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berrisweetsiren · 8 months

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“...Is this what it felt like…when you rose…as a phoenix…?”

With the dust cleared, I had stood in the middle of what was once the two dragons of ice and fire. I was breathless, hands trembling as I put a hand to my wrist- checking what I could to indicate that- truly…I was still alive. Somehow.

Somehow.

What strength remained in my legs had all but fallen apart, sinking into the ice and snow as my stare cast out along the now empty field. All around me, I heard cheers and uproar, celebration…and yet, I felt…

Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Is…is it over?” My mouth moved before I could even think to ask, still in shock over the events that had just occurred. Everything I worked towards led to all of this…everything I’ve done, and the culmination of my work, and suddenly it was all…over.

“It…It looks so, Commander,” Over the communications line, Taimi spoke up, “But…it’s not completely over, you know. With both Jormag and Primordus gone… We may just have a doomsday crisis on our hands.”

I blinked, the information not registering. Everything felt so…hazy…And oddly warm. Even kneeled in the snow, with my armor shredded and my skin touching the ice…I felt warm. A burning sensation crawled up my arm, and I gave a nervous little laugh.

“Of course…Of course I remember.” I mumbled into the intercom, “It’s never really over, is it Taimi?”

“W…what do you mean? Commander?” I could hear the vague sound of Taimi typing rapidly on her computer, “Is everything alright?”

How honest could I be at this point? If I lied, and said I was fine… Sure, I’d maintain some sense of dignity over my comrades. I’d remain the strong, bold leader that they needed of me… But I just couldn’t keep it together.

If I gave the truth though…

“I’m…I’m always fine, Taimi.” I eventually mutter, “I’ve…always gotta be fine, you know?”

Another laugh escapes my lips, not even believing my own lie, “Thorns, it’s warm.”

“Warm? Hold on.”

Taimi’s typing escalated, and she gave a notable little gasp at…whatever it was she found.

“Commander- Elias. I need you to just…calm down. Your readings are very…unstable right now, and by the looks of it all the magic you’ve consumed over our time together could simply erupt out of you at any moment. You have to just…breathe, okay? Did you consume any other magic you didn’t mean to?”

“Taimi, you don’t understand,” I whisper, deflecting the last question with trembling hands as I held the com close to my face, “You don’t even…know half of it…”

Taimi was silent for a moment, before signing, “Then let us in…please. I don’t know about that meathead of a champion, but all of us at Dragon’s Watch, we-”

“I can’t.” I immediately interjected. Out of all of our friends, it was Taimi I had confided the most in… which, honestly, was…probably shitty of me. I was a good bit older than her, and it wasn’t quite right to confide my burdens onto…onto a teenager.

“Fuck,” I whispered, hunching over myself. In the revelry, I found myself just beating myself up even more. I couldn’t have prevented any of this, could I? I couldn’t have stopped the world from going into an apocalyptic state… and I couldn’t even protect those I cared the most about.

“Deep breaths, Elias,” Taimi rarely called me by name, “You can get through this…”

“Just like I’ve had to get through everything else, Taimi?!” I exclaimed, frustration beginning to boil over. I felt the magic in my veins begin to burn, and my arms trembled at its strength.

By now, the celebration had dimmed- seemingly due to the scene I was…no doubt making of myself.

“Look, why don’t we just get in the helicopter and head back to the Eye of North, and discuss things there?” Taimi asked, her voice uncertain as if she was trying to diffuse a ticking time bomb. Hell, in a way I probably was, and I choked through my own laughter.

“Fuck me, Taimi, I’ve had to do all of this in the matter of a year or two! I don’t even recall anymore who I am outside of all of this!” I cried out into the com, not even listening to her as my hand tightened around the device, “I’ve been fighting, and fighting, and causing more and more and more problems for everyone around me! What is the fucking point?! I gave my everything to stop the world from ending, and what has happened in return!? I only lose, more and more of both myself- and everyone I ever knew!”

I hiss through my teeth, pain laced as I felt something drip off my cheek. Reaching an unsteady hand to touch my face, I wince further and see bright red liquid at my fingertips… not blood, not by a long shot… but tears. Liquid fire. It burned my cheeks, causing my head to start to fade into a fuzziness I couldn’t describe. Delirium? I don’t know. The deafening silence was growing so loud in my ears, however, that I could only turn around, standing and trying to get my bearings as I stared the crowd down.

“What?! Is this like some type of show to all of you?! Yes, this is who I really am! This is who your beloved Fatebreaker is! A fucking coward!” I exclaim, fingertips burning as I clenched the handle of my hammer, “Come on now, say it! You all know that I’m like a fucking jinx wherever I go!”

“Commander…” Caithe went to reassure me, and I swatted her hand away.

“No! I don’t want to hear it from you, of all people!” I hiss at her, brushing the bangs out of my face, “I’m so fucking tired of everyone either hating me, or wanting my help! I gave my everything for the safety of this world- I killed the love of my life so she would be free of Mordremoth’s voice, I even fucking DIED trying to protect my own mentor from dying to the hands of a God- and yet all I hear is how I’m a plight and that I’m the reason all of this happens!”

I cackle even more amidst my sobs, sparks lighting in my hands flickering on and off like a broken lighter, “You know…Joko, he was right about me. All I’ve ever done is make things worse, and now look where we are…” My knees trembled, and I fell back into the ice and snow, a sob starting to bubble out of my throat unwillingly.

“Elias, please, your readings-” Taimi tried to intercept, but my hand gripped…too tight, the device shattering immediately in my palm. I just…felt nothing. And yet everything at the same time. Like every scar was about to burst open, like my mind was about to melt and all I’d be reduced to was just the pain and anguish of it all. I couldn’t even stop it. The buildup of the year and a half of everything being ripped away from me- my sense of self, my loves, my dignity and my sense of moral justice- it all came crashing down at once like a house of cards, curling into myself to try and recontain all that pain. Some part of me knew, though, it was for naught… Though, something caught my eye. A familiar red color, that caused my outburst to pause…for the briefest moments. I turned, and saw her… Ashe.

And it almost felt real… Gods, it almost felt real. I just desperately whispered to her. “...Is this what it felt like…when you rose…as a phoenix…?”

“Everybody, clear out, now!” I could faintly hear someone else exclaim, as I felt everything start to burn- burn more and more until there was nothing else.

…And all I could remember, was the scream that tipped off my lips before everything had gone black.

#;;soren's art #;;elias rainbloom #gw2 spoilers #guild wars 2 #gw2 commander #guild wars sylvari #Ahaha! He has trauma! :D #Between losing the one he loves during Heart of Thorns #Dying and coming back to life in Path of Fire #Accidentally absorbing all sorts of dragon and god magic #and all the BULLSHIT political stress during Icebrood Saga #Yeahhh...Both the trauma and magic sort've just. Explodes.#...Metaphorically and Literally.#And this is why no one heard from Elias from the end of Icebrood Saga until End of Dragons! :)))#Oh yeah and lets not forget all the trauma of ALMOST DYING SO MANY FUCKING TIMES #The trauma revolving around his survivors guilt #Almost losing his mind twice due to dragons (Mordremoth & Jormag)#Being humiliated throughout the WHOLE THING multiple times #He also fucking lost all sense of who he is outside of being a warrior. Especially considering he already awoke being 'different' then most #-other sylvari. And eventually becoming something else entirely from absorbing multiple different primal magics.#LIKE. POOR ELIAS HAS BEEN LITERALLY MENTALLY WRUNG DRY SO MANY TIMES.#How commander canonically didn't decide to go on a villian arc I simply cannot fathom.#Anyway!#This'll be the last post I use my main account for! :3 #All my other Gw2 stuff is over on my sideblog! @wanderersoftyria

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aonungsmate · 1 year

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Hello I was wondering if I could request an Ao’nung x Reader, maybe reader could be Tsu’tey’s daughter from a woman he had mated with after learning of Neytiri’s and Jake’s mating, he had a woman that he had loved but he couldn’t have because he was betrothed to Neytiri. And that love bore fruit to our reader who is very close to the Sully family especially with Kiri whom she always defends when being teased by other children. She joins Norm and Max to the metkayina clan. And she’s just this badass with an ikran that was theorized by others to be the spawn of The great leonopteryx that Jake had tamed once. And Ao’nung is flabbergasted by this pretty na’vi riding such a dangerous animal? When the battle happens, she goes ham on the RDA and SAVES NETEYAM BC GDI LEAVE MY BOY ALONE and when they return theres a whole celebration and reader finally relaxes and shes been surrounded by curious na’vis alike bc phew baddie ‼️💅🏻 and ao’nung is such a simp tryna talk to her and rizz her up and it’s just ao’nung pining over her ackk

Destined for Might and Him

Ao’nung x Tsu’tey’s daughter!reader [Word Count: 3.1k]

🤷‍♀️uploading this after 123456789 years of draft!! Enjoy reading another rubbish fic😚💕

Warnings: mentions of death, spoilers

Jake has made countless mistakes since he joined the Omatikaya for his mission. Tsu’tey had never approved of him, until he actually saw him. He was betrothed to Sylwanin first, then came the humans, taking her away from his arms, Neytiri being the next suitable partner for him. As if there was a curse following him, a demon swooped Neytiri from him, though they were not that subtle. He has never seen Neytiri the way he looked at her older sister though.

Third time’s the charm, right?

In Tsu’tey’s case, it is. Being the next olo’eyktan meant he would be interacting with the entire clan, making sure that they felt safe even before his rule, heavily dedicating himself to making the hometree the most secure and comfortable place for their people. That’s where he met your mother, the forbidden fruit he’s always afraid to touch, only to see. He did not think it was right to look at another woman when he was promised to another man’s daughter. He was afraid that she would be too dainty for him to pursue.

Only to see, he said.

