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simp-ly-writes · 6 months ago

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Say You'll Love Me

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.6)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: From the Arcane fucking with his mind, people he thought to trust turning their backs on him and Piltover looking up to him for salvation... the only thing Jayce wants? you.

─ · · THE FOLLOWING CONTENT IS BETWEEN CONSENTING ADLUTS AND IS NOT MEANT FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. skip the smut once seeing the star! ⭐️ tags under cut

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective!Jayce (low-key possessive in some parts), kissing, depictions of blood, gore, war and death. brief mentions of suicidal thoughts and torture. fluff, hurt/comfort, angst. smut: pinv sex, oral (fem receiving), dom!Jayce, chocking, marking/biting, size kink?, dirty talk, overstim, aftercare.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,585

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: This is my first time EVER writing long-form smut... please be kind I was so embarrassed while writing this lol (hoping its not too shit) 🙈

─────── · ·

─ · · drip... drip... drip... water slowly fell from a corner of the ceiling in your cold cell, you hugged your knees to your chest, chair wobbling as you shivered. The lights were too bright to sleep and with what little food they expected you to work off of, you were scrambling for answers.

─ · · Everyday you tried to explain to the guards that you were only the assistant, could only work with your scientists. The last time you had conducted personal research was when apply to the academy yet nobody believed you, a slap to the face as they told you to work harder. Your hands shook around the barrel of a gun as you twisted on the scope- you looked at the blueprints one last time and then fired it at the wall.

The guards did not budge just listening to the bang echo, blankly watching as you fell backwards form the impact. The burst of magic coming out unstable and crumbling bits of the stone wall... fuck! you muttered underneath your breath. Using the end of the gun like a cane to help pick yourself up before stumbling back to the drawing board.

Hextech was not going to work, there was no metal strong enough to correct the blast... but what if it was not meant to hold... what if it exploded? You shook your head, disturb that you had even thought about it yet a hand shook the bars to your cell, your head whipping over, eyes wide as Ambessa looked down upon you. "Whatever it is that came though your mind, make it and you will be allowed out for a moment. Is that a deal?"

You looked down at your hands, holding them together as you nodded, waiting for her to leave before turning back around. You listened as the elevator doors closed but a new voice stopped your movements. "Please, just follow her words. It'll make everything easier," you gasped seeing the officer you shared a night with emerge from the shadows. His eyes sunken, scar across his cheek.

You winced, his name leaving your mouth as he nodded, "still as beautiful as that night," he said to you and you pulled your sleeves further down your arms. "I mean it," he adds, hands resting on the bars of your cell. "release me," you asked gently, hope bleeding in your wide eyes. He stared at you, mouth opening and closing before shaking his head.

You turned back around, going back to your desk yet he continued to speak even as another guard warned him, "I can't, not unless they find another person with the knowledge you have. They need these weapons for the oncoming war..."

"They don't need weapons," you scoff, pencil snapping in two, "just like we don't need war... people just want the quickest results." No one speaks another word as you disassemble the shotgun, breaking it down into smaller parts as the darkest parts of your mind comes to the surface... I refuse to be the one that places this land in destruction... I refuse.

─────── · ·

─ · · With the rune taking its place within his forearm his tattoo on the other, he was the polar opposites of what Hextech could do... of what it had done to the people he was closest to and loved the most.

─ · · Acting on what was beyond his mortal brain and body, Jayce was felt as if he was falling from the sky, his brain a blur of the horrors he had just seen mixing with reality just as he slammed down on Salo's figure. He staggered and stumbled afterwards, the voices still unpleased, demanding he go to Viktor's sanctuary where Jayce did not even recognizing the familiar faces he saw, he was determined to eliminate Viktor. To shoot him down, to watch as his body hit the floor, to see if he still bled.

─ · · The world went silent as soon as the shot happened as if a sound barrier went through the houses and homes before a thousand cries sounded and all of Viktor's followers fell to the floor, unmoving. Jayce fell forwards, his strength gone, vision clearing as he stared with wide eyes observing Jayce. His mind was still buzzing a voice demanding for him to continue brutalizing the corpse yet he held his arcane hammer. Forcing his muscles to freeze. Viktor still was his partner, a cold bucket of water feels like it spills over his skin, clarity in his mind that immediately goes to you.

─────── · ·

─ · · Piltover is cheering as he emerges from the sewers, he cannot find it in himself to smile or react, simply watching as the crowd parts. The cheers dying into gasps as they observe the scars across his chest, the torn white uniform and his unruly appearance. His hammer groans behind him, the arcane still unsettled as it picks and pries at his memories, trying to regain control yet without seeing you, there was no hope in hell he was allowing any force to come between him and you.

─ · · Jayce only stops once seeing that little girl again hiding behind her fathers legs, she appears so much older now as Jayce presses a hand to his forehead, pulling back his hair- eyes gone wide. Had he been gone that long? Had you already given up on him? Jayce would forgive you, it wouldn't be fair if you hadn't waited for him yet a large part of him prayed so... he wanted nothing more to kiss you, to feel his skin against your skin, to hear you call out his name. Jayce's boots picked up their pace as he was a one-track mind, determined to get to the lab where he last left you.

─ · · His hands gripped his hammer, his eyes hardened as he bursted into the lab, his eyes searching, weapon swinging as his heart dropped... you were not here. Jayce's hammer fell with a thud, cracking the floors as he yelled your name, spinning in circles as he looked towards the ceiling and all the dark corners of the room. Jayce chuckled, shaking his head as he saw blood all over your leftover journals. Your always organized tools sprayed out across Viktor's desk you both promised not to touch, a chair flipped over and then... he looked under his desk and felt sick.

He could see where your nails had dug into the wood, scratching, he could hear you begging and pleading as his fingers brushed over the marks. With a broken sob, Jayce fell to his knees, forcing a fist into his mouth as he choked but no tears fell. His shoulder began to shake, his muscles tensing as he yelled out in frustration, throwing everything off the desk watching it shatter against the floor, "Fuck!"

Jayce took a series of deep breaths before storming to his hammer, allowing it to drag against the floors as sparks followed his footsteps. He felt his side start to bleed again, he would treat himself, he was not that far removed in his anger to endanger you further... no he would prepare and then he would allow himself to enjoy the blood across his face and the weight of you on his chest.

─────── · ·

─ · · "Kiramman!" Jayce shouted, storming into Caitlyn's house. The blue haired woman did not turn, her long blue coat rested upon her shoulders as her gaze while looking at Jinx's face on the board, she had to continue playing her role up until the final moment. "That is general to you," she said turning around before seeing a familiar blue glow and Jayce's hammer charged- the words dying on her lips as she held her palms up calmly, "Jayce," she warned watching as the mans eyes hardened. His face appeared more aged, his clothes form fitting in a deep green button up and black trousers.

A soft glow coming from his forearm had her raising a brow as Jayce chest heaved, "where's my girl, Kiramman?" he spoke coldly, fixing his grip, the leather of his gloves groaning as Caitlyn took a few steps forward. "I have been searching for her as well, Jayce. I have a feeling it has something to do with Mel's mother."

Jayce remembers her stare as you sat in the medical tent together... those events seemed so distant now. Jayce cracks his neck, his arms tensing as Caitlyn slightly flitches, trying to hold her ground. Jayce stares her down, daring her to lie but Cait only spoke the truth. The man nods, powering down his stance before leaning against his hammer, "How far has the search gone? How do you know she's with Ambessa? How can I know to trust you?"

Caitlyn sighs, removing her hat, arms crossing over her chest, shotgun leaning against her desk as she stares at the gemstone within it, rattling around in its cage. Jayce follows her stare, his eyes widening, the voices in his head threatening to rise to the surface. He shakes his head, physically trying to remove them with a growl.

"I am her friend as I am your's Jayce. Had I had known this is what Ambessa was planning... I would have never sided with her. The gemstone has been unstable since (name) has been taken, I assume it has something to do with her playing around with magic to appease the tyrant," Caitlyn explains, picking at her nails before looking up at Jayce, "Now how do I know to trust you with the rest of the information? Are you sure she'll want to see you more animal than man?"

Jayce glares, "I am still a man, perhaps more than I had been in the past-"

"That was not my question, Jayce," the General cuts the Councillor off, "I was asking, are you ready if she does not want you back?"

─────── · ·

─ · · You could hear shouting again and rolled your eyes, assuming the red guard to be training once again yet a part of you swore to hear Jayce's voice roaring, the sound of his mechanical hammer wizzing with magic- you stood up from your chair as did your assigned guards. Maybe it was just imaginative hope...

You could hear their weapons click on as you picked up the last gemstone you hadn't used and hid in a corner of the cell. Whoever was coming was leaving a trail of destruction that you did not want to see nor be a part of.

You listened to the trail of blood and guts becoming closer, bodies thudding to the floor as you closed your eyes, hugging yourself, making yourself smaller as you pleaded for it all to be over. In all honesty, you realized just how safe this cage allowed you to be. It saved you from Ambessa's lashings, saved you from the eyes of the guards when you hid in the shadows... and then you could hear your assigned officer stuttering, metal shattering with a slam, your door being swung open.

You listened, squeezing your eyes shut as laboured breaths echoed in the cold air, heard as their boots walked up to your desk, moving papers gently before picking up your unfinished models, a thoughtful hum sounding before they turned around abruptly. Another slam was heard, blue dimming as you held your breath.

The metal chair you spent so much time on groaned as it was pulled out and away from the table before... nothing, they must have sat down... why? You opened your eyes slowly, trying to squint through the darkness, your breaths shallow- "I can see your boots, sweetheart, come, now," You hear a deep strained voice commands as you feel their stare on your face.

You push your hands against the stone walls, helping yourself to stand as you take a half step into the light, just enough to see whoever is at the other side... Jayce? Jayce! Your eyes see your lover before you as he sits utterly exhausted yet eyes wild; sweat dripping down his forehead, his lips parted as he inhales deeply, tipping his head back. Broad shoulders rising and falling with his shirt as he stares at you, legs spread lazily- one encased in metal.

You blink once... twice... thrice. Your throat dry as you try and comprehend how he is here... you start to look away, eyes catching drops of blood across the concrete floors, you start to follow the trail before Jayce calls for you again, "don't look over there. Come here, please," he adds a bit more softly this time, his palm facing upwards on his thigh, fingers wiggling in leather to entice you.

You take a few steps closer, still unsure if this was your Jayce as you stand just barley within reach. You watch as his hazel eyes drink in your appearance and form, starting from your shoes, up to your waist, chest, and then settles of your features. His eyes caress your face in a loving stare, you can feel the warmth in his gaze hidden underneath his cold exterior, your cheeks warm as you grab your arm.

"Jayce?" you ask timidly, you watch as his eyes darken as you say his name before closing, a small smile appearing as his head hangs low -swaying. "Jayce?" you ask again, a bit of panic in your tone as you rush to stand in front of him. You gasp once feeling him grip the back of your thighs, squeezing gently. He opens his eyes, looking up through his long lashes at you with nothing short of adoration, "I've missed hearing my name between your lips."

Your mouth gapes as your mind goes blank, eyes staring widely into his own- listening to him chuckle as his hands slide up over your butt to your lower back before pushing gently for you to take a seat on his lap. Your hands start to shake, brain exploding by the hundred senses you experience as his thumb draws circles upon your hip, his chin resting on your shoulder, beard scratching at your skin as you squirm by the heat of his breath. He grips your hips, taking a sharp intake of air, he bites his lip, concealing his moan, "Can I kiss you?"

You place your hands on his chest, a palm feeling his heart beating rapidly just like yours before you feel around to his back and grip his shoulders pulling him in for a hug. You close your eyes, sobbing into the crook of his neck and shoulder as he holds you closely, shushing you gently. You squeeze your thighs and arms against him, trying to get closer, to feel that he was not just a dream, "Yes."

─────── · · ⭐️

Jayce being aware of his strength gives you a tight squeeze, listening to you gasp before he slowly lets go and presses a kiss to your shoulder. You lean your head to the side, exposing your neck- feeling as Jayce's fingers comb your hair aside. Next you feel his mouth leave open wet kisses trailing from your shoulder slowly up to just above your collarbone before moving to a place on your neck that has you scratching his back from the sensitivity.

You feel Jayce's smirk against your skin, he bites down playfully hearing you yelp but before you can turn your head to glare, he blows on the spot gently before sucking on the sore skin. Your entire body shakes, "Jayce," you breathily say his name, eyes closing from the thousand tickles that go up to your brain as you collapse against his chest, you tap his back thrice, Jayce pulls away with a satisfied hum, admiring the mark.

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder, hand reaching to pull his shirts collar aside as you quickly kiss up his neck eager to feel his lips against yours. A sudden slap against your butt has you pulling your head back as you see Jayce playfully glaring at you, "eager little thing, aren't you?"

"Jayce," you whine out, shaking your head and pulling away- suddenly feeling embarrassed, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Seeing your shyness, Jayce braces you against his chest with his forearm against your back, your chests pressed up against one another; he knows how eye contact effects you, allowing your eyes to reset as you looked around the room, enjoying his touch.

A few moments pass before you feel his lips by your ear as his other hand plays with your hair, "I want us to enjoy this, we have time, sweetheart." You nod as Jayce moves his hold back to your waist, his head tilting as you press a tentative kiss to a vein, listening to him hum in approval before continuing, slower this time.

You press kisses up his neck, biting just behind his ear to hear him growl. Your thighs clench at the sound, your hands gripping his hair as you feel a large palm place a gentle pressure at the back of your head, keeping you on that one spot before allowing you to pull away with hooded eyes.

Jayce licks his lips, chest heaving, his eyes watching your puffy lips part in a silent ask before he leans forwards, pressing hard as you moan against his lips. Your hands start to unbutton his shirt, feeling his skin against your palms before shrugging off your lab coat. Your brain feels foggy from the lack of air as you start to pull away, feeling as Jayce softly bites down on your lower lip before letting go.

You pause, seeing the scars against his chest, your finger hovering over before you feel leather against your wrist as he pushes your hand over the mark. You don't move, looking to Jayce for clarity, "I'm still the man you knew before, I promise." You can sense an equal truth and pleading to his tone.

"Do they hurt?" you ask softly, Jayce shakes his head, "not anymore. It feels good when you touch me actually." You laugh, shaking your head feeling as Jayce kissing your jaw, "I missed that sound too." Your heart swells as you trace the lines and contours of his chest. "I love you, Jayce."

"I love you too, so please, let me show you." Your eyes go wide, your brain returning to you as you feel as Jayce touch loosens on you his eyes widening too, "I mean we don't have to, I just-" you place a hand on his mouth, eyes shinning with humour. "Jayce, I'm not going to let you fuck me in a cell with corpses on the other side."

Jayce kisses your palm, you remove your touch. "First rude, I thought I taught you not to do that." You roll your eyes, feeling him tap your thigh in warning as you sigh. "Second, what corpses?"

You look over and to your shock, there is not a body in sight, "While I was waiting for you, Caitlyn and her team cleared and cleaned everything up," Jayce explains as you look back at him in shock. "And third," You could not believe the sass was still in him. "I never 'fuck' you, I make love to you." You begin to gag but see that Jayce is completely serious in saying this, "I mean it, (name). I love you and only want to show you that."

You look into his eyes before giving him a kiss, hearing him sigh out in relief. "Is that a yes?" you nod. "I need to hear it from you," Jayce clarifies. You take his face between your palms, "Yes, Jayce. I-I trust you." Jayce tilts his head, kissing your palm. "I might be a bit rough, but you know how to stop me, right?" You look over his dishevelled appearance again. Seeing his long hair sticking to his forehead, the lines across his face and chest, the feeling of leather against your skin.

"Three taps or shout hex." Jayce nods, leaning in to kiss your forehead, "Good girl." You shift in his lap, "That still does it for you, huh?" You don't respond and Jayce takes that as his answer with a smirk before gripping your thighs and standing. You rest your head on his shoulder before he places you on the desk and shoves everything off- clattering to the floor.

You watch as Jayce fully removes his shirt while looking down at you, unable to help himself he kisses you once before pulling away. He places his shirt on the desk before helping you out of your clothes being sure to kiss every patch of new skin he sees.

You feel warm underneath his dark stare as he looks down watching as his hand cups your sex- his thumb nears your clit through the material, resting just above, teasing, feeling as your wetness soaks through the fabric before pulling the material upwards sharply. You gasp from the friction, pressing your legs together with a moan before feeling your thighs become forced open, large hands gripping them apart. Jayce slowly bends down, his eyes focusing on how yours cloud over in pleasure as you feel his breath.

Your hands immediately latch onto his hair at the first feeling of his tongue giving a tentative lick, light yet the texture rough, you tilt your head back with a moan, body buzzing from the pleasure as he kisses your lower lips again and again. "P-please," you beg, locking your ankles over his shoulders and sigh contently once feeling the cloth get pulled aside, his touch amplified as one of his large fingers tease your entrance another circling around your clit- spelling out runes that your foggy mind couldn't even begin to concentrate on.

