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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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Siblings of Water

If all my years of reading One Piece has taught me anything it’s A) remember minor characters, and B) always check for a shown corpse.

6211 words; set post-Wano but also pre-whatever-the-flip nonsense our lads are in at the moment; if something like this ever went down I would freaking scream and idk if anyone in a five mile radius would survive; we need more good blood-siblings in this series because as of this posting the best blood-siblings have been, like, the Ryugu royals and two sets of Wano sibs unless I’m missing someone don’t try to lie to me about any Charlotte shenanigans (though really this has the side-effect of tons of adoptive siblings/found family that are excellent and I admit I am greedy and want it all); one of the most sensible and natural real-world equivalent languages for Law to probably speak is Northern Low Saxon you can’t change my mind I’m not getting out of this chair this has little to do with the fic but it is important to me; we also need Trafalgar Family angst so here we are; this is my 200th fic on FFN and that’s not only pretty cool but my 20th fic was also my first One Piece fic and that was even well before these jokers showed up in the story so idk what that says about a lot of things

Siblings of Water; After their adventures in Wano, the Heart Pirates stumble a quiet island that holds a very jarring surprise for their captain.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Nuh-uh; you’re coming with us,” she said. She was standing in the doorway to his cabin, completely not-caring that he was giving her an absolutely murderous look from his position reclined on his bed.

“It’s festival season—I’m not going,” he replied. He tried to look as though he was going back to the highly academic tome of Magicks and Poshuns of Wano and Her Dauters, though in reality, he was simply trying to hide a copy of Sora, Warrior of the Sea from everyone’s prying eyes.

“You were barely at any of the parties in Wano.”

“I was obliged to attend in a nominal and symbolic manner,” he countered. “I’m all festivaled out.”

“Yeah, where you were there for five minutes before wandering off.”

“I enjoy wandering.”

“Wander the festival.”

“I can’t be guaranteed there shall be other adults there.”

“We’ll be there.”

“I know.”

Narrowing her eyes, Ikkaku made an extremely executive decision and stepped into the cabin and grabbed onto Law’s ear, tugging until he closed the book and got out of the bed. She pulled him through the submarine—to the shock of all their crewmates lingering just outside in the corridor—until she had him above deck and down the gangplank and on solid ground again.

“Now, you are going to go with us to the festival, and you are going to enjoy yourself, and you aren’t going to use wandering as an excuse to make your way back here,” she demanded. The rest of the Heart Pirates watched from atop deck, wondering whose will was going to win this time.

“It still doesn’t mean I want to,” he growled.

Ikkaku crossed her arms across her chest, unfazed. “Bepo!”

“Yes, ma’am…?”

“You’re in charge of making sure Law stays out here!” she said. The bear blanched.

“Now that’s not entirely fair,” Law noted.

“It’s fair,” she reasoned. “Stay with us, you’ll be fine. Try to run away and you’re getting sat on by an ass full of fur and Electro that also happens to have you wrapped around his little claw.”

“I am not.”

“We all are and you know this.”

A beat.

“I hate you.”

“You need to touch grass more often, you weird hermit-man.”

“I just touched a lot of grass for an extended period of time, thank you.”

“More often, dweebus.” She then glanced over at the rest of the crew, who shivered in response. “Let’s go, lads! Fun awaits!”

“…but what if someone tries to steal the Tang?” Law asked. Bepo walked up to him and put a comforting paw on his shoulder.

“No one other than Ikka can get the thing started properly,” he grimaced. “Sorry, but, we’re stuck.”

“We were able to work it before she joined up.”

“That was before she made the modifications. It’s mostly anti-theft measures, but if we’re the thieves…”

“I should have left you all on Strawhat-ya’s deck like orphan puppies.”

Bepo didn’t respond to that, which only made Law sigh in resignation.

“Okay, yeah, I’d never do that.”

“Glad you’re aware.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Festivals always made Law feel extremely uncomfortable. It reminded him of a time when he would rather study than anything else, sending a searing pang of guilt ripping through his heart. It all reminded him of then, of them, and he was doing his best to seem as disaffected as possible while still trying to figure out a way to speed-chess his way back to the Tang without any repercussions.

Well, at least the beer was decent. It was actual beer at that—Wano had fine native brewing traditions, but none of them resulted in beer. Law found himself huddled over a tankard of stuff leagues better than whatever swill it was that Kaido imported as his crew held him hostage in a picnic area, with them taking up two whole tables on one end, while a band set up on the other end near a stage. Stalls boxed in the varying picnickers and festival-goers alike, which made the particular pirate captain skittish.

“Relax,” Ikkaku smirked into her own beer. It was her first; Law’s third. “You look like a cornered cat.”

“I feel like a cornered cat,” he scowled. Bepo brought over another pile of soft pretzels for the table, which Law wordlessly shambled into bits with ease. Maybe he could get away with wanting to go back in another hour… “Whatever happened to a captain’s veto?”

“It’s because the captain knows that I could have either pulled him by the ear, or the earrings.” Ikkaku popped a bit of pretzel into her mouth and nodded—not bad. “Besides, it’s quality time with just us. It’s been a while since it was just us, all together, no other weirdos in the mix.”

“Yeah, come on, Cap,” Penguin chuckled. “You know, this is why you don’t get laid.”

Shachi choked on his pretzel bite so badly that Law had to get it out.

“Can we please save talk of my non-existent love life for, oh, I don’t know: never?” Law growled.

“All I know is that you’re Emperor material and got nothing to show for it,” Penguin noted. “You could be slaying anything you wanted, as much as you wanted.”

“I hate this conversation.”

“Our captain doesn’t seem like the ‘slaying’ type, though,” Clione offered.

��I really hate this conversation.”

“Yeah,” Penguin nodded, “you’re right—we’d need to recruit whomever it is to the crew, just so they can get to know each other first, then we let them on private shore leave.”

“I swear if this conversation goes on any further I am going to put up the biggest Room I can and drop you in the ocean.”

“You’re in luck, grumpass,” Ikkaku said. She pointed at the stage. “Looks like someone’s coming up to talk—she’s got a transponder snail.” Sure enough, most of the picnic area went quiet, waiting for the person that Law was flat-out refusing to look at out of sheer principle.

“Hi everyone!” a cheery woman said into her Den Den, voice amplified by the tiny snail. “For those of you visiting today, my name is Milla, and I’m one of the island’s resident doctors and chairwoman of this year’s festival!” She paused to let people clap, during which Shachi whistled lowly.

“Oooh, she’s a cutie,” he noted.

“…and probably too smart to be taken in by your dumb ass,” Penguin chortled. The pair kept elbowing one another as the chairwoman continued.

“I just wanted to extend a very warm welcome and thank you from the rest of the committee and island to you,” she said. “Festivals are one of the things that really keeps us going here in the Grand Line, punctuating our seasons in a way that the weather is incapable of doing. It was the same in the town where I grew up, in an icy Blue far away from here, though for different reasons, of course.”

“Huh… she’s from the North?” Hakugan wondered. Despite the fact Law was the one who rolled his eyes, it was Ikkaku who replied.

“The South Blue’s cold too, you know,” she said. She patted Law’s forearm, feeling that his muscles and tendons were tight under his shirt as he held the ale tankard. “Relax.”

“Festivals… really aren’t my thing…”

“You tried that—now stop being so tense and just enjoy some time out of the fart-box.”

“Now,” the chairwoman said, “I’ll sing you a song from that sea to officially open up our festivities. It’s an old one, but it has always warmed my heart after all these years. The music’s not the same, so bear with us, please, if you heard it before. Alright! Hit it!”

The music was slow at first, haunting and eerie—something very out-of-sorts for an otherwise-bright festival. It twisted and turned and reached deep into the crowd that was barely able to contain its excitement. The Heart Pirates mostly gave the chairwoman their attention, the entire orchestra silent except for a singular violin. Then another joined in, then a piano, and finally, the chairwoman herself in words just barely familiar to the Hearts. The North dripped from her voice as she sang a ballad of old heroes and exciting tales; a song of heartbreak and death; a tale of life and what horrors it brought. After the following chorus, the orchestra picked the tempo up slightly, bringing more instruments into the fray.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Ikkaku wondered. The Heart Pirates all looked at Law and saw that he was deathly pale, as though he was sitting across from a ghost instead of Uni. His hands—always surgeon-steady—were trembling and he was chewing on his lower lip.

Adjusting slightly, Law turned so that he could see the festival chairwoman as she continued her song. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched—no… it couldn’t be…

The very image of his mother stood atop the stage.

“Law…? Hellllooooo…” Penguin waved his hand in front of his captain’s face, failing to break him from the trance. “Oh, shit, this isn’t good.”

“Do you think maybe they sang this back where he’s from?” Clione asked. The crew at-large did not know much, but they did know better than to say the White City’s name aloud.

“Why else would he behave this way?” Shachi frowned. He tried snapping his fingers next to their captain’s ear—nothing. “We’re gonna have to take evasive action if this doesn’t stop.”

Then, suddenly, Law stood up, facing the stage and the chairwoman on it. He stared at her, eyes now resolute, watching her as she finished the chorus. His standing there was not out of place, as there were still many around and in the seating areas who were milling about and moving from stalls to tables, yet there was no one else who proceeded to do what he did upon the next verse and an additional strengthening of the tempo…

...Trafalgar Law started singing.

Heart Pirates and villagers alike began to stare, wondering about how he knew this song. His crew’s jaws all dropped at the sound of his singing voice; low and clear, it was one that invoked the idea that he might have even had training at one point—when in the hell did their captain sit with a vocal coach?!

As he continued to sing, Law began to walk up towards the stage. The festival chairwoman saw him and skipped a line of verse, though quickly collected herself and pretended to beckon him up to share the microphone snail with her. They reached the chorus and the band picked up the tempo again, the song now fully becoming cheerful and vibrant and full.

“I’m sorry,” Bepo squeaked, slackjawed, “but in all my years of knowing the captain, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I think this is the weirdest thing any of us have ever seen,” Shachi replied, “and we literally just helped take down two Emperors and an authoritarian regime.”

“He’s smiling,” Ikkaku marveled. “Holy shit he’s smiling… and no one’s about to die.”

“I… don’t feel safe,” Jean Bart muttered. His smaller crewmates all unanimously agreed—there was something that did not feel right about this entire thing, as though their captain might have been in a trance, or in some grave danger.

“Oh, no, he’s dancing,” Shachi groaned. The acute sense of horror that set in amongst his and the other Hearts’ very souls was palpable. “None of this is right. They replaced the captain with a fake…”

“It might be he never found the opportunity before…?” Bepo offered.

“The opportunity to folk dance?!”

“Oh, sorry…”

One more round of the chorus and the song ended, with Law and the chairwoman laughing while taking their bow together. The Hearts watched as their captain ducked down and whispered something in the woman’s ear, her expression startled as she took him by the hand and dragged him off the stage.

“Let’s give him fifteen minutes,” Penguin decided. “If this isn’t resolved by then, we’re going to have to take evasive action and get him back to the Tang for a debrief.”

“What if she’s killed him by then?” Uni asked. Penguin shrugged.

“Maybe Straw Hat’s accepting applications…?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Still completely stunned, Law allowed himself to be dragged throughout the backways of the festival by the chairwoman. She hid their path behind stalls and tents as she ducked into a small tent, which was occupied by some other festival officials.

“I need to question this man,” she said firmly. The other two looked at each other, then at her.

“He knew the song,” one noted. “That was a pretty neat trick you pulled.”