The third time he planned to mate with a woman was in the middle of the conflict. Right after he learned about Jake and Neytiri’s mating, he stormed off, not without giving Jake a good beating of course. It is when he actually had the chance to follow his heart, free of expectations. He soon learned that she too, was in love with him since he passed his iknimaya, hiding it from the rest of the clan as soon as she realized that she could not have him. Not without betraying the daughter of the olo’eyktan. So she comforted him, became friends with him instead. With his pride broken, he took everything that he thought would put his pieces back to being worthy of a warrior. Eywa, did it feel good to follow his heart and tell your mother how he really felt. So that’s why Sylwanin used to talk of mating as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Somehow as he reminisced, he has really begun to see himself growing older with your mother. So, he set himself a new goal. To protect his love, and his people. Neytiri did not matter to him that much anymore, having moved on from the ghost of the past, accepting Jake Sully as his brother once again, deciding to fight against the sky demons with dreamwalkers whom Eywa have shown promise in.

What he did not expect was you. So imagine his surprise when he came home, your mother guiding his hands on her torso, telling him, Think you can handle one more, ma tsu’tey?

And so, the war came. Battles were won, people were lost. Including the mightiest warrior your mother has ever known. Your father, too young to be taken by Eywa, but alas. It was time for him to embrace the great mother’s comforting presence. He thought it was a shame it would take him years before he actually gets the chance to clutch you in his arms. He’s long entrusted you to his brother though. He made sure Jake promises him to look after you and your mother after all.

A beautiful young na’vi, born into war, just a few months before Jake Sully’s first son was born. You were then named, (y/n) te Rongloa Yenateu’ite. You were a carbon copy of your father, your mother actually exclaimed Tsu’tey’s name when she saw you having the eyes and seemingly permanent daring look your father had. You never really knew your father. Your mother would speak highly of him every night, stories and songs written by her, dedicated with her love for her long lost love. You would see her casting a longing gaze at the walls of your tent whenever she braids your hair, telling you of her and her past love’s nightly escapades when the people would head to their tents to sleep. Amazement and sheer pride written on your face when hearing of your father.

That’s when your mother would sigh audibly, completely defeated that you would always be a daddy’s daughter even without meeting him.

It has been a few weeks since your adoptive family moved to Awa’atlu to seek uturu. Your mother has long passed away, developing a sickness a few years ago. Life in the waters for them was not easy, having new responsibilities and things to work on, especially the breathing.

You were the seventh Toruk Makto, for Eywa’s sake.

Your iknimaya was going perfectly, along with Neteyam. Neteyam proved himself to be a mighty warrior, having wrestled with one of the toughest-looking ikran in the rookery. Kiri showed that she had the strongest connection to Eywa when she ‘befriended’ an ikran at a very young age, earning the title of tsakarem. You, on the other hand, basically confirmed the undeniability that you were Tsu’tey te Rongloa Ateyitan’s daughter, after an unusual occurrence in the ikran rookery. The “most dangerous iknimaya”, as Mo’at would say. As soon as Txop’alei sealed his bond with his ikran, as you stepped through the narrow path, a large ikran– No, a Toruk towered over the ikran rookery, making all of you yell in surprise followed by hisses from Neytiri behind you, and screeches from ikran fleeing away.

Your heart skipped a beat when you crossed gazes with the Toruk, stepping forward cautiously as its vibrant orange reflected on your yellow eyes, examining its slightly emerald green tinges on its wings. Soon enough, you were greeted with a threatening roar, making you gulp as soon as you realized that you were being chosen. Wrestling with an ikran is one thing, but with the great leonopteryx? It’s like a death sentence. Maybe it’s your mom or dad calling for you through Eywa, but would the warrior side of you really give up this thrilling opportunity?

Xi’di. That’s what you named your Toruk. Neytiri says it looked familiar. She thinks it’s a child of her mate’s Toruk. Mo’at says it’s your fathers gift to you from the other side when she pointed out how similar the green tinges match your father’s ikran colors.

You were more than happy to get to know your friend, Xi’di, through sneaking out and having late night flights. It wasn’t long before you were exposed to war, with Jake asking you to spot demon machines when the stars multiplied in the skies, together with his sons Neteyam and Lo’ak, brothers you would consider them as.

“Stop the useless yammering and out with it,” you spoke, jutting your chin upwards to emphasize that you were a greater warrior than he is.

“I saw your ikran,” Aonung inhaled deeply, petting the ilu swimming around the two of you, “it is bigger than the others” he pointed out, his incorrectness making you roll your eyes. You thought it was pathetic that he would attempt to hold a conversation with you after participating with yet again another standoff with your brothers. Your ears flickered slightly at the sound of celebrations around you, children laughing as they danced around.

You huffed at his curious glance, “It is a Toruk,” you smiled wickedly at his reaction, “Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?” He scoffed at you, a mocking smile written on his face as he changed the subject back to something related to breathing.

The Metkayina chief’s son was not as who you expected him to be. He was arrogant, condescending, the complete opposite of what Neteyam was like, as the former olo’eyktan’s son.

“You wish,” he smirked, remembering how you checked him out earlier in the day as he raised the nets, his toned arms making your heart gallop. “Metkayina men are known for having mighty arms,” he boasted, too absorbed with himself that he somehow missed how you bashfully avoided eye contact for a second, a blush overtaking your cheeks as he continued on and on about what he has achieved, and his goals to be realized before and after he becomes olo’eyktan.

Regardless of the boastful and proud demeanor, Ao’nung lives up to his status though, having the toughest feats than the men his age, hunting the most, sparring the best, donning the most pleasing face in the clan and all, not that you would admit that to his face.

You remembered the faint voice of your father echoing from the tree of souls, telling that he might not be able to handle it if a pompous na’vi were to win your heart, you were Tsu’tey’s daughter for Eywa’s sake. Nobody would be worthy of you if he was actually there to guard you from presumptuous young men. So, you heed your father’s vivid wishes, promising yourself that you would be in your most sound and logical self when it comes to matters like this. Jake would always nod at you with pride when he hovers to size up your suitors, as soon as he witnesses you reject potential mates.

No wonder he and your biological father grew on each other.

You were not keen on migrating to another clan, only knowing the forest since you were born. You were angry. Furious, that the sky demons were responsible for your family's pain. You would never hold that against your adoptive father though. You loved him more than anything in the world, together with your half na'vi brothers and sisters, but you could not give up the forest. And so, you held your ground and decided to stay with the Omatikaya people.

Since the Sully's arrived in Awa'atlu, your siblings have received nothing but a flurry of insults and looks of disgust from most of the village people. Especially from the chief's son.

As the eldest sister, you felt responsible for making your brothers and sisters feel safe. Back in the forest, you would glare at every stupid boy who would dare sneak up on your sister and call her a freak, you would cast the most frightening look on your face when people would point at your youngest brother. But the most important of all, you would smile the sweetest directed at your younger siblings.

So when you heard of Kiri's situation from Norm, you immediately called upon Xi'di and braved the waters to come to where your family was. Horns and spears were let out when the Metkayina guards caught sight of a large beast coming upon their island, terrified yells from people left and right were heard, except for Lo'ak who let out a laugh of disbelief when he laid his eyes on the majestic Toruk. The colors were oh-so familiar, clad in a saddle that screamed Omatikaya, a dangling string of beads around its neck, the diversity of materials that came from none other than him.

A loud roar resonated within Awa'atlu, startling Neytiri who was busy tending to Kiri. She frowned at the thought of you, thinking that she was imagining things.

"Did you hear that Ma'itan?" Her question was answered soon enough when she noticed him running towards the crowd outside and exclaimed, "Sister, you have come!"

And there it was.

Ao'nung almost snapped his neck at how fast it turned when he caught you in his peripherals. His eyes almost bulged out of its sockets at how fast it widened when you turned your eyepiece upwards as you broke the bond with Xi'di.

"My mighty warrior! It has been too long baby brother," you slung your arms around Neteyam's frame, telling him how much he's grown in just a few months. Gladness and worry was written on your face when he brought up Kiri's situation, "You mean she had a seizure underwater ?!"

Ao'nung noticed how your waterline easily filled up with tears waiting to be shed when you approached the marui where Kiri was currently being taken care of.

What made his feelings definite was the brief eye contact with him that you shared though.

"Thank you, great mother! Thank you!"

You wailed with your family, hugging each other where Neteyam was lying down, grateful that your family has been once again blessed by Eywa. The sky people had wrought destruction in just a matter of a few weeks since your arrival in Awa'atlu after you decided to stay until you have reassured Kiri's well-being.

You were feeling beyond terrified at what had just occurred. You saw your brothers and sisters getting chased by the demon machineries, three of them tied on the huge ship that drove on the waters, spurring the darkness inside you as you fought and fought and fought until you have ensured that they were all safe.

Your brother, Neteyam.

The brother that you have known the longest, shot near where his heart lies, sealing RDA's fate when you saw your brother wheezing on a rock, who wanted nothing but to come home. You were soon enough blinded by rage, together with Neytiri who channeled her anger to retrieve her daughters who were left on the ship.

Everything was a blur that night. Guns and armies thrown left and right, ships exploding, taking hundreds of lives, both na’vi and human. You didn’t think you could have handled it well without the guidance of your father. You felt rage and hurt. Seeing your brother writhe in pain, shivering in the numbing coldness of the water raging against the rocks, you felt like you have just had your heart thrown away.

Your childhood friend Spider, getting sliced across his chest. Your mother, completely having her judgment clouded over her dying son, her daughters, desperate to be freed from the arms of a demon who somehow took pleasure in making your father's life null.

Then it was all submerged in the harsh waters.

You cried out for your companion and rode your Toruk, circling around the sinking demon ship, tears continuously flowing in frustration.

Where was everyone?

You swore you almost lost your mind, but then you remembered.

They were Omatikaya. They will survive.

So, you swallowed the impending grief. You forced yourself to think clearly through the bond, Xi’di responding with the loudest roar it could muster, and swooped down towards the direction of the rocks where you Neteyam laid.