Jayce groans, he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside, the material of his gloves catching your walls- creating a pleasurable texture against as you clench down yet. He pumps his fingers at a slow pace, in an out, you should be embarrassed be the lewd sounds, by hearing Jayce chuckle. But when you try and move your hips- chasing his touch he pulls away swiftly, your legs falling off his shoulders as you pout at your boyfriend watching as he brings a finger up between his lips with a sigh, "I've missed this taste so much- so sweet."

You moan watching as me brings his fingers back down, your juices soaking through the leather of his gloves, his fingers glistening as he brings them closer to you mouth, taping your lip, signalling you to open, "Taste yourself."

You lower your jaw, feeling his fingers against your tongue before circling around them. Jayce observes you face as your eyes close, hands gripped your thighs in want while listening to Jayce's heavy breathing. You wiggle in your seat as Jayce pushes his fingers in more, teasing at the back of your throat as you gag before pulling out. "Such a good girl," he praises you.

But before you can respond, Jayce teases one large finger, then two. You grip at his wrist, feeling his lips leave lingering wet kisses across your chest before latching onto your nipple, his teeth graze it, you shiver before you feel him start to suck. You feel as a third finger slides in easily, you pulse and moan as his fingers curl to hit just the right spot inside of you. "Jayce," you whine in a high pitched tone.

"Already?" he chuckles picking his head back up. You hum out in pleasure, "Mhmm, I'm almost there Jayce, please," you beg but just before you can reach your peak, Jayce pulls away as you cry out in frustration. Jayce shushes you by gently squeezing your neck and pulling you in for a lingers kiss.

He pulls away, standing back as you grab the edge of the table in wait- watching as he uses his teeth to remove the straps around his wrists, his gloves falling off as he moves his shirt behind you. "Lay back," he says, watching as you lower yourself, slowly to the table.

Jayce unbuckles his pants, stepping out of his boots and kicking everything aside as you tilt your head up to watch him, heart racing as he sends you a wink. You will never get used to the sight of him, the size of him.

Jayce walks slowly up to you, your breath hitching once feeling his bulge rocking against your clit, the sound of your wetness catching on his boxers erotic as it echos in the empty room. Your chest is rising and falling in sort breaths, that peak closer than ever as Jayce teases you, his hands in fists beside your head, caging you in and when you open your eyes to meet his wild ones- you feel nothing but security.

"I love you, I love you so fucking much Jayce," you cry out, nails dragging against the skin of his back as he shakes, you can visibly see how much he is restraining himself in this moment. How pained he looks in his pleasure yet so focused on you, watching as his hips roll into your own, but the friction is not enough, "just loose control, love."

Jayce snaps his head back up, "what?" he says albeit a bit breathlessly. "Let go, I-I just want to feel you, Jayce, want you, need you." Jayce curses underneath his breath, his movements pausing, "are you sure?" you nod your head, "words baby," he kisses your neck. "Yes, please," you croak out and next thing you know, you are being flipped over.

Jayce positions himself, tip just teasing your leaking hole as your legs shake in wait- in want and with one sudden thrust, all the air is knocked from your lungs in a silent scream- your wrists trapped between his larger hand forcing them above your head as you lose yourself to the pleasure.

You listen to Jayce growl, "I've missed you so fucking much." You listen to the sound of skin slapping, filling the room alongside your combined moans- tears stream down your cheeks. "I'm close, Jayce!" you warn, still sensitive from earlier. "Hold on, breathe, sweetheart-"

"I can't Jayce," you sob out, feeling the fire start to form in your gut, spreading out to every vein in your body, a hand comes down on you ass. "You can and you will, baby," Jayce commands, his hips positioning down, reaching deeper than before as you freeze at the sensation starting to rise from your toes, focusing on your breathing.

You mumble blankly, feeling as Jayce kisses your shoulder blade, head becoming lighter than ever. "Good girl," he praises you with one sudden and sharp thrust. You are barley hanging on to reality to your impeding orgasm, trying to wiggle and shift your body away yet Jayce's hips just follow you. "Please, please, please," you beg like a broken record, you swore that if you were looking at yourself in this moment- you would be unrecognizable- withering underneath your boyfriend.

"Come for me. come. for. me," Jayce repeats, feeling as you clench down on his cock, choking it- watching as you bit down on your lip that forces him to release his hands from your wrists to pull it back down. "I want to hear how good I make you feel."

You moan out loudly as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, you claw at the desk, sobbing as your body shakes from the overstimulation tears welling in your eyes as Jayce praises you, "You're taking me so good baby. Your pussy feels so good around my cock, just listen to her. Gonna make you cum again, aren't I-hm?"

Jayce feels as your pussy flutters before gushing around him again with a smirk, he places his body weight atop you as you struggle to comprehend the pleasure you feeling through the endless waves crashing through your body- your blank mind as he fucks you dumb. "Nothing to say, my love? That good?" You nod yes with a sob as Jayce coo's at you, continuing his brutal pace.

"T-too much, Jayce!" you yelp, sensitivity now overwhelming- on the cusp of hurting as you bite down hard on your lip, eyes closing as Jayce hums, "you know what to do love, tell me and I'll stop." Yet you don't move, don't speak, you don't want to stop feeling him, not yet at least, teetering on the line between pain and pleasure.

Jayce picks himself back up, taking your wrists as he positions you to bend off the table. He takes in the side of your tear covered face, his marks across your neck and shoulders, how his hands created indents on your hips as he feels the markings your nails left against his back that push him just over the edge just in time with your final orgasm.

Jayce quickly pulls out, you hear him moan loudly- you feel his seed against your back, warm and dripping down your butt as he slowly helps you rest back on the table. You both are panting- coming down from your highs. Your head lolls to the side, a soft smile coating your features as you feel Jayce brushing the hair out of your face and "you did so good for me baby, so proud."

"Yours, all yours," you say back as you close your eyes, a sudden rush of tiredness rushing over you as you feel Jayce press a kiss to your temple before cleaning you up, allowing you a moment to rest.

─────── · · ⭐️

─ · · Jayce helped to redress you, your legs weak as he picked you up into your arms, your head resting against his chest as you lulled yourself to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat. The only thing left behind in your cell were the pieces of a shattered blue gemstone, pulsing before fading.

─ · · By the time you were awake, you found yourself under Jayce's covers and heard the kettle click off, a record softly playing in the background as Jayce hummed along to it. You joined in, walking over humming, and grasping onto his pants, fingers looping through the empty belt buckles.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Jayce greets you, you smile, pressing your head against his back with a giggle before letting go without a word, watching as Jayce frowns, your heart swelling as you place yourself on the countertop and open your arms, wiggling your fingers as you both laugh. You pull Jayce in by the collar of his shirt- kissing him gently on the lips before moving across his jaw, stopping to cup his cheek as he nuzzles into your palm.

"I love you, Jayce."

"I love you too, always and forever."

"Kiss me?" you ask, eyes pleading, and how could he refuse?

Jayce presses his forehead against yours before capturing your lips. Pulling away, you both are breathless, you look to the side to see only your favourite breakfast items on the menu with a smile- gosh I missed your cooking.

When you look back at Jayce, your eyes go wide seeing him kneeling before you, a box in his hands, blood rushing up to your ears as you jump down from the countertop. "J-jayce? what are you doing?" you stutter through shock, your heat racing at a mile a minute.

"Not going to marry you just yet, through you will be Mrs. Talis in the future," Jayce speaks with such conviction, your heart is beating at a mile a minute. "With this ring I want to promise you that no matter what, I will always put your thoughts and needs first and I will always love you." A goofy love-sick grin is on his face but his eyes are scared yet equally hopeful. You crouch down with him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you cry.

Jayce's heart drops, he can't seem to touch you in this moment, can't look to you for comfort. Not feeling him returning the touch, you pull away, seeing his glossy eyes, "Whats wrong?" you ask timidly, listening to the ring drop.

Jayce opens and closes his mouth before falling back, hissing and gripping at his wrist. "Jayce? You're scaring me," you reach out again yet he slides away swearing- looking to be in immense pain, his eyes clouding over and then silence... his body falls before you as you grasp and squeeze his hand, calling back for him.

And then suddenly, he flashes back to life, gripping his head, beads of sweat dripping off his forehead, "fuck, wait, did you say yes?" He completely disregards his pain, forcing on a smile for you as you sit there in shock and horror.

"Of course, Jayce but what the fuck? Are you okay?" you ask again, giving him space this time. Jayce's stares at you, stares through you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "I will be after this all is over but I'm better knowing I'll have you forever." You smile at his words, brain still racing with what just happened but Jayce appeared back to his regular self now, helping you to stand and finishing up breakfast.

"Sit, please. Let me take care of you like you've done for me," Jayce asks, turning from the stove with soft eyes, and how could you refuse?

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: running away and hiding now! I hope that all was at least readable/skippable... 😬

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

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carmenlikeme · 19 days ago

Text

COWBOY LIKE ME: A JACK ABBOT SERIES

pairing: Jack Abbot x rescuer!reader

summary: After an unexpected storm hits Pittsburgh, the entire city stops. Floodings and destruction everywhere. Jack ends up trapped for two days at PTMC. When he's finally allowed to be outside, he ends up at the frontlines of the disaster, back to his MASH unit days. Abbot works right next to the rescuers, helping them stabilize patients before they reach the hospital. He meets an interesting person amongst the rescuers, and the magnetic pull is too hard to ignore. Will he give in?

Where Jack Abbot meets an eccentric doctor in the middle of a catastrophe, and finds light in one of the darkest places imaginable.

genre: romance, slowburn(on paper, speedrun irl), hurt/comfort, breakup, happy ending (?), sprinkled comedy, idk what else, highly medically inaccurate, heavy dialogue for the first chapters.

wc: tbd

warnings: age gap, (reader is in her late 20's, jack late 40's) major natural disaster, medical trauma, PTSD, mentions of war and violent situations, graphic depiction of injuries, mentions of COVID and death. Will edit as I write more.

a/n: this story came to me in a dream, quite literally. Initially, I wanted to make a little one shot out of it but just the first chapter is sitting at 6k in my drafts, so I know it'll be at least 3 chapters!! send me an ask if you want to join my taglist!!

this is also pretty self indulgent but i tried my best for everyone to feel included, the team that I mention here is of mexican origin but they welcome and have international active memebers, i also wanted to contribute with some love to them on my side as The Pitt has done with healthcare workers, hope you like it!!

i made a playlist for this, i will update it as I write too!!

☆ prologue

☆ this is gonna be one of those things

☆ tbd

#the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #the pitt imagine #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x female reader #carmenlikeme

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utterlyotterlyx · 11 months ago

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A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part One

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - angst, mentions of war, tension, fluff, touch of sadness and longing

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Rain spattered against the ledge, the open window allowing the tears of the sky to coat the black glossed paint with their sadness. Azriel watched them inquisitively, noting how each droplet fell further into the room than the last, his shadows pecked along the ground to dry the dampened spots and it was a welcome distraction from the conversation encircling the room.

The storm raged on overhead, cracks of lightening slicing across the sky every few moments, the clouds rumbling their anger throughout the city. A harmony to the idea of war.

There was no avoiding it. The war, that is. It had consumed Azriel's every thought as he played out every possible scenario in his mind, ones where they all made it out alive, and the ones where they all perished alongside Prythian. It was those visions that kept him up at night, flashes of Cassian's bloodied face lifeless against the earth, wings torn and soul withered, were enough to make him desperate enough to the point that he'd give anything to avoid it.

Azriel ran his marred hands over the curve of his leathers, soothing down each muscle and drifting over every glowering siphon attached to his body, doing his best to pull himself from the images that plagued his waking moments and sleepless nights.

If Rhys were speaking then Azriel would have been listening, but, surprisingly, he wasn't. Rhys stared dead ahead, nails digging into his nails beds and jaw clenching along with the reeling thoughts plaguing his own mind, staring right ahead at the corner of the table placed in the centre of the seating area at the River House. Azriel wasn't the only one who noticed, Amren had halted her words to slice through his train his thought, "Are you going to say anything?"

Rhys' gaze pulled from its formerly trained spot at the table edge toward his second in command, and it was clear that there was something he wasn't sharing with his family. His eyes drifted about the room, landing on each one of them in turn before they landed on Feyre and wavered slightly. Azriel couldn't blame his brother for his fear, he had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted after all the horrors he had endured, and now that picture perfect life was being threatened.

But something still wasn't right. Rhys was too consumed in his mind to pay any real attention to what Amren was saying, what plans were being spoken of, and that wasn't like Rhys. It wasn't like Rhys at all to blatantly ignore words spoken that could aid them in their collective efforts against Hybern. Azriel couldn't exactly be too picky about it though, considering he too was ignoring the firedrake fumbling plans into fruition, also too consumed by his own demons.

"The High Lords will be convening in three days time," his words were tense, his eyes burning, "Give me one night to think. We can start on this tomorrow," Rhys ran his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his now.

"The future of this continent, your home, is threatened, and you wish to speak of this tomorrow?" Amren scoffed, her silver eyes dancing under the faelight in warning.

Rhys rose from his seat, having had enough of the incessant drawls of war and death and offered Feyre his hand, a hand that she took willingly and stood at his side, fingers wrapped around his forearm and body drifting beside him, "Yes, I do. I cannot think when this is all you're speaking of, Amren. I am High Lord, and I need to think about how to spare my family and my people from this."

Instead of retorting in a way only she could, Amren contained her fury and buried it deep within her core, "Fine." Amren almost spat at his feet, but he paid no mind to it, he didn’t have the energy to go head-to-head with Amren that night, not when there was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

So, Rhys took Feyre to bed, and made sure that she was sound asleep before removing himself from her embrace. He threw an onyx silken shirt over his body but didn’t bother strewing up any of the buttons, content in allowing the night air to glide across his skin, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to able to appreciate its touch.

The High Lord of Night paced through the River House swiftly, not wanting to disturb any member of his family or alert them to his movements, and as soon as he stood on an ornately stunning balcony, the same he had stood on with Feyre that night on Starfall, did he unfurl his glorious wings and take to the skies, determined to reach the place that he hadn’t visited in over 200 years. A pool of starlight lay within a small valley within the mountains, not too far from the cabin but recluse enough for no one to be able to find it unless they knew that it lay there.

It had been too long since he had been there, but the all too familiar aura curled around him like a lost hound and pulled him down to it. The pool twinkled in greeting, reflecting the endless wonder of the sky above, and Rhys then remembered just how small it was, and just how long it had been since he peered into it or drifted his fingers along its rippling surface.

None other than he knew of what it truly was - not even his mate- it was a thin veil between worlds, a veil he used to send messages through often in hope that they’d find the one intended for, and he would wait for hours at a time for a whisper of a response. One time he had waited an entire day, desperate to hear her voice on the wind, hauntingly mesmerising like a siren to a sea captain, replying to his message with her usual level of warmth and understanding.

Then one day he just stopped visiting the place, the weight of her void had become too much to bear, too much that he had made the selfish decision to try and move on, to live his life in anyway that he could. Part of Rhys thought that she would have commended him for it, that she would have understood and that she was somewhere and knew of his strength, pain, and success of finding his mate.

But it had been so long. Rhys wasn’t sure if the pool was being monitored from her end, and he was terrified that his plea would fall upon deaf ears. But she was the only one who could help them, the only one powerful enough to give them any real chance of surviving. That power was the reason she had been sent away in the first place.

Rhys fell to his knees at the bank of the water, the contact of his markings without their twin flames in the snow causing the pool to ripple and hum with eons old yearning, and the stars within it began to glow, eager and ready to pull his words from his lips and sail them through the veil. He lowered himself to the surface, his face reflecting in the water showing him just how exhausted he had appeared, and the pool knew it, it knew of his desperation and rippled in a way that Rhys was sure it would split open at any given moment.

But, the water settled and shuddered, the gate between him and the one he thought of often still firmly in place.

"I'm sorry that it's been so long," he began, not knowing what to say to soften the blow but wanting to believe that she wasn't angry at him for it, and hoping that she too was thriving wherever her feet carried her. "If it means anything, I have missed you, and not a day has passed where I haven't thought of you," he fiddled with his fingers, his breath sending gentle wisps of steam rising into the air, "I found my mate. You'd like her, I think. She's my High Lady now, things have certainly changed."

"We are going to war. The Cauldron is in the grasp of our enemy and it threatens to devour the continent as we know it, and I fear that none of us with survive the destruction. I suppose I just wanted to speak to you, to say that I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long, and to let you know that I love you despite our distance. I may not survive what's to come, but I just wanted you to know that, and if there's any way you could come and save my ass then that would be greatly appreciated," he spoke the last words with a soft chuckle.