“Yeah, and I need to talk to him about it, because random people here just don’t know near-extinct folk songs from the North Blue,” the chairwoman frowned. The other two shrugged at that and left, promising that they would not be disturbed. Once they were out, the chairwoman muttered lowly as she drew the flaps, making it so no one saw them either.

“You know,” Law stated in Northern, “I could honestly say the same thing about you.” He watched as the chairwoman spun on her heel to look at him and he felt an intense sadness creep over him again. This woman, wearing his mother’s face, able to sing a song he hadn’t heard in over fifteen years… it was a sick joke.

“Say it again,” she demanded. “What did you say on the stage?” He exhaled heavily

“I am the Law, you are the Lam.” He watched as her face went pale at the words. “You called yourself something else though…”

“Milla—it’s what I go by thanks to… you know… our name being dangerous.” She watched as he pulled off his hat and scratched at his scalp. Tears began to form in her eyes and her voice grew strained, croaking. “I… thought I forgot what Dad looked like… but he just looked like you.”

“…and you look like Mom.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah.”

The two siblings stood there in the tent awkwardly until Law quietly opened his arms, allowing his sister to crash into a hug. They both cried as they held each other, neither wanting to let go, nor wholly believing it was real.

“Lami… I thought you died.”

“I thought you died, Law,” she replied. “I saw what was left of your classmates… the Sister’s habit… I thought you were already taken away and buried.”

“No one severely hurt me, not physically, but I did get out to the countryside in one of the carts,” he admitted quietly. “When I got back to the hospital, it was in flames, so I did what I could to survive.” He held her at arm’s length and marveled at the fact they were even there. “How did you get out?”

“There was a man who came in before the fire and took me and some of the other kids; they probably would have taken you too had you stayed,” she explained. She then hesitated, wondering how to continue. “What do you know about a place called Punk Hazard?”

“More than I should,” he said lowly.

“We were taken there by the man from the hospital. He said that he was in charge of a program under Dr. Vegapunk meant to cure us, make us better. There was a doctor on the team who knew Dad and she started on me first, since my case was the most severe.” Tears were now streaming down her face in earnest. “She took it all out of me, Law! It was as if it never happened!”

“What did she do? What happened to the rest of the children? What…?”

She shook her head.

“After it was proven I was fully cured, she was killed for the Devil Fruit power that she used to do it, and all of us kids ordered destroyed as evidence. I only survived because her son, one of the nurses, smuggled me out.” She had to brace herself by holding onto the back of a chair. “Sorry… just… the very fact you’re alive right now and we’re talking… I…”

“Lami, my name has been all over the papers—I have one of the highest current bounties of all pirates—how did you not know I was alive?”

“I read medical journals, not the newspaper,” she defended. “Close I get is my coworkers leave me the comics section.”

“I have bounty posters.”

“I have literally been here the past five years, becoming a resident doctor and pouring my heart and soul into this place. If it happened during that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“That’s another thing,” Law noted. “Since when were you interested in being a doctor? I last saw you when you were five and you wanted to be a unicorn when you grew up.”

Lami shifted uncomfortably. “Like I said: I thought you were dead.”

He shook his head, a laugh on his lips. “Then you’re going to love what they call me.” A newspaper caught his eye and he picked it up; yes, it was the most recent edition. He found the bounty posters hidden inside and took out his own, passing it to her. She blanched as she read it, realizing exactly what it was her brother had become.

“‘Surgeon of Death’,” she read aloud. “Then you became a doctor too…? Just like Mom and Dad…?”

“At first I really just wanted to kill and destroy as much as I could after leaving Flevance, but by the time I had been cured, something had shifted.” He then looked at Lami, eyebrow raised. “How did the doctor on Punk Hazard cure you?”

“Devil Fruit,” she shrugged. “A twitch of her fingers and she could take me apart bit by bit without it hurting. She could even take things out of me without opening me up. Never did learn what it was called… but that doesn’t matter, because the Government I’m sure has it now, having a crony use it to make Pacifistas or something equally as horrible.”

Law shook his head and quietly opened a Room that surrounded her. “I wouldn’t say that.” He disassembled her right arm and she gasped, completely taken aback. “It must have slipped from their fingers, but I hear that it ended up in good hands.” He put her back together and she started to sob uncontrollably. She didn’t even resist when he pulled her into another hug, feeling more like they were children again than anything.

Then, without warning, Lami stopped making sound.

It wasn’t as though she stopped crying—oh no, she was still sobbing, borderline violently in fact—but as far as making noise? Completely quiet. He stared at her in silence, only to realize something: the entire time they had been in the tent, there was no audible evidence that they were in the middle of a festival.

“Lami?” She looked up at him and froze, realizing what had happened.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I’m usually much better at controlling that.” She cringed as her brother grew gravely serious, as though everything relied on her answer to his next question.

“Since when have you been able to use a Devil Fruit?”

“Since I was about… I don’t remember… eleven…? Twelve…? I wasn’t paying attention because I was studying while traveling—thought it was a fancy apple.” It then hit her that he got her to unknowingly out herself, to which she scowled. “How could you tell it was a Fruit and not something else?”

“The man who saved me had your Devil Fruit,” he said. Law went to the tent flaps and looked outside—he couldn’t hear a thing until he psychically stuck his head out, retreating quickly. “I had no will to live, and then… he stole me from a pretty dangerous place too.”

“Then maybe, somehow, they both knew that we had to live in order to meet one another again… to give our names back their meaning.”

Law simply held out his hand, Lami staring at it warily. “Will you come with us, then? We could use a tactical advantage like you.”

“…but I’m not good at fighting.”

“…but you are good at this.” Law gestured with both arms at the tent surrounding them. “How long is the festival?”

“Until tomorrow night.”

“Think about it—we can afford to relax for another day.” He held out his hand again. “At least come meet my crew…?”

“Later; I’ve got… oh, shit, I’ve got things to do for the festival!” Lami panicked and went to exit the tent, only for her to be met with Shachi catching them as he was walking by. He started shouting at the two of them—despite the unknown silence—with Lami backing into the tent again as he approached.

“—and furthermore—!” He paused as he stepped over the threshold of the tent, blinking in confusion. “What the hell just happened? Where’s all the noise?”

“Nagi Nagi no Mi—Calm Calm Fruit—I can literally negate noise okay bye!” Lami skirted around Shachi and ran out of the tent, the noise barrier lifting as she went. Shachi watched her leave, then stared at Law curiously.

“What was that…?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve been around you for long enough—I got time.”

“Longer than we’ve known each other.”

“That’s… a long time.”

“Indeed.” The pair walked together back to where the rest of the crew was waiting nervously, all eyeing their captain in an attempt to figure out what happened. Law downed the remainder of his beer in one go and placed the tankard back on the table. “Drank, sang, danced; I think I’ve touched enough grass to earn the right to go back to the Tang.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Ikkaku nodded. They all watched as he stormed away, stride a bit too quick for normal. “Shit—looks like someone’s going to be grumpy all night. Let’s give him a bit, then grill him good.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Bepo grimaced.

“It’s what we have available to us, or else no one is going to enjoy this festival,” she shrugged. She popped a bit of pretzel in her mouth and sighed dramatically—traveling with a bunch of men certainly was tiresome sometimes.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The very moment that Law returned back to the Polar Tang, he went directly into his cabin and locked the door behind him. It did not matter that he literally had the entire ship to himself—only when he was inside the safety of his private quarters did he break down and allow himself to sob in earnest, curled up on his bunk and allowing himself a weakness he rarely indulged in, for what was the captain of a pirate crew except for strong?

Hours passed and Law laid there, his entire body shaking in trepidation. After all these years, all this time, his sister was alive. She was here, in the Grand Line, and alive.

Trafalgar D. Water Lami was alive.

Two of them survived.

After everything that tried to silence them over the years, they were still alive.

Fuck, he couldn’t stop thinking that word.

Alive.

Suddenly, he was restless. Law quickly stood and began pacing in his tiny cabin. Rarely had he felt as though he was going to bounce off the fucking walls, but that’s where he was, and he needed to calm down. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked at his hands, remembering what it was she had said earlier.

…I… thought I forgot what Dad looked like…

A weight dropped in his stomach.

…but he looked just like you.

Slowly, Law turned towards the mirror that was hanging in his sliver of a washroom. His mouth felt very dry all of a sudden as the face staring back at him stripped away the very thing he did his best to not address all these years. He grabbed onto his chair and shakily leaned on it—fuck, oh fuck, why did this hurt? Why was this so hard? His chest felt tight as he reached for a box sitting on a shelf, gingerly placing it on the desk before opening it. He pulled out a pair of charred eyeglass frames and shakily put them on, the thin metal burnished and lens-less, confirming everything bearing down on him. His eyesight blurred as tears distorted it, knowing that she assured him of the cruel joke that he had been terrified of all these years.

He really did look like their dad.

“Captain…?” It was Hakugan, pounding at the door, startling Law as he took the frames off in a panic. “Captain, you’ve got a visitor!”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he growled.

“That’s why Penguin sent me, because I don’t do that shit, apparently.”

Law put the eyeglass frames back in the box and placed it back in the box. He took a deep breath and opened the door, seeing the unchanging expression of his crewmate’s mask. “Who is it?”

“That lady you were singing with; she’s insisting we let her talk with you.”

“Is she in the Tang?”

“No; top deck.”

“Then I’m going to need you, Clione, and Bepo to run crowd control and make sure that no one bothers us.”

“Shachi says she’s got a Devil Fruit…”

“It’s a silencer, nothing more.” He waited until Hakugan stepped aside before heading up towards the roof of the ship. There was Lami, standing by the gangplank, a knapsack over her shoulder and a duffle bag in her hand as the rest of the crew gawked at her. Law calmly walked up to her, hearing the noise of the crew fade away as he entered her space. “That was fast.”

“They recognized you,” she said simply. “My committee members might have pulled a coup and voted to relieve me of my duties so I can go sail with my brother.”

“Do they…?”

“One says we look alike, but I don’t think that at all,” she laughed weakly. “They don’t think we’re eloping at least.”

“Well, that’s good,” he shuddered. He could feel a presence behind him, who he knew to be Bepo not only due to Haki and long-friendship with the bear, but also due to the way his sister’s eyes lit up. “What is it, Bepo?”

“I’m sorry, but, what’s going on…?”

“Oh, yeah, the rest of you are here,” Law frowned. He turned towards the rest of the crew and motioned towards Lami. “She’s staying.”

“Uh… Captain…?” Shachi said warily. “Why is the island’s festival chairwoman staying?”

“Lami’s staying with us for a while,” Law stated, leaving no further room for comment. “Ikkaku, it looks like you’re getting a women’s quarters after all.”

“Yes!” the aforementioned engineer grinned as she pumped her fist. “Keep asking and good things will come!”

“You know that, statistically-speaking, it was only a matter of time before another woman started traveling with us,” Uni stated. “Women are half the world.”

“Yeah, but for some reason there’s only a fraction of us on the seas, let alone the Grand Line,” she fired back. “So, Lami, was it? You and I need to talk about how we’re going to build this room, because it’s going to be a very important haven when these dweebs start doing shit like running around naked on laundry day or when they decide to induce shedding on Bepo or start playing Rivet, Rivet, Better Skip It…”

“You’re just jealous that you never win because you suck,” Penguin smirked.

“I ‘suck’ because, reportedly, ‘fuck you’,” Ikkaku sneered, using liberal amounts of air-quotes. She then grabbed onto Lami’s upper arm and pulled her along, disappearing into the bowels of the Tang. The rest of the crew simply stared at Law.

