and timidly began trying to prop the boy up. When he finally was able to, he watched you carefully as you worked diligently. He watched your hands feel around for any more bodily harm, your eyebrows knitted together in deep thought and worry, your bottom lip stressfully caught in between your teeth. You were muttering hopeful remarks to the boy that he would be okay, and as you dragged your wand across the deep gashes with your magical contact and intense care; Draco had realized just how talented you were. You were in your prime, your element, in full force.

After you bandaged the boy up with a quick spell, you allowed Draco to set him back down and began moving to the next without missing a beat.

It was like that for a while, moving around like a robot with one job where nothing else mattered except the saving of a life. You helped every single person you were able to, all the while Draco was admiring your skills with deep respect even while you were ordering him around to help you.

Hours passed, it seemed like. The only indication that time had indeed passed was the brightening of the dull gray sky now welcoming dawn. You had been working relentlessly, so much so, that for a while you forgot where you were and what you were doing there. If it wasn't for Draco pointing out the new change of day and what everyone was anxiously waiting for - you would have kept healing until you couldn't.

A flurry of hushed whispers fell amongst the desolated crowd packed inside the Great Hall. People were beginning to stand up and look outwards towards the collapsed gaping hole in the wall that faced the main courtyard where an army of dark-cloaked figures was approaching from the castle's bridge. Voldemort was returning, and you weren't sure if it was going to be a fight or the surrender he had promised. You weren't even sure if Harry went to him, you were clueless about everything and so was Draco.

A mob of students and adults had hesitantly but willfully moved outside through the large hole exposing the outside. They had an air of almost guardianship surrounding them, shoulders squared and hands gripping their wands tightly as they blocked off the opening. Those who wanted to see what was coming had also begun making their way outside, leaving only the injured and the terrified inside.

Draco looked at you expectantly, silently telling you that he needed to be outside too. You knew he'd want to search for his parents and there wasn't any protest from you as you trailed behind him to the main yard. You stopped beside him on the steps where the majority of the people stood, allowing the two of you to blend in somewhat.

It was quiet but the sound of several footsteps, stopping suddenly with their leader where he wanted and then suddenly all that echoed throughout the courtyard was, "Harry Potter... is dead!"

You held your breath and at the same time felt Draco stiffen next to you. You saw his eyes land first on his parents, they were clear as day just as frightened as he was as they filled out into the courtyard. They stood at the front of the crowd with the rest of the inner circle they were no longer a part of, standing off to the side with sullen and exhausted expressions or terrified, you couldn't quite tell.

You couldn't process what vile words were being thrown out into the air by the creature and creator of evil himself, nor could you process the eerie silence that fell upon what seemed like the whole world. There was not a bird in the sky, not a shimmer of sunlight, no butterflies or pixies fluttering around. It was like the Earth was dying alongside everyone. The darkness was devouring the wizarding world, but it was also seeping into the muggle world.

You hadn't even noticed what was going on, Voldemort's unsettling speech fading in your ears until you felt Draco's grip around your hand tighten almost painfully as if he was petrified by something. He felt statuesque beside you, his skin feeling cold and clammy and after a few seconds of a complete dead quietness, you understood why.

"Draco!" Lucius called out loudly in a quavering voice. Your head snapped in his direction, and then towards Draco, his eyes were shifting around him nervously at everyone who had turned to stare at him. He was analyzing them too, wondering if any of them would ask him to stay or to leave. His adam's apple was bobbing up and down as if he wanted to cry, a trembling breath falling from his lips as his father called for him one more time to come to him.

Your heart was beating through your chest now, your body turning slightly towards his as you wrapped your free hand around his wrist softly. He was being tested and in the worst way possible with a whole expecting audience. The fight between wanting to be good or being with his family was visibly eating him alive; even if it meant betraying himself, he loved his parents and being with them even if it was in awful, wicked circumstances.

You started to feel more frantic when Narcissa stepped forward, her facial expression was like stone, but the emotion swimming behind her eyes was vivid. You saw the same appearance on her the last time you were at the Manor, strong on the outside but troubled on the inside - much like her son. A pale manicured hand was placed on her husband's shoulder, her lips set in a thin line as she observed Draco and then you. You held your breath, knowing that if she called him to her, he would go. You felt like preparing yourself for the blow that was about to come, for the goodbye, for the letting go again, but nothing ever came.

She waited until Voldemort had his back to her, her eyes locking with yours suddenly and then over to Draco while she smiled ever so slightly, you almost missing it completely before she nodded just as faintly and mouthed, "it's okay."

The hold on your hand lessened almost immediately only for him to stiffen again when Voldemort looked back between him and then his parents. You sensed Draco about to lurch forward, but someone else did first.

Neville stepped forward, the attention falling on him now as Voldemort focused his unbelieving stare on him now. But what he thought was a new devoter was actually the complete opposite.

The speech he gave inspired the atmosphere again and gave strength to the people still willing to fight. You held onto Draco's hand tightly, his head turning to face you with worry at the death-like grip and the tremors shooting down your arms. He was about to take you away, about to run somewhere far away with you in his arms and ready to fight for his life to escape the next fight about to take place. He didn't want you to bear witness to any more pain and just as he opened his mouth to speak - everyone in the courtyard had audibly and roughly gasped in surprise.

He turned hastily, his gaze following everyone else's to where Harry now stood, wand in his hand and shooting a spell at the Dark Lord's snake companion. He saw Voldemort staring back in horror, throwing spells back at Harry's retreating figure while some of the Death Eaters began to apparate into the air in their signature black mists. That is when Draco found his footing again, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he damn near pulled you away with all his might.

You cried out in fear, the blasts being sent through the air and screams of spells like repeats of the night before were enough to have your courage muddled once again. This time, though, Draco was going to make it his mission to keep you out of harm's way.

He ran inside the castle with you, sprinting down the corridors with your hand grasped tightly in his as you passed piles of rubble and the empty portraits that were once alive. He stopped at a random door, forgetting about his wand and rather following his primal instincts to kick at its wooden planks until it swung open to reveal a dark classroom. He kept your hand in his as he maneuvered around the desks with you in the dark, his destination being the small storage room at the very back of the class where it was hidden by some tall display shelves.

The storage closet was cramped and empty, a couple of unlabeled and old dusty bottles of who knows what was left on the shelves above. He moved you inside - but he didn't follow this time.

"Draco," you warn. "Where are you going?"

He opened his mouth to answer but he quickly shut it, his head turning around rapidly at the sound of someone running outside the class. That's when you saw it, a dark mist unexpectedly showed up at the door, a harsh "Malfoy brat!" escaping his mouth as he started running towards Draco with his wand in his hand.

"I love you," Draco hastily said before slamming the door shut in your face. A clicking sound rang in the little room, your hand reaching for the doorknob he just locked on you to try and rattle it open.

Struggling grunts, loud bangs, and finally a shattering window echoed in your ears despite you being locked in the storage room. You were paralyzed with fear, keeping deathly silent to try and hear if they were still in the room or if someone had been killed. You prayed it wasn't the latter, increasingly growing angry with Draco for not allowing you to help him. Though you'd complained to him about him not letting you fight beside him, and saved him from being killed by the Death Eater the night before, you understood why he always flees to hide you.

It wasn't because he thought you were weak, he told you time and time again it wasn't your skills he was worried about - but his.