Rhys often thought of what she looked like, she had been only a girl when she was sent away, thrust through a portal with no way of knowing how to get back if she wished it. The day he heard her whisper through the pool had been the best day of his life, and on some level, he knew it still was in a sense. In those days, Rhys knew that she was alive, she may have been struggling but at least her heart was still beating and soul was raining havoc.

He wasn't sure of what he was expecting, he knew the chances of a reply were slim to nothing, but his heart still sank when the pool rippled with intoxicating silence.

Rhys waited another hour at least, but when the stars within the pool began to dim, he knew that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet, his soul solemn and heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to glance backward at the water as he ascended to the skies.

It was a pity really, for if he had turned around for but a moment, he would have seen the pool sparkle to life.

Azriel was curious.

It wasn't often that he found Rhys to be hiding something from him, or any of them for that matter. It was the beauty of their shared family, they knew all of the worst things about one another, from actions to thoughts, and nothing was counted as being too ferocious to accept.

But Azriel knew that Rhys was hiding something, his High Lord had been on edge from the moment he had returned to the River House after sneaking out that night, under the impression that no one had known of his time away. But Azriel knew everything, every single move was accounted for thanks to his shadows and his own keen hearing.

The Shadowsinger had merely thought that Rhys needed a moment to himself to think, but as the time stretched on, it seemed that Rhys was on a mission of sorts, and Azriel's suspicions became clear when he saw his brother the next morning, hair askew and eyes occasionally flickering through the window to a certain spot against the mountain face.

Rhys had worn the same expression for three days, not even Feyre could get him to talk to her about what it was that had him so concerned. But Azriel couldn't miss the longing in his eyes each time he passed by the window, like he was expecting someone to float up to the glass pane and solve all of their problems.

The day had come to meet with the High Lords, and the location had been set at the Dawn Court Palace, Thesan had always been the perfect mediator, besides, Cassian had been banned from Summer which automatically ruled that location from the list.

To Azriel's understanding, Rhys hadn't uttered a single word to anyone all morning, not even a single scold toward Cassian and Mor for their incessant bickering. It was worrying Feyre, Azriel noticed, he saw the emotion sketched into her furrowed brow each time she would try and speak to her mate to only be ignored. It seemed as though only Azriel and Feyre, and perhaps Amren, had noticed it.

The silence continued all the way to the Dawn Court, and Rhys' brooding only lightened when Helion appeared after his lacklustre greeting to Kallias and Viviane, spurring Rhys to remember the reason why they were there, what they had to do in order to give Prythian a fighting chance against Hybern and the Cauldron.

Helion jerked his chin toward Feyre, asking, "Does Tamlin know what she is?"

Rhys, his sadness wavering for a moment as they stood before the doors to the meeting chamber, spoke, "If you mean beautiful and clever, then yes - I think he does."

Azriel watched Helion closely, taking a tentative step toward his High Lord and Lady as the High Lord of Day sent Rhys a unimpressed flat glare, "Does he know that she is your mate, and High Lady?"

Ignoring Viviane's squeal, Rhys answered, picking a loose thread from his jacket and allowing it to float to the ground, "If he arrives then I suppose we will find out."

"I always liked you, Rhysand," Helion said after a lethally dark chuckle, knowing just how powerful he was in comparison to Rhys' brothers; he rolled his shoulders and glanced to Nesta, his gaze lingering whilst he enquired of who she was.

"She is my sister," Azriel didn't miss the muffled flinch that sliced across Rhys' face, "She will tell her story when the others are here."

Skittering steps against the pale golden stone pulled the attention of the Inner Circle toward Thesan who was surrounded by his highly alert Peregryns, beings who seemed a little too on edge.

"I hate to interrupt," Thesan drawled with wary eyes before they landed on Rhys, "But there is a woman I have never seen before in the meeting chamber, she says that you sent for her."

No one could miss how Rhys' entire body language changed from lax to urgent, his posture straightening and eyes boring into the doors of the chamber as though he could see through them; his breathing quickened, and it became apparent that whoever the woman was had been the cause of his ire for the last three days.

Begrudgingly, Rhys followed Thesan's order to wait for the others, Tarquin seemed less than pleased to be stood before Rhys, and it wasn't long until Beron and Eris rounded the corner of the corridor, sneering and spitting their horrid words, sending warning glares to Cassian and Azriel in particular for the scuffle between the two courts over the now High Lady of the Night Court and Lucien Vanserra.

Opening the doors, the woman lounging in the chair facing their entrance was not the person Rhys had been longing to see, Azriel deduced that much from the instant droop of his shoulders before he fully even saw her face. She sat in one of the deep rooted chairs, legs strewn over the arm and a dagger pricking into each one of her fingers, not hard enough to break the skin.

She was glad in a green dress that extenuated her long legs and her utterly wild scent had enveloped the room, a scent of lemon verbena and crackling embers, her blonde hair was well tamed and pinned backward in a loose yet luxurious ensemble, and power poured off of her in searing waves.

"And who exactly are you?"

A grin formed on her lips at the defensive question directed her way by Helion, and she rolled her eyes incredulously in response, sliding her legs from the arm and propping her elbows upon them, "Is that any way to greet a guest?" The tip of her dagger scratched into the wood of her seat, a curved and lethal weapon not of Prythian, "They really don't have any manners," she spoke loudly, directing the comment elsewhere.

Large hands clasped around the back of her seat and a flash of white hair reflected against the dying sunlight, "She did tell us that they were going to be apprehensive of us, Fireheart." The woman hummed, seemingly unphased by who she was trapped in a room with, anyone else would have been quaking in their boots at the knowledge of it.

"I didn't think she was being serious-"

"You haven't answered the question. Tell us who you are and why you're here, or-"

"Or what?" The woman's gold ringed eyes glistened, hungry and bristling with a flame Rhys, nor any of them, had ever witnessed. She rose from the seat, "You'll hurt us? I'd like to see you try."

Azriel stuck to Feyre and Rhys, sizing up the male with the tattoos in an ancient language littered down the side of his face, and that only seemed to make the male smirk, "Don't think about it. You wouldn't last a minute."

Tension simmered in the chamber, the High Lords of Prythian bar one faced the two strangers who looked much like them but were different in every single way imaginable.

Only when a click of heels entered the room followed by an exasperated sigh, did the two strangers grin, their offensive stance dissipating before Rhys' very eyes as they turned to make room for another.

"You'll come to rather enjoy Aelin's wit," a voice as mesmerising as the crashing summer waves called into the simmering silence, a voice so perfect that it had Rhys almost whimpering in disbelief as he took a step forward. Another woman appeared adorning a playful smirk, "And the vein in Rowan's forehead."

Azriel studied her, even his shadows couldn't stop themselves from peeking over his shoulders at the sound of her melodic voice, one so calming that it had them dancing toward it. She was by far one of the most incredible creatures Azriel had ever seen, dressed in an impeccable midnight blue gown that exposed her taut legs, allowing Azriel to see the two markings delicately placed below her knees, the twins to Rhys' own. Her hair was as dark as the night and swaying with each step, eyes as violet as the summer horizon that were lovingly teasing her companions, and she moved with a grace Azriel had never encountered in all of his years. A crown composed of onyx stone flowers and jewels curled around her head and glittered in the slowly decaying light, it was delicate and rested just over her ears, keeping her skin free from the imprint of it.

But it wasn't the crown nor the dress that had really stolen Azriel's eye, no, it was the pristine pair of feathered wings that were tucked neatly behind her back, not wings of an Illyrian, but wings of some form of angel Azriel presumed. They resembled the night sky, black and speckled with silver, and the longer Azriel focused on them, the more he struggled to believe that they weren't enriched feathers of pure starlight.

Rhys loosened a breath of disbelief, and his bottom lip quaked softly as he took her in, eyes trailing up her form and resting on her face, not believing who was stood before him but thanking the Mother all the same, "You came."

With her dress swaying in the breeze infiltrating the room from the open arches of the chamber, she faced Rhys and smiled sadly, taking a moment to drink him in just as he had with her before she answered, "You called."

"I didn't think you heard me," he took another step toward the curve of the pool, slowly but surely closing the gap between them, "You've grown."

"I've always heard you," their features were so strikingly similar, and Azriel was grasping onto any memory or mention of the female before his eyes, "And, if I hadn't have grown in over 500 years I'd be quite concerned."

Rhys laughed, throwing his head back and lips stretching into a smile of pure bliss, he didn't stop his steps this time, no, he allowed his feet to carry him all the way to her and bundled her up in his embrace, inhaling the scent of her deeply into his lungs "Hello sister."

Sister.

The two strangers, Aelin and Rowan, took a step back, serene smiles on their faces as they watched, seemingly understanding what it meant for the Rhys and the female, "Hello you," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly, "Someone mentioned that you have a mate now?"

Rhys pulled backward and sent her a look of wonderment, "I do. Feyre, darling? Would you?" He extended an arm out to her and Feyre wasted no time in joining him, "This is y/n. My sister."

"Well, half-sister, but we don't take notice of the specifics," she grinned at Rhys and softly nudged him, "It's an honour to meet you, Feyre Cursebreaker."

"How do you-"

She waved her hand dismissively, "I know many things."

"It's true, it's extremely annoying," Aelin spoke flatly nestled under Rowan's arm, the fire in her eyes softening.

Glancing about, Azriel became completely aware of just how much the beauty of y/n had captured the attention of all within the room, from the hue of her skin to the glossy black of her hair, from the curve of her jaw to the strikingly vibrant eyes that had stolen Azriel's breath from the moment the light had hit them.

She was undeniably Rhys' sister, but Azriel was sure that Rhys had only ever had one, and she died years ago.

"I'm sorry, but how?" Cassian couldn't help but ask, drawing the attention of everyone to him, he glanced to Azriel who shrugged, confirming that he knew nothing of the female before their very eyes.

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes dimming slightly and promised, "My," she looked to Rhys for a moment, "Our story-" her gaze returned to Cassian, but not before gently floating over Azriel and widening slightly, "-is one for a different day. Prythian is in danger and you need help, I'm here to provide it."

"What about us?"

"One more word Aelin and I'll send you back home, I'm sure Aedion would love to take your place."

Aelin gasped, "You don't mean that."

"Try me. See where you land this time round."

Aelin grimaced, recounting the time y/n had shoved her through one of her fancy test portals to only land in the foulest smelling swamp she had ever experienced. She kept her lips sealed and moved to the seat where she had been sat minutes before with a forced smile, prompting the rest of the occupants of the chamber to do the same.

The Shadowsinger moved with the rest of the Inner Circle, finding his place beside his High Lord and Lady, which was just a stones throw away from y/n, and he found himself completely lost in the scent of a brewing storm, his shadows unwinding from his body as it flooded his lungs and fighting through invisible storm clouds in order to brush against her for even a moment, to taste her skin and shudder at the power laced within it.

Crossing her leg over the other, Azriel watched y/n recline into the comfort of the seat, doing his best to not make his awe so obvious whilst she took a moment to gaze upon every person in the room, her eye lingering on a certain Autumn heir with a level of intrigue before she spoke with a feline grin, "So, you're all on the verge of death. Tell me more."

Author's Note

Trying a different writing style with this one - let me know what you think x

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jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear · 5 months ago

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The Scarecrow || Recommended Reading || Master List

For your reading pleasure, here follows a master list of all SCARECROW-CENTRIC comics (cameos and one/two page appearances will not be mentioned) listed roughly in order of release. Note: some comics are included even if Scarecrow is not the main antagonist, but only if he plays a centric role in the overarching story

Feel free to message me if you think I missed something! This list is comics only, and does not include children's books or other media.

GOLDEN AGE

World’s Finest #3 - Riddle of the Human Scarecrow

Detective Comics #73 - The Scarecrow Returns

The Brave and the Bold #197 - The Autobiography of Bruce Wayne!

SILVER AGE

Batman #189 - Fright of the Scarecrow

Batman #200 - The Man Who Radiated Fear!"

Detective Comics #389 - Batman's Evil Eye

BRONZE AGE

Detective Comics #503 - The 6 Days of the Scarecrow

Batman #373/Detective #540 - The Frequency of Fear/Something Scary

The Super Friends #32

Detective Comics #571 - Fear for $ale

Joker #8 - The Scarecrow's Fearsome Face-Off!

Batman 400 - Resurrection Night

THE 90s

Batman #455-#457 Identity Crisis: Part 1 + 2/Master of Fear

Batman: Haunted Knight- Legends of the Dark Knight Halloween Special #1 - Fears

Batman #495-#496

Batman: Long Halloween (Series)

Shadow of the Bat #1

Shadow of the Bat #16-18 “God of Fear”

Batman Dark Victory (Series)

Batman: Haunted Knight - Fears

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Halloween Special #1

Batman Annual #19 - Masters of Fear

Batman Adventures #4 - #5 - Riot Act

Batman Adventures #19 - Troubled Dreams

Batman Adventures Annual #1 - Study Hall

Batman Gotham Adventures #32 - The Remote Controller

Batman/Scarecrow 3D

Catwoman #58 - #60, #93

Fear of Faith (Legends of the Dark Knight #116, Batman: Shadow of the Bat #84, Batman #564, Detective Comics #731)

New Year's Evil: Scarecrow - Mistress of Fear

Batman Crimson Mist

Nightwing #9 - #11

2000 - 2009

Batman Daredevil - King of New York

Detective Comics #820 Face the ɘɔɒᖷ

DC Super Friends #8

Batman #608–619 (HUSH)

Batman Gotham Knights #16 + #49 / Batman: Black and White

Legends of the Dark Knight #137-141 - Terror

Gotham Knights #23 - Fear of Success

Superman/Batman: Torment (#37-42)

Batman #626-630 - As the Crow Flies

Superman/Batman #38 - 40

Batman Eternal #47

Batman and Robin Eternal #6, #14- #15

DC Halloween Special #1 - The Ballad of Ichabod Crane

Gotham After Midnight (Series)

Joker’s Asylum: Scarecrow

Year One: Batman/Scarecrow

2010 - 2020

Blackest Night #6 -Blackest Night

Untold Tales of the Blackest Night - Blackest Nightmare

DC Halloween Special '10 - Trick for the Scarecrow

Forever Evil: Arkham War (Series)

Batman the Dark Knight #10 - #15 - Cycle of Violence

Batgirl Vol 3 #2-3 - Batgirl Rising: Point of New Origin

Detective Comics v2 #23.3 Scarecrow

Swamp Thing #19-20

Harley Quinn #28 - #30

Batwoman #7 - #9 - Fear and Loathing

Green Lanterns #17 - Darkest Knight

Nightwing #50, #53 - #56

Batman ‘66 Meets the Man from U.N.C.L.E (series)

Batman '66 #28 - Scarecrow Comes to Town

Kings of Fear (series)

Batman/TMNT Adventures #4 - To laugh so not to cry

Shazam #12 - When Strikes the Scarecrow

Wonder Woman: Agent of Peace #4

Legends of the Dark Knight #16

Batman: Gotham Nights #17 - Harvest of Fear; He Who Eats Last...

Batman: The Adventures Continue #10

Fear State (Series) (FS Alpha + Omega, 106, #111–117, Detective Comics 1056, Harley Quinn #6)

Future State Harley Quinn #1- #2

2021 AND BEYOND

Truth and Justice #10

ArkhaManiacs #1

Man-Bat (Series)

Wayne Family Adventures #55 - #56

Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant #1

Detective Comics #1049 -1050 - House of Gotham

The Joker Presents: A Puzzlebox #8 - #9

Knight Terrors: Nightwing (Series)

DC's I know what you did Last Crisis

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War: Red Hood #2

Batman: The Audio Adventures Special #1 + #6

Batman '89 Echoes (series)

The Batman & Scooby-Doo Mysteries #7

Suicide Squad: Kill Arkham Asylum #3

Little Batman: Month One (series)

Batman: The Brave and the Bold #19

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #The Scarecrow #Comic Recs #Master List #Scarecrow Comic Master List #Recommended Reading #this may be missing one or two #let me know #again #scarecrow has to be a main part of the story for it to be on this list not a cameo or one page appearance #DC #DC Comics

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hollowed-theory-hall · 4 months ago

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Of all the disturbing things that happened to Harry, I think the graveyard scene really takes it. It's horrific on so many different levels, and everytime I read it, something new sticks out to me. The last time, it was the death eaters laughing at Harry. A bunch of grown men laughing at one of the darkest wizards torturing and mocking a fourteen year old. Like it's actually insane, whether they were trying to appease Voldemort or were really entertained by the whole thing.

I know! I feel the same way about that scene. It's really no wonder Harry was as traumatized as he was in OotP (honestly, he's incredibly resilient, all things considered). The graveyard was awful. And their laughing is some of the worst of it:

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him . . . he was not going to give him that satisfaction. . . . “I said, bow,” Voldemort said, raising his wand — and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.

(GoF, Ch34)

Especially when you read Harry's thoughts about the Cruciatus and how he wants to die so it will end and they laugh:

“Crucio!” It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end . . . to black out . . . to die . . . And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.