“I thought we were only really recruiting people from the North Blue,” Uni mentioned. “Y’know, barring Bepo and Jean Bart.”

“She is.”

“She knew a song, Captain—that doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves more than you know.”

“Was she from Flevance?” Everyone looked over at Jean Bart, who seemed reserved in his accusation, making the large man seem so incredibly timid. No one else said a word, instead turning their attention towards their captain.

Instead of responding verbally, Law simply went down beneath the deck, finding where Ikkaku had dragged Lami off to; they were in the mess hall, the former having pulled out an impressive set of schematics that were boggling the younger’s mind.

“You sure you’re alright like this?” he asked. She glanced up at him, very clearly as though she knew the blueprints were over her head.

“I think so…” She ran her fingers over a cutaway illustration and her brow furrowed. “I can do complicated surgeries and can identify any humanoid organ by sight alone, but this…”

“She’s like a surgeon, but for a ship, in a way,” Law shrugged. “What we do with people, she does with metal.”

“Then you’re also a doctor?” Ikkaku noted. “Nice. You and the captain will make a good team then.” She waggled her eyes at Law, who scowled at her grouchily.

“Lami is my sister,” he said, deciding to cut that off at the bud. Ikkaku froze in place, letting the information wash over her before slowly nodding.

“Does anyone else know this?”

“No.”

“Is anyone else allowed to know this?”

“The crew is, yeah, but remember: they are a bunch of dumbasses.”

“True enough.” She then glanced over at Lami, who seemed to be flushing pink in embarrassment. “Anything else I need to know about?”

“I ate a Devil Fruit that makes everything quiet and I love reading Sora, Warrior of the Sea and festivals are literally my favorite thing ever and have been since I was little.”

“That actually explains a lot,” Ikkaku chuckled. She gave Law a shit-eating grin, one that sent a chill down his spine. “Don’t worry, Captain; we’ll take care of your little sister, not a problem.”

“LITTLE SISTER?!”

The three turned towards the doorway to find the rest of the crew standing by the mess hall’s entrance, jaws dropped in astonishment. Penguin and Shachi were so moved, even, that they both started crying.

“You came through for us and got the crew a cute little sister after all!” Shachi sobbed.

“Yeah, Captain! We’ll treat her just as we would our own little sister!” Penguin added tearfully.

“Neither of you have a sister, which begs many a question,” Law deadpanned.

“Not to mention how in the hell they’ve been treating me all these years,” Ikkaku griped. Lami went and surprised them both, along with the entire rest of the crew, by going between them and bowing at the waist.

“Thank you for taking such good care of my brother all these years!” she said. When she straightened, her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “It’s been my dream to find someone from Flevance again, and for it to be my brother… you have no idea what it means to me!”

“Big brothers are the best, aren’t they?” Bepo asked cheerfully. Lami mirrored his smile despite the tears leaking down her face.

“They really are! Especially when you haven’t seen them in a long time!”

Bepo brought Lami into a tight hug and the rest of the Hearts cheered—a new younger sister! The captain’s younger sister at that! Things really were looking up.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Pudding had long ago accepted the fact that she was a hostage, waiting to be rescued. In fact, she was perfectly fine with the idea that she was perfectly helpless until at least one of her siblings arrived. Was it going to be an enjoyable reunion? Probably not. What she also knew, however, was that the two men that made up her guard were complete and utter thugs.

“Mommy’s dead—she ain’t gonna help ya,” the guard on the left grinned. She felt the undying urge to take a shower just from him looking at her.

“I have more powerful people behind me than just my mother, if you’re that set on her dying,” she huffed. “Katakuri is a very protective older brother, I’ll have you know.”

“If he can bother hunting down one little lamb while the rest of the flock is panicking in the power vacuum?” Right chuckled. “I doubt. Mommy and Uncle Kaido kinda played into our commodore’s hands.”

“Hmm… I doubt.”

“Oh, you’re gonna doubt a lot of shit once the commodore’s done with you, girlie,” Left chortled.

Ugh. So fucking cringe.

Just then, Pudding noticed that as the two guards moved to better face—and therefore better taunt—her, two women came into view. One with curly hair and the other with hair pulled back in a neat bun, they both were motioning for her to keep quiet. Neither of them seemed to give off the same vibe as the rest of the crew, so Pudding decided to play along. Well, how bad could it get?

“Uh-huh, sure, as though he’d even know what to do with me.”

Without making a sound, both women moved behind the guards, the one with the curly hair hitting them in the back of the head with an oversized wrench to knock them out. The other woman grabbed the keys and unlocked the cell, the keys refusing to make even a single clinking noise. She approached Pudding and touched her pointer and middle finger to the teen’s lips before beginning to work on the restraints.

“Charlotte Pudding, I presume?”

“…and to whom do I owe this rescue?” she asked. “You don’t look like you’re from the Family.”

“Let’s just say we don’t think that a cute kid like you should be with these gross molesters-in-waiting,” the curly-haired woman smirked. She gave Pudding a wink, then a pistol. “I’m Ikkaku, this is Lami. Our captain’s providing us a distraction as we speak.”

“…and how do I know that I’m not walking right from one den of crazies into another?” Pudding asked. The two older women glanced at each other and shrugged.

“I swear on my belching metal baby, the Polar Tang, that we’re actually pretty decent,” Ikkaku claimed.

“…and I swear on my Hippocratic Oath that I would not do anything to provoke harm, nor allow senseless acts to be committed towards anyone under my care, which you now are,” Lami stated.

“So, really, we’re weird, but in an ‘everyone is weird’ sense,” Ikkaku shrugged, “or a ‘our gruff captain is a secret comic book nerd’ sort of sense.”

“I have over eighty siblings—I think I can handle that,” Pudding deadpanned. She tied up her skirt and turned all three eyes towards her rescuers. “Want to cause some trouble on the way out?”

“You sure that’s fine to do with the crew of your mother’s killer?” Ikkaku wondered, eyebrow raised. Pudding simply shrugged.

“It’s either cause some trouble with you two, or…” she grimaced at the sight of her prior jailers, “I get into trouble with these guys. My options aren’t exactly great right now.”

“Then maybe it’s a good thing that we put extra bunks in the women’s quarters after all,” Lami nodded. She then quickly looked over Pudding with a glance—they didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No…” The young Charlotte looked at her rescuers cautiously. “You seem pretty calm.”

“Regarding what?” Ikkaku asked. An explosion went off on the other side of the wall, shaking the room they were in. “That’s just the rest of the losers we sail with—nothing more.”

“No, I mean…” She hesitated, not really knowing how to broach the topic she kept so long a secret. “You aren’t freaked out over my eyes.”

“I’m literally one of two known survivors of a mass poisoning event that everyone else thought was a plague, so you’re in luck: we know what it’s like to be stared at by assholes,” Lami shrugged. “Besides, that eye of yours reads Poneglyphs, correct?”

“Supposedly…”

“Then you’re going to love what we’ve got waiting for you.” Lami gestured towards the door with her head as another rumble shook them, though not quite as violently. “How ‘bout it? Prove to your family you can do something without them?”

“…and what makes you think I have that sort of family…?”

“You said it yourself, kid: you’ve got over eighty siblings.” Ikkaku nervously eyed what she hoped was not the ballast tank and laughed awkwardly. “C’mon ladies, we should really get out of here before our cover’s blown!”

Another rumble rocked the ship and the three got going, headed back towards the miniature docking sub and away from the mess. They got out and Ikkaku sent a pulse through the water, letting Shachi and Penguin know it was alright to begin attacking the ship in earnest.

Mission accomplished.

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dwarveslikeshinythings · 1 year

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Well, friends, Adar’s journey through the First Age is FINALLY complete!

Part I of Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n (Chapters 1-33) is now fully up on Ao3 and can basically function as a standalone story. From awakening at Cuivienen to the great First Age Battles to the Fall of Gondolin, my dude sees it all!

Part II chapters will begin posting sometime next week, and will take Adar’s story through the events of TROP and beyond! The PainTrain keeps chuggin’!

This has been an absolutely wild ride and I still can’t quite believe the level of brain rot at which I am operating, but sometimes, the fic life chooses you!

Anyway, check it out if that’s your jam, and lmk what you think!

#adar #adar fanfic #rings of power #rings of power fanfic #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfic #lotr #lotr fanfic #moriondor #adar origin fic #awake arise #trop #trop fic #tolkienian angst abounds

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steveharringtonsstrugglemeals · 2 years

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Joyce Byers was one of Steve's nannies when he was a child — it was a side job she picked up when she was still married to Lonnie to help make ends meet. Jonathan doesn't remember it, and Joyce suspects that Steve doesn't either. He had a lot a nannies, after all, and Joyce had only lasted half a year before Mr. Harrington informed her that she had been replaced by a Parisian au pair — five years younger and twice as chic, she was sure. The next time Joyce saw the young Harrington heir out about town, he was wearing a stylish wool scarf around his neck and stumbling over conversational French, while she was shackled to her new post behind the counter at the general store.

(Steve does remember. He remembers every one of the women who raised him piecemeal instead of his parents. They each had something to teach him, some little fragment of personhood that he tucked away and used to build himself into a real boy, whether that lesson was to add a bit of cream to his scrambled eggs or to never trust his father alone with a beautiful young woman. But how does one acknowledge that? How could he properly thank Joyce for granting him that little piece of herself, and apologize for not turning out quite right regardless?)

Between her extra shifts at Melvand's and her reputation as a high-strung individual, Joyce has never been particularly close to the other mothers of Hawkins Middle School. But she and Claudia Henderson did have something in common, a mutual understanding between two struggling single mothers. So it shouldn't have come as such a surprise when Claudia confided in her what a big help Steve Harrington has been, picking Dustin up from school and making sure he's not alone when she can't get away from work, fostering the confidence and camaraderie that her motherly doting couldn't provide. And he won't accept more than the occasional hot meal for it, the darling, certainly he would be happy to help out with Will too if Claudia brought it up to him?

But Joyce couldn't take her up on the offer. She wouldn't think of it, trusting her precious Will with Steve Harrington.

She looked at him, and instead of seeing the sweet but spoiled little boy she once knew, she saw his cold, imperious father. Stephen Harrington Sr. was a man carved from stone, all the preeminence and vanity of an emperor's marble bust, and young Steve was his spitting image.

He was the boy who cast a lofty stare from a photograph in the trophy case at Hawkins High. The boy who had never once stepped a Nike-clad foot into Melvand’s, not even for a pack of cigarettes. The boy who regularly sported blackened eyes and bloodied lips, who hefted a nail-studded baseball bat against the beasts of hell.

Maybe he was right for Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Max and their untempered brashness, their bold defiance in the face of danger. But her kind, sensitive Will? Her Will, who had already weathered so much more than any child should have to?

[I might continue this...]

#unreliable narrators abound :)#stranger things #steve harrington #joyce byers #stranger things fanfiction #had the idea that joyce could have easily been one of steve's nannies growing up - i can imagine his parents going through a slew of nannie #never quite satisfied with any of them but not caring enough to get more involved than signing a check #and it got me thinking about how her perception of steve might be shaded by 1) her awareness of his family as a lifelong hawkins resident #2) his complicated relationship with jonathan #and 3) her singleminded focus on her own kids especially will during upside-down incidents when steve would be around #we never really see them interact much after all #didn't really mean to throw that chunk of steve angst in there but oop #I imagine this set between s2-3?#shsm writes

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zensations35 · 1 year

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Fractured - Part 2 (LSSR)

Have some more shameless, self indulgent Ren whump. This is part 2 of my previous fic: see part 1 here.