You fished out your wand with shaky hands and blurred vision, pointing towards the doorknob with a fervent 'alohomora.' It slowly opened, your foot kicking it forward only slightly as you cautiously stepped back out into the open. There was no one and nothing there but stained glass window shards on the ground near the middle of the room where the fight between the two undoubtedly happened. You ran towards the mess, leaping up onto a ledge and looking outside the window where Draco was nowhere to be found.

A dry mouth accompanied your fears, a coldness enveloping you with an unwelcome hug as you stepped back onto the ground and made a beeline towards the door of the classroom. You rushed through the hallway, ducking and hiding from Death Eaters as you ran with all your might towards the Great Hall.

It was still packed with people, more injured people than there was the last time you were in there less than an hour ago. Everything moved so fast, your feet carrying you forward without another thought as you bolted through the Great Hall and towards the courtyard.

You almost made it to the opening, your eyes suddenly spotting three heads of bright platinum hair in the distance hiding behind a large fallen pillar before you were met with the cold stone beneath you.

Someone had grabbed your leg as you were running, your body colliding with the floor as you ripped yourself away almost instantly once you realized you had fallen. You looked back with your wand on defense as you prepared to face your attacker, but there was no one.

A pale and almost green-looking older man stared at you with wide fearful irises, pupils blown out and mouth hanging open and moaning in pain. He gestured weakly to his wounded body and the sight nearly made you want to collapse all over again.

You glanced back towards Draco and then again towards the man, the decision in your head already being made with the innate need to want to heal the man before you as you scurried over quickly to tend to him. You used your wand to try and heal some of his more major wounds but some of them wouldn't close fast enough and you were left with the man falling deeper into pain as he lost more blood.

He started grabbing at your hands, forcefully pushing your wand hand towards his lacerations while you struggled to focus between him and the battlefield where Draco was standing with his parents.

"Please, heal me, please miss," he begged, pulling your arm again. You were forced to turn away, worry eating away at you as you struggled to center your mind for the spell to close up his wounds. He finally stopped clawing at you, sitting back in defeat as you croaked out the bandaging spell with a shaky hand over the area, and finally saw most of his gashes closing up while you did.

Your momentary focus was cut short when a loud boom roared throughout the area, some of the windows breaking from the frequency of it and your eardrums suddenly pulsing with a high-pitched ringing. You fell back on your hands, your blood running cold as you hastily turned around to look outside. You couldn't see anything, just a thick unpenetrable cloud of smoke and more chunks of the castle falling. You could feel the ground shake as they connected with the stone pavement, more dust flying up into the air as they did.

You felt like screaming, maybe you were, you couldn't hear a thing besides the ringing and distant explosions. Hot tears were falling down your face as you pushed yourself up from the ground, stumbling over your feet from how fast you were moving yet feeling so heavy at the same time. You couldn't stop yourself from trying to run blindly into the cloud of smoke, desperately trying to look for Draco all while praying that you didn't and instead he moved out of the way.

Your hearing was slowly returning to you; the sound of nothing yet everything was unnerving. Cries and spell incantations and destruction - but also panicked dead silence. You could feel and faintly hear yourself screaming out for Draco, his name echoing brokenly in the darkened air.

It felt like everything was moving in slow-motion, a feeling you don't think you'd ever get used to no matter how often it happened. It always ensued in the most unanticipated and painful moments, your adrenaline sky-rocketing and your mind moving rapidly, but everything else seemed to move like a stop-motion film.

People had started running out of the smoke and towards the opening in the wall to retreat into the Great Hall. They were coughing violently, some hobbling over and grabbing at themselves from wherever they were in pain. Some brushed past you, some bumped into you as if you weren't there, some gripped onto your arms and pleaded for you to go inside either because they needed help or were just trying to protect you from moving out of a danger zone. You felt dumb still calling out for Draco, no answer, no speck of white dirtied hair, no one hearing or seeing a thing about him.

The sob stuck in your throat finally tore itself through, your heart dropping to your stomach as Madam Pomfrey appeared near the wall to call out for you to come inside to help again. You didn't want to leave your spot in the sheer and blind hope that the love of your life would stumble through the area safe and okay. Even when the smoke cleared up and Harry Potter and Voldemort became clear in the courtyard again with their wands fighting against each other, you still didn't see any sign of Draco.

"Y/N!" Madam Pomfrey called for you again desperately as she ushered people inside. You were sick to your stomach, your vision hazy and your legs weak. You couldn't stop crying or shaking, all of your worst nightmares abruptly feeling too real for you to handle. Your name was called for again, your heart breaking even further as your feet unwillingly dragged you back inside only to be thrown back into healing people which was ironically the last thing you wanted to do at this moment.

Your tears didn't stop when you were kneeled and tending to someone's broken ankle, your whole body trembling still even as you tried to focus and still yourself enough to give them what they needed. All you could think about was Draco and how you might never see him alive again, never feel him, or experience life with him in the way you dreamed of. Every moment you spent with him felt like it was slowly going down the drain; everything you went through - all were just going to be agonizing memories. The recurring nightmarish flush of emotions that felt like they ran through you every other day when you thought Draco was dead was on the forefront now. You swore you were about to empty dry-heave over the person underneath you, forcing down the need to gag even if it was painfully bubbling in your throat.

It was panic all around you, and panic, and more panic - until there wasn't. You hadn't even noticed that all the rushing and commotion in the room stopped until you realized you were able to hear your faint weeping and then scattered shocked gasps and a disappearing howl of the wind.

You hastily stood up from your kneeled position over the person you were finished tending, your sight bouncing from every corner of the courtyard where the only visible person in your vision was Harry, his head following the movement of a long whirl of black ashes that were disappearing into the gray and polluted sky from the aftermath of the battle.

The realization hit you a million times over in the few seconds that you watched the ashes vanish into thin air.

Voldemort was gone.

The only thing on Earth that was standing between you and Draco from giving in to each other freely and thoughtlessly. It felt like all your fears had dissipated into the gray hub with the speckled ashes of the Dark Lord, no more worry for the future that no longer looked so bleak - but unknowing again. You couldn't find Draco anywhere and just as fast as your dread had left you; it came rushing back with a nauseating flood of terror. You were never sure whether to trust your intuition that always sparkled with faith that tried to wash away your worries or your mind that was racing with doubts and pessimistic thoughts telling the rest of your being to relax and lose the blind hope.

You almost tripped over yourself trying to scurry out towards the gathering crowd near the exit, your heartbeat feeling hollow and legs weak and feeling like you were sinking into quicksand. You brought up your elbow to try and maneuver yourself through the growing group of people, but someone with a swift grasp around your arm had stopped you and spun you around directly into their embrace.

Draco was no stranger to you. There was nothing about him that you wouldn't be able to recognize. You knew it was him the moment your nose brushed against the cool skin of his throat where it still smelled faintly of his cologne. You felt his disheveled hair tickle your cheeks and the soft thankful string of whispers that felt like a warm kiss going past your ear lobes. Your arms were tight around his neck, not caring about the possibility that you might be choking him but he was holding onto your waist just as hard and unknowingly spinning you both around in a slow and dazed way that felt like gravity was pulling you both together as he rocked you carefully back and forth in his hold. Your endless hot tears were falling onto his collarbones and soaking the neckline of his shirt, his physical presence almost being too much for you after you had accidentally convinced yourself of his death.