At the sight of Neteyam, you cried.

It was that day when Ao'nung first saw you cry in Neteyam's arms, who was also sniffling at the thought of almost dying and missing out on his siblings' lives. He ruffled Tsireya's hair as she cried in relief, thankful that his sister was also safe.

The people cried. The people mourned. The people had their reunion with their families.

Sully’s stick together. And stick together, you did.

All of you were safe.

“You okay, kid?” Jake mumbled against the top of your head, embracing you and Neteyam as soon as he climbed up the shores, to which you responded by sobbing and hugging him tight. Neytiri had Neteyam against her chest, kissing his forehead, thanking the great mother all over again.

You turned your heads at the sound of water splashing once more, revealing Spider.

“Monkey boy!” Kiri exclaimed, smiling at the sight of her friend, pressing a hand against his chest. You untangled yourself from your father, fussing over Tuk and Neteyam as you see Lo’ak and Spider get squished against your father’s chest.

As you pressed your lips against Tuk’s forehead, you somehow met Ao’nung’s gaze, casting a soft smile at him as you observed him rubbing Tsireya’s shoulder in affection as she cried in his arms, completely being washed over with relief and mostly just overstimulated from the war you had just gone through.

And soon enough, it was time for a celebration of their victory against the sky people.

Fires were started, wood were piled up on one another, the children holding hands together as they sing praises to the great mother, celebrating the victory of their people, ever grateful for the safety of who remained, and prayed for the guidance of Eywa to help those who were lost, to come home to her warm embrace.

Ao’nung fixed the headdress he was donning, a symbol of his status, as he sat beside his sister, scanning his gaze amongst the sea of his people.

And then there was you.

Your eyes were piercing as you held your gaze, the brutal reality of his feelings slowly sinking in as you tucked one of your freshly braided hair, his eyes slowly trailing over the accessories you saved for occasions like this.

Did you have different sets of necklaces for ceremonies?

Were they of rare materials? Because he has never seen a woman this beautiful, he wondered.

He was so struck with your fierceness he did not notice that he was the only one left on the mats laid out on the high platform that was planted on the sand for celebrations. He placed a hand against his left knee, slowly rising from his spot to walk towards you, perhaps ask for a dance?

You were speaking to him as soon as he stopped walking, him blurting out a question he’s been meaning to ask, only to be responded with a huge hit to his ego.

“Surprised that a girl smaller than you is a better warrior?”

He never let people step on his pride.

Not even his sister whom he closetedly doted on, completely overtaken by the idea that ‘he’s a man, so he should not be seen as vulnerable’. He soon learned that that shouldn’t be the case though.

With you to pursue? He’s going to relearn everything, it seems.

You were different.

But perhaps those differences would be the factors to taking him a step closer to you.

To a future where you and him embracing under the starry skies as constellations meld together as one during the darkest of the nights, would be a normal occurrence between the two of you.

That, you did.

Months of building himself up in your eyes, and you finally learned to see him as he hoped you would.

“Good, because I see you too,” you remember him saying those exact words after you practically swept him off his feet, his pretentious demeanor once again taking over to spare him of your teasing, not that it went by unnoticed.

You knew him too well.

So when he promised to take care of you, you knew he would.

Just like when he promised to not spoil his first son to the point that he’d grow up like him, you knew he’d end up eating his words.

You knew him, after all.

You see him, in both light and darkness, you see Ao’nung.

•

Edit: 💀somebody pointed out a misplaced paragraph so i went to remove that one ohmygofd

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kayjayjwrites · 2 months

Text

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle. It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a couple years into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over two years of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over him.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remains.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #friends to lovers #slow burn #one bed trope #one shot #one shot series #azriel #my writing #kayjaywrites #like bugs in a rug

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animezinglife · 3 months

Text

The tragedy of Ezra and his human wife.

The way he carried his precious little daughter to bed like the loving father he was.

The reality that he would've outlived them all: his wife, his children, his grandchildren...

I hate these books.

#no matter what they were going to meet a horrible tragic fate and I HATE IT #THIS IS THE ONLY REASON I DON'T LIKE FAE AND HUMANS INTERMARRYING/HAVING KIDS TOGETHER LIKE #the war of lost hearts #mother of death and dawn #children of fallen gods #I'M NOT OKAY.#wolh spoilers #the war of lost hearts spoilers #war of lost hearts spoilers #children of fallen gods spoilers #mother of death and dawn spoilers #carissa broadbent

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rise-my-angel · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

Masterlist

Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn)

Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Pre Series Content and Extras:

Scattered Memories of the Starks

Shadows of their Hatred

The Lost Chapters of Jon Snow

A New Life's Darkened Lust

Interlude of Jealous Desires

NSFW Alphabet (contains spoilers for part 3 and 4)

Woes of a Modern Day Love (a modern!au)

Fresh Heals of Old Pain (a modern!au part 2)

Part 1:

Wolves of the Lone Stag

Mouth of the Lion's Den

An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

Standing Behind a Betrayal

A War of Tragic Beginning

Part 2:

King and Queen in the North

Shadow of a Fiery Stag

Reunion of New Enemies

Pleasure of Conflicted Desire

The Sanctity of Children

What Lies Beyond The Veil

Part 3:

The Cost of Our Sins

Dragged Through the Violence

Only the Cold

Fire for the King's Blood

Part 4:

Ashes of Various Grey

Plans of Pain and Horror

Afraid of a Ravens Flight

Trust in the Gentle Rasps

Visions in Eyes and Flames

A Bastard or The White Wolf

Part 5:

Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

Ghostly Dreams of Old

Sailing Through the Glow

The Last Dragon

The Winter Rose

Part 6:

The Clash of Three Kings

Shrouded Truth in Sickness

Winged Shadow in the Sky

Light in the Darkest Storms

Peeking the Realms Woes

Blood, Roses and All Lies

Broken Love of the Dead

The Souls Tethered in Death

Wolves of the Past and Back

The Crows and The Sight

Part 7:

A Brewing of New Mystery

Great Wolves of White Mists

Darkness Heavy in a World

Past Becomes the Present

The Thing in the Night

Waving Tides of Turmoil

Greenish White Boodraven

Dark Blood of Blinding Light

And Wait for the Snows

Part 8:

Into the Haunted Forest

Fist of the First Men

Through the Frost Fangs

News From the South

Lies Within the Sunlight

Night of Two Distances

Screams of Cracking Ice

#jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones imagine

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saerotonins · 6 months

Text

the love that came back

ft. nanami kento x fem!reader

"what more could you wish for?

when the love you once lost, came back into your arms again,"

content warnings: jjk shibuya arc spoilers, angst, fluff if you really squint, little dialogues, going through grief and depression, pure pain, just reader's life through her perspective, implied major character death, bittersweet, depictions of the afterlife, happy ending (i promise)

wc: 4,933

note: i'll just be letting my feelings out because we're about to mourn LMAO enjoy!

inspired by and best enjoyed with: this love by taylor swift

October 31, 2018

when you heard a knock on the door, you expected kento to great you with a smile on his face and a sweet kiss to your lips.

but what you got instead is shoko right in front of your doorstep, giving you the news that your fiancée lost his life in the middle of the war across shibuya— then you felt like your world had crumbled right before your very eyes. he had promised. he had promised to come home to you tonight and come trick-or-treating and give the kids around the neighborhood some candies.

kento never breaks his promises, especially when it comes to you.

but there's always a first time, as they say.

you felt your knees turn into jelly as you fall onto the floor, eyes wide, and heart incredibly shattered. you couldn't believe what you were hearing, this must be a sick fucking joke. there's no way the love of your life is just gone like that. he doesn't fucking deserve this.

"i'm so sorry, y/n," you hear shoko said as she guides your limp body to sit on the couch but you could hardly hear her between your ragged breaths and the ringing in your ears.

what would her apology do anyway? would that sorry bring him back? would that bring him to your arms once again?

you feel your eyes swell with tears and let them fall off as they please. you wail in shoko's arms, you let out the loudest screams you ever let out in your entire life but none of those did anything to the amount of pain your heart is currently bearing. and for shoko, who has seen a fair share of gore and violence in her life, has never been so disturbed and heartbroken when she saw you wept and mourn for your lover.

that night when shoko left you on your own (not that she had the choice), you drank the fruit flavored champagne you usually sip with kento as he enjoys his whiskey, downing it like it was water but it tasted different.

there's this saying that alcohol tasted better when you're happy and around the people you cherish the most.

your sweet champagne started to taste bitter ever since, and a part of you died that day.

the days have gotten colder.

you miss the way kento's arms would wrap around you, you miss the warmth that he provided, something the heater in your shared home couldn't give.

you feel empty, everything has gone silent, and you hate it. at times like this, when kento is home, you would hear him hum with the vinyl he chose to listen to going along the silent rustle of either the newspaper or a book he had been looking forward to read.

now it's just silence. it's all new to you. you almost even forgot how your voice sounded like because you had no one to talk to.

for the past few weeks, your family and friends, even shoko had visited you to make sure you were okay. but whenever they try to initiate a conversation, they only get either a curt nod or nothing. they have also noticed the change you have been going through. the usual sparkle in your eyes gone, you've gone extremely quiet, your appetite has drastically changed, but they understood nonetheless.

a few days ago, with the help of his family and from the mercy of any entity that existed out there, the jujutsu tech was able to retrieve kento's body, whatever is left, that is— cremated him and finally held a proper burial. that's the least he deserves.

you asked if you could keep some of his ashes in a little urn, and his family, bless their hearts, agreed as they know that both of you share the pain of losing a loved one. there, it sits in his study together with his pictured frame. another one also sits on your chest, a necklace that holds some of your beloved. a piece of reminder that you and him will still be together.

you walk towards back to the living room, seeing the mess that has been made because truthfully speaking, cleaning up the house was the least pf your problems when you had a lot going through. it has been really rough. every night, at 7 pm, you yearn for the knock of your door, kento's voice declaring his arrival, "hon, i'm home," he would usually say.