I wake up under a blanket, beams of sunlight streaming in from a window. I reach out, expecting to feel the warmth of a body next to mine, but my palm moves over rough carpet. I am alone.

I peel my eyes open and roll over. I’m in Ren’s apartment. The previous day rushes back to me and I throw myself into a sitting position.

Where is he?

I wander through the rooms, scanning for Ren. I hear sizzling from ahead, and then I smell the food. Ren is in the kitchen, flipping pancakes.

I tiptoe closer, chewing my lip. He notices me and his eyes meet mine. I see relief in them.

“Sasha,” his eyes are clear and he seems more alert. His fever must have broke.

“Pancakes?” I ask.

“Apology pancakes.”

“What are apology pancakes?”

He points his spatula at the stack on a plate. “As you can see, these have the anatomical structure of the ‘Sorry for being a drunk jackass’ species.”

Wow. Cheesy. But I laugh. “Is there any ‘thank you for taking care of me’ bacon?”

He looks alarmed at that.

“Sorry, I’m kidding,” I gesture to the stove. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“And you did not have to stay here yesterday. Yet you did.”

I break eye contact and shuffle toward the table. “Are you feeling better?”

“Indeed. I believe the fever broke.”

“Good,” I tuck myself into a chair and Ren brings me a plate of pancakes and syrup.

The pancakes are good. I eat four. I notice Ren doesn’t sit with me, instead opting to eat while cooking, tearing small bits of pancake and popping them into his mouth.

And I try not to notice each time he turns away from the stove to sneeze, sometimes messily (I can tell by the sound) into his hand. And after each sneeze, he washes up before returning to the pan.

Jeez.

I don’t want to eat and run, so after I’m finished, I help him clean.

We double team the dishes. He washes and I dry. It’s not very efficient though. Ren keeps having to pause and rub his nose. Or--

“Hk’ZZHH!”

That.

Ren stands over a soapy sink, a few loose bubbles drifting at chin level. He stares ahead, eyes unfocused, a small snarl crimping his lips.

“Hhh--!”

I’m drying a plate. I’m not staring. I’m drying a plate.

Ren gathers his right hand over his mouth and nose, fingers soapy and splayed out like a web.

One of the bubbles pops.

“Hgk-TZZH-eiuu!” It bends him at the waist, his free hand gripping the counter for balance.

I place a hand gingerly on his back. “Jeez, Ren,” I rasp.

“Hg…apologies,” he snuffles.

“Why don’t you go relax? Let me finish here.”

Ren’s lips tip down. So do mine.

“I’m serious. Go sit down. You’re distracting me.”

I’m not sure what look crosses his face but he concedes. “Very well. I do not wish to cause you more discomfort.”

I’m not sure what to say to that so I just nod and he shuffles off to the living room.

Once I finish the dishes, I decide it’s a good time to go home. I find Ren in his recliner and tell him as much. He seems to agree.

He stands to walk me to the door and I get a very rare Ren smile. “Thank you, Sasha.”

I smile back and head out. I leave him at the door, though I don’t hear it click closed behind me.

It’s still cold and the puddles of rain have glazed into thin slabs of ice. Morning birds trill, dew drips from the awning, a car rumbles down the street, coughing exhaust into the chilly air.

I pick my way down the steps and toward the street. I’m trying to be careful but wearing heels and walking on ice is never a good idea. My foot slips on a patch and I careen. My ass hits the ground and a knife of pain in my ankle makes me gasp.

“Sasha?” I hear Ren call to me. I guess he didn’t go back inside.

“I’m fine!” I holler back, waving at him. But when I try to stand, my ankle ignites. “Fuck!” Okay, maybe not fine.

Ren has made his way to my side. He bends to check my ankle. His fingers brush my leg and I feel goosebumps trailing in their wake.

He helps lift me and I balance on one foot. “Can you stand?” he asks as I lean heavily on his grip.

I try to put weight on my ankle but I end up wobbling so hard, he has to catch me.

“I guess not,” I huff.

His arms sweep me up, my stomach flipping as I’m lifted off the ground. I let out a small squeak, “Ren! What the--”

“Do you expect to walk home in this state?” he quirks an eyebrow at me. “Shall I leave you to freeze on my porch?”

I run fingers down my throat, a nervous tic. “I guess not.”

He hitches me up and walks slowly back toward the house. I lace my arms around his neck, feeling a bit like I’m in one of those cheesy romance novels. Ugh, gods, I should not be thinking of Ren like that.

We’re halfway back to the door when he stops walking. I crane my neck, searching his face. His lips are parted, eyes drooping closed. His teeth chit together and he winces, grinding them in a silent struggle.

Oh no. Gods, no.

“Ren…” I draw out his name, a warning.

“Hhh..I--hhfff-fuck!”

He’s going to sneeze on me. Gods dammit how do I get myself in these situations??

I wriggle but his grip is tightening by the second. His head dips dangerously close to my chest. Then back up as he heaves.

I have no excuse for what I do next. I’d love to blame my dry spell, or insanity, or even the full moon. But I’m sure it’s just my own stupidity that pushes me to do it.

I grab his nose.

It’s warm. Fuck, it’s warm and I can feel the curve of his nostrils widening under my grip. I pinch, feeling the gust of air from his lips just as he doubles over.

“Hhhgk--SSZZZHH-K!!” The sneeze explodes in my hand, his chest firming against me, his arms squeezing me close. I feel like liquid. Like I’m about to melt out of his arms and puddle onto the ground.

My ears are ringing with the echo of his sneeze. I can still feel his nose firmly pressed under my fingers.

“Sasha,” he says, and I realize he’s had to repeat himself twice now. I blink the replay fog out of my head and loosen my grip on his nose. I feel his nostrils flare as he drinks in a sniff as my hand hovers over his face.

Of course, my hand is wet and I have no idea what to do about that.

Ren gives a small nod, gesturing below, “Pocket.”

It takes me a hot minute to process what he’s saying. He has a breast pocket. Of fucking course he has a breast pocket on his t-shirts. I use my dry hand to reach in and I pull out an open pack of tissues. Because of course he has goddamn tissues on him at all times!!

I use them to clean us both up. When I pass a tissue under his nose, I can feel my neck flush so hot I’m probably creating steam.

Ren’s lips tip into the ghost of a grin. “Are you quite alright? I have a vague memory of something you said last night…”

He’s fucking teasing me??

The flush creeps into my cheeks. “I said I have restraint, not immunity.”

“I see.”

Once we’re cleaned up, he continues inside and sets me on the couch, delicately, as if he sweeps women off their feet on a daily basis.

“I will bring you aspirin,” he says.

I nod my thanks and lean my head back on the armrest. I take deep breaths, trying not to let my mind linger on the complete motherfucking erotica that just happened with my best friend’s ex.

Ugh. UGH.

Heat flares in my chest and I gulp air. I wish I had someone to talk to. I yearn for Skye. I hope to gods she won’t think I’ve betrayed her. Because I’m not…am I?

I need to get out of my head. I need a distraction. I pull out the paperback from my purse and stick my nose as far into it as I can. Only Anita Maez can save me.

After a while, Ren enters the room, arms full of first aid fixings. He sets them on the coffee table, using his elbow to swipe away the stray cups. Then he sets about wrapping my ankle.

It doesn’t take long for his nose to cause problems. He sniffles thickly, letting out small breaths after each one, as if the act itself takes so much out of him. He shoves a knuckle to the side of his nose, aggressively, as if angry with it. Maybe he is.

He puffs a breath, then jerks to the left, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. “Hggt’SSZZHfff! HAEX-SHhhhK!”

I have the sudden urge to bless him. Which is weird. I don’t make a habit of blessing people.

I feel my throat clear and I nervously touch my neck.

Ren’s eyes flick up to my face, then back down as he wraps the gauze around my foot. “I do apologize. For, ahm…”

“It’s okay,” I say airily. “You can’t help it.

He nods. A beat passes where I watch him physically gear up to speak.

“Have you spoken with Skye?”

“Um, sort of. She…she’s not talking much.” I chew my lip. Now it’s my turn to work up courage. “What happened, Ren?”

He adds ice to the wrap and does another pass with the gauze to keep it steady.

“I was inebriated. Very. Someone kissed me. I did not stop it. Skye…” he licks his lips. “Skye fled. I followed her. We were both drunk. She said she loved me. I…I wanted to hear her say it without the influence of alcohol.”

“So, you didn’t believe her?”

He shrugs. “She did not speak to me after that. She was gone the next day. Perhaps she did not mean what she said.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” I say. “Why didn’t you go after her?”

“And pursue her to the point of harassment? I think not. I went after her once. She clearly wished to be free of me.”

Well. He has a point there. I don’t know what to say to that.

He gestures at the book now perched on the edge of the couch. “What are you reading?”

Hm. Subject change. I guess I’m not the only one who feels awkward.

“It’s the second book in my favorite series,” I say.

“You have read it before?”

I nod. “I reread this series every couple years. Anita Maez is my comfort author.”

“I see.”

He finishes wrapping me up and gives me two aspirin. I gulp them down and thank him.

Finally, he hands me a beer. I frown up at him. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But after the hellish rollercoaster I’ve been on in the past 24 hours, I need a fucking drink.

I take it and Ren joins me with his own, spreading himself on the recliner and sipping at his beer.

“So,” I hum, “What now?”

Half an hour later, we’re deep in a deckbuilder, the cards spread across the coffee table. Ren is holding his chin in one hand, long index finger running back and forth across his lower lip.

I’m studying the cards in my hand. I have a strategy. I’m going to grab an enlightened card and then play my attack hand to--

“Hhh…”

My eyes flick up to see Ren’s finger has moved from his chin to just under his nose, that back and forth motion stroking his nostrils as he lets out short sniffs.

What was I doing? Right, enlightened card. I reach for the one I want to buy, plucking it from the sale row.

“Hhhik-exSSTT’ue!” The sharp sneeze makes me jump and I fumble the card, dropping it onto the floor. I reach down to pick it up, eyes flicking to Ren in hopes he didn’t notice.

He did. “Am I distracting you, Sasha?”

My cheeks color. “No!” I say too defensively. His eyes crinkle. Oh my gods, he’s such an ass! A laugh bursts from me and I feel…relieved. He’s acting like his old self. Whether it’s from drinking or not, I don’t care. I remember why we’re friends.

I play my turn and decide I should test my ankle out, since I need to use the bathroom, and I really don’t want help with that.

I put weight on it. It’s sore, but I can walk on it. Success!

“Are you alright?” Ren asks.

“Yeah,” I smile. “Looks like I can walk again.”

“Good. I was afraid you had sprained it.” He shifts, leaning back in the chair. “Are you preparing to leave?”

My chest throbs. I don’t want to leave yet. I’m finally getting a peek at the old Ren. I like to think my presence is helping him. I point to the hall, “Let me use the restroom and then we’ll finish our game. I can go after that.”

He looks happy. “I would like that.”

Fuck yeah. Point, Sasha.

We’re on the last round of the game and I’m winning. I’m winning! All I have to do is use my constructs to blow up the monsters in the row and then…

The front door clicks. Our heads swing to see Leo stepping inside, hair mussed and in a half ponytail, jacket rumpled and windblown. He stills halfway inside, his eyes scanning the room: me, Ren, the empty beer bottles.

His gaze hardens. “What the fuck.”