"I thought you died," you mumble out muffledly into his chest. "I saw you and then there was a blast and-"

"You forget I can apparate, Y/L/N?" He whispers the question.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were still tightly held in Draco's arms, propping your chin on his shoulder as you held your breath from the beauty that was unveiling itself right in front of you. You were facing the opening to the courtyard, the dense gray thunderous clouds in the orange and blue sky were quickly disappearing as if they were being magically blown away like they didn't belong there.

The sun was beaming down on you, the rays kissing every inch of your face with a warmth that filled you with peace. You hadn't seen the sun in so long, bright and shimmering in all its glory like it was the first day of summer. Birds and other small flying creatures were soaring through the air again, the chirps and songs of dawn that began the new day were beautifully loud as if they were alarms that were waking everyone up from a nightmare.

It felt like the morning of a day you were yearning so long for, a day that felt like the equivalent of events that you were just so thrilled for and couldn't wait for, where you spent the night before wide-awake with adrenaline and couldn't sleep because of how excited you were for what lied ahead; like the day before you began your first-year at Hogwarts. Otherworldly and full of awe and wondrous hope for a future that was now infinite.

You weren't sure how long it took you to tear your stare away from the scene. You leaned back, his hands still resting on your hips to hold you in place as you gazed into his waiting eyes but it was enough to make you feel speechless again. You wanted to kiss him with every fiber in your being, feel his touch from head to toe.

You took a look around you and saw everyone in a mix of joyous tears, celebratory hugs, and kisses.

"Are you alright?" He asked you quietly, soft concern entangled between his words, eyebrows furrowed and eyes focused on yours attentively. "I'm sorry I left you in the storage closet. I was going to go in with you, I swear, but I heard someone coming and-"

"It's okay, Draco," you cut him off, releasing a huff of air, "I'm alright and I understand. Thank you." You gave him a teary smile. He returned the grin half-heartedly, one of his hands coming up from behind your back and carefully moving a flyaway out of your face.

"Good." He let out breathily. "Now let's get out of here for a minute."

His fingers interlocked with yours, his arm tugging you slightly in the direction he wanted to take you in as he turned on his heel and began towards the Great Hall's main doors. It felt foreign now that it was riddled with every awful thing that just happened, stained and etched into the stone walls for the rest of Hogwarts history.

Everything was different now, it looked and felt like so in the clearest way.

You were walking through the large meadows blossoming throughout the outside of the school now that the sun was out and all its beings that came with its bright renewing light. Tall blades of grass brushed across your ankles, flowers, and weeds latching themselves onto your calves slightly as if they were hugging your lower limbs like they were old friends.

He was taking you towards your tree, its lively branches twirling around in the whistling gales flowing through it. It snowed white and pink wispy petals and bright green leaves, the pieces of nature flying excitedly in the air as they fell all around you or disappeared into the passing breeze.

There was a pause when you both stopped in your steps in front of the sentient's trunk, right underneath all its shaking twigs. Your hands stayed in each other's grasp, but no words were said yet. No reactions or outbursts, just blankness written on his perfect face if you ignored the wrinkle in his brow you were sure was permanent now as it was always there.

"How do you feel?" You ask almost hesitantly, the thickness in the air growing by the second from his silence.

"I don't know." He sounds far away. His head was in a million other places than where he was. "It's odd, I thought I'd-" He stopped himself. You caught the disappointment that flashed across his icy eyes.

"What is it?" You waited. You hoped you didn't sound too eager, however the innate need you felt now to ease away all his worries always had you ready at your feet to bring him some sort of peace.

"I thought it would feel happier," he mumbles, looking up at you with vast watery eyes. "He's gone, but he left me with nothing."

You frown at his reveal. You could sense the uneasiness inside him as the adrenaline from watching the Dark Lord disappear into thin air had rapidly passed for him. He was realizing now that his problem was no longer Voldemort, but his life that got thrown off its track in the process.

"And the worst of it all," he mutters bitterly, his tears now rushing angrily down his face in muddy streaks. You felt him roughly pull his left sleeve up, pitiful sniffles emitting from him as he struggled helplessly to fold the fabric up his arm.

You placed a careful hand over his trembling ones, stopping his wild movements as you tried your best to hush him into comfort. It seemed like the simplest things work for him when they come from you, centering all his anger and sadness so abruptly it almost feels like he gets brought back down to Earth after being launched into space. He was still livid and ashamed, but for your sake only, he kept himself from moving recklessly and calmed his haphazardness.

"It's still there," he let out defeatedly, dragging his fingers across the faded black ink on his skin. You could still make out the skull and the snake, its form still clear as day, just significantly less opaque on his arm.

Draco felt let down almost. He built up the excitement of thinking he would be able to get rid of that horrible mark one day if Voldemort ever got defeated, but the day was finally here and yet it still stained him as a reminder of the worst years of his life that he wanted to do everything in his power to forget.

"I seem to remember telling you the night you first showed it to me," you trailed off as you replaced the hand over his mark with yours. "That, while I know you hate it and I know it hurts to see it. It’s not you. And one day, forth from today, it's going to be so faint that it’ll just be a reminder of how you survived and got through the most difficult point of your life. I know you want to forget, but this won't ever be something you can just ignore. It's going to be with you forever and the only thing you can do is move forward and try towards the future you dreamed of when you thought it was impossible. I believe in your future, Draco. You can still be who you want to be.”

He would never be able to fully explain to you how appreciative he was for you; for your entire existence and your presence in his life. He couldn't fathom how much the flurry of emotions that ran through his body affected him due to your reassuring words dripping from your lips like honey. Simple skin-to-skin contact from you, or even just a look - could send his mind into a hurricane like that. He doesn't think he'll get over it, ever.

The feeling of you.

Draco took a shuddering breath, allowing the unexpected warm air to fill his lungs and hopefully rid his body of its anxious random quivering. He didn't want to cry anymore in front of you, nor did he want to sadden you on what was supposed to be a relieving day.

Unfortunately for him, you were able to read him instantly. You finally cracked the code of Draco Malfoy and what he looked like when he was withholding words or sentiments from you. When he was genuinely troubled with his thoughts. Or any other beautiful or haunting expression that settled itself onto his porcelain features. Your speech to him had touched the deepest depths in his heart and eased his worries tremendously, but he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him.

Right now, he was looking spooked and pained. His expression wasn't as harsh as it had been for the last many months you've known him now, but it was still clear he was disturbed. You knew nothing you said or did for him would be able to completely erase the events that transpired and changed not only his world but the whole wizarding world - and yours. Everyone had overextended their body, minds, powers, and efforts for the sake of a bright future with the endless possibilities that no one would ever take for granted again.

All you were able to do for him right now was gently tug his arm to wordlessly ask him to sit in the grass with you, to which he complied, and you embraced him with every intention of never letting go. Something about the way you wrapped your whole self around him made him feel grateful all over again and most of all, safe. Your hands ran up and down his back soothingly, every once in a while one snaked up his neck and played with the hair on the back of his head, nails grazing soft circles onto his scalp. Your chest was flush against his and he couldn't help moving you onto his lap to wrap his arms around you tighter and bring you impossibly closer.