(GoF, Ch33)

But the part that stuck out to me the most last time I read it was this moment:

he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life — And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.

(GoF, Ch34)

Not only are the DE laughing at him, but they pushed a pained, shaking, and stumbling 14-year-old kid back into the circle to be tortured again!

Harry was stumbling over himself, barely getting onto his feet, and they pushed him down again and laughed. A bunch of grown-ass men. It's disgusting and horrifying. Like, them pushing Harry back towards Voldemort when he's barely walking and shaking all over disgusts me. That is so vile.

I think a good chunk of them seem to be 100% going along with Voldemort of their own free will and not just for his favor (though, I think that is part of it). After all, they did stuff like that on their own volition earlier in the book:

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. “That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick. . . .”

(GoF, Ch9)

I really hope these DE didn't get to escape Azkaban for a second time after the second war (the ones that survived it, that is).

GoF has always been my favorite in the series and its darkest moments are part of why. Sure, there are horrific moments in the later books, but the shock of the graveyard scene is unparalleled for me in this series in the kind of horror it hits. Nothing later hits quite the same when it comes to the helplessness of it. To how Harry is certain he is going to die, that this is it. Unlike when he walks to his death in DH, in GoF, he wants to live so badly but he doesn't think he will — it's not a noble sacrifice, it's a child grasping at a chance to survive. And unlike at the end of OotP, he is completely and utterly alone. In the DoM, the Order and Dumbledore were right behind him and before they arrived he had friends with him, but in the graveyard, there was no one — just Harry against 30 Death Eaters and Voldemort. No one was coming for him, no one was coming to save him, Cedric just died, he was alone, and the only dueling spell he knew was Expelliarmus. It's horrifying and heartbreaking and it hits.

#harry potter #hp #hollowedrambling #death eaters #goblet of fire #asks #anonymous #hp meta #harry potter meta #harry james potter #voldemort #lord voldemort

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pennyellee · 2 months ago

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 - 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, multiple povs, fingering, hand-job, homicide, mentions of the second world war, emotional turmoil, dissonance, angst, jajangmyeon (the new code for pregnancy) strong language, pregnancy complications, grief and loss, gunfire, revolt, graphic violence and so on.

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 17,2K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: so at last, we are the nearest to the end as we've ever been. Lacrimosa is a story that began as a mere draft in 2021, shapeless and uncertain, morphing countless times before it found its voice. The first chapter didn’t see the light of day until June 2023. Even then, it was still evolving. It is 2025. The story stands complete, its final notes echoing into the epilogue coming out 7th of April (fan fact: dove's birthday)—a resolution, yet not an end. Because stories like this don’t just stop. They linger, threading themselves into new beginnings, breathing anew reminding us that nothing truly fades. So this series have become a prequel to it's 90s lineage that continues in the series of back to 1996 (Champagne Confetti, Elixir, Anubis and soon more).

To those who have been here since the beginning, to those who joined somewhere along the way, and to those who may stumble upon this story in the future—thank you. Your presence, your thoughts, your willingness to walk this path with me have meant everything. Special thanks belongs to one and only @chaoticpuff17 who listened to my darkest ideas of how to continue the plot and provided second set of eyes to see what I could not, and for that I'm forever grateful to have a pen-pal as magnificent as her whole existence is.

This is the end. And yet, it isn’t.

with gratitude and love, p.

m.list 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

temerate (v.) to break a bond or binding promise

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐈𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐢𝐧 𝐘/𝐍. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐧.

YOONGI

Yoongi watched her, his dove, his perfect enigma, lying beside him in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Her body was warm against his, but he could feel the tension humming beneath her skin. He knew she fought it—whatever it was that made her hesitate—but she was still here, wrapped in his arms, breathing the same air.

That was enough. For the time being.

His patience was infinite when it came to her. She had been wary at first, but he had learnt her, traced the lines of her hesitation, and unravelled them with careful, deliberate steps. He could feel the way her body responded to his touch, even when she wanted to deny it. That was what mattered.

It was easier for him to believe that deep down she wanted him. She just needed more time to realise this and his patience was spread thin from the moment he decided he wanted her until now.

Yoongi was very well aware of how mad he is for her, willing to go as far as he can to keep her here. With him.

Every breath she took, every moment she allowed herself to melt into him, only cemented that truth. She is his. Even after all that happened, he longed for her just as much as at the beginning. If he had to live in his own delusion that she reciprocates this feeling, he would do so with a sinister uncanny smile of his. So be it. Whatever will make her stay, he will do.

She gasped, her body tightening around his fingers, her arousal soaking his hand. He knew she was close, could feel it in the way she trembled, the way her hands clenched at the sheets. He didn't stop, didn't slow down—he wanted to push her past that edge, wanted to see her unravel completely beneath him.

And she did.

Her release was beautiful, her cries filling the room as her body arched and trembled. Yoongi's eyes never left her face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure, every shuddering breath. He let her come down slowly, savouring the aftermath before pulling her into another kiss, deep and possessive.

He could feel her hands on him, hesitant but willing. She was learning, understanding what he needed from her, what he expected. He let her touch him, guiding her hand over him, watching the realisation settle in her eyes—the power she thought she had in this moment. He let her have it.

She can have it all if she will stay by his side.

His breath stuttered as her hand moved, pleasure tightening in his core. His control was slipping, unravelling like a thread pulled too tight. He groaned, his fingers gripping her wrist as he chased his release.

"Dove," he rasped, his voice rough with need.

She was the reason he came undone so easily, so completely. His pleasure crashed over him, his release spilling over her hand as he let go, a shudder wracking through his body.

He collapsed against her, his lips pressing against her temple as he caught his breath. His hands slid up her arms, tracing the delicate lines of her body as he held her close. His dove. His.

She had given herself to him tonight, and that was all that mattered.

Yoongi's lips ghosted over her skin once more, his voice nothing but a whisper against her ear.

"You're so fucking mine."

And yet, for the first time, he wondered if he was wrong.

Yoongi's gaze shifted over to the distant horizon, where the sun's rays seemed to glow with a soft, mocking warmth. He watched her, as he always did, studying the way she moved, the way her thoughts appeared to drift away like birds fleeing in a storm. Her silence, a veil she often wrapped herself in, was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a gap he had been trying—unsuccessfully, it seemed—to bridge.

He was too far to hear anything and the tiny piece of him that called his righteousness when needed echoed to stay where he was. If there is any urgent matter regarding her mother, his spy would deliver.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Did she really believe she could escape me? The thought of it made his chest tighten, but the possessive spark of anger flared within him. She could run, she could pretend, but he knew her. He knew how to read her like no one else could. She was his.

Yoongi's gaze followed the direction of Dove's eyes, where she watched her younger sister mount a horse beside Taehyung. Wouldn't it be for Taehyung, Yoongi would gladly wield Dove's sister as a bargaining chip, however sick that sounds, he would. Soon her mother and little brother will need to find a place within this syndicate. Wang Zemo, needs to leave the world of living. Yoongi waited long enough.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought that it was her father that made her not breathe. The visible threat he poses to the syndicate, to her, to her mother and sister, simply by being. He was clever enough to know just what man Wang Zemo is.

The thought of him around his wife made his blood simmer with an anger he had long since grown accustomed to, but it still burned in his veins like acid. The man killed his father, with ruthlessness, after he showed him mercy. Taking his daughter as wife was supposed to be a warning, a collateral, but Yoongi did not exactly plan to fall in love with her. It was just a mere attraction to her beauty that later developed into something greater. Lust. Love. Devotion.

She has changed, her mother said, her voice soft, but Yoongi knew that Dove's reaction to her sister's transformation wasn't one of simple observation. The resentment was thicker than that.

He was lying to himself that it was not his decision but Taehyung's. But he is the leader, his words were supposed to be the last, yet he did not stop that procedure nor forbid it completely. He may have power over thousands of people, but he promised himself that his brothers will be treated as equals. To some degree. Of course.

He never wanted this for Dove, he did not want her to sit tight and pretty, laugh at his business' partners absolutely unhumorous jokes and pose at the perfect dutiful wife. No. He just wanted her to love him, to be her person to rely on and rule their empire.

Dove muttered in agreement, her voice devoid of any real emotion, and Yoongi couldn't help but smirk. She had grown accustomed to masking her true feelings, the way she played the role of the dutiful wife so flawlessly. But he saw it. He saw the cracks, the way she desperately tried to stifle everything that burned beneath the surface. The way she wished for freedom, but was too fearful to take it. Fear is good. Fear is natural.

The exchange between Dove and her mother only further confirmed Yoongi's suspicions. Dove had always been a delicate balance between rebellion and resignation. And yet, somehow, he was the one to hold her down—by the throat, by the heart, by whatever means necessary.

Should he confront her?

No reason to do so. He still has a few tricks in his sleeve to keep her grounded.

"I'm trying, Ma," Dove said quietly, as if speaking those words to herself, more than to her mother. And that's all Yoongi needed to know. She is trying. That's what was enough for now.

Yoongi was certain of one thing: she wasn't going anywhere. Not unless he allowed it.

"How do you feel today?" he stepped closer.

"What would you fancy for your birthday?" she asked once they settled the reason why he took her to the jewellery showroom, her voice careful, almost resigned. She had given him a chance, just a small opening. And Yoongi, as always, took it.

He didn't need to think long. He already knew what he wanted. His gaze softened as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, his hand slipping to her belly. She tensed beneath his touch, and he felt it—a slight tremor, like a warning. He pulled back slightly, studying her face, trying to gauge her reaction.

His smile faded, and he cast a quick glance around the store, the weight of the room's gaze suddenly feeling too heavy. He didn't want to press her, not here. Not with the whole world watching. But she had to know, had to understand that what he wanted was real. He wasn't playing a game. This was his desire, his hope, for them.

"You know," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "I've been thinking... about something we already talked about—"

Her eyes widened, and for the briefest of moments, Yoongi saw the conflict flash in them. She was hesitant, unsure of what he was about to say. He could sense her pulse quicken, the tension in her body responding to the words hanging in the air.

"Not here—" she interrupted, her voice low and urgent. "Let us not talk about it here, okay?"

His gaze hardened slightly, but only for a moment. He could see the resistance in her, feel the walls rising again. She wasn't ready. He understood. But that didn't mean he had to stop wanting it, or stop hoping.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a note of genuine regret in his tone. "This is not the right place, but I want you to know it's on my mind, Dove."

For a split second, he thought he saw something shift in her, something more than just her usual reluctance. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the calm facade she wore so well.

He was a total douche-bag to request this, but he just naively thought that it will give her new perspective on life with him.

A life. With him.

The discussions around the table were a blur, fading to white noise as his attention remained solely on her. The weight of the unspoken between them was heavy. Had she heard him? Had she thought about what he'd said? Was she shutting him out again?

His thoughts were interrupted when Hoseok, usually the cheerful one, leaned back in his chair, his face uncharacteristically hard. "I've been tracking down leads on who's responsible for the raids. We've collected some old debts and sent a clear message."

"Good," Yoongi murmured. "We cannot afford any more breaches."

But even his own words couldn't pierce the fog that had settled over him. His hand slipped beneath the table, seeking hers. Her fingers were cold, but the warmth of his touch didn't quite reach her. She barely acknowledged it, her attention fixed elsewhere, her silence louder than ever.

"Eat up, Dove," he said softly, his voice a mixture of command and concern. She glanced at him for a moment, but only a moment, before returning to her food. It wasn't enough. The worry didn't ease. He reached for a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Seokjin's voice continued to drone on in the background, reporting on the state of the sanatorium, but Yoongi was barely listening. His eyes stayed trained on Dove, watching for any sign that she might open up, any indication that she was processing the weight of their last conversation. But she stayed quiet. Always quiet when it mattered.

"You've been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin," Hoseok teased, trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't reach her. Yoongi could see the slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle tension in her posture. She was running herself ragged, and no amount of playful banter was going to fix that.

"I love working," Dove responded quickly, but it was too quick. Too rehearsed. The cracks in her facade were widening, and Yoongi didn't like it. He didn't like how she tried to hide behind her words, how she tried to pretend she wasn't breaking. He was not able to concentrate on anything else but her. He only ever heard her.

"Shut up, you need me, Dr. Kim," Dove shot back playfully, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. It was another act, another mask to hide the exhaustion that was etched into her features.

But Yoongi saw it all—the way she deflected, the way she kept pushing herself when she could barely keep her eyes open. He wanted to tell her to stop, to take a breath, but his words would fall on deaf ears. She wouldn't listen. She never did.

"Eat up, Dove. No more arguments," Yoongi said firmly, but there was a softness to his voice as he gave her another look, a look that he hoped would reach her. She could be strong, but not like this. Not when she broke in front of him and worked hard to put the pieces back together for so long.

Yoongi had spent the better part of the morning at the distilleries, a rather new primary focus on this part of their business.

His mind had been preoccupied with the business at hand, nothing out of the ordinary, but even with the calm, his thoughts kept circling back to Dove. She was strong, as always, and it wasn't unusual for her to retreat into herself when things got complicated.

When the message arrived, he unfurled the note quickly, his gaze flicking over the words. His brows furrowed as he read it again, then again. It was a brief message, but it carried weight—too much weight for him to ignore.

"Lǎodà Wang has requested an audience with Min Buin. She has agreed."

He had heard her voice earlier when the conversation with Xiaoli had unfolded, and a sharp edge had crept into her tone. She had been hiding something, and Yoongi knew it. Despite the occasional glimpse of peace between them, the air between them had become heavier, like a storm just waiting to break. The sound of the door opening cut through his reverie, and Taehyung stepped in. His face was set, his usual composed demeanour barely concealing the tension beneath the surface.

He left her with a promise to be back by dinner time and he was willing to uphold his promise.

Yoongi's heart dropped. He had no idea she had made such a decision. No clue that she was even considering it, let alone accepting it. His mind raced with questions, confusion clouding his thoughts. The fact that her father had made this request didn't sit well with him, and the fact that Dove had agreed to meet with him alone only made his concern grow.

The distillery, the quiet, the calm—it all faded into the background as his instincts kicked in. He had underestimated the situation. Dove had always been someone who kept things close to her chest, but this… This was different. Her father's request wasn't a mere formality, and Yoongi knew that whatever was about to happen would alter things in ways they weren't prepared for.

Without another thought, Yoongi's hand gripped his suit jacket, aggressively rushed his hand through his long locks, and quickly left the distillery. His only priority now was getting to her.

The drive back to the hotel was a blur. His mind reeled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong, the hidden threats lurking beneath every interaction with her family. He should have been there, he should've known, but Dove had kept this from him—and that alone spoke volumes.

"You're late," Taehyung said, though his voice lacked the usual humour. "She's already inside of your office, with him."

Yoongi's jaw tightened. "Alone?"

"Yeah," Taehyung replied, crossing his arms. "She did not want anyone with her. I tried to talk to her, but she insisted it was something she had to do."

His leg kicked the nearby chair out of frustration and wouldn't it be for Taehyung's hand on his chest that stopped him from barging into his office to pull her out of that untrustworthy man's presence before he would kill him, he would be doing that just now.

"Relax,—" his younger brother said.

"—Jungkook is right outside of the door ready to step in if anything. She's not defenceless." Not if he could help it. That wasn't good enough. Yoongi didn't trust Wang Zemo. He didn't trust the words the man would try to weave into Dove's mind, the seeds of doubt he might plant. She was strong, but she was also desperate, and desperation made people reckless.

"Hyung, you have to fucking trust her." Hoseok's voice echoed from the other side of the hall but didn't reach Kkangpae's ears when he was already in motion, his mind spun, his thoughts ricocheting off each moment like a series of explosions he couldn't quite contain.

Yoongi forcefully opened the door to his office and stood in the doorway, his presence dominating the room even before he fully stepped inside.

Dove, standing so composed as her father's life ebbed away, was the focal point. She didn't flinch, didn't break. That was the thing that struck Yoongi the most. He had known Dove long enough to understand that her calmness was rarely a sign of strength; it was a form of control. Her control. The kind of control he'd both admired and feared. But this… this was something else. She wasn't just manipulating the situation. She was owning it.

A smirk flickered at the edge of his lips but was gone before it could settle into anything more than a fleeting thought. He didn't need to acknowledge it. He had already figured out the game she was playing. She had planned this. Every detail, every move. His chest tightened slightly, an uncomfortable mixture of pride and an underlying dread that twisted beneath his ribs.

Yoongi didn't know whether to feel impressed by her cunning or… disturbed by it. Now, why so? He, himself, had done far worse things in his life to now judge her decisions.

Was it that she had inherited her father's cruelty, or had she simply learned to survive by any means necessary?

"Are you alright, Dove?" The question slipped from his lips, though the answer seemed obvious. Dove was fine. Perhaps too fine. It both fascinated and unnerved him.

Her response came with the same unnerving calmness. "I am good," she said, her voice steady, "but he is not."

