Private Tales The Loved and Lost Club

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
The rain lashed at Cullen’s face as he flew, soaked through and gripping the reins tighter than necessary. The healer had promised to come, had assured him with calm certainty that she would be right behind him, but Cullen had never flown Meala so fast as he did now, and the healer had fallen behind.

He hated leaving her, hated how her voice trembled beneath the weight of pain, how she looked at him like he’d carved the wounds himself. He didn’t know what else to do. Couldn’t sit there and watch her fall apart, not when his presence seemed to only make it worse. At least now he had something to offer her, reassurance that a healer was on the way. That she could go home and rest, that she wouldn't need to look at him again.

Cullen’s brows furrowed the moment the outpost came into view. There were more dragons than there should be. A surge of unease twisted in his chest at the sound of Kalyss’ panic.

He landed hard, boots slipping slightly in the mud as he leapt off his dragon, drawing his weapons as he sprinted to the tent.

The canvas of the tent loomed up, dimly lit from within, flickering shapes casting shadows against the walls. Cullen shoved the flap aside and froze.

Fedyr was hunched over Nadya’s cot, and Nadya looked.. Gods, she looked wrong. Too still. Too pale.

No.

What happened?!” Cullen’s voice cracked, harsh with disbelief, his chest heaving as he strode inside. “What the fuck happened, I was gone for an hour!”

Cullen was already shoving Fedyr aside and sliding onto his knees beside her. His hand hovered, unsure where to touch, afraid to cause more damage, and so it settled on her clammy face, "Hey. Nad - wake up. Wake the fuck up.“

Cullen looked down at her. Her breath was shallow. Her face was streaked with tears that hadn't even dried. His heart pounded in his chest, thudding loudly in his ears in pure terror.

“I know you can hear me - you need to open your eyes.” His voice was lower now, hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare leave after everything. You don’t get to just—”

He faltered, eyes burning. “You don’t get to go before we’ve fixed it.”
 
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She was leaving... but stayed in place for so long, she wondered what was keeping her from leaving.

The darkness was daunting, cold, and all she wanted to do was to keep moving in hopes she could warm her muscles and find somewhere where there was light.

She felt a tug, a presence, and she wondered if this was someone important as her subconscious noted the familiarity.

The moment his voice reached her, she knew why she stayed in place.

"... loss of blood. I cannot help..."

"Stand aside!" An impatient voice broke through the darkness.

And Nadya felt a sudden wave of warmth, one that pulled her back into the true darkness.




Fedyr watched the Wing Leader with a frown.

He was restless, only because of his bonded dragon's impatient of being grounded. He was a behemoth meant for the skies, and after hearing about the strange creatures that attacked on Thanasian borders, all his dragon wished to do was devour. But Fedyr had orders, Fedyr had hateful eyes on him at all times, and he needed to bide his time.

So he looked to Cullen, still beside Caliar's side as the healer he had brought back with him was dismissed by a tall and very pretty dark haired beauty. The woman pierced her knife through the side of the tent, and in the wild winds began to flap violently until a white dragon's snout gingerly poked through. The woman looked back, watching Cullen with a grave face, but it was the dragon doing all the magic.

They were one of the few dragon breeds that could harness this ability. Arcane magic only understood by them, and Fedyr got to witness first hand this dragon's work. He held qualities to heal, where his gentle purring and steamed breath warmed the near lifeless body of the Wing Leader.

Ah. Fedyr knew this woman and her dragon. As soon as he saw the clouded and blind eyes of the dragon, he knew just who this woman was. Faye Valimir. A healer for the Thanasian Army, and her own dragon an extension of her skills.

The dragon let a lick of fire touch the body, and from there, Nadya Caliar began to stir. She was not burned, but the colour began to return to her features.

"Her wound is healing. You," she pierced Fedyr with a look, "help Cullen lift her. I need to wrap her ribs."

Fedyr seemed to cross the tent in two strides, but did as instructed. He turned his head away and cleared his throat when Faye began to cut into the leathers that Caliar wore, leaving her almost bare as her undershirt was soaked through. At the sound of tearing, he knew that garment was taken away too. It took a few minutes before Faye announced she was done, to set her bad onto the cot where a blanket covered her torso. Fedyr couldnt help but stare at the woman all bandaged up.

Pretty. She was pretty...

And his blue eyes traveled to Cullen's face. "We should report to someone. She's in good hands." He said to his friend. Fedyr clapped him on the shoulder and made to go for the entrance. "Shit show out there, but we are needed back at camp. They want to send us out before dawn with this attack..." But Fedyr trailed off, seeing that Cullen had not followed.
 
Cullen had been barely holding himself together, his hands still trembling with the memory of her going still beneath them, but the moment Faye arrived, everything shifted.

He backed off when told, watching as the blade flashed and the tent split open to welcome something far older, far stranger than anything the battlefield had to offer. The blind creature moved with reverence, its nostrils flaring as it breathed against Nadya’s battered form. The purring, almost melodic rumble filled the tent, setting Cullen’s heart to a new rhythm, softer and slower.

Magic bloomed. Not wild, chaotic flame, but something warm and deliberate. Living.

He caught Nadya stirring, saw colour bloom back to her cheeks, and Cullen nearly sagged with the sheer weight of relief.