This was the first time, he realized, that when he closed his eyes and saw the darkness surrounding his vision - it wasn't bleak. It wasn't hopeless as it had been just over an hour ago. It was like a huge iron weight had been lifted off his chest, the figurative anchor tugging him to the bottom of his despair was cut free and he felt himself slowly but surely coming back up to the surface. The drowning feeling in him wasn't overwhelming anymore.

Draco was unsure of whether or not his steady breathing was because he had automatically begun matching his inhales and exhales to the rise and fall of your chest against him, or if it was because of the continuous realization that the Devil looming over his fate was gone, but he was grateful.

Merlin, he was so grateful.

He was fine for a second. But then something much worse came to mind.

The thoughts of what would happen after Voldemort's death quickly changed from him wondering how can he move forward with his life and now tainted past, to realizing what he and his family did was a crime. An extremely unforgiving crime in his world and one punishable by an eternity of imprisonment in the worst place imaginable. A place that if he didn't have the soul sucked out of him physically, he would lose it himself with time as he rotted away.

Draco felt his breathing switch from steady to ragged almost instantaneously again. His hands were suddenly on your hips, carefully sliding you off of him and scooting away from you so that he could gather himself. He couldn't look at you right now, feeling insanely guilty for who he was and how you didn't deserve to deal with his mess. You didn't deserve to keep getting put through hell for him and he hated knowing that everything awful that had happened to you has been directly linked to him, caused by him indirectly.

"Draco," you call out to him gently. You saw the panic in his eyes, his cheeks growing red with dread, and his fingers pulling at his white strands. You feared for him, his heart, and his mind. You wanted to cry with him, understanding that he wasn't going to be okay for a while.

"I'm so pathetic, I'm sorry," he expressed to you meekly.

"What's wrong, love?" You try again. You crawled over to him, stopping in front of him where he was hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing into the fabric of his pants. His cries broke your heart like they did every time, the pain always evident in his wavering voice. "Maybe I can help?"

"No, Y/N," he muttered weakly. "You can't help me on this one."

"How do you know that if you won't tell me what it is." You frown at his stubbornness. You noticed his attempt at trying to take a deep breath to answer you and the way his head slightly shook from side to side.

"Unless you can stop the ministry from banishing me to Azkaban," he finally spits out with a shudder, "then there's nothing you can do."

A silence fell over you two. The government belonging to the Wizarding World was something that hadn't even crossed your mind yet. And he was right. There was a very big chance he could get locked away for his crimes, and there was a one hundred percent chance he would have to go to trial and hearing, perhaps even a sentencing.

You felt dizzy thinking about it, a sinister feeling forming at the pit of your stomach. You couldn't handle another separation from him, especially after everything you had just gone through, especially after letting yourself dream of a future with him again, and especially if he was going to be gone for good.

"I don't want to go to Azkaban," he hoarsely whispered.

Draco wanted to live up to all his hopes, live up to yours and what the two of you wished so deeply for if you made it out of everything alive. He let himself dream of the future just like you had, only his imaginations were cut horribly short.

"I don't want you to either." You couldn't bring yourself to give him false hope. This was something completely out of your control and you knew it would be wrong to try and make him believe it would all be sunshine and rainbows from here. You weren't sure how the Ministry of Magic would handle things now or how serious they were going to punish everyone involved.

The Dark Ages may have ended, but something else entirely had begun and you weren't sure what it was or what it would entail. But you're in love with Draco Malfoy, and you accepted all of him including the unforeseen future that always followed him around but as long as he would have you, you'd be there for him, just as he would for you.

"Draco, you know wherever you go, I'll always be there for you."

"You can't follow me to Azkaban, Y/N," he breathes out.

"I know," you say dejectedly. "But maybe we can figure something out. I'll come up with a spell that allows me to apparate inside your cell as a pest or a bug. Or I'll become head at the Ministry of Magic and give myself the permission to visit you. Or, what if you don't even have to go to Azkaban? Whatever happens, it doesn't matter, this won't be the end for us."

He looked up at you with his reddened and puffy eyes finally, lips quivering as he searched your face for an ounce of doubt or regret like he always feared to catch but it's never there. Only warmth. That's all he ever saw from you.

"Even if they lock me up forever?"

"If that happens then I'll break you out myself and we can run away, start a new life as muggles in the muggle world."

"That sounds revolting." He couldn't help the small momentary grin that formed on his lips. "You'd give up magic for me?" He said, suddenly serious.

Without missing a beat, you answered, "I'd do anything for you, Draco."

His hands were on the grass now, raising himself from his sitting position to now being on his knees and surprising you with a firm kiss as he lurched gently forward. One hand found its place on your jaw, his fingers softly gripping at the skin on your neck and cheek as he kissed you deeper.

He laid you down onto the grass, your hair splaying itself like a halo around you as he moved his hand to bury itself at the back of your head and rested his elbow on the ground to stabilize himself. You melted into the feel of each other’s lips, feeling pixies in your chest and stars in your head as you sunk into one another’s hold. He kissed you passionately and hungrily, while making sure he kept his love for you apparent as he moved away from your lips every few kisses to plaster more all over your face in adoration. He would let his tongue slip past your lips now and then, smiling to himself when you repeated the action. You had your feet planted on the ground and knees pointed towards the sky as he ran a hand up and down your outer thigh.

He pulled away fully, ocean eyes searching your face or rather admiring it as if it was the last time he'd ever see it despite the both of you silently praying with all your soul that it wasn't. You reached a hand up to massage the crinkle forming between his brows, your thumb caressing the soft skin and wiping away the soot that was still glued to his face with tears and sweat.

He kissed your forehead in turn, slightly smiling down at you with contentment as you peered up at him. You wished you could hear his thoughts, understand the words and pictures that swirled in his mind that you may or may not ever hear or see. You never knew what was going through his mind when he looked at you... like that.

"On second thought maybe the muggle life doesn't sound all too rubbish," he admitted with a pink tinge to his cheeks, the tips of his ears following in suit. "As long as it's with you, I'd give up everything if it meant I can be by your side. You saved me, Y/N and I'll forever be grateful to you."

Now it was you who wanted to cry. The selfish boy you always knew to be obsessed with magic and power, his fortune, and his undeniably successful future that was in his stars just admitted he would give up all he knew that once meant everything to him, just to be with you in a place he once swore he'd rather die than become a part of. But that wasn't him anymore, this Draco was completely different. Unrecognizable. And no matter how many times you saw it, his newfound softness always took you by surprise and knocked you off your feet.

"My little healer."

You cried after that, welcoming his full body weight with open arms locking around his shoulders as you pushed him down onto you.

And it felt like just the two of you existed at that moment, basking in each other's love and devotion you discovered and developed at such a young age. You two stayed there, lying in the grass, your tree once again sending its flowers descent onto you like a silent blessing from the universe. You two were tired in every way and will never be the same, but you had a renewed hope for the future that right now seemed so far away but was nonetheless bright because if Draco was going to be by your side, there would always be a light that follows.

---

I'm malfunctioning this is actively altering my brain chemistry

End of the Line - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: “A less sentimental part of me wants to see you swell with my child purely because you’re mine. I want everyone to know it was me who impregnated you– that it was my cock that filled you with life. I want you to beg me to breed you before you fall apart and come all over me. The urge is fucking insatiable, you have no idea.”