Did she do this for him? Did she kill him because of what her father had done to them both? Or was this something deeper, more personal? The thought gnawed at him, but the answer wasn't important. What mattered was that Dove had done it. Alone.

"Did you poison him?" Jungkook's voice echoed behind him. Dove turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips, but Yoongi's gaze always remained on her. Of course, it was poison, how else would she be able to kill him?

"No,—" she said softly to Yoongi's surprise, "I just made him think I did," he raised an eyebrow. No poison. Just the idea of it. Who his wife has become to know how to manipulate the mind?

He had once thought her fascination with herbs, with the delicate art of brewing teas and tending to the sanctuary's garden, was just that—a fascination. Yoongi wanted to think that her own expertise in herbs was purely recreational. Something she is passionate about and he told himself a long time ago, he will not forbid her of such small joys. The garden never looked better back in the sanctuary and his health just might have improved with all the tea they drank together. Something that gave her solace in the world he had dragged her into, apart from working in the sanatorium with Seokjin.

And yet, the revelation didn't bring him fear. If anything, it deepened his admiration. He gave her a smile. The kind that told Yoongi she had planned this moment down to the very breath her father took before his heart gave out.

Just who have you become, Dove? The thought curled through his mind, unspoken yet weighty in its presence. She had done it without lifting a finger. Without blood staining her hands.

"You used his own mind against him."

"I didn't expect you to be this calm," Yoongi muttered, the words coming from somewhere deep, like a question he hadn't been prepared to ask. Yoongi had spent his life perfecting the art of control, of knowing every move before it was made. But as he stood there, watching Dove as she calmly accepted the weight of what she had done, he felt something shift. He had thought she was his queen—his equal, perhaps even his softer half. But now, he wondered if he had underestimated her. If she had surpassed even him.

Dove's response was measured. "I buried him a long time ago."

There it was—the truth that had always been there, buried under layers of her unspoken pain.

"So, this… this wasn't part of any plan?" His words sounded more like a question than an accusation, and Yoongi could almost feel the weight of confusion in the room.

Yoongi's gaze lingered on Dove for a moment longer, studying her as if searching for some flicker of emotion she wasn't allowed to surface. But there was nothing. Just the cold, calculating composure that had become second nature to her.

She wasn't just surviving.

She was winning.

And the strangest part?

Yoongi had never been more in love. This is what he waited for. She, the queen, by his side, conquering both of their world

"No," he said, his voice low, final. "It was not the plan."

"That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung."

He almost sneered. Was it, though? Or was it simply different? Unexpected.

Yoongi had always known Dove's father was a problem. A parasite embedded deep in their world, a man who would never be satisfied until he had clawed his way into a position of power, his position that was never meant for him. He had always intended to rid himself of that burden, to make an example of him in a way that would be remembered—a clean kill, something efficient and untraceable. He did not annihilate the whole Yamamoto clan, to yield to Wangs or Luens whose knowledge of Wang Zemo's death was rather quick.

Perhaps an orchestrated car crash or an unexpected overdose—any means to make the death quiet, unremarkable. On that, he agreed with his wife. There is no reason to shout to the other lesser clans that he had eliminated Wang Zemo in cold blood. Tortured him for his seat and influence in China's territories, he already had partial access due to their marriage. Of course, everybody expected Yoongi to want more and more power until there's none to give. No one to conquer.

The silence they will keep to hold when it comes to Wang Zemo's death will serve as a better example. Just how easily and quickly they can get rid of everyone who will not bow to their will. Not his. Their.

She had let him crumble beneath his own mind, let his paranoia and fear consume him until he collapsed under its weight. No poison, no blade, no evidence—just the idea of it. She had let him believe he was dying until he made it a reality himself.

That was power.

She was his power. And he was right to believe in her, at least in that part.

He should have been furious that she had taken matters into her own hands. He should have been livid that she had played the game without consulting him. But he has his own secrets he did not indulge her in. Thus, it is only fair she gets to keep hers. And yet, as he sat there, the faintest flicker of admiration coiled in his chest. She had been watching, learning, absorbing the very tactics he would have used.

Yoongi had once thought he had a clear view of Dove, a solid understanding of who she was. She was soft, but not weak. Intelligent, but not ruthless. A survivor, not a predator.

And yet, here she was, proving him wrong in ways he could never have imagined.

Hoseok's voice pulled him back to the present.

"If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath."

The words sent a slow-burning fury through Yoongi's veins. He had known Dove's father was cruel, had suspected the depths of his depravity, but to hear it spoken so plainly…

Guilt twisted in his gut.

We should have done something sooner.

And yet, Dove had beaten them to it. Was Dove truly as composed as she seemed, or had she simply learned how to wear a mask as well as the rest of them?

"She took control, and she knows that."

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

And that was what unnerved him the most. Dove had been given a taste of control—real control. She had orchestrated an outcome no one had foreseen, taken fate into her own hands and bent it to her will.

Could he trust that she would not wield that power against him?

"Do you still not trust her, Hyung?" Hoseok's voice was calm, but there was something in his tone that made Yoongi pause.

His fingers tapped against the wood again, an unspoken hesitation.

"I trust her," he admitted. "But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger."

And wasn't that the true fear gnawing at him? That Dove had not simply acted out of necessity or revenge, but that she had been planning something all along? That this was merely the first move in a much larger game?

"She took down her own father, for God's sake." Hoseok's voice was sharp, cutting through the growing tension. "She is devoted to you."

Yoongi held his gaze, searching for something—an assurance, perhaps, that this wasn't all slipping through his fingers.

"That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure," he said slowly, his words measured. "But I get Namjoon's suspicions of her. She did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—"

Taehyung's voice cut in, smooth and deliberate. "Maybe she is playing us all."

Yoongi exhaled sharply, the suggestion irritating him more than he cared to admit.

"Playing us all?" he repeated, voice low, mocking. "You think Y/N is playing us?"

"She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don't just do that without having something bigger planned."

Seokjin nodded in agreement, his gaze steady. "He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. "It's different."

Hoseok leaned forward, his expression unyielding. "She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you."

Yoongi felt the weight of the words settle deep within him.

Did he doubt her loyalty?

No.

He doubted her intentions.

She had changed, and change was dangerous when it was unpredictable.

But Hoseok wasn't finished. "She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think."

Yoongi closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling slowly. His mind churned with possibilities, with uncertainties, with the raw truth of what had just unfolded.

For years, he had thought himself the one in control, the one shaping the world around him. But now, he wasn't sure.

Because for the first time, Dove had moved the pieces without him.

And that changed everything.

Damn, he wished that Hoseok was right.

The funeral was a quiet affair, far removed from the wails and theatrics Yoongi had seen when his father had died. The procession moved with an eerie calmness as if Wang Zemo's death was not a loss to be mourned but an inconvenience to be acknowledged.

Dove was far gone in her mind to capture all that was happening around her. Or maybe because Yoongi saw her gulping down the pills she had not touched for a while. According to Seokjin, she continued to use more natural ways of calming her mind than barbiturates.

Dove's mother stood at the forefront, her face unreadable beneath the veil of white mourning silk. She moved with grace, offering bows when required, whispering ritual prayers with all the reverence of someone reciting empty words. Yoongi observed her with a calculating gaze. She was not broken. Not devastated. Not the portrait of a grieving widow.

She was silent. Passive. And that disturbed him more than if she had wept.

When his own father had died, the streets had been lined with mourners. The lament of the women had filled the halls of the Min estate for days. The weight of loss had been suffocating. And yet, here, in this moment, there was nothing. No tears. No grief. Only the slow, methodical act of ceremony.

The Luen clan had arrived just before the rites began, their presence casting a long shadow over the proceedings. The eldest among them, Luen Hanyu, walked with the confidence of a man who had never once tasted defeat. His robes were immaculate, his every movement precise. When his eyes met Yoongi's, there was no hostility, but there was something else. A warning. A reminder that power shifted like the tides, and should the Mins falter, the Luens would not hesitate to claim what was left behind.

"Tragic," Luen Hanyu murmured as he stepped beside Yoongi, his voice smooth as silk. "A man dying in such a manner. And at such a critical time."

Yoongi turned his head slightly, offering nothing in return.

"Your wife," Luen continued, his tone turning thoughtful, "is quite the woman. To endure such a burden, to act so decisively… it is impressive."

Yoongi's fingers curled slightly at his sides, but he did not react otherwise. He knew what this was. A test. A probe. The Luens wanted to see how much control he still had. If he would falter. If Dove was truly devoted to the clan, if she answered to him.

"This is the second time you have expressed your interest in my wife Hanyu, do I need to remind you of the consequences of such words?"

Yoongi's voice was calm, almost dangerously so, as he fixed his gaze on Luen Hanyu. His silence, though, carried the weight of years of power and the unspoken promise of retribution for those who dared to challenge or even insinuate anything against his claim his father fought hard for him to have.

"Well, I could argue that I have expressed my interest even back then when you swept her before Yamamotos could, but that would be an unfair reflection of the true nature of our conversation, wouldn't it?" Luen Hanyu's voice remained smooth, his eyes never wavering from Yoongi's.

"I only admire your choice, Yoongi. A woman like her—resilient, intelligent… she would have been a valuable ally, asset if you wish, in any other circumstances." Luen Hanyu smiled, a thin, calculated curve of his lips that did not reach his eyes. Yoongi's gaze narrowed, his expression hardening as his lips pressed into a thin line. The underlying message in Hanyu's words was unmistakable—there was a power struggle, one that had existed long before he had ever claimed Dove as his. The Luens were not the type to give up their pursuit so easily.

"It would be a shame to see that strength misdirected, wouldn't you agree?"

The ceremony around them continued as if unaffected by their exchange, but Yoongi could feel every second of it. He knew Hanyu was playing a dangerous game, pushing boundaries, testing limits—but Yoongi would not be moved so easily. Not when it came to Dove.

"I didn't 'sweep' her, Hanyu," Yoongi replied, his voice low, but his tone carrying an unmistakable edge. "Y/N chose me. And in this life, that's all that matters."

"And I don't take kindly to threats disguised as compliments," Yoongi replied, his voice a low, threatening murmur. "Just as I don't take kindly to anyone forgetting their place."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something—perhaps a recognition of the danger in Yoongi's tone—but it was gone just as quickly. Luen Hanyu only offered a nod, as if conceding the point without actually backing down.

"Of course," he said, his voice once again smooth and composed. "I apologize if I overstepped, Yoongi. I meant no offence."

"Just remember, Kkangpae Min, a man who does not respect what is his will eventually lose it."

Luen Hanyu's smile remained, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. The challenge was not lost on him, and while he may have been the one to probe first, Yoongi was now the one making the rules.

"Perhaps," Yoongi shrugged, "but I'm not that kind of a man."

Yoongi watched her, his gaze steady as she stood before him, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The way her body trembled ever so slightly betrayed the strength she was trying so desperately to maintain. She had waited for this moment, carefully crafted her request, but beneath it all, Yoongi knew it wasn't just about her mother and Bo Cheng. It was about her.

Her words hit him like a dull thud— "To live a life I could not."

His mind began to race, sifting through the implications of her request. Let her mother and Bo Cheng go? Let them live their lives away from the power struggles, away from the suffocating grip he had on everything around him? It was almost laughable. Did she really think she could make such a request and simply walk away unscathed? This is not the same case as Diayu. He owed her then. Now, he can ask for something in return. She was playing a dangerous game, and Yoongi knew it. She had to.

Yoongi's thoughts sharpened as the weight of her request settled deeper in his mind. Let them go to Maryland. This wouldn't go unnoticed. Moving so many clan members to the states could raise suspicion, the move across the world to Diayu would be a declaration. A statement. Clans could suspect he is preparing for another civil war, that he is moving his members to another continent, or trying to take over the underworld there.

She was asking for something he couldn't simply give away.

The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a game she had learnt to play. A subtle push and pull, a challenge to see if he would allow her to make such a request without consequences. And she thought herself clever—thinking she could pull a string without realizing that every thread in this marriage had already been tied, knotted, and woven by him. There was no escape.

"You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?"

Her family's safety was the bait in her eyes. The lure. But it wasn't about them. It was about her, testing his resolve. Testing his grip on her. Testing how much he cared.

Letting them go would make him seem less in control, less omnipotent. And that couldn't happen. The moment he let her think she could escape was the moment he lost.

"I trust you enough to keep them safe for me."

But there was more. He leaned back slightly, looking at her as though trying to see past the calm exterior she wore. Her mother and Bo Cheng—he could keep them safe, of course, but the true power here wasn't in her family's protection.

"But you still fear that I will take it all from you," he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. "That I will use them to make you obey—" because he indeed will.

It was always her. Not her mother, brother, or even sister, her. Wang Zemo is dead, and she and Yoongi are officially his heirs. Bo Cheng, though, would have a stronger claim on his father's leadership if he wouldn't be young. That always put Dove before him, but as a woman, she would not be able to inherit anything. As a wedded woman, now, that is a different story in this world.

"I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will."

His thumb brushed across her skin, feeling the softness. Yoongi had never needed to explain this to her. She had to know he had eyes everywhere, that there was nowhere she could go that his reach wouldn't follow. She was his. But what she had asked for, what she was asking for now, made him feel… distant. As if she were slipping through his fingers, slowly but surely. As if she was building herself a base ground in the States before she would attempt to flee. He did not forget her little request to visit her cousin in the States. To move her mother and brother there - it would give her more reasons to visit states, and he could not keep denying her each time.

"Here is the thing, Y/N," Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. "I needn't to. I've already got you, have I not?"

They could argue all night and she could think that by keeping her family here is what Yoongi needs to bargain with her. Here he thought they were past his negotiation stage. So naturally, he wanted to put an end to this. She had underestimated him, but that was fine. He would let her think she could bargain. He would let her think she could request something as trivial as this. But she had to understand. She will not leave. And she knew better than to ask him about it.

"Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—"

"Answer me, Dove."

Her heart might be pushing her to ask for more, but he would show her—without lifting a finger—just how much of her life was already entwined with his. Yoongi had already won. He had always won. And now, it was time to remind her of that. To remind her, that despite him being proud of how far they come, he cannot let her fly as high without wanting something in return.

"I just need this one thing," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please."

"Answer me first."

His gaze bore into her. God he wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to take her in his arms and bed her right now to make her forget every single thing, bury himself deep in her enough to make her scream his name. Make her say that she is his, over and over again.

"Yoongi, please," her hands trembling as she cupped his face.

The more he thought about why she was asking this, the more he understood. She wasn't asking for her family's safety—she was asking for her own. She was begging him not to destroy what little peace she had left.

"I will do anything—"

And as much as he wanted to bend her to his will, to force her to understand the depths of her dependence on him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing her. Slowly, imperceptibly, but he was losing her all the same.

Yoongi's breath caught as their lips met, a softness at first—a quiet testing of the waters. But as soon as she responded, her lips parting beneath his, something inside him surged. The kiss deepened, instinct taking over as their tongues collided, each of them hungry to claim what the other was offering. His heart thudded in his chest, erratic and hard, in perfect sync with hers, as if their souls had been tethered by this moment.

He could not pull her close enough. Yoongi's hands slid around her waist, pressing her against him, feeling the warmth of her body seep into his own. Her trembling hands cupped his face, her touch so soft, so tentative. But the intensity was building between them, an electric charge that had been building long before this kiss. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and he could feel the pulse in her fingertips, in the delicate tremor of her touch.

She is here, he thought briefly, with me, still.

As much as he craved her—wanted her to stay, to remain his forever—he was acutely aware of the delicate fragility of this. Of her. His hands tightened just slightly, pulling her closer still, as if he could erase the distance between them, not just in body, but in everything. He wanted to breathe her in, taste her, consume every inch of her, and yet... a part of him stayed still, careful, as though afraid that if he rushed too much, she'd slip through his fingers.

Finally, the kiss slowed, both of them gasping for breath, their lips parting with reluctance. Yoongi's forehead rested against hers, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath he took. The room felt impossibly small, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.

"We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jeweler's," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of something darker, something that curled around his heart like a vice.

He felt the way her body tensed against him, her hands trembling where they rested against his chest. Good. She knew what he meant. She knew exactly where this was going. Yoongi could sense it.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Yoongi let the silence stretch for a beat, drinking in the apprehension flickering in her gaze. He wanted her to feel it—the inevitability of this moment. Her pulse quickened. He could feel it beneath his fingertips, that nervous energy coiling inside her. It only made his resolve sharper.

"I know what you want," she admitted, but there was hesitation, resistance, something fragile in the way she tried to hold herself together. "But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—"

"No." His fingers dug into her skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that she was his. That she had always been his.

"You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time." His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a dark promise.

"You said you would do anything. Anything, dove." He felt the way she shuddered at the name, the way her body betrayed her even as she tried to fight him. "You want them safe and away? I will do so—"

He listened to her sharp exhale, waiting until she braced herself for what he's going to ask.