now, it's all gone. the clothes he had worn the previous days still in the laundry bags, untouched, for the fear that his scent might go away.

it scares you. the thought of forgetting the sound of his voice, his smell, his warmth, his company, not being near your reach, terrifies you to the core. but you have to face it all. put on a brave face, live on a life where he doesn't exist anymore. but deep in your bones, your heart, and your soul.

he's still around.

he should be. he promised eternal life with you, willingly get on one knee to put on the prettiest engagement ring you had ever seen.

the saddest part is, he wouldn't be able to see you walk down the aisle. both of you had dreamt of a wedding so perfect. you designing your own gown that would compliment his, a small wedding enough for your family and closest friends, and a honeymoon trip to malaysia where you could just bask in each other's presence, forgetting everything and savor each moment.

he had promised you forever.

and kento never lies.

but then again, there's always a first time.

it has been months. nothing has changed.

you still feel so empty. nothing has changed around the house either. sure, the living room is clean enough but the bedroom you once shared with kento stayed the same.

you refuse to wash his clothes that was in the laundry basket, you refused to wash the bedsheets, you refused to even make up his side of the bed. and despite how much you missed him, you refuse to sleep on his side of the bed, fearing that sleeping over his scent would lose him completely. it was exhausting to yearn for someone you know is not going back, but you do it anyway.

from the tailoring shop you own, many bride-to-be's are going in and out to pick out wedding dresses with their pretty engagement rings decorating their hand. it feels like a slap to the face, angering even. why do these women have to be so happy picking out the perfect wedding gown while you're out there sulking, stuck with what if's and what could have been.

what could have been your gown? his suit? what could have your wedding venue look like? what could have happen in your honeymoon?

and when you realize that it will always stay that way, it fills you with envy, but more so with sorrow.

it's so unfair to be mad at these people who were lucky enough to find the one but you couldn't help it.

you just also hate the pity smiles they give you when you answer their question, "when's your wedding?" once they caught a glimpse of the engagement ring kento gave you with, "my fiancée passed away," with a forced smile on your face. you're just thankful they don't push you to answer any more questions.

the ring kento gave you is one thing that you will never remove. aside from your necklace, this is a reminder that kento loved you enough to propose, to ask your hand in marriage. that may not be enough considering your situation, but it is something, so you keep it around anyway.

when the shop has finally closed for the day, you come home, sit on his study and sketch more of the wedding dress ideas that you had on your what could have been wedding with kento. you have gone through almost 3 journals sketching everything aside from the dresses. it was venues, suits that he could've worn, your dress, and of course sketches of the both of you walking down the aisle.

whenever you sketch, a tear falls down, then another, and another, until you cry a river all over the page, not caring if the lead from the pencil is barely there due to the wet pages or the ink from your pen is smudging. when you go back to the pages, you see it. you don't mind that it has become messy, it represents the feelings that you have. the yearning, the grieving, the sorrow of a what could've been wife to a what could've been husband.

more months pass by and it's still the same.

it's empty, it's all routine. you wake up, wash your face from the dried tears that you wept from the night before, shower, get dressed, go to kento's study just to admire his face from the picture frame where his urn is placed and say your goodbyes as you kiss his pretty face through the the frame and off you go to work.

it's clockwork, but you don't mind. it's one of the few things that kept you sane, but a deep burning hole in your heart still fire ablaze, waiting to be set off. you doubt it will happen, but some coping might help, so you pretend that you don't mind.

when the night comes, you still prepare meals enough for two, it's muscle memory, you seem to master making portions of two and you plan to keep it that way. it's one of the only ways that keeps you alive. you either save the other half on the fridge or give them to your neighbors.

you had also convinced yourself to wash the bedsheets, but you always remember to spray kento's cologne on his side so it feels like he never left, but his clothes on the laundry basket remains untouched. you have gone through multiple bottles of his favorite perfume from spraying almost every surface of the house, it's expensive but it doesn't matter. as long as it helps to keep his memory, you don't mind.

your friends and family visit you from time to time, to check up on you. they know you're just putting a smile on your face, it's obvious, because your eyes don't shine like they used to, but that's fine enough for them. they also noticed how the house strongly smells like him, but they don't complain anyway.

and as you close your eyes, you take one careful sniff of his pillow that you have grown accustomed to embracing every night (but you know it doesn't feel the same but it would suffice), and drift yourself to sleep as quiet tears fall down.

today is a pretty quiet day. you took a week off from the shop but you're lucky enough that your sister is more than willing to help you. you've been doing nothing but cleaning around the house, watching shows, doing strolls across the neighborhood, visiting parks, and mostly sleeping. it wasn't the most productive way of spending your days off but these are just the things you do with kento when he was still... alive.

it was usually lively when you do it, but now it's quite different. the hums he would usually do to accompany the vinyl he is playing and the quiet rustle whenever he turns a page on his books, all gone. the silence is so loud that you could swear you can hear a hair pin drop. you could only hear the swirls of the fan and your breaths.

it's silent but it's deafening.

you stood up from the couch and decided to spend some time in his study. these months, you had been spending a lot of time there, doing whatever you can to bring some life into it.

kento has always been an organized man, not a speck of dust present or a single item misplaced. but ever since, you always thought that it looked like no one was there to inhabit it anymore. so, with a silent apology, you try rearranging things around, keep his lounge and study chair warm but that's about it.

once you entered his study, you remembered that kento has a lot of books left unread. he has been planning to get around and read it. but now he can't, the thought just broke your heart.

skimming through his shelves that was adorned with many books, one caught your eye. it was slightly misplaced, leaning towards another book with a bookmark sticking out.

kim jiyoung, born 1982, it read.

you remember this book.

October 24, 2018

"dear," kento had called out as you were scrolling through your phone with your head on his lap.

"you should read this book sometime, i think you'll like it," he said, making the book cover more visible so you can read the title.

"kim jiyoung, born 1982?" you read out loud.

"yeah, it's a very powerful book from what i've read so far, i think you'll feel the same way about it,"

you hummed, with the busy schedule around the shop, you're not so sure, "i'll borrow it from you when i finally have the time, besides, you can finish reading it first and tell me your thoughts about it, how's that sound?" you say with a smile on your face.

"sounds like a plan, but i can read it a lot to you right now?"

you like the idea he proposed, his voice is relaxing so you definitely won't mind.

"okay, but i like it better when you read it to me anyway,"

a small smile escaped from kento's lips as a playfully scoffs, "whatever you say."

you hear him clear his throat before reading, "when jiyoung was in fiftth grade..."

for the next few pages, you felt your eyes grow heavier as you heard his soothing voice grow quiet and let yourself drift asleep.

you regret sleeping on his voice that day. if you would've known it was the last time you would hear him read a book to you, you would've listened more attentively, record his voice, and listen some more. you feel your lips quiver as you feel tears threatening to leave your eyes.

you pick up the book and opened the page where the bookmark sits and you realize he's almost halfway through. you remember him saying that he'll get back to reading it after halloween once his schedule opens up.

guess that will never happen.

you sit on the lounge chair on the drawer where his urn and picture frame is placed. through shaky hands, you remove the bookmark and open the book wider.

"kento, i'm sorry if my voice isn't as soothing as yours but i will try and help you finish this, so just listen and relax, alright?" you voice is shaky and cracking, and you hope he won't mind, you he will listen just like you did, you hope he closes his eyes and rest wherever he is.

after releasing a ragged sigh, you read, "jiyoung's mother received information that the new..."

as you read through the pages, your ready becomes more and more sloppy, sometimes having to repeat sentences or words when you feel like you didn't say them properly. some of its pages soaked with your tears, and take deep breathes when the pain is caught up in your throat. you give kento a silent apology for ruining his books.

and you hope it's enough, because that's all you can do.

hope.

from then on, you finish book after book during your free time, slowly going through the unread books across his shelves. as time passes by, you may have gone through a lot of his books but reading them never goes easier. every time, you would flood the pages with tears, your breaths are never steady, and by the end of every reading, you would hug the book and close your eyes, sometimes creasing some of its parts.

and you hope he doesn't mind.

July 03, 2019

this is his first birthday that you would have to celebrate alone. and the thought breaks your heart.

as you set the cake on the table beside his picture frame and light the numbered candles.

you blankly at the flames on the cake. he would've been 28 today.

you take a very deep breath and started to sing.

"happy birthday to you," tears started forming in your eyes, singing the song out of tune and through your shaky breaths, "happy birthday to you,"

"happy birthday, my dearest kento," you take another deep breath.

"happy birthday to you." you sang for the last time before blowing out his candles.

another deep sigh. you kiss the pendant that sits on your chest, "i love you," and then the engagement ring on your ring finger, "so, so, much."

from then on, every time the 3rd of july comes around the corner, it becomes clockwork. you sing, blow the candles, kiss the pendant and the ring, and eat the cake all alone.

it never gets any better, though.

through the years you watch the numbers from the candles grow older.

but you know deep inside he doesn't. the ticking of his clock has stopped.

and so did yours.

October 31, 2019

you dreaded this day to come. on the same year, you managed to come across both of kento's firsts.

his first birthday without him celebrating with you and his first death anniversary.

ever since his funeral, you never had the will in you to actually visit his grave, where his family decided to bury his ashes. you were a coward, you admit.

but losing someone you loved the most is never that easy to get over with.

having to come face to face with your lover's grave is no easy task. you touch the tombstone where his name is engraved.

Nanami Kento

July 03, 1990-October 31, 2018

your soul will always be in our hearts

you sit onto the green grass, put your arms on his tombstone and rested your head over it.

for a while it was silent.

until a rain of tears eventually dropped.