No alternative summary because it’s exactly what it looks like.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content, breeding kink

PART TWO NOW ADDED ! The full fic can be found here on Ao3 

Keep reading

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Arcane Silco x Reader One-shot - I Trust You

Synopsis: After the incident with Vander, you find what remains of the Silco you left at The Last Drop the night before. Now heart shattered, terrified, and close to death, he grips on tight to the only thing he has left as you try your best to comfort him and aid his wounds.

Young!Silco, Pre S1, Implied Fem!Reader but could be read GN, mentions of injury, blood, typical canon violence, knife mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, angst, established relationship, Medic!Reader

I've been inspired after wasting DAYS reading Silco fics, thank you fellow Arcane fanfic writers ❤️ Maybe I'll write more for the fandom?????

The cracked cobblestone paths of the cramped Undercity clack loudly under the worn soles of your boots. Your medic bag hangs loosely over your shoulder, the parched leather splitting at the seams as you toy with the fraying material between your nails.

You don't need to be told that tonight's highly-anticipated Uprising was a failure. You can judge its success based solely on the amount of rioters you saw in your office today; chipped teeth, brutal burn wounds, broken limbs, concussions. The unrest between Zaun and the ever-oppressive Piltover thickens with each passing minute, Enforcers becoming more violent and Zaunites only more angry.

Tonight's rally was meant to be the turning point, Zaun would fight back and push past the bridge, securing their futures with an iron grip and hearts full of hope. Vander spoke of it just yesterday evening, eyes gleaming with ambition saccharine sweet as he raised his glass of ale high in cheer. Silco, your Silco, with a smile so sure, so wide, you were certain you'd never seen him so excited.

"You're sure you can't make it?" He's asking you, shoulder jostling your own as he slides into the seat beside you at the bar. The cacophony of cheer around the bar following Vander's inspiring speech seems to die down and reduce to a droning chatter of voices and clinking dish ware.

Your eyes peel away from Vander — who is serving patrons left and right with an energy so radiant you can't help but shake your head at him, a small smile gracing your features — to meet Silco's sea-foamy green ones, peering down at you from the slant of his nose.

"You know riots mean people tend to get hurt. I'll be more needed at the med center, that's where I can do my part." You say, and it's true. The Undercity lacks in abundance, especially lacking in individuals with medical knowledge, much less an affordable one, or even a doctor you can trust. You've become an important addition to The Children of Zaun, and even more important to the citizens you look out for.

Silco nods, understanding, albeit disappointed that you won't be by his side. He wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in so he can press a chaste kiss to your temple.

"I know. This will be a big one, an important one. We'll be needing you down here."

You smiled softly, "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"As careful as I always am." Silco smirked.

"Great, so I'll be seeing you tomorrow night in my office is what I'm hearing?"

"Well, when you make it sound so scandalous I couldn't possibly miss out, my dear."

You're rolling your eyes at him, nudging him back with your adjacent shoulder as he chuckles. A peaceful silence overcomes the two of you as you soak in your surroundings at the bustling bar. Felicia is bickering with Vander at the counter, her vibrant purple braid flicked over her shoulder and Vander is laughing at her playful scowl.

"What will you do, if you succeed?" You ask suddenly.

Silco doesn't hesitate a second, "Not if. We will. We must succeed." His brows furrow for a moment, "I don't know what I will do. I'll come back for you, and then I suppose we will figure it out together like we always do. You trust me, don't you?"

You can't help but grin at that, "Of course I trust you."

Trust has always been one of the most important values holding you and Silco together. No matter what, you would always trust each other, to the ends of the earth. And you'd never stop reminding the other.

Your next thought is interrupted by Benzo, at least six ales down.

"There will be celebrations all through Zaun tomorrow night just you wait! In just another twenty four hours we will be commemorating our victories with each and every Zaunite throughout the city!"

But, as you make your way home it becomes blatantly apparent that there are no celebrations raging through Zaun tonight, there was no victory, and instead just an evening full of shattered hearts and broken bones.

Needless to say, Silco never did make it to your office tonight, and now as you walk back home on tired feet in the early hours of the dawn you find yourself wondering what state he could be in.

Silco may not be the strongest, but he's quick, and he's so painfully smart you can bet he hadn't been caught by Enforcers — but then if not carted away to Stillwater, why hadn't you seen him at the med center as you usually do after a riot? The nerves bite at your system, and you can only hope he is safe and sound at The Last Drop where you left him yesterday night, waiting for you to find in a few hours. First, you know you need to sleep off the fatigue of tending to the injured all night long.

You turn right into the alleyway that cuts through the block of stacked houses and cross the street to your home. As the door comes into view it is then that you feel a prickling sensation of unease creeping into your very being. You remove your hood from your head, peering at your surroundings cautiously in an effort to calm yourself. There's no one around. Nothing to explain the worry woven into your deepest instincts as you quicken your steps to the entrance of your abode.

The single key fished from the pocket of your med bag rattles in the rickety doorknob before the lock unlatches. The wood swings open with a creak.

There's water everywhere. Puddles of the polluted brown liquid spreads from the front entrance. It trails through the house where cabinets and drawers are left ajar and furniture lies knocked over on the uneven floor. You freeze in horror at the state of your belongings before spotting the streaks of blood on the floor and the counters of your kitchen. Whoever had trespassed had done it in a panicked struggle, things haphazardly left out all around the property. You huff a swear before dropping your bag as silently as you can at the front door, your tiredness suddenly swept away and replaced with unfiltered adrenaline. Survival-mode kicks in, and you're creeping with predator-like stealth to the kitchen. A peek into the open drawer confirms your suspicions, and whoever had broken in had stolen the large kitchen knife you stored and was likely wielding the weapon somewhere in your home.

You go for the next best thing, a rusted but still sharp pair of cooking scissors which you grasp tight in your palm, blade poised.

Following the trail of blood and water, your head swiveling vigilantly in every which direction, you make your way up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Your bedroom door is wide open, a handprint of blood smeared across the edge of it in a rush. You take a deep, shuddering breath before slipping through the threshold.

The bed is left tidied and made, moth eaten sheets folded over the top of the frayed duvet and curtains billowing softly from the cold breeze which spills through the crack in the window. It's all in the state that you left it in. Your brows furrow in confusion before spotting the faint light which emanates from the crack under the adjoining bathroom door.

Your hands tremble as you creep towards the door, wondering if what lies behind it is the means to your fateful end. Teeth wearing into the flesh of your bottom lip, you stop and lean against the wall beside the bathroom. You listen, ears straining hard to hear through the barrier before you catch it.

It's the faint sound of someone crying, notable only by the quiet, shuddering breaths and wet sniffling that periodically breaks the whimpering noise.

It's then that you hear the low whisper interrupting the soft sobbing, the voice tinged with abysmal pain and fear, "Fuck—,"

Silco.

You're not even thinking as the scissors fall from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clang before you wrench open the door and burst inside, heart thrumming viscously in the cage of your chest as you recognize your lover's voice.

Your breath catches hard in your throat at the sight before you; Silco, curled tightly in the basin of your bathtub, head to toe in soaking wet clothes stained with blood which drips from his face. His wet black hair hangs disheveled over half of his features, cloaking him in the raven locks. Your missing kitchen knife is clasped rigidly in between both hands, blade sticking straight out and bobbing with his labored breaths. His one visible eye widens in what you think is fear and his whole body freezes up at the sight of you, his legs scramble against the edge of the tub like he's trying to get away from you but all you can think is, he's hurt. You have to fix him.