"What do you want from me, Yoongi?"

There it was. The question. The inevitable plea.

His gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable, and for the first time that night, his voice softened, not in gentleness, but in finality.

"A child."

He watched the way her breath hitched, the way denial curled at the edge of her lips before she swallowed it down. She had always chosen to ignore this part of him, to pretend she did not see the way his mind worked, the way his love manifested into something deeper, something irreversible.

But there was no pretending anymore.

She belonged to him. And soon, she would carry proof of it.

Yoongi watched the way her lips parted, the way her breath stilled as his words settled between them. A child. His child.

The idea had taken root in his mind long before this moment, long before she ever had the chance to resist it. It was the only thing that could truly bind her to him—an unbreakable tether, something no amount of running or begging could undo. She would not leave a child, now, would she?

She would not jeopardise a little unborn baby in her womb by running away from him. Would she?

Yoongi knew this blow is far the meanest he ever did, but he could not help himself. He was brought into this world the same way. Everyone around would just say that history repeats itself, and that's just how Mins have their heirs. By a bargain. But he doesn't know what he would do if she ever managed to escape, he doesn't even want to think about that as a probable possibility. However strong and loud is Hoseok's defence of her, he does not know her like Yoongi.

Dove shook her head slightly, her hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. A useless attempt. She should have known by now—Yoongi did not let go.

"Yoongi..." her voice was a whisper, barely there, but he caught the tremble in it, the way she was already unravelling. He exhaled slowly, his forehead still resting against hers, his fingers smoothing over her sides, a careful caress laced with quiet warning.

"You are mine," he murmured. "You have always been mine. And now, you will carry something that proves it."

She tensed beneath his touch, but he wasn't concerned. Resistance was expected. He had learned her patterns, memorized the way she struggled before she inevitably yielded. She would fight, she always did, but the outcome would be the same.

"But this is something I cannot do in an hour, Yoongi!"

Yoongi let out a slow exhale, his fingers tightening against her waist as the desperation in her voice struck something primal in him. She was grasping at the last shreds of control, trying to reason with him as if logic had ever mattered between them.

He tilted his head, watching her, absorbing every flicker of resistance in her eyes. It was almost endearing, the way she still believed she had a say in this.

His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "No," he agreed, his voice quiet, deliberate. "You cannot."

"Then it is a good thing you are not leaving anywhere, right, love?"

A soft, broken sound escaped her lips—something between a sigh and a plea. She was trembling now, fingers pressing into his arms as if trying to ground herself, but there was nowhere left to run. No doors left to close. No excuses left to make.

His fingers traced slow, possessive circles against her stomach, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"You want me to trust you?" he asked, tilting his head, his dark eyes boring into hers, searching, demanding.

Still, she swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the tightness in her throat. "I—I do."

Yoongi hummed, his fingers drifting to her chin, tilting her face up to him. He studied her, his expression unreadable, but there was something almost contemplative in the way he regarded her.

"Then prove it," he murmured. "Let me have this."

"You ask me to believe in you, to be patient, to let you go when you beg for space." His voice was calm, but the quiet intensity beneath it was suffocating. "But when have you ever trusted me in return?"

Yoongi leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "I will take care of you," he whispered. "And you will give me what I want."

His arms tightened around her, as if sealing her fate.

She was his.

And soon, she would have no choice but to stay.

"Until then, they remain here."

DOVE

september 1939

The early morning mist lingered over the Han River, wrapping the outskirts of Seoul in a shroud of uncertainty. She remembers that morning of the first September when she woke up next to him just like any other morning.

Y/N would love to say that she has a concrete and well calculated plan. But she does not. Her thoughts are still as messy as they were before and the only thing she can do now is lay a foundation and wait for the right time. Not like the last time turned out to be unsuccessful.

She moved silently, her heart pounding in her chest. The guards were supposedly at their most complacent during the late hours, and she had overheard snippets of their shifts. By overhearing she means, stealing Jungkook's guarding schedule he creates for his soldiers that remain at the sanctuary or at Chosen.

She had been preparing for this moment for weeks, but as she crept through the darkened corridors, her mind was a whirlwind of doubt and second-guessing. It's too soon. It has been only a few months at that point and she did not think that was enough proof to Yoongi that she has left the thoughts of fleeing behind.

She knew the way out of the main house and her broken mind had tried the hardest to puzzle the pieces and create a full picture of where the tunnel was. At first she thought that escaping whilst they were in Chosen would be easier, but that has become an impossible task when Yoongi, not doubled but tripled the safeguarding of the hotel, after the raids her father orchestrated.

Her plan was not near perfect if she meant to rely on her hunch, but the circumstances of what she had discovered while working with Seokjin led her to be more impatient than ever. She needed to calm down, but could not.

Just as she opened the backdoor that would lead her to the garden with a crack, she stumbled in the dark, losing her balance. She collided with a solid figure, and a strong hand gripped her arm, steadying her. At the very moment she realised that her plan failed even before it had the chance to begin.

"You're sleepwalking again, darling?" Hoseok's voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his grip and a knowing glint in his eyes. The faint glow of a cigarette in his other hand illuminated his face, revealing a mixture of concern and suspicion.

Her heart stopped, her mind racing to fabricate a lie. With a deep breath, she straightened, masking her panic with a casual smile. "Hoseok-ssi, you scared me," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. Hoseok's eyes narrowed, his grip on her arm firm.

When did he get back and why is he staying at the main house? The core of the sanctuary was always a big hanok mansion, which was mostly occupied by her and Yoongi. Only on occasion, the other members stayed as they had their own residences within the sanctuary.

"When did you get back from the border?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light, as though she hadn't been caught in the act of sneaking out. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping up her spine; Hoseok was perceptive, and he would sense something was off.

"Just a few hours ago," he replied, tilting his head slightly, as if studying her. "Yoongi asked me to stay here for a bit. You know how he worries."

"What about the others?" she probed, her voice wavering slightly despite her efforts to appear calm.

"They'll be here tomorrow. I wanted to see how you were, heard you were unwell," Hoseok said, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing out a stream of smoke. His gaze lingered on her, and she felt exposed, as though he could see through the layers of deception she had carefully constructed.

"We did not see each other for a while, didn't we?" she said, forcing a lightness into her voice, trying to redirect the conversation. She felt the urge to fill the silence, to smooth over the cracks that were forming between them.

"Yeah, it's been a while," Hoseok agreed, his expression softening slightly, though the intensity of his gaze remained. "I've missed you, little one."

The sincerity in his words tugged at her heart, a flicker of warmth amidst the tension. Hoseok was the first brother her heart allowed to take in. Whether it was because she always felt like she owes him a big one after she smashed him with a brick when they first met or because he was the one to save her from Chen's disgusting hands. But they clicked and even though their friendship was not ideal, taking into consideration the circumstances of it happening, Yoongi in particular was happy that she developed positive feelings at least towards one of his brothers. He for sure knew she hated Namjoon's guts with her whole being.

"I'm glad you're back home." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. There was an ache in her chest, a conflicting sense of loyalty to her plans and gratitude towards Hoseok, who has become a light in her darkest moments. The way the word "home" laid out on her tongue became less foreign each time, but she could not get rid of it fully.

He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling between them like a protective barrier that she desperately wished would shield her from the truth of her situation. He raised one of his eyebrows and she knew what that meant immediately.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted, forcing a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just… a little overwhelmed, I guess. This place can be suffocating at times."

"I get that," Hoseok replied, a knowing look crossing his face. "Once we finalise the new deal with Luens, he may consider stationing you outside of the sanctuary too." She could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her, not just from Yoongi but from the entire family. The urge to confide in him battled with the instinct to keep her plans shrouded in secrecy. She wanted to tell someone. She needed to tell someone.

"You should get some sleep, Y/N. We can catch up at the breakfast table, darling."

She forced herself to nod, though her mind was still racing, caught in the whirlwind of her thoughts. As she turned to leave, Hoseok's hand brushed against her wrist, a gentle reminder of the connection they shared.

"Y/N," he called softly, halting her steps. "You really can talk to me, you know. If something' is bothering you—"

"I know, Hoseok," she interrupted, unable to bear the thought of voicing her fears. "I'll be fine. I just… need to sort my thoughts through." She smiled softly, turning her back at him.

"I believe in you, darling." He whispered for himself. A little promise, a mantra if you insist. He hoped and prayed that the young Buin will find her place here - among them.

Lying down, she stared at the ceiling, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows across her room. She might have thought she fooled Hoseok, the young leader knew her better than any of his brothers.

The rustle of the sheets echoed in the silent room and a warm hand pulled her body closer to his. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to relax, to forget the weight of her plans and the turmoil brewing within her. He laid a tender kiss to her hair before speaking up with a hoarse sleepy voice.

"Good girl."

He knew back then that by giving her space it also meant letting her learn not to run. Block the urge to do so. He counted on the fact that she would attempt to leave, but he also counted on the fact that she won't be able to. Not in the sanctuary. He understood the delicate balance of her feelings, the internal war waging in her heart. Or he loved to believe so. But as if the almighty himself was aware, he bestowed another challenge upon her.

It felt like August went by rather quickly and the last moments of peace were left to be cherished, because September brought only despair. The village always wakes up slowly, but today is different. Neighbours huddle, not for gossip but out of fear.

Today's morning was unusually colder than the last one. Y/N awoke to the sound of hushed voices filtering through her window, the words barely discernible yet heavy with unease. She rose from her bed, her heart racing as she threw on a warmer hanfu, the fabric providing little warmth against the chill creeping into her bones. Something was off, and the air felt charged with unspoken tension.

Yoongi was already up, having his morning coffee when she entered the garden, informal clothing adored her physique. Something about their mornings was so domestic, as if they were doing this for years and years.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of coffee, mingling with the faint scent of blossoms from the nearby trees.

"Morning, beautiful" he greeted her with a soft smile, his eyes warm yet tinged with concern. "You're up early."

She slept a lot, now. She even ate well. Yoongi did not really demand any sort of official work as the Buin of this clan when she did not ask for it herself, nor she worked outside of the sanctuary for a while as the new deal with Luen's is to be still established and it is not safe for her to be in the open. She did not have the power in her to fight him on this. Not everything can be turned into a fight anyway.

He certainly did not question her when after all the months, she slept. She slept without waking up in the middle of the night, frantic, not realising where she is until he coddled her to his bare chest and held her tight.

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted, taking a seat across from him at the small wooden table they often used for breakfast. His brows furrowed but her shaking head reassured him that it was something more ordinary that kept her from sleeping.

"I kept hearing whispers outside. How come they are so talkative today." She remarked with confusion in her voice. The staff usually respect the early morning hours by being quiet, and when the master and mistress of the house both were ready to start the day, only then they talked among each other. It was a rule the former Kkangpae Min established, and even though Yoongi did not care, they continued to follow it.

He studied her for a moment, the furrow in his brow deepening.

"Did they wake you up?"

"Not exactly," she replied, brushing her hair back from her face. "I heard them while I was tossing and turning. It's just… different this morning. They sound worried."

Yoongi nodded, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze drifting toward the village beyond the garden. This is his home. Home where he grew up, and the home where his children will grow up one day.

"Did something happen that I don't know of, dear husband?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes searching his face for answers. He basked in the causality they managed to establish between them and the kisses he now stole without having to ask for them.

The young scarred Kkangpae dreamed of this point in their relationship and was selfish enough to not think twice about it. Which, after all, worked in her favour. Always.

Yoongi set his coffee cup down, the sound of porcelain against wood cutting through the tension in the air. "Not to my knowledge—"

"It does not sound good," she replied, unease gnawing at her. "I just don't have a good feeling,—" Just then, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted their moment. A young maid approached, her expression a mix of urgency and concern. She held a folded newspaper tightly in her hands, the edges slightly crumpled.

"Excuse me, Sangjanim, Buin," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought you might want to see this." She handed the newspaper to Yoongi, her eyes darting nervously between them.

Yoongi took the paper, his brow furrowing as he unfolded it. Y/N leaned closer, her heart pounding as she read the bold headlines together with him

GERMAN TROOPS INVADE POLAND. NAZIS BOMB WARSAW.

The air felt suddenly heavier, and the reality of the situation began to settle in.

"Thank you," Yoongi said to the maid, who nodded and quickly retreated, leaving the two of them alone again, the weight of the newspaper pressing heavily in the space between them.

Yoongi's expression hardened as he scanned the pages, his jaw tense. Yoongi's eyes darted across the page, taking in the gravity of the headlines. The world beyond their immediate concerns was changing rapidly, and the looming threat of war brought a new layer of urgency to his plans. He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, turning his attention back to Y/N.

"We need to be prepared, supply-wise," Yoongi said, his voice steady but edged with a seriousness that hadn't been there for a while.

Y/N nodded, her expression mirroring his concern. "What do we do now?"

Yoongi reached across the table, taking her hand in his.

"This is not our war to fight in, Dove. We will be safe here."

But he has to leave the valley at some point. They will have to.

XIAOLI

That night, as she lay tangled in silk sheets, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of Taehyung's breath beside her, as rare as it was now for them to sleep in one bed, in one house and together, a thought crept back in. She turned onto her side, watching the dim candlelight flicker against his profile.

"You're still awake?" His voice was low, thick with sleep.

Xiaoli hesitated. It felt silly, bringing it up again. But something about his earlier reaction had unsettled her. "The tea," she murmured. "It tastes like something familiar, but I can't place it."

Taehyung remained still for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "You're thinking too much about it."

"Maybe." She paused, pressing her cheek against the pillow. "But you asked me to describe it twice."

His silence was answer enough. Y/N had been drinking it for months—every day without fail. It was strange, wasn't it? A habit that seemed more ritual than indulgence.

A slow tension coiled in her stomach.

"Do you think it's something bad?" she pressed.

His jaw tensed, the candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. "I think," he said carefully, "Yoongi will deal with it as he seems fit."

Xiaoli frowned, he was not telling her something, the words sending a quiet dread curling down her spine as she recalled this morning in the heart of the valley with her older sister.

Xiaoli's gaze lingered on Y/N longer than it should have. It wasn't just curiosity—it was suspicion, sharp and probing.

"What is it, Xiaoli—"

"Nothing." Her sister shrugged and sighed. She could not voice the words her husband mentioned in fleeting when they enveloped each other in the warm evening full of moans and delightful touches.

The Kkangpae was impatient, she knew that much. The sooner it happens, the sooner their mother and brother will be away from yet another of the bloodshed Yoongi plans.

Xiaoli sighed again as she picked up the teacup from Y/N's tray, swirling the dark liquid before taking a hesitant sip. She wrinkled her nose immediately.

"Xiaoli,—" Y/N started again, attempting to demand to tell her what was going on but she interrupted her swiftly.

"This tastes awful," she muttered, setting it back down. "How do you drink this every day?"

Y/N forced a small smile. "You get used to it."

Xiaoli shook her head, still grimacing as she wiped her lips with a napkin. The bitterness lingered unpleasantly on her tongue, and the taste nagged at something in the back of her mind.

YOONGI

However painful the next phase of this woven tale is for you dear reader, bear with it.

Yoongi did not speak as he led her through the corridors of their home, his grip firm around her wrist. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what had just transpired. When they reached his home office, he pushed the door open with unwanted force and she flinched.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Yoongi stood in front of her, jaw tight, chest rising and falling with restrained breaths. His gaze flickered over her face, searching for something—defiance, regret, anything that would tell him where her mind was.

"You really thought that was a good idea?" His voice was low, dangerous. He was pissed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to wriggle her wrist out of his hands. He could not believe Seokjin's words when he confirmed. He did not want to believe his words.

"How was your morning tea, beautiful?"

He saw her gulp down and almost could hear her heart hammering in her chest. His fingers having left behind the ghost of restraint on her wrist when she finally pulled herself away and Yoongi had let her step away just a little

"I don't follow," she lied, voice even. Yoongi let out a sharp breath through his nose, his head tilting ever so slightly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small pouch, tied with twine. He tossed it onto the desk between them, and the moment it landed, a faint but familiar scent curled into the air.

Bitterness. Earthiness. The unmistakable aroma of the tea she had grown so used to. The very same plant that she was nurturing in the garden for another bash. The very same thing that poisoned her body, perchances even her mind when Yoongi deliberates too much.

"And?" her voice was suddenly laced with carefulness. If she was trying to not anger him even more, she was failing.

"Don't," he cut her off, shaking his head as he took a step closer. "Don't insult me by pretending you don't know exactly what this is." He pressed a finger against the pouch. "How long?"

Yoongi saw her take a careful step back. Lately, everything she has done was careful. And he was a fucking fool to believe she just opened her legs for him and make her cum around his cock over and over again until he found his release deep within her warm walls.

Fucking fool.

"How long?" he barked, the restraint in his voice finally cracking. He was analysing her face thoroughly. She clenched her jaw. Did she want to lie—buy herself time, weave a desperate excuse—but what good would that do? He already knew.