I sit up straight, “Leo.”

He slams the door behind him and strides inside. “Sasha, I asked you to watch over Ren, not encourage him to drink more!”

Ren’s face flashes shock. He fixes me with a hot glare. “That is why you were here? At Leo’s request?”

Shame washes over me and I glare at Leo. “What the fuck did you expect me to do? He only had three beers!”

“Yeah? And how many shots?”

I snort. “We haven’t done shots.” Does he think I’m stupid?

Leo fixes Ren with a stare. My heart speeds as Ren avoids his gaze. No…

“Were…” I force my voice to be steady, “were you?”

Ren stands, shoulders stiff. He narrows his eyes at Leo. “You do not have to be here, Leo. Neither of you do. You may leave if you dislike my habits.”

“So you can drink yourself to death, like you almost did last week?”

“Would it not be a relief for all who I have burdened!?”

Air whooshes into my lungs. I had no idea Ren felt that way. Anguish fills me, but Leo just seems enraged.

“Fuck, Ren! You’re an idiot!” he yells. “You refuse to acknowledge that people love you as much as you love them!”

“Skye does not love me.”

“I don’t mean Skye! I mean me!” Leo’s voice hinges on mania.

My mouth drops open. Did Leo just admit he has feelings for Ren? Realization hits me like a truck. Gods, so many things make sense now.

Ren’s body is iron. His eyes are fire. He takes two long strides toward Leo. His arms jut forward, fists wrapping in Leo’s shirt, lifting him off the ground so their noses meet.

“Do. Not. Toy with me, Leo.”

Leo doesn’t flinch. He stares Ren down, jaw clenched.

“Ren,” I croak and I realize I’m crying, “Please, stop.”

Ren’s knuckles clench as if he’s considering escalating, but he sets Leo down.

“Ren--”

He turns on his heel and storms into his bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to make us both wince.

I look to Leo. His eyes shine with tears and his fists tremble. I take a step toward him but he shakes his head.

“Go home, Sasha. I’ll take over here.”

“But--” I want to argue. But honestly, I don’t know how I could possibly help if I stayed. My brain is fried and I’m emotionally exhausted. I just want to go home.

So I do what Leo says. I leave.

Bailey greets me at the door. I stroke her head before tossing my purse on the counter.

I shower. It feels amazing and I stay in for an hour after I’m clean. I have to work hard to convince my body that, no, we do not live in the shower now.

Once I’m clean and jammied, I snuggle on the couch with Bailey and watch something mindless. I fall asleep and dream about Skye.

My doorbell wakes me. I check my phone. It’s midnight and I have a text from Leo.

OTW

He’s standing sheepishly at the door. When I open it, he looks relieved.

“I’m an idiot,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Sash. I should never have put that pressure on you. It’s not your job to keep Ren sober.”

I rub my arm, “It’s…it’s okay.”

Leo takes my hand and massages it with his thumb, “No, it’s not. I was angry. At Ren, at myself. I was an ass.”

I feel awash with relief. I didn’t realize how upset I was about it but hearing Leo tell me I’m not to blame releases a tension in my whole body. I tug him toward me and we embrace.

“How’s Ren?” I ask into his chest.

“Not great. He’s asleep. I’ll head back later.”

I pull my head up, “Will he be okay?”

Leo nods, “Yeah, Sash,” he brushes a hand across my face, “He’ll be fine.”

There’s no way of knowing. I know that. Leo’s just trying to make me feel better. But all I can do right now is be there for him. For Ren. For Skye. So, for tonight, I let myself believe that it will all be okay.

#yeah you saw right #the tropey snz scenes are abound #Is2g I'm going to have to get Sasha and Ren together soon #the pining is just so juicy #snz #snz fic #sneeze tease #fet character #illness #slight mess?#zenocs #LSSR #angst #tw depression #mutual pining

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kinaesthetiqueer · 7 months

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i have breached 15k and yeah, I've found room for just a little bit of goofing. :')

#95% angst 3% comfort (hugs and handholding abound) 2% humor #kina writes #poa! jnpr #i am now on The Chapter that gave me the brainworms in the first place for this fic #and yes #of course #it's a nora pov #however i gotta say the ren pov i just finished was substantial!#jaune's gonna get a long one on the last 1/4 i think

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destructivelyconstructive · 2 years

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Hey, i blame the absolute banger Daycare Attendant fanfics out there. I don’t even like FNAF, but somehow the scrunklies have grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me into it. Anyway, my designs for an RP I’m doing with a friend, or at least the first drafts

#fnaf #fnaf sb #five nights at freddy's #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #daycare attendant #Security Breach #sundrop #moondrop #nothing bad is going to happen in the RP #well nothing related to Peepaw Afton #we got plans and angst and polyamorous love stories abound #Sunnybunny why are you so weird to draw #DC's Art #DC's Things

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snowbellewells · 2 years

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Self-Promo Sunday: “Looking for a Heart (that’s not walking away)”

Good Morning All!! It’s been a few weeks since I’ve done a Self-Promo Sunday post, but I’ve got a favorite this morning. For my birthday this year, the lovely @motherkatereloyshipper created a fic cover for one of my favorites MCs that I have written. It isn’t strictly CS (which may make it not as interesting to some) but CS are supporting characters in it. It’s a LiamxBelle fic, which diverges from canon at about 5x14/5x15. I wanted to properly thank her for the kind gift and show of her pretty cover, and also to maybe draw a few more eyes to a story I’ve always been pretty pleased with...

Thank you so much @motherkatereloyshipper for the lovely gift and a chance to revisit this particular story!! <3

Summary: When Belle returns from the Underworld with the rest of the hero crew, her life and future in Storybrooke are changed forever. Comfort and understanding come from an incredibly surprising source...

A/N: (Okay friends…This one is a completely new and different fic attempt for me. It’s canon divergent from about the middle of 5b, and it changes a lot of what happened with Liam in 5x15, and while some of 5x16 and 5x17 happened, some of it didn’t. Beyond all that, it’s putting a large focus on characters I haven’t written much before, and one that we really haven’t seen a lot of to characterize in the same way that I can work with say Emma and Killian. Still, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and finally found that I had to give this a try. It doesn’t explain how everything happened right away, but events will be filled in as the story progresses. Slow burn friendship/relationship for Belle and Liam; sideline CS and others. Ten chapters with the epilogue.

** Available from the beginning on AO3 or ff.net as well **

** This also had lovely art made for it once upon a time by @hollyethecurious (It’s the banner of my Tumblr page! :)

“Looking for a Heart (that’s not walking away)”

by: @snowbellewells

chapter one: like ships in the night

In the wee, cold hours of the morning, anyone walking Storybrooke’s town square would have seen only peaceful, vacant storefronts and the dim stillness of a little hamlet still fast asleep; or they would until they reached the library and found one solitary light burning stubbornly in the back of the building. Most residents and visitors knew the building and the sweet, brunette librarian who kept the place with pride, but even without the whole story, they also knew she had not been the same since her return from the Underworld with the rest of the heroes. The light burning in the middle of the night, and the large, dark circles under the clearly sleepless woman’s eyes when one saw her in Granny’s Diner the next morning picking listlessly at her pancakes and syrup, were only outward signs of her inner turmoil and pain.

This particular night turned earliest bit of morning, Belle Gold sat at the circulation desk, a cup of lavender tea, which she had hoped would soothe her and induce sleep, long gone cold at her elbow, and a large, gilt-edged book open before her. In her insomnolent state, she had returned to this once-favorite story for help, but instead she found herself wishing to violently rip the pages from its spine, more troubled than ever as she huddled on the high stool pulled up to the counter to perch on as she read and wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself against the now-familiar questions swirling in her mind: ‘What did I ever see in this story?’ ‘How stupid could I have been?’ ‘What ever made me think I could influence anyone or be a hero?’ ‘Every attempt I’ve ever made went wrong and only made things worse…’

Shivering against the drafts of a still-chilly April night and the cold certainty that she was nothing but a fraud; so naively convinced of her pretty ideals but completely ineffectual at doing anything with them when the moment of truth had come, Belle knew rest and peace were far from coming. A tear ran silently down her pale cheek as she thought of all that had happened – the tangled, progressively darker events which made up her own story – and she sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep it from turning into the wrenching full-bodied sob she felt rising within her. Though she had fought so valiantly hard, it would seem her tale could not possibly end in happily ever after now. All her efforts at love and bravery – at goodness – had turned to dust in her hands, crumbling like the shriveled brown flower Hades had used to taunt her after Gaston’s fall into the River of Lost Souls.

The only thing keeping her from falling apart completely, she thought ruefully as one small, graceful hand lowered to rest protectively on her slightly protruding belly was the tiny being she had wished for so long. This baby should have been a lovely, innocent symbol of her and Rumple’s love, a living hope and second chance – for her husband, and for herself – and now Rumple would never even know his second born child. Though Belle was not sure what she had left to give this unborn babe, her hope and belief nearly dried up and vanished forever, its growth inside her was what kept her from lying down on the floor of her precious library and never rising again. All of her gumption, her resolve, her joy, were gone, deserting her as completely as they had ever filled her before, and the fact that her child would need her was all to which she could truly cling.

Eventually, just as the dark night turned early morning and lightened to grey, and the faintest traces of sunrise began to streak the sky, Belle’s head lowered, the side of her face coming to rest on the printed page of the book she had so loved once upon a time, her impossible, idealized version of a hero pressed to the soft, pale skin of her cheek as she slumped over the counter in a restless sleep…

As she dreams, she is once more in the Underworld, brought by the man she has tried so hard to win back from the Beast within – the pressing roar in his ear of magic and power – the man who, despite it all, she has never ceased loving, to the very throne of the Lord of the Dead. Rumple’s hand clenches her forearm so tightly it hurts, and she realizes with stark clarity that even the Dark One is no match for a deity. Rumple is sorely afraid, though he doesn’t let his outward appearance show it.

From there, the moments progress like an inexorable nightmare. So soon after her inadvertent actions against Gaston, things already seem hazy and unreal; she can barely comprehend the showdown forming between her husband and Hades. Fire and light shoot back and forth, crashing against one another in the middle and neither attack striking its intended target.

Winded, panting, nearly falling to his knees with exhaustion, Rumple finally raises a hand in surrender, as she runs to support him and help him back up, seeing the drained former spinner without his precious might and the upper hand. Putting a bracing hand beneath his elbow, she steadies Rumple as he stands once more and intends to do so as he moves forward, until he turns to her, bringing them to a halt.

Meeting Belle’s eyes in that moment, Rumplestiltskin’s gaze shows pain and infinite regret; only somewhere beneath those emotions is the love lingering for her, love that she had always wanted to believe would triumph over the Dark One’s lies. “I am so sorry, Belle. For so many things…” he whispers brokenly, the back of his hand stroking her cheek as lightly as the mere brush of air in a breath, as if hesitant to hurt her more than he has already. “I have put you through more pain than any love should have to bear…only to have it all come to this in the end.”

Pulling his gaze away from her face, Belle sees her husband’s eyes slide back to meet the god’s controlled, implacable stare and subtly shifts forward to stand in front of her, partially shielding her from Hades’ view. Her heart is swept up in pride for him at this moment of real, selfless bravery, even as it then breaks when his next words sink in. “Very well, Hades,” Rumplestiltskin hisses, sounding as reptilian and menacing as Killian has always insisted, his sharp eyes flashing even as he concedes. “You know that I cannot best you, but with the powers of the Dark One and its immortality, you cannot end me either. Let Belle and our child go, and I will serve you by finding you a replacement soul, one that will prove much more satisfactory than a mere infant.”