"you're so unfair, kento," you said. your voice hoarse but considerably unnoticed as the pain took over. "you said you'd come home to me, but you didn't," you don't care if there were other people around you, you need to let go of the bottled-up feelings you had for the past year. and so you wail, and wail, and wail, and yell about how much of an asshole he is for leaving you alone. cursing every entity that exists for not protecting your beloved enough. the anger through your voice seeps in but you know deep inside that he's not an asshole. you're just mad and you don't have any way to cope but this.

but your cries have been met with silence, a daily reminder that he's really not here with you. and it breaks you.

"i love you so much, i miss you so much, i'm sorry for being mean. rest well, my beloved, you have done so much." you say and seal it with a kiss before going back home, if you could still call it that.

every year when this dreaded day arrives, you pick yourself up and go to his gravesite. but this time, you spend your time telling him new hobbies you picked up on, adventures you've gone through, and stories that you have already told him before.

when he was still around, he would ask some questions and reply with either a comment or a laugh.

but this time you were only met with silence.

conversations with him never sounded the same.

20XX

years had gone by without him. you didn't know how you did it either. every day is a new pain that you have to face but you suck it up anyway.

tonight is just a typical night, you were tired from managing the shop and just finished reading kento a book. nonetheless, you prepare yourself a meal as you feel your stomach growling.

as you sit down at the dinner table, you notice something incredibly wrong.

this is the first time you have prepared a portion enough for one.

that thought alone terrified you to the core.

every night you miss his voice still. you wish the voice messages that he left you on the phone would suffice but they didn't. through the phone, his voice doesn't sound as soft and as caring compared to what you usually hear when he's around. but it's not like you can do anything about it, can you?

you have gone through every voice message that he sent you, hundreds and hundreds of them, but you never get tired of it. it has been your lullaby for the past years. you convince yourself that this is the same as when you hear his words fresh from his lips, but you know it's not. it will never be the same. you miss the sound of his actual voice. every laughter, every chuckle, every syllable that escapes his mouth, you miss it.

the sound from your device isn't as comforting as it was, and it scares you to think that at some point, you will forget what his actual voice sounds like. you didn't like that thought one bit.

he had flooded your senses. his touch, his smell, his voice, his love, it had invade all of you and has become a part of you and you're afraid that one of those will be forgotten so you desperately try to keep everything alive.

even when he's not.

you're old now. wrinkles have adorned your whole body and you're not as strong as you used to.

but your love towards kento remained the same. it has become stronger, in fact. being old sometimes makes your memories a bit blurry but everything about your lover is something that you could never forget.

you browse through your photos in the album that has been left. you stroke through his pictures like you can still feel the heat through his skin. you miss the feel of his sharp features and the soft gaze of his eyes. you miss the way he would kiss every part of you and show you how much he loves you in every way possible.

everything still feels like it's yesterday. while everybody moved on, you stayed. deep inside you're still living in a time where kento was existing. you know he would've loved your nephews, nieces, and your grandchildren.

after him, you never loved anyone. you could never love anyone other than him. how could you, when he's all that plagued your mind, you keep on trying to keep his legacy alive, not a part of him forgotten, that he will always be remembered.

you've been diagnosed a chronic heart disease, but whenever a pain pangs in your heart, you're sure it's not your illness, but the pain of being left alone by a lover who swore to stay by your side.

you know you don't have much time left, and you have come to terms with it, happy, even. you want to meet your lover once again. you want to see kento right before your very eyes and reach him just like you did in your youth.

so by the summer, you have decided to visit kuantan, malaysia with your family.

it's the place you wanted to avoid the most but you know now for sure you're brave enough to visit it. he would've wanted you to go here, he wanted to go here. even if you're a little late, you're glad to make it just in time.

your eldest granddaughter have been guiding you along the shore. you bask in the fresh air and the sound of the waves from the ocean. every thing is so peaceful, but you wish kento was here to witness it with you.

you inhale the air with a weak smile in your face.

one of your nephews then had helped you tuck in for the night.

it was so peaceful. and for the first time in years, you have finally let out a big and genuine smile.

you feel your eyes getting heavy and you know it's going to be the last. and you've never felt any happier.

October 31, 20XX

you have finally died twice.

you were finally buried next to the love of your life.

in your funeral, your family used the picture you took a long time ago, back when you were 27, mourning and incredibly heartbroken for the lost of your lover.

the kind elderly photographer from the studio you took your photo from was confused as to why you could have been taking one while you're young and looking healthy.

"i don't want to pry sweetheart, but if you're still young and healthy, why are you taking a picture now?" she asked, but you don't mind it one bit.

"when i die i want to look like me and my husband were the same age," you answered with a big smile on your face.

since i too, died that day, you would add but decided against it.

the lady seems taken aback but appreciates the sentiment behind it anyway.

you let out a wide smile so that when both of your pictures are put beside each other, it would look like the one you wore when he was still around.

when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the blue sky and a fresh breeze of air. you felt the grass tickle against your skin and it was pleasant. when you get up, you feel your body get lighter, it's as if you weren't old, that you were back from your youth. you looked on your arms and every wrinkle that you remember being present there was all gone.

you look around you and you see a very pleasant scenery. there were trees around and from far away, the splashes of the ocean can be heard. for some reason, everything feels light, including your heart. some butterflies swarm around you like you were a flower, you reach your hand out, letting some of them sit on the tip of your finger.

you were enjoying the company of the butterflies and taking in the beautiful scene before you.

"darling,"

you hear a very familiar voice, and your eyes immediately widen

this isn't a dream right? this is really happening, right?

you whip your head towards the direction of the voice and there you see it.

your lover, your soul, the love of your life, nanami kento.

he looks so ethereal, so peaceful, especially with the soft smile spread across his face.

you're dumbfounded but you take a step, and then another, and another, until you ran your way across the grassy field and leap into his arms. and it was—

oh.

it was so warm. just like how you remembered. you feel your tears fall from your face and weep as you bury your face on the crook of his neck. you decide to take it all in. you inhale his scent, one you have been longing for years, your hug tightens around him. oh he feels so warm. so, so, warm. it's like time has never gone by.

"i'm so sorry," kento said, apology obvious from his voice, "i'm so sorry i was weak—"

"no!" you say as you immediately face him.

"do not say that darling, don't, i know you have fought long and hard enough," you carefully lift your hand to touch his pretty face. you were shaking but you were careful, like he was something fragile, something you're afraid to break. when you finally place it on his face, he immediately leans towards your touch. "t-this is real, right?" he nods, his smile growing much wider, "we don't have to be apart any longer," kento declared with full confidence.

that sentence alone urged you to chase his lips onto yours, the kiss was full of yearning, it was passionate but never aggressive. all of those years, you share silent longings and the hurt between your lips. kento pulled you deeper into the kiss but he was careful enough to handle you gently. every apology was spilled onto both of your lips as you felt tears stream across his face, and that's how you knew he longed for you as you did for him.

without words, you knew how much kento appreciated you for keeping his memories alive. it was enough for you to know that he listened to every word you let out as you read the books in his study, every word that you sang during his birthdays, and every word that you let out whenever you visited his grave. he knew all of it. he watched you weep in sorrow which broke his heart because he doesn't know how to comfort you, but he greatly loved and cherished every gesture. and so, it is his turn to return all of it back to you.

and he now has forever to give you.

without words, you know what his lips spelled against yours.

i love you.

for once, the love that was once lost, the love that you had to let go free—

finally came back to you.

both of you have finally turned 28.

then, you feel the clock started ticking again until eternal ends.

another note: this is officially the first fic i wrote and i hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i feel like this piece will always be so dear in my heart. rest in peace, my beloved nanami kento, you have fought long and hard.

#nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader

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psychedelic-ink · 6 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt comfort, minors dni

word count: 5k

summary: You, both a member of David's group and one of his former victims, are already contemplating escape when Ellie arrives at the resort. Seeking Ellie, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity to run. But before you can find Ellie, you cross paths with Joel instead.

warnings: age gap, virgin!reader, mentions of past grooming attempt, mentions of cannibalism, past rape attempt, PTSD, blood, canon typical violence, no smut for now, spoilers for s01 e08

a/n: this was previously named let me follow this is also new for me because I've never written virgin!reader before (mostly because i didn't have the best experience with that) but i felt like it was fitting with the story and where i wanna take it in the future.

Revelation 13:3-4 "One of the heads of the beast seemed to have had a fatal wound, but the fatal wound had been healed. The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, 'Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?'"

The wind blows cold. You, a girl who has lost everything, sit on your knees on the ice. Your family has been long gone. Your hope dwindles, hanging only by a simple thread. You don't know how long you've been crying. Your hands, young yet covered in the warmth of blood. The scent of pine reaches your nose, and you sniff involuntarily, just like you did before you lost everything. Before the world ended. You hear the sound of men approaching you, and you wish they would just kill you. Sixteen and already you wish for the sweet mercy of death.

“Now what do we have here?” A man speaks, his tone is humorful. Melodic. Your mind and body already slipping and reaching towards the warmth of it. “You poor young thing. Where’s your family, girl?”

When you finally look up from your hands you see a man on a horse. Typical for this day and age. Near him hovers four others. All of them looking weathered and older than you. Your eyes move back to the one that seems in charge. He has strawberry blond hair and a thin beard of the same color. His eyes narrow slightly. They pop under the cold blue sky and the frozen lake. You don’t know what to say. How to answer this man who is an obvious threat.

He hops off the horse, and you attempt to move away but your legs are frozen in place, your heart beating loudly against your ribcage. He kneels next to you. Observing. You swallow, fear coating your tongue with the taste of bile. His eyes soften when he takes in the sight of you. Bruised and wounded. Your eyes squeeze shut as he reaches out and pushes a loose strand of hair only for the wind to bring it back.

“No need to be afraid, child. We’re a peaceful group and there are more like us if you want to join.”

“J–Join?” your teeth chatter, your lips hurting as you speak. There’s a bit of light filling the cracks of the iron cage of your heart. Hope. You realize it to be. Hope that you found someone to help you. To look after you in this infected world. He must’ve seen it in your expression because his soft smile grows, eyes glimmering with mirth.