"Long." She admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. The room felt smaller, closing in on him with each passing second. His silence was worse than his anger.

The taste of betrayal was bitter on his tongue—bitter like that fucking tea.

Yoongi had always known she was stubborn. Always known she harboured resentment beneath that quiet obedience, but this? This was a different breed of betrayal. She had been planning this for months, lying to his face, letting him touch her, letting him fill her up, all while ensuring nothing would ever take root inside her.

He watched her now, pressed against the wall, her breath uneven but her chin held high. Still pretending she wasn't afraid of him. Still acting like she had the upper hand.

He could feel the rage curling in his stomach, something slow and venomous, something patient. The realization settled into his bones—she hadn't just been trying to avoid his child. She had been preparing for something far worse.

‘To live a life I could not'. She was going to leave him.

Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose, flexing his fingers at his sides to keep from wrapping them around her throat. He wanted to shake the truth out of her, to break apart whatever delusions she had built inside her pretty little head.

Instead, he leaned in. Close enough to hear the unsteady rhythm of her breaths.

"When?" Venom. Pure venom.

Dove did not answer.

Yoongi's jaw tightened. He could see the gears turning in her head, her mind racing to find a way out, to weave a lie convincing enough to soothe him. But she had already miscalculated—she had underestimated just how deep his patience ran, how far he was willing to go to extract the truth.

"WHEN?!" he raised his voice, after such a long time. They were peaceful for a long time.

"When what?"

His fingers ghosted over her wrist before he caught it again, his grip firm but not bruising. Not yet.

Yoongi's eyes flared with an intensity that could burn through steel. The silence that followed his outburst was deafening, thick with tension as the air between them grew heavier. His hand was still pressed to the wall beside her head, but it was no longer just a barrier—it was a warning. A reminder of his control.

His voice dropped dangerously low, a near growl. "When were you planning to leave me?"

Dove's gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, before she regained her composure, lips pressed tight. But her pulse, he could feel it—racing beneath her skin, betraying the calm she was trying to maintain. She was just as trapped as he was, but she was too proud to admit it. Always too proud until he breaks her apart, peace by peace, to make her bend the knee and obey.

"Answer me." His voice was smooth now, the patience in it almost cruel. "When, Y/N?"

Any endearment stripped. He wanted her to break again, just for a second, and wanted her to crack open and reveal the truth.

"I was not—" she pleaded.

"Do not fuck with me, Y/N."

And that made the rage simmer hotter, the anger deeper. It wasn't just the fact that she had lied to him, but betrayed him with her secrets. No, it was that she thought she could get away with it. That she could leave him, escape him, and he'd never know.

Dove's lips parted, but nothing came out. Yoongi could see the wheels turning in her mind—she was calculating, deciding whether to push back or give him what he wanted.

"When August met September." Yoongi's heart skipped a beat at her words. The sudden shift in her tone caught him off guard, and for the briefest moment, he was thrown into a state of disbelief. Even though he knew, he fucking knew that was an attempt to leave him in the dead of the night, a little participle of him clung onto the thought that she had returned to his embrace that night, out of love. That maybe just maybe, he only misunderstood and that Hoseok as Hoseok said, she was sleepwalking. That is the degree of his delusion.

"Right after we failed to strike a deal with Luens." He thought out loud.

"But I did not leave, Yoongi. There is no way for me to leave-"

Yoongi's heart clenched at her words, but it wasn't the reassurance he had hoped for. Her voice, steady and firm, held no trace of guilt—only a thin veneer of calm that irritated him more than it comforted him. She had already made her decision, and now, here she was, trying to convince him that it wasn't the way he thought.

She had been planning this from the beginning. From that first meeting, from the moment their paths crossed. Every touch, every kiss, every stolen moment had been nothing but a calculated manoeuvre in her grand escape plan. No. He refused to believe that. His fist collided with the wall right next to her head to keep himself at bay.

"You were planning to leave me. Now, you are going to tell me why." He gritted through his teeth. Dove opened her mouth, but the words died before they could reach her lips. She didn't know what to say. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, the internal battle playing out behind them. And he knew—he knew she was trying to think of a way to escape this moment, to manipulate the situation just like she always had.

Yoongi could see the internal war waging behind her eyes—her stubbornness fighting against the truth she was too afraid to admit.

"I did not plan to leave leave you, Yoongi," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it—a subtle, yet distinct note of defiance. "I never wanted to leave them."

"Those early escape attempts were not as convincing, love."

"That was before they lived under your roof-" she started.

"-You know I would not leave them behind. You always counted on that."

Yoongi's grip on the wall tightened as her words hit him, the weight of them sinking into his chest. There was a vulnerability in her voice that he couldn't ignore, a fragility that made him want to tear apart the walls she had built between them.

"But you wanted to!" He shouted, hitting the wall behind her with his palms.

"Semantics, Yoongi, it does not matter anymore." Dove didn't move, didn't flinch, but her eyes flickered to the side, betraying the fear she tried so hard to suppress.

"Are you fucking serious right now, Dove?" But even as he tried to digest her words, the anger simmered beneath the surface, boiling over with a ferocity he couldn't fully control.

"Listen to me, Yoongi. It.does. not. matter. anymore."

Her hands slowly slid down to the small swell of her belly.

Yoongi's breath hitched as his fingers hovered just above the curve of her belly, a place he had never dared touch with such deliberate slowness. The tension between them was palpable—each word, each movement, each breath held an unspoken weight. His mind scrambled for meaning, the realization settling in like a heavy stone.

"You—" His voice faltered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His hand trembled slightly as he pulled it back, almost as if afraid to confirm the truth. Her little swollen belly…

"I'm not leaving, Yoongi."

"His Majesty the Emperor—" Namjoon's voice rose, growing more impatient, and they had just started.

"You mean his fucking minions—" Yoongi snapped, cutting him off, the bitterness clear in his voice.

Yoongi stood rigid, a storm brewing in his dark eyes, his jaw clenched tight. Dove, her hands resting protectively over her abdomen, while she sat on the antique sofa, stared back at him with a mix of confusion and frustration, unable to understand why he was being so unreasonable. As always.

"Yoongi, this isn't just about your ego now," Namjoon continued, his tone now edged with urgency. "This is about the future of all of us. We cannot sit idle. The fucking government needs to hear our position, and we need to make it clear that Luen is a threat to our motherland, that their continued existence is a danger to everything we've fought for."

Just like they did with the Yakuza. Granting them official pardon and a government covered assassination for the greater good of Imperial Japan. Fucking Japan.

"We have lost this fight once, Yoongi. They will move in on us, the government will turn a blind eye, and all our work will be for nothing." By work he means eliminating every possible threat to Yoongi's full reign over the criminal underworld.

Yoongi's gaze shifted to the others in the room. Seokjin, Hoseok, and even Jungkook, who had been quietly watching from the corner, now stood, their expressions unreadable, waiting for him to make a decision. Dove's eyes never left him, her hand still resting on her stomach, looking at her from afar, she was very much lost in her thoughts.

"Yeah, well, they had to just decide to have a chit chat in middle of fucking world war."

Korea was far from the European battlegrounds, but it was a matter of time and people were already conflicted. If this war turns out right, this republic may just gain its independence after all. The Japanese authorities were vigilant in monitoring any form of dissent or resistance to their rule, and any actions that could threaten Japanese control were crushed swiftly. They needed to be careful.

"They do not give a fuck whether we will slaughter each other. They want our arsenal and they will try to shut the shipments down." He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, his thoughts a blur of frustration and anger. Japan increased militarization, even though the war started only forty two days ago. And that's exactly why they focused on the booze more. It was safer.

"I'm not just some fucking fool willing to risk everything we've built for a meeting with the government that doesn't give a damn about us or our plans. We are perfectly hidden here."

Namjoon's face tightened, and his hands balled into fists, but he held his ground.

"Since when are you the one to operate from the shadows, Hyung?" Yoongi's eyes flashed with anger at the jab, but he didn't rise to the bait. He could feel his grip tightening on his anger, but the storm was far from over. His jaw worked as he clenched it even tighter, his gaze never leaving Namjoon's.

"Since when did I need to operate out in the open, Namjoon?" Yoongi's voice was cold, his tone sharp as a blade. "The shadows are where we've thrived, where we've built this empire from. We don't need to be paraded in front of a bunch of government officials who'd stab us in the back the moment it suits them. We don't need their approval to survive."

Namjoon's patience was wearing thin, his usually calm demeanor cracking under the pressure.

"Aren't you going to say something to your husband?!" her gaze snapping toward Namjoon. The implication is clear. Yoongi's eyes immediately darkened, his jaw tightening even further. Her fingers curled tighter around her abdomen, as if to shield the growing life inside her from the tension that seemed to choke the room.

She shifted on the sofa, her hand still resting protectively over her abdomen, her voice steady though there was a trembling edge to it. "You're both making decisions as if there's no tomorrow," she said, her words directed at both of them.

Yoongi's anger was still a storm, but now it was buried under something deeper, something that shook him to his core. His gaze softened just enough to show the vulnerability he hadn't allowed anyone to see.

"I know why you do not wish to answer the summons, Yoongi, but we cannot hide—" she halted and seemed to collect her thoughts.

"The Japanese have never been kind to those they cannot control, Yoongi. You know that better than anyone."

Yoongi didn't answer right away, his thoughts racing. He did not want her to leave the sanctuary, but leaving her behind would only turn heads. . She met his gaze with a look that was both gentle and unyielding. Can he risk this? The fragile peace they have. His hands on the small swell of her belly each time they went to bed. Scratch that, each moment he could steal away was spent doting on her. Taking care of every single of her needs. She gave him hope for a life with her.

"I didn't build this to lose it, Dove, no. But the only way I know how to protect us right now is to keep the world from seeing us. If we step out into the light now-" His voice trailed off, and his gaze turned inward, dark and uncertain.

"Ah jesus fucking christ Yoongi, tell me what this newfound carefulness is really about." The doctor snapped, lifting the delicate porcelain cup of coffee to calm his nerves. But Yoongi wanted to keep that joy selfishly all to himself just a little bit longer.

"Hmm? You did not treat Jimin and Taehyung all the same, what's different now?" Seokjin hummed, encouraging Yoongi to speak up.

He was torn—torn between the fragile world he had built with her and the weight of the empire that demanded his attention, his loyalty. The thought of leaving her, or of sending her into danger, felt like an unbearable betrayal. Dove's steady gaze only amplified the pressure he felt on his chest. He wasn't sure anymore whether he was afraid of losing her or losing everything they had fought for.

"Yoongi?" Hoseok's voice echoed for the first time. Yoongi's gaze flickered over to Hoseok, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"It is very much different. Jimin runs the hotel, and Taehyung is my consigliere. I need them out," he says, his eyes darting between his men.

"That was not quite the question, Yoongi--" Seokjin interjected, his voice steady, but his expression tight with curiosity and Yoongi angrily grabbed his cup of coffee and gulped down the truth, just a little bit longer. If it wouldn't be for that, he would be smoking his, at least, fifth cigarette to calm his nerves.

"Jajangmyeon."

The youngest man in the room spouted out quickly and ten pairs of confused eyes flickered his way to the piano where he sat. The room fell into an awkward silence as Jungkook's sudden outburst caught everyone off guard. Yoongi furrowed his brows, his hand tightening around his cup.

"Jajangmyeon?" Yoongi echoed, his voice a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"It's not time for lunch, Gguk," Namjoon interjected, his voice low but tinged with amusement, though his eyes remained sharp, watching Yoongi closely.

"This is fucking ridiculous." Hoseok's words were sharp, but there was a hint of warmth beneath them.

"Four times in the past week," Jungkook added, collecting his thoughts.

"Can you stop being so fucking cryptic, Gguk?" Hoseok pressed his fingers onto the bridge of his nose.

"Jungkook, just drop it," Yoongi muttered, his voice low and tight with a warning. But Jungkook wasn't backing down. Jungkook's voice was steady but laced with a quiet insistence as he finally pieced it together for Yoongi, eyes focused on him with a knowing look.

"You don't like Jajangmyeon that much, Y/N-ssi." His words hit the room like a cold gust of wind, and Yoongi felt his heart stutter in his chest.

"Since when do you watch over what I eat, Ggukie?" Dove said, a hint of amusement in her eyes, but she carried on.

"You eat something once a week, it's a meal-" Jungkook stood from the little bench and trailed his way to sit next to Seokjin and in front of her. Yoongi just carefully watched him.

"Ask the cook to prepare it four times a week, that's craving."

Yoongi's heart hammered in his chest, and he felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. Was it excitement? Was he scared of their brother's reaction? He hadn't expected it to come out this way. Fucking Jajangmyeon giving it away.

Dove's eyes flickered toward Yoongi, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. She didn't look shocked, nor did she seem angry. But there was something about the way she looked at him—almost like she was waiting for him to react, to finally confirm what Jungkook was implying.

"You've been so fucking extra careful with her lately-" Jungkook continued, his gaze slipping down on her belly. Hoseok shifted in his seat next to Dove, letting out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his temples. Dove let out a small, barely audible chuckle, her gaze returning to Jungkook.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, the frustration and helplessness mounting as the room stared at him expectantly. Seokjin's eyes flickered to Yoongi and then to Dove and her petite form curled against the sofa's plush armrest, her hand never leaving the small swell of her belly the whole time.

The doctor sat down the cup and eyed her again in what seemed like putting the puzzles together, grinning widely. He's a fucking doctor. Yoongi thought. How come he did not realize sooner? Yoongi's eyes met Seokjin's for a brief moment, and he could almost hear the unspoken words between them.

Hoseok's mouth was twitching in what looked like a half smile as he was not one hundred percent sure whether he was right. It was Namjoon whose brows were still furrowed, not understanding what was happening right now.

"Are we done debating her finally normal eating habits, or?" Namjoon said, the sarcasm in his voice evident. His words brought a small sense of clarity, the final push Yoongi needed to step forward.

"It's alright, Yoongi. Say it." He sighed, trying to formulate the right words, but she saw his struggle.

"What was Gguk trying to imply is that we are expecting a child."

The room fell into a stunned silence at his calm declaration. He could feel the weight of their stares now, the anticipation hanging in the air like an electric charge.

"Are you serious?" Hoseok asked, trying to read between the lines, but Dove just nodded once, her hand resting gently over her stomach again.

"Yes, Hobi," she answered, a soft smile pulling at her lips despite the tension in the room. Her calmness in the face of such an overwhelming situation was nothing short of remarkable to Yoongi. Hoseok smooched over to plant a quick kiss to Dove's cheek and embrace her small form.

Seokjin's expression softened into a grin, the realization setting in. "Well, that explains a lot," he muttered, leaning back in his seat. His voice was surprisingly warm, and Yoongi noticed a small glimmer of something between him and Dove—like he understood the weight of what they were all dealing with. After all, his own child was under the heart of his wife.

"You wound me Y/N-darling, how come I did not know first?" A pretended hurt in his voice.

"So this is why you've been acting like a freaking saint, huh, Yoongi?" His tone was teasing, but there was no mockery, just a sense of understanding. Yoongi shot him a glare, but it wasn't as sharp as it could've been.

Dove's gaze traveled to Namjoon who was standing by the grand oak desk, Yoongi still behind it, having his arms crossed. The scarred kkangpae never got to know what exactly transpired between the two most important people in his life, and he has to try and find his way to live with it.

"Congratulations." Namjoon's brow furrowed as he processed the words, he let out a long breath and shook his head, his voice turning soft. "Such good news."

Yoongi glanced at Dove, still calm, still steady, and for a moment, he felt a wave of protective instinct rise within him.

The weight of it all was starting to hit him—the unexpectedness of the truth, just how real it now seemed when they said it out loud. The responsibility, the silent promise he'd made to protect their future. But they weren't out of the woods yet and the celebration had come too early.

The valley's air felt different that day—heavy and thick, as if the earth itself held its breath. The sun, barely pushing through the clouds that covered the mountain peaks, cast a pale light over the landscape when the screaming echoed in its heart. He found her on the bathing chamber cold floor, sitting in a little pool of dark red blood, crying heavily.

Yoongi's eyes traced the lines of her face, the tear streaks now mingling with the sweat on her pale skin. He knelt in front of her, unable to stop his hands from reaching out, though the touch felt foreign, almost too gentle in the face of the devastation that surrounded them. He hadn't expected it to feel like this, as though they were both locked in a moment where nothing could change. She looked so small, so fragile, like something that could break at any moment.

She was clutching the tiniest bundle of bloodied fabric and she was refusing to let it go. Yoongi swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he took in the sight before him. The iron scent of blood clung to the air, sharp and suffocating, and it had taken him back all those months ago when she held a blade against her delicate throat skin.