"Silco," you rasp, reaching for him frantically with tears brimming in your eyes but before you know it he's yelling, pointing the blade of the knife at you and waving it around haphazardly.

"Stop—" He's crying, but the syllable comes out guttural and hoarse, "Don't touch me!"

You freeze, hands up to show you mean no harm and falling back on your knees to be eye level with him.

You swallow before you try to say anything, but the lump in your throat only grows ten-fold.

"Silco," you try, tentatively. "What happened?"

"Felicia's dead." Is what he manages to gasp, teeth gritting hard and eyes squeezing shut, another stray tear falling down his face.

You don't realize you're treating him like a patient until you're halfway done examining him with just a glance. His nails are bent and broken like he had scratched desperately at an unrelenting force, the torn collar of his jacket reveals blooms of a deep purple encompassing the surface of his throat and neck, blood pours from what you could see of his cheek, down his jaw and off the point of his chin. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his nose is definitely crooked— likely broken and the bruising is beginning to swell beneath his eyes. It doesn't take a genius to tell he had been asphyxiated, and beaten, hard.

Felicia. Felicia is dead. You're trying to hold onto your resolve, face relaxed as to not alarm him any further but your heart wants to cry out in agony. Another good soul, lost to a helpless cause. Another loved one, gone. You want to ask where Vander is, where Benzo is. Whatever it is that happened at the Uprising has clearly shaken Silco to the core, nearly unrecognizable with fear and shame and you worry that if you break down now nothing will be left to hold the rest of him together.

"I don't know where to go. I don't have anyone else." Silco is rambling now, voice sore and body shaking. "I can't go back. I can't go back, he'll finish me off."

"Silco, who? What's happened to you? I don't understand—" You can feel the tears spilling over and you choke on a sob, terrified for the man you love.

Silco shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth like he'll try to explain but is cut off by a cry so anguished you feel your own soul shattering. His shoulders tremble and you realize he must be freezing, his clothes saturated and the chill of the night air permeating his figure.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get you a blanket and I'll come right back." you say gently.

He nods and hangs his head low, avoiding eye contact.

You retreat to the bedroom and pull your duvet right off the bed, also grabbing the forgotten glass of water left on the nightstand from the night before. You stand at the threshold of the bathroom peering in as non threatening as you can before taking a deep breath.

"I need you to put the knife down." you whisper.

Silco glances at the object in his hand and stares at it in shock for a split second, like he had not even realized he'd armed himself with your household items.

"I would never hurt you, Silco."

He takes a deep breath, and flips the blade before handing it over to you, handle out.

"Thanks," you whisper, placing the knife on the bathroom counter across from you. You trade it for the glass of water. "Here. Can I touch you?"

Silco takes a deep breath, eyes shut before nodding and wiping crudely at his cheek with the back of his hand, the skin pulling away wet with his tears.

You sit at the edge of the tub and pull the thick duvet into the basin, pausing over Silco's soaked figure.

"Do you want to take your clothes off? We can get you dry and warm."

He shakes his head no, but does pull off the bulky jacket, the wet fabric slapping against the surface of the porcelain bathtub. You drape the blanket over his shoulders, wrapping it around to his front and tucking it around him the best you can manage. He takes a long sip of the water, grimacing as he swallows and you try to catch a glimpse of the bruising on his neck.

"It's okay, I got you." You whisper. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know what's wrong so I can fix it. You can even just point." You say, hand massaging tenderly over his blanketed shoulder.

"I-I can't see out of my left eye," He says, voice low and gravelly, "it hurts."

"Can I look?"

Silco lifts a hand and runs it through his long hair, pushing most of it back out of his face but a few unruly tresses fall back over his forehead. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as you survey the gashes running across his eye and mutilating the whole expanse of the area. Blood oozes from the wounds and the flesh swells bright red and pink and you know it's already infected. You can't save the eye, that much is evident.

"I need to clean it before the infection spreads any further, I'm sorry." You cringe, "It's going to hurt but you could die if I don't treat it now."

He nods. Silco seems to be of sounder mind now. Not relaxed by any means, but his breathing is controlled, his good eye is focused and he's understanding you.

You turn around to retrieve your personal medical supplies in the linen closet and find the bottle of antiseptic and gauze, when you turn around you meet Silco's gaze, his brows pressed together with worry and mouth pressed into a deep frown. The blood from his eye drips on the fabric of your blanket and stains it the color of rust.

"It was Vander." he says.

You freeze up, nearly dropping the bottle, "Vander did this to you?" you ask incredulously.

Silco nods. "I didn't mean to get her killed. I didn't mean it, none of this was supposed to happen, I—" he breaks off into silent tears again and you gently hush him.

You've never seen him cry in the many years you've spent together, now to witness it so many times in one night you have no idea how to handle it.

"It's okay, you can explain later. I trust you." You assure.

You tilt his chin to look at you and wipe the tears from his face.

"I trust you." You say again.

"Okay." Silco appeases, "I trust you, too."

It takes nearly an hour to clean out his wounds, by then the sun is beginning to rise, a blue haze filtering in through the windows and casting a glow on everything the light touches. Silco has stripped from his wet clothes and showered, but had asked sweetly if you would wait for him in the bathroom to which you comply.

He changes into dry clothes he had left here ages ago and now lies in your bed, curled up on his side. The blankets are tucked over him and he lays silently beside you while you card your fingers through his hair. His sighs against the skin of your shoulder.

You know he wants to sleep but fears the playback behind his eyes of the events of the failed Uprising, but his body can't physically stand to move anymore. His injured eye is packed under gauze and medical tape and you can only hope you did all that you could.

His eyes flicker up to yours, "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I owe you a proper explanation. Thank you, for caring for me."

"I'll always care for you, Silco. You don't owe me anything, this is what I'm here for. You can tell me when you're ready."

"Okay." He replies, stroking your cheek with the backs of his split knuckles before tangling gently in the hair at the nape of your neck. You lay like that together for a while, you drifting in and out of consciousness as the adrenaline wears off and the chaos of the day becomes a memory. You trace the sharp angular features of Silco's face lovingly, pressing a sleepy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mind wanders to Vander, to Felicia, to Felicia's two beautiful children and Benzo and The Last Drop.

You wonder if things will ever be the same again and your heart aches at the silent answer. You know you'll never be able to forgive the man who hurt Silco like this; destroyed him at his very core and you know he will never be the same again.

"We can't trust anyone now. Only each other." Silco says, voice thick with pain.

"I'll always trust you." You reply softly, "Sleep, Silco. You need to rest. We will figure it out in a few hours."

Your eyes drift closed after that, the last of your sentence trailing off as you succumb to your exhaustion. The last thing you see is the pretty green-blue eye of your lover, half lidded and glistening in the light of the sunrise.

"I love you."

---

Actor Sebastian Stan has come on board to produce “Blue Banks,” the feature debut of Romanian director Andreea Cristina Borțun, whose 2021 short film “When Night Meets Dawn” premiered in Directors’ Fortnight.

Stan, who was born in Romania, will produce the film alongside Romanian producer Gabi Suciu, French co-producers Jean-Laurent Csinidis and Jerome Nunes and Slovenian co-producer Ales Pavlin. Shooting will take place in Romania throughout the year and is set to wrap in October.