The silent air crackles around them, and Belle opens her mouth to cry out, “Rumple, no!” and pull him back, both terrified at what the Lord of the Underworld might do, and horrified anew that Rumple could once more offer up another person’s soul as if it were his to barter, even as she had thought for once he was making a heroic sacrifice. But she feels his fingers curl around her even more firmly, and a tingle runs up her whole arm, holding her in place, words bottled in her throat no matter how she tries to force them out, until she realizes that Rumple is using his magic to hold her back and keep her silent. Emotions rise in a confusing swirl, and Belle is not sure if she is moved by his desperate bid to protect her or impotently furious at his overriding her free will.

Hades tilts his head to the side, coming closer as he studies his nemesis calculatingly. “Let me see,” he mused, wearing a face that gives the sense of bored unconcern, even Belle with no magic or powers beyond human intuition knows the god is toying with his prey – if pressed, she has seen much the same look on Rumple’s face too many times as the Dark One. “An intriguing proposition,” he drawls out the words slowly, as if tasting the flavor of some delicacy on his tongue, “…but do I believe you?”

“You would do well to take me seriously,” Rumple vows, iron in his voice and threat on his tongue. “I may not win, but you will be battling me until the judgment day, neither of us able either to triumph or to pass on.” He steps forward as well, standing taller with a hint of the malice that shows at the heights of his power, limp nearly unnoticeable as he meets Hades and reaches out his hand. “You want to take this deal, trust me,” Rumplestiltskin asserts, nearly baring his teeth as he does so. “I will be your right hand, Hades – if you spare my wife and my unborn child, never to trouble them again.”

Hades tilts his head, studying the Dark One with amused curiosity as if he is some new species the deity has never seen before. “I’d be a fool to trust you for even a moment,” he replies coolly, “and I know you will only serve me as long as it takes you to find an escape. Yet…” he takes a moment to muse as if there is no trouble or threat at all, Belle resenting all the while that he can balance all their lives in his hands while appearing not to have a care in the world. Finally, he gives a quick, decisive nod, his pondering resolved. “If I’ve already gotten what I need from you by then, why shouldn’t I be free of your tiresome, disloyal presence?”

Belle is sure there is some horrible drawback, some hideous fine print somewhere which has been missed – added to the fact that Rumple is bartering someone else’s soul for their safety – and she hates being forced to stand idly by, no one paying her any mind. Her husband moves to shake the god’s hand, and she begs silently, regardless of whether either of them can hear, “No, Rumple, please don’t do this! There must be a better way!”

Without deviating from his original intent, Rumplestiltskin leans even more toward the Lord of the Dead, not allowing himself so much as a glance at her, solely focusing on Hades, alert for any move or threat from his dangerous adversary. Their hands meet in between, as if to shake on the arrangement, and a burst of magical power so ground shaking shoots out sparks, tossing both Hades and Rumple apart. It topples Belle to the ground, momentarily blinded by the white hot flash and breathless from the impact, her awareness shattered. For a time, she knows no more, and when she comes back to herself, she is lying on the moving floor of the library elevator they had taken down to Hades’ inner sanctum, and the door is sliding open to reveal the Underworld’s version of her beloved haunt. As the lift reaches the top and halts, Belle sees that she is also utterly alone…

A few scratching sounds and a thump against the outer door of the Storybrooke Library, followed by the sound of something metal picking at the lock, the doorknob rattling, and an accented male voice calling her name hopefully, before the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking free, awakens her just a couple of hours later, still early morning, but light now. She hears the sound of more than one pair of booted feet striding toward her as she blinks dazedly and surfaces from the flashback-dream and her tormented rest. Shooting upright quickly, hoping they haven’t seen her pathetically asleep where she fell, Belle nearly loses her balance and topples off the stool she’d been perched on. Wincing at the pain in her lower back from sleeping in such an awkward position, Belle tiredly rubs her eyes and tries to focus on her early visitors.

Only a second later, she registers Killian Jones’ voice jovially greeting her as he walks toward her across the open entryway and also hears the low, warm chuckle behind him from Liam, his revived older brother. She had been introduced to him as they were all working together to leave the Underworld, but she has not had much occasion to be around him since, and so she is surprised by his seemingly easy good humor, and the sparkle in his eyes that much resembles the one she’s often seen in Killian as they’ve researched some Big Bad threatening the town or discussed favorite books over lunch.

Startled, she lets hesitant brown eyes come to meet his friendly, open gaze and gives what she hopes is a welcoming smile as she teases Killian in hopes of keeping his usual perceptiveness from picking up on her disheveled, unhappy state. “What brings the Jones brothers to my library at the crack of dawn?”

Killian flashes her a devious wink, before nodding his head to her briefly in a playfully slight bow, “Ah, but wouldn’t you like to know, Lass?” he teases. His voice is bright and jovial, and there is a happy twinkle in his ocean-blue gaze that has been absent in many instances where she has seen him appear dazed or haunted since his return to life and the world above. She simply has to return the mischievous grin – happy for this former enemy who has become a true friend, proud of him (though it may not be her place) that he has found the strength Rumple never quite mustered to change for the better, make right the wrongs within his power to mend, and became the man he was always meant to be.

Tilting her head to study both of the men before her with friendly curiosity, she begins checking in the small stack of books Killian has carried in with him to return. Liam meets her eyes but doesn’t speak, his smile warm and friendly, but his general bearing more restrained than his younger brother’s. They certainly resemble each other – well-formed, strong features, straight noses and piercing eyes – but Liam is a bit taller, slightly broader of shoulder, and with fairer hair beginning to grow out enough to show curls that Killian’s straight, dark, shaggy locks don’t possess.

Deciding to get to know the intriguing man before her a bit better, Belle chooses to ignore Killian’s baiting and glances at his older brother from beneath lowered lashes. “And what about you?” she asks softly, “Do you enjoy reading as much as Killian does?” For some reason she has to fight a tremor in her voice as the words leave her mouth, and a thrill of nervous awareness racing up her spine as Liam Jones’ lips angle up into a fuller smile.

“Aye, Mrs. Gold, I do indeed,” he replies, with a succinct, definite nod of his head as he steps closer, right up to the counter of the circulation desk between them, while Killian wanders away into the stacks to look for new volumes. “We share our love of the written word, ever since I first taught him to read when we were boys, though Killian has always tended more toward daring adventure tales, epic fantasy and the like. I’m a bit of a history buff myself – love learning how kingdoms rise and fall and how leaders are formed. There is much to garner from such real events that have come before.”

Belle bobs her head in an excited nod, warming to the topic as she leans over the counter, absorbed by his words in spite of herself and forgetting the pain and confusion of the dream vision to a more pleasant topic. “I know exactly what you mean! There are so many good records, biographies, accounts of battles, journeys, and expeditions – it’s amazing to learn what that must have been like, to imagine traveling alongside such great adventurers when such momentous enterprises were being undertaken.” She pauses to draw in a breath, having begun to speak quickly in her excitement. Amusement shines in the look Liam Jones levels at her across the desk, but understanding and a sort of relief that intrigues her glows from his expression to warm her as well.

Belle makes an impulsive decision in that moment, wanting to share something she still loves and finds joy in with someone else who has weathered and survived much and clearly loves it too. Moving to stand quickly, with the intent to take Killian’s brother to their nonfiction section and show him some of her favorite tomes, Belle forgets for a moment how much her subtly widening stomach throws her off balance and pitches forward as she slips off the stool, then cries out softly as overcorrecting to catch herself pulls at her back painfully.

Liam is around the counter and at her side in an instant, one hand on her arm to steady her, the other coming to rest at her waist. “Steady on, Lass. Easy there,” he murmurs with soothing concern.

Killian darts back out form where he’d ventured, good arm full of novels and brows pinched together with worry. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks.

Belle shakes her head, offering Liam a grateful smile, even as she blushes in embarrassment and also feels warmth flood her at his contact with her body. She tries to calm both of them – conscientious, old-fashioned, chivalrous gentleman through and through – and step away. “N-nothing. I’m fine. Just lost my balance is all. …Th-thank you though, Captain Jones,” she adds sincerely to Liam. Unthinkingly, she raises her hand to her neck which feels cramped and stiff as well, wincing slightly before she even realizes.

Killian, observant as ever and an especially intuitive friend when it comes to her, notices her moving gingerly and guesses at her sleeplessness, speaking gently as he touches his metal appendage to her shoulder and impels her to look back up at him simultaneously. “Still not resting, Love?” he asks, already seeming assured of the answer. “You’ve been sitting at that counter all night, haven’t you?”

Sheepishly, the tiny brunette dips her chin to her chest in the slightest of nods, feeling even smaller under the concerned scrutiny of these two tall, strong former naval officers. It isn’t worth denying the fact; Killian already knows the truth. She had confided in him long ago, even before their trip to Camelot, her sleeplessness from a broken heart. He is certainly astute enough to realize that the organ is now only more broken.

What startles her however, is his proper older brother’s reaction. In interactions, Liam has always been friendly but reserved; now, he ushers her forward, an arm coming around her waist to guide her toward the reading lounge she has set up by the windows and into an overstuffed, comfortable chair. “Milady Belle, sit, please. You’re with child. You must take care of yourself.”

She doesn’t fight him, letting him lead her to the seat and settling into it with an actual sigh of relief. And he surprises her again by kneeling before her and grasping her delicate hand in his much larger one, enveloping it completely. There is an open, earnest look on his face that both soothes and puzzles her as he gazes up into her face and asks her if there is aught else they can do or fetch for her.

Liam himself doesn’t understand what has come over him as he looks up into the weary, hurting face of this lovely but lonely young woman. All he is certain of – and he knows he will speak to Killian about why she isn’t sleeping, what she has been through – is the concern for her he feels. He wants to find out why she is so sad, and to find a way to make it better. His resolve is firm, even if not fully understood, and he senses the beginning of a new mission, a new adventure.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @shireness-says @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @therooksshiningknight @o-wild-west-wind @anmylica @xsajx @cosette141 @sotangledupinit @elizabeethan @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @justanother-unluckysoul @lfh1226-linda @scientificapricot @wefoundloveunderthelight @kday426 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @drowned-dreamer

#self promo sunday #ouat canon divergent mc #naval beauty ff #looking for a heart (that's not walking away #chapter one #5b divergent ff #angst and fluff abound

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sereia1313 · 2 years

Text

Chapters 141-150

Read it on Ao3, Dokuga, or FFnet for daily updates!

Summary: Some memories fade with time, lured away by a passing breeze. Others are so ingrained in our hearts that we cling to them with every fibre of our being. To the point where it’s all we remember.

Inspiration: "Forget Me Not" by Marianas Trench

Alleviate

Eyes bled crimson as his arm shot out, knocking her hand aside before pulling her close. "I have never thought you were weak."

"Then why would you do something so selfish?" She continued to thrash against him. "Is it some debt to be fulfilled because of your mother? I refuse to—"

"One lifetime is not enough."

She finally stilled in his arms, staring at his chest, her own still heaving. Reiki continued to lash out, but he encouraged it, his youki stroking her battered ego.

"Do you really think I would demand payment for your compassion towards those in need?" His arm tightened around her waist. "I would like to think I know you better than that, miko."

Melancholia

The air was saturated with her turbulent emotions, but at least she'd stopped attacking him. Though perhaps he deserved it. Clearly, he had lapsed in his communication in his appreciation for her services.