He was already moving by the time Faye barked at them, slipping back into place without needing to be asked twice. He lifted Nadya as if she were made of the finest porcelain, his eyes never leaving her face. Her head lolled slightly toward his shoulder, and his breath caught again.

Still here.

Still breathing.

He didn't even flinch when her soaked undershirt was cut away. He kept his gaze locked above her collarbone, jaw clenched, throat tight. The moment Faye finished, he laid her back down with care most people wouldn’t think him capable of, the weight of her settling into the cot as if the tent itself could finally exhale.

Cullen’s hand followed, trailing his knuckles lightly over her now-warmed skin of her cheek and trailing to her throat, feeling the slow, steady pulse that hadn’t been there before.

Thank you,” he rumbled low, his dark eyes lifting to Faye, meeting her sharp gaze, then leaned in and pressed a grateful kiss to her cheek. “Once again. I owe you more than I can say.”

He sank back to his knees, settling beside Nadya once more. The tent felt smaller now, quieter. Softer. He watched the way her chest rose and fell with new steadiness, and only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding since the moment he’d left her.

Fedyr’s words reached him from the tent’s entrance. Cullen didn’t even turn to look, nor did he move.

“I don’t give a fuck where I’m needed,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was unshakable. “I’m not leaving her again.”

He shifted slightly, resting his arm on the cot, gaze fixed on Nadya’s face.

“Not until she wakes up.”
 
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When Nadya realised she was waking up, the first thing she saw was red. It wasn't blood red, but a far livelier crimson of light behing her closed eyes. The sun's warmth was the next thing she became aware of, and she breathed it in deeply in hopes to warm her lungs.

Her eyes fluttered to wakefulness, taking in imagery of familiar surroundings.

Home. She was home.

Not her private home in the sacred bowels of Thanasis, but the room she grew up in in the Caliar country house.

She tried to sit up, but dulled pain and stiff muscles caused her to groan softly and remain on her back. A face appeared, that of her sister Stasya. If Nadya was beautiful, then Stasya was ethereal in her dark features and green eyes. Even the way she smiled stunned Nadya. "Good. You do live. Perhaps you can tell Katerina to not get her hopes up of bonding to your new dragon."

Nadya stared at the second eldest daughter, and Stasya laughed. "Do not fret. Kat is downstairs waiting for her sweet bread to cool. I daresay she may even force feed it to Cullen..." Here, green eyes peer down to meet Nadya's grey. "He was very worried. Insisted to have you brought here and not the Wall or in the Inner City..."

Nadya sighed, trying to lift her head to find a more comfortable angle to converse with her sister. "He is still here?" She asked, doubtfully.

Stasya lifted a brow. "Yes. Although It is just Kat and I here at home. Mother, father, and the little lamb have gone to the city to meet with the handlers of the clutch of Storm Dragon eggs you have brought home. We are to meet them this evening... but please. Stay and rest. You have traveled great lengths to return home, only to be thrown back into duty..." And that concern on her face reminded Nadya of the future Stasya was bound for. She was not suited for a dragon. She was not suited to be fearless and riding in the skies, not when her gentle nature would make her a good wife.

Nadya wanted to pass on inheriting the title of Lady of the house to her. Allow Stasya to carry that weight when all Nadya wanted was to advance in her career.

"Don't leave me alone with him." She had meant it a plea, but exhaustion weighed on her enough to sound bitter.

Her sister seemed to clicked the pieces together, and smiled. "If you both are going to be miserable, at least talk it out. You two always forgive each other eventually. Now, stay in bed and I will go fetch him."

And Stasya did not turn around even at the loud protests that came from Nadya.

With a plate of fresh sweet bread shoved into his hands, Stasya would tell Cullen to go see Nadya. The sisters would give them privacy as they cleaned the kitchen, and soon after that, they would be on their way to meet their parents and youngest sister in the city.

There were only two souls left in this house, and all the while she waited for Cullen to come up, she wished that he simply changed his mind and left.
 
Cullen stood in the doorway, silent for a heartbeat too long.

The sweet bread in his hands was still warm, its honeyed scent drifting through the air between them. His damp hair clung to his face and the nape of his neck, he wore fresh clothes, loose black linen shirt and breeches, comfortable when his posture was anything but. Rigid, coiled, uncertain.

He held his breath as his eyes settled on her, assessing her, reassuring himself that she was awake. Safe. It was like staring at something once thought lost to the dark and found again in a place so familiar it didn’t feel real.

Her eyes, though tired, were open. She was alright.

He cleared his throat as gently as he could, voice lower and more unsure than anyone would ever associate with the battle-hardened man.

“Can I come in?” he asked, almost sheepishly. “Stass thought you might be hungry.” He glanced down at the plate in his hands, then added with a quiet huff of a laugh, “Kat’s already made me eat three..”

He paused, then rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a moment. “They also insisted I bathe.. Apparently I smelled like a swamp rat that'd crawled up a dead jarlax' arse and died there."

His mouth quirked, a weak attempt at levity, but behind his eyes the relief was raw, genuine and palpable. The last kernel of fear that had lived in his chest, even as she breathed beside him, finally loosened its hold.

He didn’t step in. Not yet. He stood there waiting, arms lightly tensed with the plate held between them like an offering. Awaiting her verdict, whether she'd send him away, or let him in to face the impossible chasm that had grown between them.
 