“So afraid,” he hums. “But we’ll change that soon enough. You’ve been brought here for a reason. And I think I know what your purpose is in our small clan.”

He swiftly stands, leaving you dumbfounded and still upon the freezing ice. Your mouth gapes, your body buzzing with a newfound need to stay alive.

“What’s your name?” you ask. He throws an old coat over your shoulders. Not his own. But one he had extra on his horse. Probably taken from someone else who was more unfortunate than you.

“David,” he answers gently, as if he’s scared you’ll run away. Before you reach out, he grabs your hand and lifts you. You nearly fall, only prevented thanks to the strong arm that wraps around your waist. He’s warm. Much warmer than you expected. “Lovely to have you with us.”

The men near him don’t seem to share the same sentiment but you smile all the same.

You don’t want to think for a while. Maybe not even for a millennia. If possible.

10 YEARS LATER

Whispers of death surround you. The names of the fallen circling you and squeezing your heart tight. Suffocated. That’s how you feel. Helpless. Trapped. Consumed. Faint murmurs fill the hall room. The cold that seeps through the wood, the same wood that was intended for summer and not winter, worries everyone, including you. But at the same time, you think this is what you all deserve. An icy grave. Freezing to death and surrendering to the cold.

You were never meant to feel warmth. You know that better now.

The chair creaks next to you and when your eyes shift to the side. You see James taking a seat. A sudden rage fills you. An indescribable rage. It disappears as soon as it appears like it always does. He turns to you and gives you a curt nod. You don’t nod back. He might think he’s looking after you but he’s not. All he’s done is turn the other cheek to a faith that is spewed by a liar. A deceiver. A disgusting man that makes your stomach turn—

The aforementioned man finally stands and clears his throat. Loudly. But not loud enough to overpower Hannah’s cries. She sniffles. Rubs her eyes roughly. Her mother wraps an arm around her and starts whispering words of comfort. You have no idea what that comfort would be since it was her father that had died. You remember the day you lost your parents. You felt utterly defeated at the time. Hopeless. Swallowed by darkness. Your eyes rubbed raw and stinging from crying and crying and crying—

David opens the bible and reads. His glasses are perched innocently above his nose. His voice, despite the rasp of time, still carries that melodic lilt. You don’t listen. Refuse to.

“And I saw a new heaven and a new Earth. For the first heaven and the first Earth were passed away. . .”

You close your eyes with a stuttered breath. Your body is thrumming. Your legs shaking and heart pounding. These are the most painful times for you. The times where you have to listen to him and pretend to be moved by God’s will. You hate hearing his voice. The same voice that told you you were his. The same voice that commanded you to strip for him completely when it was only your arm that was wounded.

Your pulse quickens. Your cheeks grow warm.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe.

It happened years ago but it doesn’t matter. No matter the passage of time it still feels like it happened yesterday. His touch on your cheek. The way his blue eyes ate you up as he stalked around you, pretending to be worried while he was just taking in the sight of your body. A soft touch here and a soft touch there. Knuckles following the curve of your spine. Palms feeling the weight of your behind. The memory makes you sick. The way he was marinating you for something unspeakable.

He enjoyed when you flinched. Enjoyed the way you whimpered and curled away. He laughed and did nothing else. He wrapped a bandage around your arm while you remained stark naked. Then he left. Leaving it to James to come to the room, telling you to get dressed while averting his eyes.

You jerk, eyes going wide as a sharp cry echoes within the thin walls.

“. . . And I heard a great voice out of heaven say, ‘Behold… the tabernacle of God is with men. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes—’”

He’s trying hard to ignore it. You can tell by the way his lips twitch ever so slightly, his nostrils flaring with annoyance when another cry is heard.

He stops.

And your heart stops along with it.

You’re still afraid even when his anger isn’t directed at you. Cold beads of sweat make you feel clammy and gross. You want to hide. And even though you blame him, you want to move closer to James, hoping that whatever it is that’s going to happen, he can shield you from it.

David turns his gaze towards Hannah and Joyce, Hannah’s mother, and lets out a sigh as if it pains him to see someone so distraught.

“I’ve read this passage too many times,” He walks towards Hannah, his brows slightly furrowed and eyes full of rue. He places the book on the table and removes his glasses, placing it above it. You’re surprised when he kneels but your stomach twists as he places a hand above Hannah’s knee. She’s unaware, her bottom lip trembling. “Do you remember what comes next?”

She shakes her head.

“‘And God will wipe away all tears from their eyes… ‘that there will be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither will there be any more pain… for the former things are passed away.’”

Your eyes move to the crowd. Everyone holding on to one another, eyes red and wet. Hannah takes a sharp inhale, your gaze promptly landing back to the scene.

“Do you know what that means?” She nods and when she does, David grips her shoulder. “Good.”

He exchanges a glance with the mother and stands up, a groan dropping from his lips as he does so. You feel a momentary satisfaction at his discomfort.

“When can we bury him?”

The question surprises everyone, including David who doesn’t show it. The only oddity is him looking at James, a gaze so quick and short that if you hadn’t been sitting next to James you would’ve missed it. “The ground is too cold to dig. We’ll bury your father in the spring.”

Hannah seems content with the answer for now. The sermon is over when David opens the doors. His eyes linger on you as you get up, slow and groggy. Despite her recent loss, you find Hannah to be lucky. At least she had someone to protect her for a good while, her body free of being viewed as an object that belonged to someone else.

You don’t look at either James or David as you leave. Not that it mattered. They were too busy talking amongst each other.

You wipe the snow that catches over your eyelashes with the back of a gloved hand. Everyone had a job to do and yours today was to chop wood in the freezing weather. You hate the feeling of shivering and sweating at the same time. It’s a disgusting feeling. But you were the youngest of the group—and had fallen out of favor with David, which meant that he didn’t try to get into your good graces by giving you the stay-by-the-fire duties. Not that you missed it. You’d rather freeze to death than give any part of yourself to him.

Your feet drag over the snow. Your biceps ache with the added weight of the firewood within your arms. Breathing from your mouth, your eyes are drawn to one of the sheds. That place always gives you the creeps. It’s always locked. The windows dusty and blocked by cabinets from the inside so no one could see. You never thought of asking what the hell was in there, no one else did either. Everyone just wanted to survive. A herd of sheep following the blood-stained mouth of their leader. Not that they knew he had a blood-stained mouth. That information was only reserved for his victims and James.

A log slips from the top and you loudly groan towards the sky. You need to leave this hell hole. You don’t know when. But you have to.

Just as you lean down you sense someone coming towards you at full speed. Jumping, you move back only to see James huffing and puffing with a small package in his hand. You raise a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to be hunting?” you ask, picking up the log. “What the hell are you doing here running like a maniac? ‘Scared the shit out of me.”

“David is at gunpoint.” Good. “And the crazy girl demanded some medicine. Hopefully, I can sneak up on her.”

You scoff, “A girl? Since when does David follow any kind of demand?”

“It’s complicated.” He looks uncomfortable, you must’ve struck a nerve with that. “She’s with the man that killed Alec.”

“You’re taking medicine to her? Actual medicine.”

“David said. . .”

You raise a hand and shoo him away, “Just go. I don’t care.”

Watching him leave, your brows knit tightly together. This had to be a joke, they found the girl and by proxy, the man who killed Alec and. . . David is helping the girl? You don’t necessarily care for revenge— but the fact that he’s actively wanting to show just how kind he is to this girl is suspicion-worthy. He likes what he sees and pulls a curtain over his true colors to obtain it. You know word of this will come out soon. You’re positive that James told at least one person when he went in to get the medicine. It would spread like wildfire.

And most of the people here, starving and cold with no warmth left in their chests are hungry for the heat of revenge.

Just like you had predicted rumors were spiraling.

You’re sitting someplace unnoticeable and near the windows. Snow hits the glass like heavy rain. The clear panels freezing over, you visibly shudder. Your decades-old jacket isn’t enough anymore to keep you warm.

Your head turns with another whisper coming nearby. Something about a girl being with the man who killed Alec. Your eyes shift to Hannah and her mother sitting in the middle, the young girl seemed furious, her eyes hardened but still carried a juvenile chubbiness in her cheeks. The look doesn’t suit her. It looks like a drop of blood on top of snow. No one is touching their food. Steaming bowls of meat sitting on top of weathered tables. You’re not hungry so you push it away. You’re hoping with every fiber in your body that they haven’t found the girl. You wouldn't wish David on even your worst enemy.

The doors open with a loud, bone-chilling creak. You jump at the sound. Soft flakes of snow hurry inside, melting as soon as the light touches them. James holds the door open for David and the latter, with great effort, drags a large stag inside. The entire room stops breathing, their eyes glued to the scene, their minds full of questions.

The door closes. Suddenly you feel trapped and suffocated.

“Big one,” David says, looking towards the tables with a crooked smile. Not even one person is talking now. Just deafening silence. James moves away quickly, his eyes find yours, and takes a seat next to you. You’re not sure why he hovers around you. Maybe in some sick way, he thinks you’re friends?

David sighs loudly, bringing your attention back to him. “If you’ve heard a rumor… yes, we found a girl who was with the man who took Alec from us. When the sun rises, I’ll lead a group out to pick up her trail. Won’t be hard to find in the snow. We’ll follow it to wherever they’re hiding… and we’ll bring that man to justice.”

“You should kill him. You should kill both of them.”

David’s head snaps towards the vengeful voice. Your blood freezes, a tingle settling at the base of your neck, your skin grows taut over your muscles. You’re afraid. And your fear only grows when David stalks towards the girl, a faint smile on his lips, he removes his gloves. One by one. His movements slow, unrushed. He stands in front of Hannah, briefly stares down at her—

You flinch at the sound. The loudest smack and thud you’ve ever heard. Your eyes widen, heart beating in your throat as your eyes remain glued to Hannah who’s scrambling on the floor. David seems unbothered by it. Like he hadn’t just backhanded a young girl. The mom stands, murmurs getting louder, without thinking you attempt to get up too, thinking of all the ways you can kill the man.