As well as other things.

More important things.

Something he needed to rectify immediately.

"Your power has nothing to do with your humanity, miko. And I would never seek to change either, even for a moment."

"Then why?" she hedged, lips trembling. "Why do you want to mate me?" She refused to meet his gaze until he hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up.

"Because then you would be mine."

Carceral

She knew he'd been shaken by what she'd done, but to know this was the reason—

The cage that she'd placed her heart in rattled.

Kagome had resigned herself to another round of heartbreak after coming to terms with why her eyes followed him everywhere he went.

She'd been able to culminate a lasting friendship with Inuyasha, especially after Kouga shifted his attention and started pursuing him for real.

But Sesshoumaru was different. Signs of affection within an inuyoukai pack were different. He didn't have friends. Acquaintances, sure. Allies, when needed. But friends?

Or even something more?

She'd never dared to hope.

Shard

"And you want me to be yours?" She blushed even as she said it, unable to look away as the back of his fingers slid along her cheek to cup her jaw.

"Indeed." He made it sound so obvious. So simple.

"For how long? Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, suddenly wondering how long they'd been dancing around each other.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! I've been trying to keep myself in check around you! We could've—"

The arm around her tightened, his eyes widening in shock. "You wish for the same thing?"

Her blush deepened. "Well, yeah—"

His mouth settled over hers, taking advantage of her surprise to deepen the kiss before she had the chance to process what was happening.

Dilatory

For someone who didn't deal with humans very often, he'd certainly mastered the art of kissing.

Sesshoumaru coaxed her into responding, one hand burying itself in her hair as he bent her backwards, Kagome clinging to the collar of his haori to keep herself balanced.

Which was difficult, considering how good he tasted.

She couldn't put her finger on it, but it warmed her from the inside out. It was like drinking hot chocolate on a cold day, and Kagome had always fancied herself addicted to the sweet concoction.

Humming into his mouth, she pressed herself against him, suddenly glad she'd landed a hit that had rid him of his armour but knowing full well it wouldn't have mattered if she'd missed.

Litany

Tongue coiling around hers, Sesshoumaru continued to plunder her mouth, Kagome doing nothing but pulling him closer. Opening the door to the underworld had left her cold and shaken, especially from the loss of the jewel's power, and all she wanted was to curl up in his embrace—his essence.

She pulled back, gasping for air, fully intent on going right back in, but his mouth was already on her skin, alternating between kisses and nips as he made his way to her ear.

Shuddering, his name spilled out of her mouth in a breathy sigh, his responding growl making her toes curl and her stomach clench.

Wreak

"This is real, right?" Trembling hands buried themselves in his hair. "Maybe the spell didn't work, and I'm—"

"If you are anywhere but here, I will not hesitate to bring you back." The words were guttural, pausing his movements, and Kagome let out a choked laugh.

"You're not allowed to be mad at me for being reckless then."

"I remain lord of this shiro and will do anything I wish." He pulled back only enough to press their foreheads together. "Especially when it comes to the safety and well-being of my future mate."

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, breath hitching as she gave him a startled look.

Immutable

Kagome opened her mouth to refute him, but he gave her a pointed look. "Have you ever known me to be dishonest?"

Her jaw snapped shut, and she shook her head.

"And have I ever been deterred when I declared something to be mine?"

A smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head again.

Sesshoumaru leaned closer, golden eyes gleaming. "Then know this: I have never wanted something as much as I want you, Kagome."

She couldn't have spoken if he'd allowed her to, so she settled for grabbing his collar, pulling him down into a heated kiss.

Charisma

She didn't know when it started, wouldn't be able to pinpoint a specific moment if anyone asked, but Kagome had a feeling she'd always been drawn to him.

Why else would she have had the guts to stand up to him in his father's tomb? Or shatter his armour on the first try? Or felt such overwhelming relief when she'd woken inside Naraku to find him at her side?

She kissed him deeply, thoroughly, and when she finally pulled back again, the vibrations of his soft growls raising goosebumps on her skin, she smiled up at him, no longer afraid of the emotions bursting out of her chest.

"I love you."

Unabashed

"I had hoped you might."

Kagome let out a warbled laugh, unable to stop smiling. "Does this mean you're not mad anymore?"

"I did not say that."

Sighing, she leaned her head against his chest. "I did know what I was doing. You can trust me."

"I do."

"But?"

He tilted her chin up, eyes blazing with such intense emotion that it took her breath away. "I will not take chances with your life. No matter how likely the outcome."

"You can't protect me from everything, Sesshoumaru." He simply raised an eyebrow, and she couldn't help but laugh. "You can't!"

"I can try."

#sesskag #forget me not #sesskag drabbles #daily drabbles #sereia1313 #creator: sereia1313 #sereia: my stories #sesskag fanfiction #sesskag fanfic #dementia #dementia tw #mental illness #angst with a happy ending #team happy ending #hurt and comfort #memory loss #she finally said it #feelings abounds

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theeveninghour · 1 month

Text

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby!

WC: 16.1k ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things.

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it.

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo.

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour.

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous.

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return.

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into.

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed.

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal.

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee.

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit. But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.”

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone.

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure.

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else.

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.”

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove.

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully.

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire.

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.”

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone.

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked..

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it.

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift.

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief.

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes.

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance.

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment.

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed.

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon.

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate.

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room.

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees.

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction.

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension.

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel.

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.” He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on.

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind.

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind.

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.”

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way.

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.”

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you.

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment.

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up.

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive.

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily.

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features.

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed.

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness.

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight.

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple.

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up.

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here.

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed.

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose.

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred.

Shit.

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky.

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed.

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead.

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting.

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit.

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared.

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand?

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles.

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt.

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head.

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently.

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming.

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago.

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate.

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you.

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode.

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian.

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded.

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try.

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you.

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives.

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens.

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook.

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him.

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!”

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered.

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.”

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back.

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home.

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body.

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you.

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.”

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically.

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now.

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.”

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly.

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained.

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently.

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own.

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life.

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male.

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time.

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.”

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit. You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly.

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action.

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee.

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly.

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off.

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.”

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading.

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin.

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven.

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier.

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.”

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed.

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.”

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile.

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested.

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you.

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love.

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.”

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core.

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh.

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations.

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself.

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back.

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch.

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off.

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up.

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest.

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked.

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder.

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there.

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt.

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest.

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours.

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf.

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm.

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard.

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.”

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked.

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morgana-ren · 8 months

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i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #heh that last one messed yall up huh #heres a fix for it #SUPER sappy FYI #SO ENJOY!#I don't usually write sap (or angst) so I am bad at this #sorry its bad fellas #I GENUINELY could not think of a way for him to fix him becoming her cazador so uh #have a retconn #call this a fast fixer upper lmao

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moonchild1 · 2 months

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park jimin fic rec list (Ⅲ)

woah it really has been a long time since i posted but i am so glad to be back and to get back into reading i saw so many of my favourite authors have updated and i am beyond excited to start this journey again but in the mean time here's jimin rec list as promised it was so exciting finishing this list cause i got so nostalgic making it and reading all the old fics i had on my reading list ughhh i just loved it so much and it got me back into the swing of things and i cant wait to make more lists, i do have another jjk list ready and i will post it the day after tomorrow so i hope you enjoy this one and don't forget to show all the love and support in the world to these amazing authors they work so hard to create these fics for us and they deserve endless praise and love for the commitment and generosity they have so please do leave them a comment, heart or reblog a small comment can go a long way here and can make someone smile even bigger so dont don't shy away from making someone happy... as usual you guys know this fics i recommend contain smut so minors don't interact you will be blocked... i really do love hearing from you guys so if you do have a little fic you are super into right now and you just want to rant about how amazing it is feel free to send me an ask 😊🖤

a- angst s- smut f- fluff

series

plot twist by @xpeachesncream f s a

↳ jimin isn’t interested in fake dating, but he’s definitely interested in getting to know someone the right way. after all, he feels like he’s ready to put himself out there and give it all he’s got. so, he takes a risk in trying something completely out of his comfort zone and hops on the new, popular dating app - only to come across and get to know someone he didn’t expect to meet.

a remedy for mondays by @dovechim s

↳ all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

it’s okay, that’s love by @/dovechim f s a deals with deep subjects

↳ People are constantly making some kind of connection with each other- be it friendship or romance. But human bonds always lead to messy complications; commitment, sharing, driving people to the airport, letting them get up close and personal with the darkest parts of ourselves. And sure- it’s scary as hell to watch them cross those boundaries you’ve so meticulously drawn, but it’s okay, because that’s love.

so it goes by @/dovechim f s

↳ Park Jimin knows a lot about humans. of course he does, he studies them for a living. he knows that they say hello by holding hands, and when they say goodbye, they put their arms around each other. but this particular human, he notes, is unlike the rest- stuck in a slump, going about your day praying for the Universe to stage an intervention in the form of an alien abduction. when he decides to finally fulfil your wishes, he finds that you have a little something to teach him about what it means to live life on Earth the way you do: ugly crying, underwear and all. in return, he shows you the possibilities that abound if you simply adopted their mantra: everything is beautiful, and nothing hurts.

love again by @taestefully-in-luv f s a

↳ A friend of yours is eager to introduce you to her new man but what happens when Park Jimin, the man who broke your heart 5 years ago walks in through the door?

the other woman: the seduction and the illusion by @namjooningelsewhere f s a

↳ No one told you being the other woman would never be easy, No one told you that his love would be two sides to a same coin. No one told you he came to you because you were his escape to his demons. No one told you he would always call you his, but he would never be yours. And most importantly no one told you, He never loved you because you dont destroy the people you love.

FUTURE HEARTS by @jungblue f s a ft. jjk

↳ It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

after the applause by @foxymoxynoona

↳ Jimin doesn't know how he would have made it this far after the shattering of his world without the support of his thoughtful, generous, helpful neighbor. Hanbyul has lived next to hottie Jimin and his adorable daughter for years now, long enough to remember the wife he was so devoted to and lost far too young. With each safely ensconced on their side of the brick wall of the Parks' grief, it will take an enterprising little scientist to set the stage for a second chance at love.

saved by @to-star-lake s a

rockstar au deep subjects read warnings

midnight memories by @hobipaint f s a

↳ there's drunk habits, and then there's drunk mistakes. What do you call meeting your friend - no, ‘former friend’ - at a bar, getting drunk with him and sleeping- 'accidentally' - with him? especially when everyone already knows that you stay away from him as much as the day does from night?