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Something ached within her, deeper than any wound she sustained and healed from. This ache was not one that could be cured by a healer or dragon's magic. It was an emotional response seeing him there, and the longer she stared at him at the threshold, the more that inner wound opened to bare her.

"Kat wants to be your favourite out of us sisters." She replied. A small smile tugged at her lips, remembering that Katerina was talented as a baker. Everyone reaped the rewards whenever she wished to make something, but it had been Cullen eager to try anything she made when she was younger to pursue it. Kat enjoyed his animated critique on flavours and textures. "Rather unfair when the rest of us are useless with cooking or baking..."

She tried to sit up again, but her body felt battered and with no wounds or bruises to show for it. Exhaustion. That was all she could account for.

"You can come in." Nadya gestured to the chair beside her bed. It had been brought up from the dining room, and the embroidery project left on her nightstand told her that Stasya had been occupying it beforehand. "I cannot turn you away when you are holding fresh sweet bread." And suddenly, her stomach growled it's hunger. Loudly. Nadya looked sheepish.

But she looked to Cullen and saw the storm that raged inside him had subsided. He looked like her old Cullen. The one that loved her for the sake of loving something in thjs world that was made to be against him. Her love never left. It only blossomed and grew, tilting towards him as if she were a flower unable to resist the sun that he was to her. "Cull... I am so sorry..."

Fuck. Tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks, as if released from a dam.
 
Cullen crossed the threshold the moment she allowed it. His steps were slow, careful, as though any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment between them. The corner of his mouth twitched in something like relief when she spoke of Katerina.

“Mh.. She’s dangerously good,” he murmured in agreement, easing into the chair beside her bed with the reverence of a man kneeling before an altar. “And I’ve learned my lesson. Never praise a Caliar girl’s baking unless you’re prepared to eat it for the next decade or two.”

He placed the plate gently on her nightstand as he watched her try to sit up, and something behind his eyes winced, as if her pain mirrored in him. He would have helped, he desperately wanted to, but knew her pride would sting more than any ache in her muscles. So he waited, hands clasped loosely, body leaning forward like he was preparing to catch her if she so much as swayed too far.

And then her voice broke, and he watched her unravel in front of him. Not the strong dragon rider, not the Commander of iron will, not the shield between Thanasis and chaos, but the woman. His Nadya.

Tears ran freely down her cheeks, and he reached for her hand without thought or hesitation. Calloused fingers folded over hers with a tenderness that belied the strength they carried.

“Don’t,” he said softly. It wasn’t a reprimand. It was a plea. "I know.."

His voice wavered like the flicker of flame about to be extinguished. “We don't need to talk about it.. I thought I lost you and I couldn't...”

He shook his head, throat working as if it physically hurt to contain the emotion. A breath escaped him, ragged and low, and he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with all the gentleness of a man begging forgiveness he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He looked up, grey eyes meeting hers, stormy and unguarded. “You don’t need to be sorry, Nadya. You just need to be here.”
 
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The moment he held her hand was the tipping point of all her tears. The sobs came in a rush, her other hand going to shield her eyes so that she could dilute the devastation outpouring from her. So that Cullen didn't have to truly see her like this.

Nadya could not remember the last time she felt like this. Had felt grieving when she had no idea what to grieve over. She hadn't cried like this when Octavian Stonehill slept with her and told everyone that would listen how good she was in bed. She always had responded with strength and might. No one pitied Octavian after Nadya humbled him on the training grounds.

But she could not be strong or mighty now. Not when she was tucked into her childhood bed. Not when she felt as if she tumbled through thunderous clouds and lashing winds. Not when she had almost lost Cullen for good.

For that had been agony. To have that rift between them was the worst heartbreak she endured.

"I'm sorry." She repeated. For crying or for what had happened between them, when she did not know what else to do, the words were sure and ready on her lips. "I am so sorry."
 
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Cullen couldn’t sit still, not when her sobs hit him like a blade between the ribs.

The moment she crumpled behind her hand, trying to shield him from her grief, something in him gave way. The chair scraped back just a little as he stood, and then he was beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat gently on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need permission.

His arms wrapped around her carefully but firmly, pulling her against his chest like he could anchor her there and hold her together with his embrace alone. She smelled like the storm, something uniquely Nadya, something familiar enough to make his throat burn.

A kiss, soft, steady, was pressed into her hair, and his cheek rested against her crown. “Hey,” he whispered, one hand slowly stroking her back, the other curled protectively around her shoulders. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he reminded her, his voice was low and warm.

“We can work through it. All of it.” He held her tighter, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, because one of them needed to be steady.

“I’m just relieved that you’re alright,” he murmured into her hair. “That you’re here. That I get to hold you.” His fingers gently curled in the fabric of her sleeve. "I can't claim to understand... but we can get through this."
 
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She held him tight and close. An unmoving mountain despite the storms she could cast. The sobs grew louder, wracking through her worn body at being held by him after so long, she wondered if she would break right here in his embrace. The way he cradled her to him was a wave of calmness, and after a few minutes of being there in his arms, she began to settle the storm of emotions.

"I hated leaving." She sniffled. "I hated being so far from home."