But James—fucking James—he stops you with a hand on your knee. You give him a disgusted look and he quickly pulls his hand away. But the damage was done. You settle back, the chair groaning underneath you.

You watch as David halts the mother with a single hand, gently gesturing her to sit back down. She does—she does and it drives you insane. It’s surreal almost. There’s a loud hum in your ears as David kneels next to Hannah, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Scared, she takes David’s offered hand. You feel sick. Your stomach churns, bile rising to your throat. He helps her up and sits her down. He’s still on his knees, his eyes soft.

Disgusting.

“I know you think you don’t have a father anymore. But the truth is, Hannah, you will always have a father. And you will show him respect when he’s speaking.”

Tension rises with his words. You can tell from the brief glances that happen behind David’s back. However, it’s not enough. No one does anything. They just sit and wait as Hannah’s mother brings David a bowl of food. They begin to eat, the rest follows.

Spoons clink. Wind blows. Birds caw.

You look down at the meat, clutching the fork in your hand. You can’t. Something disturbs you. James also lingers before he takes the first bite. Something in his eyes makes you rather starve than taste.

You look back at Hannah. Her bottom lip is trembling, her cheek red.

She eats.

“Where is she?”

David’s eyes glimmer with amusement, his teeth showing as he smiles. You’re out in the open. Snow falling all around you. Your chest squeezes. You can barely breathe, yet your chest continues to rise and fall.

“Is my little lamb jealous?” Heat simmers under your skin. How fucking dare he? “Head back. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Like hell, it doesn’t,” you snap. His eyes narrow and for a brief moment, your mind flashes images of him tying you to the bed whenever you swore. A nasty shiver crawls up your spine. “Let her go.”

“And why would I do that?” he shakes his head. “Do you want to know why I never touched you again? I got bored. I knew I could have you whenever and wherever I wanted. The fire in your eyes died. You had no fight left in you.” he chuckles. You’re trembling now, your legs feeling weak underneath you. “And I enjoyed seeing the fear in your eyes whenever I entered the room. . . wondering. . . thinking about when I would finally make you my own.”

You don’t know what to say. The snowfall picks up in pace. Hurling, dancing around you both. A sign of a storm. The cold kisses your cheeks. David grins and extends his arms towards the sky, you take a step back.

“I finally found myself a pet that’s fun to play with. Someone that won’t be so easily broken.”

Broken. Broken. Broken.

That’s what you are, isn’t it? Broken. Alone. Unwanted.

You have to get to the girl and get the hell out of here.

You lift your chin, “You’re sick.”

Bad move. His nostrils flare with anger as he grips your chin and forcefully brings you closer to his face. As someone who went on and on about you being too submissive for his liking, he sure as hell seems to hate that you’re defying him.

“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” he spits, squeezing your jaw until your lips part with a whimper. “I'm the one who saved you and spared you. I’m a good man but never forget that you belong to me.” Without hesitation, he cups you between your legs. You stiffen at the touch, fear chills your skin, feeling little pins needling into your muscles. “You’re mine to break and when I do, you'll love it. And you'll finally be a woman.”

He doesn’t linger. Leaving you, he disappears between the cabins. You collapse to the snow, shaking, trembling and tears flooding your eyes. You fist at the snow, your fingers becoming numb as it melts between your fingers. You were a fool to think that you were safe. You genuinely thought that after so long he’d let you do your own thing within the community. But no. He still had his eyes on the “prize”.

You want to run into the forest but you can’t. Your eyes fall to the ground where his footsteps are perfectly visible. Now you know where the girl is.

The door that is always locked is open.

Your brows knit together as you observe the old wood swaying back and forth due to the wind. Your skin is icy cold. Coming closer you see that the lock had been broken, shattered. You see a spray of blood on the snow and that entices you to take a step forward into the dark cabin. You know you shouldn’t be taking any detours. Your backpack is secured tightly against your back filled with essentials and some sentimental items you gathered during the years. You should go. But you’re curious. You have to know what’s been in this shed for all these years.

You sigh. Curiosity killed the cat.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you murmur.

You pull out your gun, your finger on the trigger as you explore. It seems pretty standard. Some items, lots of dust—

Two large hands shove you roughly against the wall. You choke, all the air leaving your lungs as your gun is knocked out of your hand. Momentarily you’re pulled away and slammed back against the wall again, this time the back of your head thudding against the wood. You groan in pain. Your body screaming at you to run and hide.

“Where is she?” you hear a man hiss through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck is she?”

You’re slammed once more, tears prick the corner of your eyes and you barely manage to raise your hands.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, panting heavily, you see a disheveled man. At first glance, he doesn’t make you feel that you’re in danger—which is an ironic feeling considering the throbbing at the back of your head is his doing. Lines run across his face, his eyes full of worry and anger. You immediately know who he is. There was only one girl after all.

“You’re—” you swallow. “You’re him.”

His hand tightens around your throat and a gun is hastily pressed against your forehead, “Tell me where she is or I’m shootin’ you.”

“I’m actually trying to find her myself,” you answer, which by the looks of it was the wrong this to say. “I—I wanted to help her. Free her. David. . . the man that took her—he’s a monster.”

His eyes narrow, “You from this community?”

“He took me in when I was sixteen,” you explain. “I had no choice but to join.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because I know exactly where she is,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “And I know that you’re hurt. I can help.”

“Then what?”

You shake your head, not understanding. He clarifies. “You help me and then what? What’s the catch?”

Your eyes blur with tears. You’re just so fucking tired.

“I just want to leave.”

Something about the way you whisper must’ve wake something in him because he lets you go. He lights the flashlight. “I ain’t in the business of takin’ in strays.”

What? “What?”

“Just leave. I don’t need your help.”

“You—You don’t understand!” Just as he turns you jump towards him, fisting the back of his jacket, the fabric isn’t soft enough for you to get a good grip on him so you grab his shoulder instead. “He’s a monster! Everyone fucking underestimates him—he’ll—he’ll—!”

He stills. Rushed steps coming to a halt. You think he’s going to shove you off, push you away but he’s glued. With the fear of silence, you pull back and step to the side. He’s still not acknowledging you. His hard gaze glued to where the flashlight is illuminating. You follow the light speckled with dust. Horror curling in your stomach like a hook.

There are three of them. Three bodies hanging like animals being prepared to cut into pieces.

“Oh god—”

You bring your hands to your head, your heart ramming into your chest, you shake your head. “No, no, no, no—” You take a step back. The man rips his gaze away from the bodies, away from what it implies. You take another step back and another. You’re shaking, your eyes glued to the floor. He—David—he fed you people.

Fucking people. People that you knew.

Finally, the scent hits you. The smell of flesh and blood.

You scream.

The man is on you in an instant, you tumble to the ground and he goes down with you willingly. “Shit—no no no. Shut the hell up— shut the hell up.”

The knot that forms in your throat is large and uncomfortable. You bawl your eyes out, hiccuping against his chest. He takes you into his arms and you can’t be bothered to think of the why of his actions. His biceps tighten around you. You’re still shouting, still thrashing around, crying—he presses you further into his chest, muffling your sounds. You vaguely hear him shushing you, telling you it’s gonna be alright. Lies. He’s telling you lies.

You start to quiet down and only then do you begin to make sense of his words. He’s murmuring bits of his life. Of what he’s seen. You finally learn the name of the girl: Ellie. The thick baritone of his voice is like a melody. It soothes you. Maybe not fully. But it helps calm your raging heart. You breathe. He smells like wood and snow.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, pulling away. “Please let me help you.”

“Yeah—Yeah, you can help.” He guides you to your feet in a way that your back is turned to the bodies. Just the thought of what's behind you makes your lungs cave in.

“What’s your name?” you ask, desperate for any kind of distraction.

“Joel.”

“Alright, Joel,” you head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

She escaped.

You can’t help but be impressed at the sight of an empty cell. But the pride for a girl you haven’t officially met dies in your throat when you see who’s against the wall, covered in blood.

“You knew him?” Joel asks, his tone lacking any kind of grief. A question asked more so as a courtesy than actual worry.

You stare at him. His blue eyes now lifeless, lips parted. It almost looks like he’s sitting, just taking a rest on the cold floor. It would be easy to make you believe that if it wasn’t for the cleaver sticking out of his neck.

“No,” you answer dryly. Yet, you still walk to the dead man and gently close his eyes. You warned him this would happen. Joel doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t have to. “We need to find her before David gets to her.”

Joel immediately rushes out, you following him close by. You feel utterly useless. You have no idea where Ellie might’ve run off to. It doesn’t help that some part of your brain is still occupied with James. You hated him in a way but still, he was there. You’ve known him nearly your entire life. It felt off to be the one to close his eyes.

The storm had stopped. The sun reflecting from the snow irritating your eyes. Joel seems to be getting irritated with every step. Desperate.

He’s the one that sees her first.

Ellie staggers out the large building currently being engulfed in flames. Her walk is uncoordinated, her steps uneven as she breathes in the icy air. Before you can warn Joel not to startle her, he’s already running, grabbing her by the shoulders. Your heart shatters into a million tiny pieces when you hear her screams and shouts.

“It’s me,” Joel says, cradling her face with both hands. She hits his chest with sideway fists, he holds her more firmly. “It’s me.”

You see it in her face, the exact moment she realizes. You see blood splattered across her face, her expression hurts you. It’s the same expression you’ve seen on yourself for years.

“Hey… look. It’s me… It’s me. It’s okay.”

She mumbles, “He—” Before Ellie can complete the sentence she wraps her thin arms around Joel, the man hugs her tight. Your heart shatters then. The damns you were so adamant on keeping locked being teared down by people you barely know.