Best known for playing Bucky Barnes in Marvel Cinematic Universe films and also starring in A24’s horror comedy “Fresh,” Stan — who first met Borțun in Cannes in 2021 — said the film’s script hit close to home.

“Being that I was raised by a single mother, moved and lived in three different countries at an early age, with my mother determined to find me security and a better life out of communist Romania and my inability to grasp the sacrifice and the profound impact of all this at the time, this story really spoke to me on a deeply personal level,” said the actor.

“I’ve been an admirer of Romanian films for a long time, in awe of their rawness, authenticity and unfiltered, fearless lens on life. When Andreea talked to me about the story, I was immediately drawn in,” he continued. “I understood the characters, their journey, the inner struggle against the primal instinct we are born with, and especially the torn mother-son relationship at the core.”

Eddie rolls his hips as he fucks you slowly.

He’s fucking you like he has all the time in the world. His plump lips form an O as he watches you underneath him.

With each slow stroke you can practically feel every vein on his cock. When he’s fully seated you swear you can feel him in your lungs.

He has you chanting a single word over and over as he loves you.

please please please

“What do you need, baby?” he coos in your ear. “What do you want, the moon? Fuck, the way your pussy is hugging my dick, I’ll get you whatever you fucking want.”

His tempo doesn’t change, you feel like a live wire.

“You, please I just need you.”

---

Night Triumphant and the Stars Eternal

🎨art by giannyfili on IG

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I'm in love with this

Congratulations on your milestone! 😘

Can I request a little Bucky fic with an angsty/fluffy mix?

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

❤❤❤

Thanks love! Have a bartender!bucky <3

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Artist!Reader

Word Count: 1124

Warnings: minor injury, mention of blood and alcohol, bucky's a sad boy in this for a little bit.

come celebrate with me! || Series Masterlist

The turning of the key in the door had you springing to your feet with a giddy smile. 

Bucky had been working at his bar day in and day out while Natalia was away on vacation. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he told you how he missed serving customers and talking to them all night. You just missed spending so much time with him, but you still got the hours in the early morning when he'd come home and shower with you and love on you and cuddle you. 

You always had mugs for tea ready just in case he wanted one. The towels for your shower together were already warming up in the dryer, and the next episode of your show was set up and ready for when you got into bed.

But when he swung that door open and you saw the exhaustion on his face and the wrap on his hand, your smile fell into a frown of worry. 

"What happened to your hand?" You asked, doing your best to wait a few feet away and give him time to decompress before you enveloped him in your arms. 

He sighed as he shut the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Just a little cut." 

"Oh, okay. . ." You kept eying the bandage, knowing it had to be worse than that for him to use as much bandage as he did. But you couldn't get a glimpse of any bleed through, so you didn't say anything. "Did you wanna shower together?" 

He gave you a tired smile but shook his head. "Not this time, sugar. You go on ahead, I'm gonna take a minute to relax," He rounded the counter to grab your waist, pulling you in for a peck on the lips, "Today was exhausting and I just need a minute." 

Despite the sudden gnawing in your stomach, you nodded and put on a smile for him, "Okay." 

The whole shower, you couldn't shake the weird sinking feeling in your gut. You knew you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't do anything to upset him. That he just needed some alone time, which was perfectly normal and fine. 

It was just so unusual for him to not want to join you. For him to not be all over you the second he walked in the door. 

There just had to be more to it.

And your suspicions were proven correct when you walked out of the bathroom. 

You were patting off the moisture on your face when you walked out and froze. Bucky was seated at the table. A bottle of liquor - no glass, paper towels, bandages, and a bowl sat on the wooden surface next to him. He was hunched over his hand, tweezers in his uninjured fingers and a look of concentration on his face. 

You waited until he wasn't poking his skin with the tweezers to step into his bubble, kneeling in front of him and reaching for his hand. "Can I hold your hand?" 

You waited with your hand open, giving him a small smile when he looked at you. When he placed his hand in yours you gingerly pried his fingers open. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were avoiding yours as he let you gingerly hold his hand. "Bucky." 

He glanced at you, and you could see there was something else wrong. His mood wasn't due to his injury, but you also knew he wasn't going to spill it right away either. 

So, you sighed as you settled on to your knees in front of him before reaching to take the tweezers from him. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

You covered your legs and the floor in your towel, catching the crimson droplets as you got to work removing the glass as gently as you could. After a moment, you peaked up at him to see him take a swig of his whiskey. 

"Are you gonna tell me how this happened?" You asked, setting the tweezers aside and reaching for the antiseptic. He hissed as you cleaned his hand, but cleared his throat, ready to answer. 

"My hands just aren't. . ." he trailed off, sniffing as he sat up straighter, "My hands just don't work the way they used to, I guess. Was just trying to make a drink and I don't know what happened. The glass broke against the ice. I don't know if I just didn't have a good hold on it, or what." 

You finished wrapping his hand back up, "Well, I don't think you need stitches, but it's gonna hurt for a while." 

"Yeah, I kind of figured," he scoffed at himself, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Here's to getting old." There it was. 

You knew he'd been growing insecure in his age for awhile, and that it'd been getting worse. But he didn't talk about it often and you never wanted to seem pushy asking about it. Now, you knew you should've asked, and he knew he should've come to you. 

"Sorry," He muttered, "We don't need to talk about this right now, it's late, I'm sure you're tired." 

You pulled yourself up from the floor, wrapping the towel up and placing it on the table to be dealt with later. Perching on his knee, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on the top of his head as his arms wound around you in a death grip. 

"I think you're perfect," You muttered into his hair before kissing the crown of his head, "If your hands hurt or they shake, just let me hold them. Teach me how to bartend, I'll make drinks while Nat's gone. Hell, maybe I'll even keep it as a part time thing, what do you think?" 

He pulled back from your chest, "Oh, Sugar. What about your art?" 

You giggled at him, "I can do my art during the day silly. And on my days off." You brushed his hair off his forehead, "Plus I need an income while I wait for commissions." 

He chuckled at you as he shook his head, "Alright, alright." He placed a kiss to your sternum before resting his cheek against your skin again, "Tomorrow, but right now I just wanna hold you."

---

Okokok so this could be for knight bucky 👀

(if reader is like a queen or princess), Bucky is in charge of your safety, he's always near and one day he escorts you to the gardens for a walk and him and reader are alone and he's so tempted to grab your hand!!!! It's aching to know what it's like to feel your skin against his (hand scene from Pride and prejudice iykyk🤭)

carrot you genius

i definitely followed this prompt pretty loosely and it kinda took on a form of it's own but i hope you enjoy it <3

Yes, Your Grace

Pairing: Knight!Bucky x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: a little bit of angst, but that's honestly about it.

You never lasted too long at galas, especially when they weren't in your own kingdom. 

Not having the familiarity of your staff. The smell of salt in the air as the ocean breeze washed in through your open corridor. The certain click of your shoes against the marble floors. It was all yours and safe and commonplace. 

Being in someone else's kingdom, at an event where everyone wants a chance to dance with the unwed queen was exhausting. You almost never left the dance floor with how many suitors were trying to win you over, to take the seat of King next to you. You never enjoyed any of them though. You knew they were just in it for the title, the power. Most of them not believing you should be able to rule on your own. That it was sacrilege that you still remained unwed. 

But you put on a brave face, a large fake smile to appease them and to keep the peace. If you didn't provoke them, it gave them no reason to storm your castle's walls. 