Thanasis was not her home. No, she had told him once when they had flown to the meadow in the forest after she had made Squad Leader, and the two of them drank in celebration and laid on the blanket to watch the clouds. She had told him then and there she was home. That whenever he was with her, she was home.

Just how many times in the past had she said 'I love you' to him in many, different ways?

"I missed you, Cull." The sobs threatened to return, but Nadya gave out a gasping breath to stifle them. "I picked a fight I was not prepared for... going to Ilir."

She had always thought him to be spoiled, to take what he wanted, but he was born and raised a Malennis. He was a crook hidden behind gilded gates.


"When I went to see you... in the tower... he—"

A gasping breath interrupted her, so sure that she would not be able to tell Cullen what had happened... but Nadya took several deep breaths. She wanted to lean back and see his face, but there was something safe about being in his arms. "He choked me. Held me down against the rise of the steps and crushed my throat. Fedyr interrupted him... but I have wanted to kill him ever since. I thought it could undo all that I did..."

But would it get him back Eira? Would Leovold willingly return something that was once in the hands of Cullen?
 
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His arms didn’t loosen, not even slightly, as her body shook with the weight of everything she’d carried alone for far too long. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was a lifeline, a balm, the space she needed to unravel.

But the moment she spoke Ilir’s name, spoke what he had done to her, Cullen went utterly still. A dangerous, breathless stillness.

He didn’t interrupt. He let her speak. But beneath the steady rhythm of his hand on her back, the tension grew taut as a bowstring. Rage rippled just beneath his skin, quiet and simmering like a blade sheathed in trembling restraint. She wouldn’t feel it in his grip, he held her as gently as ever, but it lived in the way his breath caught, in the stilling of his thumb, in the sudden, hard swallow that bobbed in his throat.

That bastard. That fucking coward. Ilir had made a habit of hurting women, hadn’t he? Lording his power over people he thought couldn’t fight back. Sadly, Cullen had been deprived of harm by Ilir's own hands, it'd been his men he'd ordered to have him beaten and dragged to a cell.

Cullen had tried to scrub it all from his mind, to accept his fate and leave it in the past, but now? Ilir had marked himself.

He held Nadya tighter as he felt the tremors ripple through her. A protective, steadying warmth wrapped around her like a shield. When her voice faltered, when the pain in her words threatened to pull her under again, Cullen shifted slightly. He leaned back just enough to tilt her chin gently with his hand, guiding her face up to his.

His eyes burned. That deep storm in them had returned, but this time it wasn’t sorrow, it was fury. White-hot and glinting, barely contained behind the tremble of his jaw as he clenched it. He tried to soften it, to shield her from it. But it was there.

Still, his voice was calm. Low. Controlled. Protective. “Stay away from Ilir,” he said, firm and final, like it was law. “What’s done is done. He will get his comeuppance.”

His thumb brushed her cheek gently. “You don’t need to worry about any of that anymore. That’s not yours to carry.”

He drew in a slow breath through his nose, as if reigning himself back in from a cliff edge.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now, voice thick with guilt. “I dragged you into all of this. I should have known better. Should have been there. I never meant for you to get caught in the middle.”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, fierce and lingering. “I should have protected you.”
 
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She knew his fury as if it were her own. They both had grown up with it, had learned how to temper it, and Nadya made sure that Cullen was always seen without that burning in his eyes. She had grown up afraid, not of him, but for him. If anyone else were to see him that way, they may not understand why he felt that fire. They would not understand him. That was the first thing Nadya learned to protect him from. She grew into her fearlessness, to be a leader, to take the attention away from him so that Cullen could have peace from the stares and snarls.

Nadya would always sacrifice something to make his life easier than it could have been. If it meant using her privilege, then she would extend it to him. Her parents were skeptical at first, but it was her sisters that also made him feel as if he belonged with a family. Cullen had always paid her family with kindness, and it was him alone that changed the hearts of her mother and father.

And so, to see his burning fury being contained to those brown eyes, it left her in awe. It was not a fury she could share, for she had let go of her anger the moment she fled the city all those months ago. She had to survive out on the continent. She made a new ally and friend. She brought home another Storm Dragon. Nadya had forgotten what fury felt like...

Until she saw Cullen again. How easily he ignited that fight in her...

So... this was how it felt to have someone protect her. She was always the one to stand at the front, those she protected all behind her. No one had ever stood beside her, and if they did, she found a way to inch ahead.

But in this moment, she didn't feel compelled to insist she be the Protector.


"Ilir has power and influence now as Lord Malennis... before I left, I had been planning something... A way to take away his power. Whether it be by blood or by plots, if he does not have the belief and favour of those in his family..." It was minuscule this idea, to that of the entirety of what her mind had come up with on that day. It had been a mind of revenge, to seek retribution.

Nadya knew things in Thanasis were not black and white. There were tones still mixed in between, some so dark or light they blended closest to black or white, unseen and unknown. Not unless one knew where to look.


"I know I cannot make things right for what my... jealousy costed us... but I want to make him pay."
 
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Cullen’s brow furrowed, the crease between his eyes deepening as she spoke of her plans. Of blood, and revenge, and what sounded dangerously close to walking back into Ilir’s jaws willingly. His arms tightened around her, not to restrain, but to hold her firmly in place, to make sure she heard him.