Easy. You forget about it.

heartbreak chronicles by @sugaxjpg s

↳ Park Jimin had it all — good grades, a place as the soccer team’s captain and, more than that, the broken hearts of at least half the campus’ population. Though, one thing he did not have was someone willing to break his heart and, after you were dragged inside a miraculous plan to play that part, the last thing counted on was the preposterous idea that, perhaps, you could fall for him as well.

drifting by@hongcherry f a

↳ After being assigned different partners for your midterm routine, your and Jimin’s relationship starts to deteriorate when you both begin spending more time away from each other and with your assigned partners instead.

growing pains by @taleasnewastime f s a

↳ Growing up the daughter of the boss of a gang is never easy, but normally the problems are around being given too many responsibilities, or the risk of being connected to a gang leader, or wanting to escape but not being able to. But you’ve got a different problem, you want more responsibility, want to be like your brother who’s been named heir, want a role in the family gang. Your whole life you’ve been denied what you want, being born a female seemingly your main issue; perceived as weak, naïve, trying to step above your station. But as unsupportive and dismissive as your family is, there is always the bright light that is Jimin; the boy you love but can never have.

tuqburni by @solastia f s a ft.myg

↳ You’ve spent two years building a life with Yoongi who you loved more than anything in the world. Now, his ex-boyfriend Jimin is back in the picture, and Yoongi begs you not to make him choose between the two of you, offering the choice of a polyamorous relationship. Though your heart is shattered, you agree.

stardust by @venusjeon f a

↳ struck by your beauty, Jimin begs to paint you naked behind the world's back so as not to stain your influential family—his patrons—with scandal.

drift by @snackhobi f s

↳ You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

the deli diaries by @jimlingss f

↳ Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

best of me by @xotoosweet f a

↳ when he tells the story of how he met you in a few years, he'll claim that it was meant to be. you'll laugh and call it a coincidence. it was a coincidence that on the first day of summer semester, he decided to go on a run (though he claimed he always ran in the mornings). it was a coincidence that he chose a less traveled path in the university arboretum that morning. and it was definitely a coincidence that you were there, sitting on the rail of the river bridge.

the ten days of ex-mas by @kpopfanfictrash f s a

↳ Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling.

strip by @yoonia f s a

↳ Summary | Everything you have done has always been about surviving life and raising your child on your own. Having someone else caring about you was the last thing you had expected. Especially when that someone is the same man you have watched performing every night on stage and secretly admired. But will he run the moment he finds out about your little secret waiting at home?

falling by @/yoonia s a

↳ For Park Jimin, you are everything he will ever need—his assistant, his housekeeper, his task runner, his fairy godmother. For you, he is more than everything. You have dedicated your life for him and, before you even realised it, your heart belongs to him alone. The only problem is that he is never yours, and you are living in a world that your love for him is nothing more than a fairytale ending. As you are suddenly given a chance to wake up and face the real world, will you be ready to embrace it? Will he be ready to deal with the world without you in it?

wrapped around by @jjkfire ft. kth f s a

↳ Freshman year was a mess and sophomore year doesn’t seem to be looking too good either. You know boys like them are no good for you but maybe they’re just your kind of type

baby, baby by @hobiwonder f s a

↳ When you’ve run out of savings to continue on to the last semester of your Bachelors - you take an unorthodox route. Helping a desperate couple have a child and getting paid for it? Heck yeah. But what do you know - it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

love at first touch by bagelswrites (ao3)

↳ The first time you meet your soulmate, it leaves a bruise on both of you at the point of contact. From then on, your body begins rejecting any sustenance other than the touch of your soulmate. The trick is, the bruises take a few hours to appear, so you have to figure out who you've touched and find them before you starve to death. But once you do, all you ever need is them. So what happens if you're an idol and you meet your soulmate at a fan event?

our little family by @nightbts f a

↳ you were living a simple life filled with simple dreams; combining your two most loved things in life, children and teaching, you were starting out your career as a teacher at the local pre-school. but little did you know, how one child and her very special father, would change your simple life into something extraordinary

one-shot 35

brand new eyes by @missgeniality s

↳ Jimin’s eyes had potential to ruin you, and tonight you test the damage.

waves by @shina913 s

↳ It's Valentine's Day and your boyfriend decides to spice things up with a little surprise for you.

failure to communicate by @gukslut s

↳ Enemies to Lovers/ College AU

physical by @ppersonna f s

↳ you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it’s enough to make you irrational.

good for you by @candlewaxandp0lar0ids s

↳ Jimin can’t help the way he drowns himself in you. Why should he anyway?

ho-ho-home by @jjungkookislife s a

↳ Golden neighbor extraordinaire, Park Jimin, is (unintentionally) stealing your spotlight this holiday season. Despite your one sided rivalry with him, all Jimin wants is for you to remember him, to remember your past and hopefully create a future with you.

100km/hour by @chateautae s

↳ what exactly happens when you and your friends have to pile into one car for the ride home after an insane halloween party, and you find yourself sitting in park jimin’s lap? especially when he’s dressed as an angel, and you’re in the sluttiest devil costume ever?

what it's like by @jimilter s

↳ You’ve always heard great tales about how good the infamous fuckboy on campus, Park Jimin, is in bed, and wondered if there could be any truth behind these claims when the guy looks like an angel with his cheruby cheeks and precious smiles. So when a new gossip starts to circulate about how ‘hard he hits’, you have had enough of the suspense and decide to finally sample him yourself.

feel your touch by @/jimilter f s a

↳ You have always known yourself to be a sexual switch in bed, flipping between exercising and submitting control according to different situations and partners. And this camboy you are addicted to, one that seems to kinda reciprocate your interest, submits so beautifully that you just want to command him. But when things progress to levels you never anticipated, you end up discovering pleasant surprises that might just change your life.

the prince’s cinderella syndrome by @/jimilter f s a ft jjk

↳ He shows up at Halloween, every year, dressed the same, and leaves at midnight like some Cinderella. You would think he was a prankster if his eyes didn't look like they contained all the sadness in the world. You don't know him - no one on campus does. You don't know why he appears only once a year. You don't know why he never smiles. But you can't help falling in love with him. Even if he breaks your heart when he abandons you at midnight, again.

scream your panties by @opaljm s a

↳ As your midterms have ended and Halloween has arrived, you are looking forward to a pleasant time relaxing and enjoying the festivities at your sorority and Jimin’s frat houses. Luck is not in your favor, though, because things keep going wrong like a trail of dominoes falling – the only upside to your slowly deteriorating day being that you get to end it with your boyfriend’s delicious self between your legs.

first snow, last kiss by @taeshobipop f s a

↳ He broke your heart four years ago; the old loving memories of your time together now tainted by pure betrayal. Yet in the haze of new snow, after returning home for the first time, the moments you had once convinced yourself were nothing but a lie, reveal themselves to be otherwise.

antifreeze by @winetae s

↳ Jimin participates in the school’s adaption of The Nutcracker for extra credit but doesn’t expect his new dance partner to a) be this bad at dancing and b) be this fucking cute

what she likes by @untaemedqueen f s

idol au husband au marriage au

only you by @personasintro f s a

↳ you’ve been always there for your best friend, even when he became a single dad

sucker by @/personasintro s a

↳ You wish you'd pay more attention to Jimin. Like, how his eyes kept changing color. How cold his skin was, too unrealistically to be natural. Or one second, he flashed you with his sharp canines and the next one he didn't have any. How much he craved for you, but not the way you thought he was.

please, lie to me by @ressjeon s a

↳ "centuries of loyalty vs. only months of fucking, how could you miscalculate?"

summer synchrony by @seokkgenie f s a

↳ childhood friends to lovers

neon seoul @readyplayerhobi f s a

↳ It the city of New Seoul, another homicide isn’t newsworthy but instead just a statistic. But when the son of the mayor is murdered in an alley in a shady part of the city? Then it’s important. You and your partner, Detective Park Jimin, are given the honour of investigating the crime. Will you find out who killed him? Or will you fail?

serendipity by @btsracket s a ao3

↳ It's serendipitous. Jimin braces for darkness but finds his light instead.

the boyfriend concept by @/kpopfanfictrash s

↳ Win a Date with a Porn Star! You saw the sign when you walked in, of course, but you had no idea your friend dropped your name into the raffle. Fast-forward to later that day, when you actually win. You are horrified, of course, with no intention of accepting and setting yourself up for embarrassment. But then you meet Jimin, and decide this might be worth a shot.

Lovely Demons by @/kpopfanfictrash s a

↳ As penance for a crime committed long, long ago, the Witch Council banished you to the feared Tholoss forest. Your sentence was one hundred thousand days of solitude – or death, whichever came first. Your only hope of salvation comes from the demon names routinely sent your way; creatures who escape the inner circles of Hell and pose a threat to the mortal realms. For each demon you kill, days are removed from your sentence. For years you’ve existed, biding your time, until one morning you receive a name which throws your entire world into chaos: the name of Park Jimin, High Prince of Hell himself.

blue blood by @joonbird s a

↳ “Prince Jimin was born with blue blood. His coronation is rapidly approaching, but there are two requirements he must fulfil before becoming a king. He must have the skills to fight in battle, and he must have a Queen with blood as blue as his. You, a member of the royal guard, are assigned to teach Jimin the ins and outs of combat. You are not scared of death, of blood, or of battle. What you are scared of however, is falling in love with Jimin, the one man your blood decrees you can never have.”

i want to be with you by @oddinary4bts f s a

↳ moving to Seoul has always seemed like a good idea, until the bubble bursts when you realize your new neighbor is Park Jimin, and he's not the sweet angel you've always imagined him to be. Will the reality of Park Jimin forever be a nightmare, or will he turn into a sweet dream?

locked in love by @parkmuse f s a

↳ Getting locked in the mall on Christmas eve isn’t ideal, but getting locked in the mall with your brothers best friend that you haven’t seen in a while? Well, it might have been alright if you didn’t have feelings for him.

peaches and cream by @snackhobi s

↳ you wouldn’t mind your cute neighbour being such a shameless fuckboy if a) the walls weren’t so thin and b) he didn’t seem intent on adding you as another notch in his bedpost.

reset by @/dovechim s

↳ We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

the dark side of the moon by @/dovechim s

↳ falling in love at first sight is cliche, not until it happens to you on a dark night in a lonely alley. but you’re only human, while Park Jimin is Alpha of his pack; it could never work out. so you resort to pining for him like a wolf howling at the moon, but when Jimin goes feral, that’s when everything changes.

Unconditionally by @kstopping s a

↳ Jimin constantly torments you. But you love it.

Instinct by @evangelene f a

↳ A lost child appears into your life only to bring you closer Jimin–a man that you’d thought you’d hated once upon a time. Now all you want is to be there for the child, and maybe his father–but only if his mother gets the hell out of the way.

eternal sunlight by @kidguk f s a

↳ “college and soulmate au where the first words your soulmate will say to you are tattooed on your wrist. jimin thinks he met his soulmate exactly four months after he met and fell in love with you. you can’t explain your attraction or your feelings toward him, even though technically you’re meant to be with other people. taehyung and jungkook helpfully suggest that the universe might be glitching.”

foul play by @kimvtae f s a

↳ Everyone loves a good rivalry, and the students at your university are no exception. Unluckily for you, the rivalry of the decade is between yourself and a furiously irritating Park Jimin. A top gymnast and a basketball star shouldn’t cross paths, but Jimin makes his way into your heart before you can put a stop to it.

lost and found by @/kimvtae s a

↳ The only thing bigger than Park Jimin’s ass is his ego. After one too many scandals, after one too many mornings stumbling back to the dorms drunk or ruining the reputations of other idols, Jimin is given an ultimatum: complete a rehabilitation program in America or leave Bangtan.

if we were a movie by @/kimvtae f s a

↳ Friends with benefits never worked in the movies, but you and Jimin had been friends for so long, it was bound to work for you. Until, of course, Jimin gets a girlfriend, and you fear you may lose your friendship with him for good.

the pull of the tides by @goldenscript f s

↳ The expanse of the deep blue sea has always drawn you in. Each ebb and flow of the tides never ceasing to take your breath away. And now, a boy with hair as light as the morning sun and a smile just as bright does too.

hard to say by @floralseokjin f s a

↳you've had feelings for your best friend Jimin for as long as you can remember, but you always thought they were unreciprocated. What if it turned out they weren’t...?

↬looking for pjm library or the other members check out my library

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