The exhaustion was evident on your face as James watched you from the sidelines. He was to have eyes on you at all times, especially since you weren't in your own home. He was your protector, hand picked by your father before he passed to be your personal knight until you relieved him or reassigned him. You had yet to do either in the five years he'd been by your side. 

His armor clinked as he made his way to you, mindful not to bump into anyone with the bulky metal. Expertly moving through the sea of royals, he paced his steps with the musicians playing in the corner - he'd practiced this dance with you too many times to count. You'd wanted a partner to brush up on your skills and you'd asked him one day during your breakfast. That was the closest he'd ever been to you for that long.

Your dance partner spun you out from their arm and towards James, who gave you a knowing look when you spotted him. He smirked at the pleading in your eyes and quickened his pace, stopping next to you. 

"Pardon me, Lord Wilson, I was wondering if I could steal her grace for a moment," He requested, the tone in his voice really leaving no room for argument. He watched as you curtsied and the lord bowed to you before you turned and grabbed James's elbow, allowing him to lead you outside. 

"I thought you might like a breath of fresh air," He leaned down a bit so you could hear his whispers as you passed other attendants. "I could tell you weren't enjoying the way Lord Wilson was spinning you around the floor. 

The noise that left your lips was a mix between a scoff and a laugh and it pulled James lips into a smile as he looked down at you. 

Your hand slipped from his elbow and he let you walk just a step in front of him. You glanced over your shoulder, "I appreciate the concern, as always, Sir James." 

"I thought we discussed this," He started, following you as you wandered the gardens that, in his opinion, could never rival your own, "I requested you not to call me James."

"You did," You smirked, stopping at a stone railing that overlooked the small pond as you turned to face him entirely, leaning against the stone, "but I do love seeing you in a fit over it." 

"I'd hardly call me reminding her highness of my request a fit," He chuckled as he stood just out of reach, which you took notice of. You always did. 

"Why are you standing over there," you asked, your smile slipping, "I won't bite." 

He gave you an easy smile, soaking in your attention, basking in it. 

It wasn't that you never gave it to him or that you were stingy with it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You were always speaking with him. He accompanied you everywhere you went, so why wouldn't you? What kind of queen would you be if you didn't speak with your personal knight at all while he protected you? 

You two had grown close over the years, your relationship becoming more of one between friends rather than one of subordinate and superior. And James didn't mind one bit. He'd never tell anyone, for risk of being reassigned away from you, but he loved you. 

He was in love with you. 

He had been for years and it was one of the many reasons that he was so persistent about protecting you, even when you told him to get some rest - he'd just sit on the floor outside your chamber doors those nights. You started having Steve switch with him at night so he could sleep too, but he'd only sleep for a handful of hours and get washed up before coming back to switch again. 

You held your hand out to him, waiting for his gloved fingers to gently grasp yours. He did so, but at the expense of the tug in his chest. 

In all his years of serving you, he'd never touched you. He always made sure something was between the two of you, his gloves, your fur coat, something. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to touch you, he was actually dying to do so. He dreamed of the day that he could feel your skin against his, but he didn't want to taint your perfectly smooth complexion with his dirtied callouses. You deserved someone with a softer touch than his own. You deserved someone's hands who hadn't been covered in blood and dirt and grime and sin. 

He let you guide him to stand next to you, waiting for you to drop his hand, but you continued to hold on to it, absently fiddling with the leather covering his skin. God, what he wouldn't do to be able to actually hold your hand. To brush elbows. To feel your fingers on his arm as he led you around town. 

"Jamie?" He glanced up from your fingers to see you staring at the still water of the pond. 

"Yes, your highness?" 

It was a moment before you responded, but you didn't look over at him. Instead, you gazed down at the stone under your fingertips, scratching your nail along its surface - something he knew you did when you were nervous. 

"Do you think they're right?" If he hadn't been waiting with baited breath, he would've missed the question with how quiet you were. He figured you didn't want anyone else hearing your conversation so he dipped his head lower towards your ear. 

"What about?" 

"About me," You glanced up at him then, causing his heart to almost leap out of his chest. He'd never been close like this. Close enough to speak in hushed tones, sure, but never enough to see the details in your irises, the individual lashes that brushed against your cheeks when you blinked. "Do you agree that I'm some - some mad woman to not be married? To not have a husband to do the ruling while I give him heirs?" 

"Well," he started, testing the waters and giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, "I guess that depends on why you have yet to wed someone." 

You were silent at that as you refused to look away, but you squoze his fingers back, gripping his hand as you pulled it closer to you. 

He wanted to pull away from you, surely this close proximity would bring more talk about you to the other royals. Someone of your standing shouldn't be this close to him, holding his hand, noses almost touching. 

Yet, here you were. 

"I fear someone may already have my heart," You stated, glancing between his eyes. A pit formed in his chest and he had to ignore the ache as he steadied his breathing. 

Of course you had your eye on someone. With as many potential suitors as you had, how could you not already have a certain person in mind? But that left the question - why hadn't you wed them yet? Surely, whoever had caught your eye would be pleased to wed you. Who wouldn't was the better question. 

"Why haven't you wed them yet, your grace?" He gruffly asked, swallowing down the sudden surge of emotion in his throat. He was your personal knight - he couldn't let something like this break him down. Especially when you were not within your own palace walls. He had to remain calm and collected, at least until you retired for the evening. Then he could let the cracks spread until morning. 

You tipped your head down to look at his chest as you placed your free hand over the armor there, your nails gently tapping against the metal. "That's a sensitive conversation that shouldn't be held outside of our home walls, don't you think?" 

You looked back up at him, almost craning your neck with your proximity. He nodded, dazed at how your voice sounded when you said 'our home.' It wasn't the first time you'd referred to it like that, you did both live there. But there was something about the way your voice lightened when you said it. Like it was lifting a weight off your chest saying you wanted to tell him your secret. And though he may not be ready to hear who'd stolen your affections, a sense of pride filled him. You trusted him enough to tell him this secret of yours. 

And even if he wasn't ready to hear it, he'd protect that secret with his life if need be. Because it'd be for you.

He nodded, muttering a word of agreement and you smiled, but it lingered longer than usual. The corners of your mouth stayed lifted as you pried your gaze from his and released his hand, turning back to the path. You took a couple steps away before looking back over your shoulder at him, your smile ever-present. 

"Let us go home, shall we?" You asked. 

He shoved his nerves down as far as they'd go, steeling himself in preparation for your secret, and nodded once.

"Yes, your grace." He stepped away from the pond to follow you to the waiting carriage. 

He knew the time would come when you'd find a proper suitor, he couldn't expect you to stay unwed forever. 

He just didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did.

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Just One Kiss Masterlist

(photos not mine, storyboard very much mine)

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

Series Warnings: Language, excessive amount of fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Part One - The Beginning

Part Two - A Walk Home

Part Three - Moving Day

Part Four - A Dance

Part Five - Girls’ Night

Part Six - The Fight

Part Seven - Christmas

Part Eight - The Question

Part Nine - First Date

Part Ten - Afternoon in the Park

Part Eleven - Last Date

Part Twelve - The Goodbye

Part Thirteen - The First Letters

Part Fourteen - Broken Silence

Part Fifteen - Finale

Epilogue Pieces

Bonus Material Masterlist

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