His head shook slowly, his voice barely above a whisper but threaded with an aching plea.
No, Nadya. Stay far away from it. From him. Please.”

There was fear beneath the words, fear that he rarely showed. But she knew it. She always had. “Ilir’s done enough damage already.” His jaw clenched again, his voice quiet but laced with anguish. “He’s dangerous. I don’t care how careful you are, he doesn’t fight fair. He doesn’t lose fair. And he’d rather ruin you than let you win.”

He paused, letting the weight of that settle before his gaze found hers again.

When she spoke of her jealousy, something in him shifted. His expression, so steeped in that quiet storm, softened, his eyes dimming, lips parting like he might speak but didn’t know how. The silence lingered between them like a held breath.

“I’ve always loved you, Nadya,” he frowned, his thumb tenderly brushed her cheek again. “I hope you know that. You’re the only one who’s ever been there for me, regardless of… everything.”

His brow furrowed as though something in him buckled under the weight of his own words.

“I just never thought…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. His throat worked around the words, but they didn’t come. He cleared it, tried again.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. With Eira. It was a terrible idea from the start. I just—” His hand curled gently in the fabric at her back, grounding himself with her nearness. “For a while, I forgot who I was.." He let out a bitter breath, barely a laugh.

“But I’m no good to anyone, Nad. Especially not anyone with a name or a title to uphold.” His head shook slowly. “Everything I touch turns to ash.”
 
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He doesn't mean that... not truly. Doubt clouded her thoughts. Despite the way he held her, cradled her face, and stared down at her with those damned eyes, Nadya still could not believe his words.

Because she had seen his fury, had felt it's scathing burns on her skin and heart when he turned on her. That sort of hurt and grief... she didn't know how long until it would return to her and cripple her.

"You're good to me." She whispered. Her eyes glistened, her stare became insistent. "I am stronger than what anyone thinks of me."

Except Kalyss. He saw everything about her that day and decided to bond with her. The last Caliar rider was four generations ago, and Kalyss believed Nadya to be strong and worthy to be bonded to him.

"My family name have always been sneered upon for centuries. Society puts up with us because of the history and legendary favour of the Storm Dragons. I don't want to be Lady of this House. I want to be High Ascendant." These were not new words. Cullen would have heard Nadya say such things multiple times over the past, would know her true dream was to serve with her dragon.

"I don't need titles or riches, Cull. I just... want..." Her hands fisted the clean shirt Stasya must have lent him. He smelled clean, of a highly oiled and scented soap one of Nadya's sisters had made. It didn't suit him, too sweet on the nose, but she soon moved passed it. She shifted, hissing through gritted teeth as the aches plagued her movement, but Nadya was adamant on what she wanted.

Him.

"I want you, Cullen. I cannot go back to being just your friend..." She rose to her knees, kneeling before him and towering Cullen just a couple of inches. "If this isn't what you want..."

She dared bot speak the words, dared not to give him a chance to think of it.

For the first time in the near three decades of friendship, Nadya leaned into Cullen until her breath warmed his lips. Until her lips brushed his own, and with one last thought of regret, Nadya ruined him with a kiss.
 
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Cullen's heart pounded violently against his ribs the moment she said the words.

I want you, Cullen. I cannot go back to being just your friend...

His breath hitched.

“Nad—” he started, voice tight with the strain of all the things he wasn’t supposed to feel. But then her lips brushed his, and the rest of the world fell silent.

The hesitation in his chest burned away, consumed in the fire of that kiss. His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. A low, guttural sound rumbled from him as his fingers tangled into the thick strands of her hair at the nape of her neck, gripping like she might vanish if he didn’t hold her there. His other hand found her hip, holding her steady as if the ground itself had begun to quake.

And maybe it had. Maybe he had.

He melted into her kiss like it was the first real thing he’d felt in months, like he’d been starved and suddenly fed, parched and finally tasting the sweetest rain. Her taste was fury and longing, forgiveness and fire, and gods help him, he wanted more.

But then his mind slammed into his chest like a wall. What was he doing? His lips stilled, his breath catching between them, ragged and harsh.

He broke the kiss. His forehead rested against hers for a beat, his eyes closed tight. He was still breathing her in like she was the only air left, but he wasn’t kissing her anymore.

“Nadya…” he said again, softer this time. Like the word alone could break him. His eyes opened, and for a moment they roamed her face with a raw kind of desperation, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Stop.” He said it gently, his voice trembling. “I can’t…”

His hand at her hip trembled as it slowly withdrew.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his frown deepening, his voice rough with emotion. “And if I let this happen… If I give in now, I'll only drag you down with me. I'll only fuck this up..” he swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “That would break me, Nad..”

He pulled back just enough to look her fully in the eyes, his own dark and stormy, holding her gaze like it was the only thing anchoring him.

"I’ve already ruined so much.” His hand cupped her cheek gently. “You’re the best thing in my life.. I won't ruin you too."
 
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She knew the moment he realised she was a mistake.

For the first few seconds, she felt her heart leap and swell, the confusion of her nerves as he held her tight and in place. The way she climbed into his lap to be as close to him as she could, finally home again with him.

But she felt him stop. She felt him pull away and quickly, doused her flames with rejection. Her entire body froze, tensing as if bracing for the words she knew he would use. We cannot do this. You deserve better. I am not good for you. She had heard it all before, when he spoke of Eira. When he was in love with Eira.

