FANFIC: battle cries (Shadowhunters)
May. 11th, 2026 06:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenslayerbeenightingalesighed's birthday in 2018.Title: battle cries.
Fandom: Shadowhunters.
Character/Pairing: Marisa Lightwood/Valentine Morgernstern.
Rating/Warnings: M, sexual content.
Summary: Her brother’s chosen sentence left Maryse scarred, bitter and ashamed. Valentine was a breath of fresh air.
Word count: 1.1k.
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After her brother’s Marks were removed, Maryse only got a short reprieve from the outside world, enclosed in her bedroom, before she had to return to the Academy.
Where everyone knew, and acted in consequence.
She took to sneaking out in the middle of the night, several hours before any of her peers, to left off steam in the training room, where no one could stare at her.
That’s how Valentine found her; on a stormy night, screaming with fury as she threw axes against the bullseye.
She never knew how long he’d been watching her, creeping from the shadows. He made his presence known with a do you want a real fight, Trueblood?.
Maryse, startled, threw an ax in his direction that he dodged without much effort. He tore it from the wall, a challenging expression, and waited for Maryse to pick her twin from the target.
That was her first yes to Valentine. Many more followed.
If she had talked to Valentine before that night, she couldn’t remember it. And she had a hard time imagining someone could forget anything about him.
She, of course, knew who he was. And not just because of his own accomplishments, but because he was Lucian’s parabatai. Lucian and Maryse weren’t exactly friends; he was a grade above her, but he’d been one of the very few people that didn’t shun her after what happened to her brother. It wasn’t until Valentine asked her to sit with their selective clique that they truly became close.
But even then, no one —not Lucian, not Jocelyn, not her parents— no one else seemed to understand her as well as Valentine did.
No one else saw, not as clearly as he did, everything that was boiling inside her brain. Her shame, her heartbreak, her fury. Shame, for how Max had chosen a vapid mundane over his sacred duty. Heartbreak, for how much she missed him.
Fury, against the Clave.
Except for her nights with Valentine, Maryse hid all those emotions under a blank face. She couldn’t put her inner turmoil into words.
But she didn’t need to, because Valentine did. When he talked about what a waste it was, to force Shadowhunters to leave if they paired with mundanes. Those are potential recruits, he said. And if they're not, their children will be. With how numerous demons are getting, we need all the manpower we can get. When he talked about their heaven-given mission to protect the world. When he put her against the floor with his sword on her throat.
It was as if he spoke from her heart.
Maryse’s anger never faded, but it learned. It grew colder, more solid, forged steady like a sword’s blade.
The private training sessions continued, as her outlet to let out every ugly emotion breeding inside her. When a classmate made a dismissive comment, or when her father, meek as ever, bowed to the Clave. When her mother reiterated in her letters that their family legacy was on her shoulders now. On her, as if her parents no longer bore any responsibility for it.
And when Valentine’s family was slaughtered, she was more than willing to return the favor. To be the target of his frustrations, of his grief and his rage. When he broke a bo-staff against her ribs, she hit him in the jaw with hers, immobilized him by sitting in his chest, and asked is that all you got, Morgenstern?
That got what she knew for a fact was his first laugh after the attack. She’d felt it sometimes, that perverse little feeling in her chest, when she noticed how he shared things with her that she didn’t with Jocelyn or even Lucian. How he sometimes got distant with them, but never with her. She laughed back, as that feeling grew again.
Her marriage with Robert Lightwood was, above all, convenient. His family was a beacon among the Shadow world, practically royalty. Her mother, for once, was proud; proud enough to get her off her back and leaving her some leeway to do what she wanted.
What he lacked in conviction, he made it up with imitation. They got along well. And if she sometimes couldn’t help but feel a little condescending, well. She kept it to herself, and swallowed the amusement when Valentine didn’t bother to do it himself.
When the Circle solidified, from idea to fact, Valentine marked them together. He did Robert’s first, light like an afterthought, and then he turned to her. He grabbed her by the chin, gentle and firm, and drew it slowly, maintaining eye contact. After he finished it, he smiled with mirth, his hands lingering on her shoulders, and calling her by her maiden name, told her you and I are going to change this world.
After the Academy, after betrayals and disappointments, they kept up with their ritual. It happened if they got tired of the strategy meetings —often already private between the two them—, if Valentine’s anger got the best of him, if she got tired of being treated like a porcelain doll because she was less than one month pregnant.
It was fitting, that it was during those sessions, when it finally happened.
Maryse had him against the floor, holding him down with her hands and with her body, their weapons discarded meters away. She saw from up close how the anger in his eyes shifted to something else, as it’d done many times before; this time, she felt emboldened enough to descend over him and join their mouths on a wet, languid first kiss.
He engulfed her in his harms, surrounding her waist, and brought their bodies so close together that Maryse felt as if she was swallowed by him. Without hurry, he leveraged their position to put her on her back, and slowly followed a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body. Her jaw, right below her ear; the base of her neck, her breasts, her hips. He uncovered her, one piece of clothing after another, still fully dressed. Maryse released a sound of relief when he finally dived between her legs, that turned into needy, breathy moans at his feather-like touches. When she came, she left scratch marks on his shoulders.
The next part was hurried, as she took off his shirt and pulled down his pants, sitting on his lap. She rode him while the sun started to rise, its faint glow illuminating the dark blue mats on the floor, as Valentine kissed her intermittently, a litany of MaryseMaryseMaryse on his lips.
When they finished, their breaths sounded heavier than they’ve ever been after a good fight. Valentine rested his forehead against hers, his hands now light on her hips after the bruises they’ve surely left from how tight they’ve held her half a minute before.
A husky laugh came from deep down her throat, when she saw her lack of regret echoed in his eyes.