You cry. Salty tears just bursting out of your eyes. There’s no slow build, no single tear and then the rest. It just all comes down flooding. Your shoulders sag, your fingertips numb.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby girl. I got you.”

You sniff and look up to the sky. Fuck. It’s so hard to stop when it begins. You see grey smoke rising into the crisp air. He’s dead. You don’t need to see the body to know that he is.

Your eyes drop to the two survivors embracing infront of you. That girl saved your life while you were trying to save hers. You were too late. Both of you were. She looked the beast in the eye and slayed it. Freeing you.

They part and Joel quickly wraps his jacket around her tiny trembling shoulders. You’re empty. What now? That was his question. You don’t know. Do you go back? Do you explain to the people who David manipulated just how horrendous he really was? Would they believe you?

Your eyes are drawn to a flicker of movement. Joel is looking straight at you. Ellie still unaware of your presence and you can’t blame her.

You’re lost.

But then his eyes soften with something akin to understanding and he gestures you to follow.

Like a lamb to a stream, you do.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

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millie-multifics · 4 months

Text

Proverbial Dark Clouds

Major John Egan x Reader

A woman finally snuck her way into the heart of eligible bachelor Major John Egan, he is all too soon reminded of why he fended off love for so long.

Warnings: Contains themes of war; injuries and death. Brief mentions of period accurate clothing. Angst. Episode 3 spoilers.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Thank you all for the support and feedback xoxo

Masterlist Part 2 Part 3

x x x

“Bluebirds, singing a song,

Nothing but bluebirds, all day long.”

Buck hid his laughter behind his hand, more amused with his friends antics more than he was willing to let on. His attention was drawn to you as you offered him a ginger beer, taking the vacated seat to his left.

“I thought I could hear his… otherworldly singing from the bar.”

“You know John, any opportunity to sing and he’ll take it.” The Major kept his eyes on the band but leaned a little closer to you, “He’s up there right now just for you, he was concerned there might be a proverbial dark cloud hanging over your head.”

You took a long sip of your beer, thinking over what Gale was telling you. The last thing you wanted was John to be worrying about you, he had enough men under his command day to day that he had to worry about.

“It was just a tough day in the infirmary is all. Lots of men coming in with preventable frost bite or shrapnel wounds that escalated because they weren’t properly cared for right away.” You explained, sending your singing admirer a smile as you caught his eyes from across the room.

“Blue days, all of them gone.

Nothing but blue skies from now on!”

You whistled in appreciation as John concluded the song, stumbling over to you as elation filled his body. He was glad to see you enjoying his performance, singing louder and even a little more off key just to keep the smile on your red painted lips for a moment longer.

“I think you truly outdid yourself this time, Major.” You teased, standing to your full height as he approached with a little extra pep in his step.

“The only thing missing was my beautiful dance partner.” He winked, gently grabbing hold of your hands to twirl you onto the floor. He gently squeezed your hand before resting his other on your lower back, leading you in a gentle sway to the band. You danced until the fatigue you had been pushing through took over, lowering your head to rest against his chest.

“Do you think Curtis is okay?” Your fingers fiddled with the hair along the nape of your lovers neck. You hadn’t known the men long but you could call many of them your friends so the unknown whereabouts of his crew had you on edge. They had lost 30 men already on that mission, it would be a tragedy to add 10 more names onto the list.

John rubbed soothing circle into your back, “Curt is a big boy, I bet he is terrorizing some poor Scottish town as we speak.”

You nodded in agreement, a yawn escaping you before you could suppress it.

“Time to turn in, sweetheart?” John asked, softly, afraid to break the bubble you found yourselves in. You nodded gently, your eyes fluttering shut as a warm finger brushed along your cheek. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

John briefly stopped at the table Buck was seated at with a few other officers to explain his absence in case anyone went looking for him.

“Any word on Curt?”

Gale shook his head, having heard nothing new about their friend who was forced to land in Scotland after his plane was too damaged to make it back to their base.

“Goodnight, Gale.” You sent the man an appreciative smile for giving you insight on John during your earlier conversation.

You walked with your arm wrapped around John’s all the way back to the nurse’s billet, the sounds of gravel crunching under his heavy boots and chatter of passerby’s filling the comfortable silence. Despite your tiredness, neither of you wanted to part when you reached the cabin, staying wrapped in his arms until your body felt too heavy for your feet. He dismissed your apologies of ending the night earlier than planned with assurance that Buck was awaiting his arrival back at the hall for another beer. You shared a tender kiss, using the soft pad of your thumb to wipe away the smudge of red lipstick you left on his mouth.

“Goodnight, Major. Sweet Dreams.

“My dreams are always sweet when they are filled with you, sweetheart.”

Your very own dreams of the charming Major were interrupted by an air raid siren and panicked nurses, rushing to get out of bed and find shelter in the dark of the night.

John paused his movements when he spotted a different figure amongst his men walking through the fog, lamb coat and life vest adorned, he could recognize your beauty even if you were covered head to toe in thick mud.

“There is no way in hell I will be letting you on a plane today, sweetheart.” His hands rested on his hips as he stared down at you.

“Your company C.O will have words of disagreement with that, Major Egan.”

Major Egan.

You had never really called him that before except when teasing, it was just how you were with each other and hearing it now being paired with the most serious tone you could muster irked him. Clevens and Biddick had spotted the standoff as their crews finished their last minute preparations, both slowly approaching the pair to assess the situation on their hands.

“I am your in air medical aid for this mission, and I will be getting on a plane today, whether you approve it or not.”

This really was not the direction Gale seen his suggestion heading in, he had suggested that maybe the men needed a little more medical training, a refresher in case something were to happen in the air to release the infirmary of a little pressure- he hadn’t expected them to put a nurse in the air with them. The nurse would be in one of the planes, available to anyone with questions via the radio, it seemed impractical as their channels were needed for communication but his apprehension fell on deaf ears. They would do a trial run, if it failed then it failed and that would be that, but if it had the desired results then it would be instrumental.

They had asked for a volunteer, you had raised your hand before the words had finished falling from the C.O’s mouth.

“Fine, I don’t want to be the reason this mission gets delayed. You’re with me, let’s go.”

You shook your head, “I’ll go with Lieutenant

Biddick.”

“Absolutely not-“

Curtis grinned despite also disagreeing with the decision of a nurse being on board, but they wouldn’t be able to fight it right now. “I’m honoured.”

John sent his friend a harsh glare, expecting him to have taken his side rather then encourage her ludicrous behaviour.

“I get it,” Curt teased, “You’re in love with her and won’t be able to think straight without her on your plane.”

You couldn’t miss the way John tensed at Curt’s words. Love, he had never really been in love before but he was pretty sure that is what he was feeling for you, not that he had ever expressed it to you out loud before.

“Curt, it’s not that you’re a bad pilot,” Gale spoke up as the tension hung heavy in the air, “You just don’t have the best of luck in the air.”

“Exactly why I will be in that plane.”

“Alright everyone, let’s go.”

John ignored the hollers of the men as he pulled your body flush against his, his hand snaking firmly to the back of your head to bring your lips together into the most passion filled kiss you had ever experienced.

“Stay safe,” He muttered when he finally released you from his grip, his eyes showing much more emotion than he was willing to say. “And keep your damn helmet on.”

“I love you, too.”

It had been decided that the best place for you to be was at the front of the plane, alternating between standing and crouching behind the pilots seats. The air was peaceful through the clouds above the farm fields of England, but of course things would not stay that way. You followed John’s order of keeping on your helmet, knowing a head wound would most likely be fatal and defeat your purpose of being on the plane in the first place.

You did your best to remain composed as the real fight had started. Enemy planes doing their best to pick off your crew one by one. Your medical assistance not yet needed as every plane hit burst into a fiery ball, you could only watch and hope the men had time to jump beforehand.

You fell into the cold, metal wall of the plane as it was hit with enemy fire, getting to your feet just in time to spot the oncoming plane between the seats. Glass shards and bullets exploded into the cabin as you dropped to its floor, your arms instinctively moving to hold your helmet on and shield your face.

“No! Dickie! Dickie! No!”

You were back on your feet as soon as the bullets stopped, squeezing past Curt to get a better look at the injuries on his co-pilot. There was blood spatter along Dickie’s face and neck, and he was either dead or knocked out but the angle he was laying made it hard to check.

“Any injuries, Curtis?”

“I’m in one piece!” He yelled back over the roar of the plane engine, yanking Dickie’s slumped body off the control panel as he struggled to keep the plane up. “Fuck! She’s not gonna make it, we gotta get out. Pilot to crew: Bail out! Bail Out!”

You were crouched in front of Dickie, your eyes closed to keep focused as you waited to feel a pulse beat under your fingertips. “He’s alive!”

Another jolt under your fingertips told you that he was also now awake. His head swayed from side to side, disoriented from his injuries.

Curt contemplated his very limited options, glancing over at his injured comrade. “Dickie, stay with me. I’m gonna get you down safely, you hear me?”

“You can land this thing?”

“Yes, I can. If we drop him, he’ll die!”

“You have a death wish, Lieutenant?” You questioned, reaching into the pocket you had stuffed with clean bandages before the flight. Dickie would die either way if he continued to bleed out.

“You gotta bail too!” He insisted, “Bucky was right, you should have gone with him!”

Bucky. Your very own handsome Major John Egan. You were sure when you had climbed into this plane that he was the one true love of your life. You silently sent a prayer to any God that would hear you; please allow him to grace you with his presence again, to feel the strength of his arms and the warmth of his heart.

But what is young love without tragedy?

“I’m not leaving you and Dickie, Curt!”

“I’m getting us down Dick, I have control. Right over there ya see it? That long field, huh.”

You braced yourself behind Curt’s seat, head covered and body tucked tight as the plane skimmed the top of the trees.

“Come on Curt, fly like an angel, huh?”

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