He still was in love with her.

And this realisation numbed her. Her head was tilted, her gaze trained on his chest where her fists still clutched at his shirt. She was so numb and tensed in his embrace that softened when he realised she was making another mistake to ruin this. He didn't want this. He didn't want her.


Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira. Eira.
She was not who he wanted.

Suddenly, she threw herself off of him. She scrambled to the otherside of her bed and turned away from him. Her shoulders slouched, her muscles so tense it pained her, but that was a warmth that temporarily replace the fire that ignited between them.

"You're never going to think you deserve me, are you?" Her voice was odd. "You're never going to give me what I have always wanted."

This time, his repulsion of her struck a part she had thought had been broken the night he told her they were done. Her soul was beginning to fracture, and gods what pain that weighed upon her.

She was never going to have him like this...
 
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“Please don’t do this.”

His voice was raw, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. He didn’t move, afraid even a breath in her direction might shatter her the rest of the way.

“Nadya, please.”

His hands were clenched in his lap, the tension in his fingers a poor substitute for the way she’d just held him. His chest heaved with the weight of what he’d just thrown away, but he forced himself to stay still as she turned from him.

“You think I don’t want you...” he rasped. “What the fuck is there not to want?”

He let out a breath, shaky, broken. “But if I let myself have this, have you.. I will ruin it. I will ruin us. And I can’t…” His throat worked around the words. “You are all I fucking have and I've almost lost that one too many times already. If I lose you, I don't come back from that.”

His eyes lifted to her back. “Right now, I still have you. Maybe not, in that way, but I have you. I know you. You look at me like I’m worth something, even when I’m not. Even when I don’t believe it. You still… see me.”

Silence. Just his ragged breaths and the distance between them.

“I know I’m hurting you, and I fucking hate it. I know I’m the coward here. But fuck Nadya, I’d rather have your anger than your absence. I’m not strong like you, Nad. You survive pain. I cause it. You deserve so, so much fucking better than that."
 
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She shot up from the bed, suddenly wishing to be far from him as she could be. Retreating to the large window at the opposite end of the room, she looked down to the tree they both had climbed and played around as children. She had waited there for him the day his parents were executed. She remember being angry seeing those Marks on him, but it wasn't anger at him. That anger was ever present, reserved for anyone that said anything against Cullen and his Marks.

Against anyone with Marks, deserved or not.

"I am strong so I can help change this world, Cullen. These people, they deserve to see what their treatment and insults of the Marked Ones would get them. They all hold too much power and it sickens me. It sickens me that I had an ancestor that betrayed her Queen, and yet still, none of us bear marks. The name Calaerys was on the brink of dying and still their legacy is passed onto the Caliars, passed onto me." He knew this. He knew all of this because Nadya had often spoke of her parent's idiocy in trying to remain liked in society. He knew Nadya never carried any form of noble upbringing, and rejected the genteel manners all ladies were expected to adhere to. She drank often, slept with many others, and was known for preferring her leathers than a dress. She was no fine dinner guest, and swore like a sailor. Whatever goodness Cullen believed her to belong to was unfounded.

"Is that what you want then? My anger? Because if you will not have me, Cullen Morvane, then I will promise to learn to hate you and vow to never love again." She turned around. The storm never left her eyes. It had been subdued, but there was a crackle of emotion and energy about her that seemed to lend strength from her bonded dragon. Nadya inhaled and halted any further movement as she stared him down. "I want you to ruin me. I deserved to be ruined by you... but if you will not have me, then I have nothing left to fight for. I will ruin myself and you will be unable to bring me back from it."

Her face said it all. She had been thinking about this, and not once before. Every day Nadya was not in Thanasian lands, she wondered how long without reporting back the higher ups would deem her a deserter. How many months until they realised she was easily replaceable. That she could be like the Storm Dragons a century ago and leave for self preservation.

The earlier days, she often thought of a way to dress down Ilir all on her own...

If Cullen refused her, then he wouldn't be able to stop her from doing what she had wanted to do all them months ago.

She would assassinate Lord Ilir Malennis.
 
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Something in his chest cracked when she stood and moved away from him. The moment she tore from the bed and crossed the room, Cullen felt it, the part of him that still believed he had time, still believed he could keep her at arm’s length without breaking both of them, splintered like rotted wood. He reached for her. Not physically. Just reached. And then froze.

She turned, and every word she spoke scraped against old wounds that had never fully healed. The sound of his last name from her lips.. Cullen flinched. His hands balled into fists. That name was a curse. It was chains. It was a collar and leash.

“So that’s it?” His voice was rough, disbelieving. “If I don’t give myself to you, you’ll hate me? You’ll walk out of my life forever?” His breath hitched. “A fucking ultimatum, Nadya?”

The pain that had simmered beneath his skin for so long boiled over. Grief, rage, yearning, all of it twisted into something feral as he stood and took a step toward her.

He had been about to say more. About his father. About how nothing in his life had ever been his. How this city owned him now just as much as his father once had, how it stole every choice, every dream, every ounce of peace he could've had.

They had taken the only thing he'd ever wanted. Eira was the only thing he'd ever chosen for himself... But, had he? Or had he been just a passing fancy. A rough little fantasy for a noble girl to have her fun with before she moved on to something far better..

Because he couldn't have happiness. Because he didn’t deserve it. His jaw clenched. Fury sparked behind his eyes.

“Of all fucking people…” he snarled under his breath.

Cullen closed the distance in a few long strides, seizing her roughly. His hand gripped the crook of her neck, shoving her back against the cold stone wall with a dull thud. His body crashed into hers with trembling restraint, his breath hot and furious as it ghosted against her ear.

“Is this what you want?” he growled. “To control me?” His voice was venom. A shield for the part of him that was breaking.

“I’m just a Marked One, remember? A lesser. A fucking slave.” His hips ground into hers, the fury in him coiled tight as he hooked her thigh around his waist. His lips brushed against hers, taunting, aching, threatening. He held her gaze, those storm-lit eyes that always saw too much, and didn’t look away.

“I’m at your fucking service — My Lady,” he seethed, the title like ash on his tongue.

His voice dropped, bitter and hollow. “You want me to fuck you, Nadya? Say the word. I’ll give you what you want. I’ll ruin you.”
 
  • Cthulhoo rage
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This was merely another sparring session. Cullen knew her well, knew her body well in that sense that he could pin her to the wall. The venom lacing his voice fueled her fire, his actions pouring oil onto the simmering flames. Her hand came up, holding his jaw by his chin and forcing his head to lean back. Her eyes followed his gaze easily, and a smile curved at her lips. "I don't think you would do that to me. You're still so in love with Eira, you wouldn't dare move on with your life. Gods forbid, I bet you want to still be played by her even as she marries Leovold."

Fuck. They sparred all the time in the past, but never had she felt this overwhelming heat that burned only for him. Their hips were still flush, his hand still propping her leg up, and all she could think was how out of all the men and women she had been with, no one compared to the way Cullen held her now.

Her attraction to her best friend had always been the worst idea.

"I don't control you, Cullen." Nadya pursed her lips and ran her tongue over to wet them. "I am only making you understand how much I want you... and how I do not care what others will think. No one can take away my strength. I've built this around including you. Friend or lover. But if you refuse me..." Hate. Hate was the only way she will forget him. The only way she would not be ruined by him on his terms.

Her thumb moved, brushing at his chin and wiping at his bottom lip. His lips were soft against hers. It was as if they were made that way to make her think about kissing them again. "You wouldn't touch me. I'm not the Lady you would be on your knees for." Finally, her own brand of poison. Daring him, leaving this all to his own choices.
 
  • Cthulhoo rage
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Cullen’s entire body thrummed with tension. With fury, with grief, with the unspeakable ache that came from being so seen and so misunderstood all at once.

Her words were blades. Each one cut deeper than the last.

Still in love with Eira.
Wanting to be played by her.
Not the Lady he’d kneel for.


He should’ve known she would fight like this. Nadya could wield words as well as she could wield weapons. She didn’t slit throats, she slipped beneath your ribs and carved out what mattered most.

And he let her. Because part of him believed he deserved it.

His fist rose like it had a will of its own and smashed into the stone beside her head with a thunderous crack. The wall trembled.

He didn’t open his eyes. His head bowed forward, resting near her shoulder, trembling with restraint. Breath heaving. His heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to break free.

The words came hoarse. Low. Barely controlled.

“…I thought I knew you.” A pause. His voice broke with rage. “Clearly, I don’t.”

He swallowed the burn at the back of his throat. “I didn’t realise how fucking cruel you could be…”

When his eyes finally opened, they were darker than she’d ever seen them. Rage still there, but beneath it, something gutted. Hollow. The wreckage of a man still trying to stand amidst everything collapsing.

His hand dropped from her leg. From her skin. From hope. He stepped back like the distance might save him. Might stop him from saying something he couldn’t take back.

“If you want to hate me, Nadya… then hate me.” His voice was cold now. Empty in the way that meant he was already starting to shut down, to wall up what was left of himself before she could set it on fire.

“I stayed here to make things right,” he murmured. “But this…?” He shook his head, eyes sweeping over her like he didn’t know if he loved her or hated her for what she’d become. “This isn’t right.”

Silence stretched between them like a blade between ribs.

“There.. Now I really do have no one” His lip curled, bitter. Final.

Congratulations.

He turned, shoulders heavy with everything unsaid, and walked away. And every step felt like dying.
 
  • Frog Sus
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Cruel. Nadya had never thought herself capable but it only took Cullen saying it that she realised just what type of weaponry she forged to defend her walls. She had to be cruel to fend off anyone that dared to come after her or who Nadya loved. It came hand in hand with rising up in the ranks and commanding her own power in keeping people in line. Today, she never thought she had to do that with Cullen.

He was so close to giving her what she wanted, but she knew she did not want him like this.

She had to protect herself, just as he was doing now withdrawing from her. She knew him so well, recognised what he was doing...

Nadya pushed from the wall, following him across her room. She was faster, more determined, and slammed her door shut before he could reach it and leaned against it. The Wing Leader glowered at him, arms crossed.

"Satisfied?" She had to look up at him, eyes dark as the storm she was capable of brewing. "Must be nice to cut people off so easily as you have done." She didn't have to tell him how quickly he quit on her that night. How easy it was for him to say it again just now.

She hated all of this the moment her eyes began to strain with unshed tears.

"Because if I had to learn to hate you, Cullen, then I would have to find enough reasons to convince myself of pretending to. You think I am strong and resilient but when it comes to you, I finally feel the wounds I thought I was invincible to feel." She took a shaky breath, inhaling all the laid out truth as if she could take it all back. "Do you finally see what I had to become?"

It was all to protect those she loved. Her parents, her sisters, her friends, her squad, and most of all, him.

If she wanted to hate him...

She couldn't. She could try, she could convince herself, but Nadya knew that this love she had for him would be with her until the day she died.


"Cullen... are you afraid that Ilir would... take something away from you again?"
 
  • Cthulhoo rage
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Cullen stopped dead in front of her, breath ragged, eyes gleaming with disbelief and fury as she dared to ask him if he was satisfied.

In a heartbeat, he was toe to toe with her, his voice rising, shaking, broken from too many wounds that had never quite healed.

Me?! Are you—are you fucking mental?!

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling as he fought to hold himself back.

“How hard did you hit your head exactly, Nadya?” He laughed, but it was bitter, hollow, no humour left in him.

You, my best friend, had the woman I loved dragged away from me by her twisted brother. You gave him information that he can hold over me, that he can use against me to have me killed if he wants to. You had my home burned. You had me beaten to shit, thrown into a cell to rot for weeks, and when they finally dragged me out, it was just to toss me to the front lines like I was already fucking dead!”

His voice cracked, and still he stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

“Oh wait, sorry, I was meant to thank you, right? Thank you so much for ensuring I got to keep Meala. Thank you so fucking much for your mercy, Nadya.”

The venom in his voice scorched. His eyes, black with hurt and betrayal, scanned her face, as if still trying to find the girl he once trusted more than anyone in the world.

“And then you stomp around acting like I’ve betrayed you?! That I’ve done something terrible to you?! You tell me you’ll cut me out if I don’t fall into your arms like some storybook idiot and forget everything you did?”

He was shouting now. Not at her, at the ghost of her, the lie she was forcing him to confront.

“You’re fucking delusional, Nadya!”

“I thought I lost you…” His voice dropped, hoarse now. Hurt. “…And I was terrified. You’ve been at my side since we were children. You're all I have left. And now you’re standing here rubbing salt into the wounds you inflicted, daring to say you’ll hate me if I don't drag you into my arms and whisper sweet nothings like none of this happened?”

His jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck tight as a bowstring. “How is this fair?” His eyes bore into hers. “How is any of this fair?” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with razorwire.

“…How is this any different to what they do to me? How are you any different, Nadya? How can you claim to care for me at all when you're about to cut me out of your life for not giving you what you want?”

He shook his head slowly, as if the image of her standing in front of him, arms crossed, judgmental and cruel and weeping all at once, didn’t make sense anymore. Like she wasn’t who he thought she was. He stepped back from her, half a pace, just enough to breathe.

"I didn't know you were capable of any of this, Nad. And it's breaking my heart more than losing her ever did." he admitted and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Get out of my way."
 
  • Spoon Cry
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She was losing him.

It was unfurling before her, the hurt she could never fix. Her own and his, Nadya could not hild the rope flailing in the storm.

She took that step he had backtracked, pushing him back further so that she could get out of his way. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, but she didn't care to hide them. "Go." She choked out. "We're done here."

Looking at him became too hard for her to handle. She was shaking, she didn't know what made her do so, but she knew something in her was shattering in places she had protected for all her life. This was breaking her just as she broke him. Whatever she loved, she didn't deserve. She was too sharp around the edges. Too strong to realise her protectiveness could choke those she loved.

"GET OUT!" Nadya had tried to yell, to sound as if she were giving an order, but only gasping sobs left her lips. Her back was turned, not wanting to watch him leave this last time.
 
Cullen didn’t move at first. Her sobs hit him hard, but he didn’t reach for her. Didn’t comfort her. Not now. He stood frozen in the eye of the storm, staring at her shaking frame, her shoulders trembling, voice broken, grief pouring from her in shattered pieces as she pushed him away.

His fists uncurled slowly at his sides. He didn’t understand her. Did she truly think this was the way to earn his love? To corner him? Strip him of choice? To reduce everything they’d been through into this cruel, manipulative gamble?

His voice was low. Controlled. And yet it carried a gravity that stilled the air between them. “I forgave all of it.. Because I thought I’d lost you. Because I told myself, you did what you did to protect me.”

He paused, jaw tight, breath steadying. “But this?” His voice cracked, not with rage this time, but something quieter. Something that sounded dangerously close to defeat. “What you're doing now... the way you're using your grief like a blade... This is something I’m not sure I can forgive, Nad.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I was blind. If I’ve been stubborn, or angry, or didn’t give you what you wanted.”

He stepped close enough that the storm of her body pressed against the edge of his calm.

“But if you want me to stay…” He looked her straight in the back. “Then apologise. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you didn’t mean what you said. That this isn’t how our story ends.... Fix this, Nadya. Now. Or let me walk out that door.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. It wasn’t a threat. It was a mercy. A last chance.

“That’s your ultimatum.” he said, and waited.
 
  • Stressed
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