He had faced death before, had wielded it with his own hands, but nothing—nothing—felt as cruel as this. Of course. He fucking deserved it. God was punishing him for what he had done to make sure she stays right by his side, and once he gifted him with life, to feel the peak, to rise to it, he made him fall. Made them fall.

She was still clinging to it, to them.

"Dove, my love." He carefully pulled her closer, not wanting to look under the white fabric and see what could have been or he would break. Break like her.

"I—I think… I think it is a boy," she whispered suddenly, so softly that he almost didn't hear it. Is not was. She hiccuped, pressing her lips together as another sob shook her.

"I didn't—I didn't get to see his face, but I felt it, Yoongi. I know."

Yoongi shut his eyes for a moment, as if blocking out the world around him would somehow erase the reality before him. But when he opened them, she was still there—so small, so broken, and he had no idea how to fix this. He needed to take care of her. He needed her to be alright. She already broke down way too many times because of him.

He could have asked for something else. He could have predicted her body and mind to be weaker to carry a life. She needed more time to heal and he foolishly thought that this is what she needs to heal. A life. A new focus. A purpose. A reason to stay. To stay with him.

Min Yoongi was a fucking fool.

Carefully, painfully, he reached out again, his fingers brushing over hers. They were ice-cold.

"Baby, let me—" He stopped himself before the words could fully form. He wanted to tell her to let go, but how could he? When she had already lost so much?

Y/N shook her head furiously, curling in on herself, clutching the bundle tighter. "No," she whispered, "no."

Yoongi swallowed past the lump in his throat. He had never begged for anything in his life, but when it came to her, he was willing to. Always.

"Dove, please…"

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could will herself into another world, one where this wasn't real. Where she wasn't sitting in a pool of her own blood, her child was cold in her arms, and Yoongi wasn't kneeling in front of her with his hands outstretched, helpless.

"Just a moment longer, let me hold him just a moment longer," she murmured, voice fractured. He didn't know how to do this, how to grieve something he never even got the chance to hold.

He knew loss. And he knew that if she stayed like this—if she let herself drown in it—she would never come back.

So, for the first time in his life, he didn't try to control, didn't try to force. Instead, he reached for her, held her.

And she let him.

Early 1940

"You're not going," he said flatly, voice edged with finality, sitting next to her in the Cadillac.

"I have to," she countered, smoothing the folds of her red qipao she picked up after such a long time as if the act alone could steel her resolve. "I need life to go on, Yoongi. I need to go. If I stop, I wither." She smiled sadly.

"It's not like we have reason to stay in the valley longer than needed now." His features softened upon hearing her words, but still he had so many doubts in his mind. They mourned and mourned for what seemed like eternity to him but he was not ready to let go. He held her each time she broke down in tears. Something has changed within him, seeing her in the pool of blood and the little bundle pressed against her still beating heart. His Dove, with her broken wings that yet again needed healing.

Although he did not particularly agree to taking her with him today, she finally showed signs that were willing to live and not just survive.

This meeting was classified, but he knew better than to assume they were safe. He doubled the number of bodyguards and even let Jungkook and Hoseok escort them personally. Not enough. He thought to himself as a bad omen creped upon him.

"Right, when have you ever listened to me?" He muttered more or less to himself when she quickly stepped out of the car.

It was cold outside again. Bleak winter raging outside. The snow is returning any day now. Yoongi wanted to argue, to force her back into the car to wait in the hotel, but there was no time. The meeting had been set, and like a chessboard in motion, the pieces would move with or without them.

The protesters came first. A sea of anger and desperation, their chants reverberating off the stone walls. Then, the gunshots—sharp cracks that split through the chaos. Panic erupted like wildfire, bodies shoving, running, trampling. Smoke filled the air, a mix of tear gas and the acrid burn of something worse.

Yoongi reached for Dove's wrist, tightening his grip.

"Stay close."

She nodded, looked into his eyes with panic, but it was already too late. A surge of people barreled between them, pushing, clawing, desperate to escape the growing violence. Hands wrenched him in different directions, shoving him backward. Yoongi twisted, his breath catching as he fought against the tide of bodies—

But she is gone.

Rage and panic warred inside him. He pushed forward, searching the sea of faces, but Dove had vanished, swallowed by the chaos. But now, with each frantic step he took through the thrashing crowd, his mind betrayed him. This is a gut-wrenching moment—Yoongi's worst fears manifesting right in front of him. He had to trust his man to have their eyes on her, she is wearing a red coat, she cannot blend with the crowd so easily. They will find her. He will find her.

By the time Yoongi reached the car, Hoseok was already there, breathless and pale. He wasn't alone—one of their men stood beside him, holding something in his hands.

Yoongi's stomach turned to ice.

Hoseok stepped forward, hesitating for the first time Yoongi had ever seen.

"She's gone."

Yoongi's fingers curled into fists. "What do you mean, gone?"

"She just—vanished." Hoseok exhaled sharply. "There was a woman wearing her coat, carrying her purse. She even had this."

Yoongi's breath hitched as Hoseok placed something in his palm. Her sapphire engagement ring.

His thumb brushed over the familiar band, the cool metal pressing into his skin like a fresh wound. His grip tightened, the reality sinking in like a slow, suffocating poison.

"Wipe the fucking square, Hoseok!" He screamed. He was raging.

Hoseok ran a hand through his hair. "She might have been robbed in the chaos—scared, hiding somewhere." He exhaled. "Or it could be Luens. If they took her, we need to move fast."

"Yoongi?!" Jungkook's voice echoed from the other side, tucking his gun back into the holster he neared his brother's wrath.

Yoongi's heart stopped. For a moment, everything seemed to blur, the words slipping past him like a bad dream, but they were real—too real. His pulse hammered in his throat, deafening, but in the chaos of the moment, he could barely hear the echo of his own thoughts.

"The temple is on fire."

The urgency in Jungkook's voice sliced through him. Yoongi snapped into action, the rage inside him boiling over, turning cold and calculated. There was no time for panic, no time for doubts.

With a quick motion, Yoongi shoved past Hoseok, the weight of her ring burning through his palm. The sapphire—her ring—now felt like a heavy anchor, pulling him toward a future he wasn't ready for, one he couldn't bear to think about. She couldn't be gone. Not like this.

"We haven't found her, Kkangpae Min. We're—" a shot went through the guards head just as fast as Yoongi's mind raced. His limp body fell to the cobblestones painting it red.

Yoongi's grip on the ring turned white-knuckled. He exhaled through his nose, lips curling into something bitter.

"It has to be them, Yoongi, they are trying to set decoy so we do not look for her,"

"The woman we are speaking about is the same woman who ran two vast territories and the only person who ever stopped her is standing in front of you." Namjoon's voice echoed, his feet rushing to close the distance to his brothers. His voice was eerily calm, almost thoughtful. Almost as if he expected this to happen eventually, and the silent glint in his brown eyes which turned a shade darker when he glanced into Hoseok's spoken volumes. They did not need words to communicate, they just waited. Waited for Yoongi to rage.

Hoseok stayed silent, watching the dark glint in Yoongi's eyes, waiting for the explosion.

Yoongi turned the ring between his fingers before slipping it into his pocket. When he looked up, there was something unreadable in his expression—something chillingly resolved.

"I hoped you would be right, Hoseok-ssi. I really started to see your point." A wry chuckle escaped him, devoid of humor. "But I suppose my taste in women is rather exquisite."

How had he not seen it sooner? The way her eyes, those eyes he thought he understood, would look past him as if he were already fading. The faintest hint of a smile when he spoke of their future, as though playing along with his delusions.

His grip tightened around the imaginary wrist he still held, and the chaos around him seemed to blur. But she was no longer there. He couldn't hear her voice, feel her presence, and the truth hit him like a brutal strike to the chest.

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

How many times had she walked him to the edge of his own fears and made him believe they were shared? How many of her words had been carefully crafted, laced with just enough tenderness to pull him deeper into her web? Yoongi had thought his love, his devotion, was enough to keep her close, but the cold truth now cracked his heart wide open and he would get to hers.

She swore she was not leaving. She swore she did not feel like leaving anymore. She carried his child under her heart for a short time. How could she?

She patiently waited until he upheld his end of bargain and send her mother and brother away. Just like she knew he will not touch his brother's wife to lure her back in. Did she actually lose their baby? He did not want to think that she could go to such mad extensions and kill an unborn child. But was she even pregnant in the first place?

"I chose the most cunning one out there."

The finality in his voice sent a shiver down Hoseok's spine.

He could push through the crowd with all the desperation of a man who had just lost everything, but what if she was not in close proximity anymore.

Yoongi leaned back against the seat, once in the car. The city's chaos was still raging outside, but his mind was already elsewhere—calculating, strategising. His fist met the steering wheel with brutal force as he repeatedly hit them to let the rage out on something not alive.

He had found her once. He would find her again.

The gunshots in the distance made his heart race, but they were nothing compared to the shot that had just pierced through his soul.

Her wings were not as broken as he thought.

"My little Dove flew away, Hoseok." He exhaled, eyes sharpening with something lethal, looking at his brother.

"And I need her back in the cage - wings trimmed."

I N T E R L O G U E

What I always feared is not living up the expectations. But you are not bound to carry my fears, nor are you obliged to walk the same path as your cousin, or most likely, one day, your sister. Watching your joy and growth throughout your academic years has been a bittersweet reminder that I should not utter a single word to this young charming man who has the outermost desire to protect you, in exchange of the pretense leverage he will gain. That young, charming raven haired man, who has shown such an unyielding desire to fulfil your dreams of overseas, is nothing more than a facade. His words, though sweet, are tainted with the weight of a bargain you cannot yet see. I sensed the foul play when my spies, ever watchful, brought word of his quiet conversations. He already speaks of you as his betrothed, his bride, and he dares to speak of love. He has laid his claim upon you, as though you are a possession to be owned, and not a person to be cherished, my dear. I wish I could stop this, even if it would mean Yamamotos and your father walk the earth alive. I implore you to hear me now, in these final moments of my life. I might not be there to warn you or to stop this and break the agreement, but have it in your mind, the longer you remain tethered to him, the more dangerous it becomes for you heart and mind. And when you see the truth, when you understand it fully, shatter his world. Take the power back. The more he believes he can shape you, the more vulnerable he becomes. Shatter his world and watch him crumble.

- 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐪𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐘/𝐍 — 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐧.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡—𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧—𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

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callsigns-haze · 9 months ago

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His Shadow: Chp 7

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences

Azriel returned to work the following week, but the moment he stepped into the River House, the atmosphere shifted. The usual ease that surrounded him had been replaced with something colder, darker. His shadows clung closer to him than usual, swirling in restless patterns around his frame, a reflection of the tension simmering beneath the surface. He was always a quiet presence, but today, there was a weight to his silence that everyone in the room could feel.

He didn’t greet anyone as he entered the main hall where the Inner Circle was gathered. Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor were deep in conversation, their laughter dying down when they noticed him. Feyre, seated by the window with a book in her lap, looked up from her reading, her brows knitting together in concern as she sensed the shift in his energy.

Azriel’s golden-brown eyes scanned the room, taking in each of their faces, but he said nothing. His usual mask of calm and control was firmly in place, but there was a hardness in his jaw, a tightness in his shoulders that betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Rhys was the first to speak, his voice casual but laced with a hint of wariness, as if he sensed the storm brewing beneath Azriel’s controlled exterior.

“Azriel, you’re back. Everything alright?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to Rhys for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth that usually colored his interactions with his High Lord and brother. He didn’t bother with pleasantries or explanations. He crossed the room with a purposeful stride, heading toward the large oak table where papers and maps of the Illyrian war camps were spread out. His movements were precise, methodical, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

Cassian and Mor exchanged a quick glance. Cassian, always the one to break the silence, leaned back in his chair, trying for a lighthearted approach. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, brother. Rough week off?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. He focused on the map in front of him, his hands moving with practiced ease as he made a small adjustment to one of the marked positions. The silence stretched for a moment too long, thick with unspoken words. His shadows, usually so controlled, twined more erratically around his hands, curling like smoke over the parchment.

“It was fine,” Azriel finally replied, his tone clipped, as if that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Everyone could feel it—an undercurrent of anger, or perhaps frustration, that Azriel was working hard to bury. It wasn’t like him to let emotions get the better of him, but something had shifted in him during his time away. He was always a fortress, a man of shadows and secrets, but today, that fortress seemed more impenetrable than ever.

Feyre closed her book, her voice soft but cautious. “Azriel… if something’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. His eyes flashed as he glanced at her, realizing too late that his irritation had slipped through the cracks in his carefully constructed mask. He let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in his body to ease, at least outwardly.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, not pressing further, but his gaze lingered on Azriel, studying him. They had known each other for centuries—there was little that could be hidden between them. Rhys knew something was off, even if Azriel wouldn’t admit it. But pushing wouldn’t help. Not yet.

Cassian, sensing the shift, tried again. “You sure? You’re wound tighter than a drum, brother.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He knew Cassian was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. Everything in him screamed to confront them—to demand answers about the spying on YN, about their constant presence in Hewn City. But he didn’t. Confrontation would only bring their secret crashing down, and he couldn’t afford that.

So instead, he stayed silent, letting the tension coil inside him like a tightly wound spring. He continued to scan the maps and documents in front of him, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to YN, to Knox, to the spying, to the way Rhys and Cassian had been watching her at the pleasure house.

The room grew quieter, the air thick with the tension everyone was pretending wasn’t there. Even Mor, usually so full of energy and warmth, seemed unsure of how to break the ice.

Rhys sighed, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Azriel, if you need more time—”

“I don’t,” Azriel interrupted, his tone final. “I’m here. Let’s get to work.”

His words left no room for further questions, and though Rhys and Cassian exchanged another glance, they respected his silence—for now.

But as Azriel moved through the motions of the day, reading reports, discussing strategies, and mapping out potential missions, the weight of the unspoken truths lingered. The anger, the frustration, the protectiveness he felt for YN and Knox—it all simmered beneath the surface, ready to erupt.

No one said anything, but they all felt it. Azriel’s anger wasn’t directed at them—not exactly. It was the situation, the impossibility of keeping his family safe while maintaining the secrecy he had so carefully built. The Inner Circle didn’t know it, but they were walking on thin ice, and Azriel was holding himself back from shattering it.

That evening, the tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel decided to return to the pleasure house in Hewn City. It had become an oddly routine visit for them since Azriel first suggested the place weeks ago, and tonight, though there was a storm brewing inside him, Azriel forced himself to follow along. It was better than sitting alone, brooding on things he couldn’t yet fix.

They landed just outside the dark, glittering entrance of the pleasure house. The usual lights flickered along the ornate arches, and the murmur of voices inside could be heard, thick with a mix of laughter and quiet conversation. Rhys opened the door with a casual ease, and they were greeted by the familiar scent of perfume and the low thrum of music in the background.

The three of them settled into their usual booth, a secluded corner where they could have privacy despite the bustling atmosphere around them. Cassian ordered drinks, and they fell into conversation about the war camps, the strategies they had discussed earlier in the day. But even as the others talked, Azriel’s mind was somewhere else.

The entire time, his eyes kept drifting toward the entrance to the back room, where YN usually worked. He hadn’t seen her yet, and something about it unsettled him. She was supposed to be here—she had mentioned her shift this morning, hadn’t she?

Finally, after some time had passed and YN still hadn’t made an appearance, Azriel couldn’t ignore the growing unease gnawing at him. His shadows stirred, as if sensing his concern, whispering around him in silent confusion. He caught the eye of one of the waiters walking by their booth, gesturing for him to come over.

“Where’s YN?” Azriel asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge of urgency he couldn’t quite hide. “She was supposed to be working tonight.”

The waiter, a tall, thin male with pale skin and sharp features, blinked at him in surprise. “YN? She didn’t come in tonight,” he replied, his voice soft but filled with uncertainty. “I’m not sure why. There’s been no word from her, and… well, without her, the pleasure section of the house isn’t being properly run.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed at the response, his stomach sinking slightly. “She didn’t show up at all?”

“No,” the waiter confirmed, glancing nervously between the three powerful males in the booth. “It’s been chaotic. She’s the one who manages the more… intimate services here, and without her presence, things are a bit—disorganized.”

Azriel’s mind raced. YN was meticulous about her work—she never missed a shift, especially not without warning. She hadn’t mentioned any change in her plans that morning when they spoke. If anything, she had seemed resigned to going to work, despite how much he hated her returning so soon after Knox’s birth.

“Thank you,” Azriel said, dismissing the waiter. His shadows curled tighter around him, reacting to his growing confusion.

Azriel’s shadows clung to him tighter, a swirling mass of anxiety as they walked through the dark streets of Velaris. He kept his pace quick, but not quick enough to draw more suspicion from Cassian and Rhys, who followed behind him. Every step felt like a weight in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of YN and why she hadn’t shown up to work.

“Where exactly are we going?” Cassian asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity. His wings flared slightly, catching the cool night air.

“To check on something,” Azriel muttered, not breaking his stride. He didn’t want to tell them more. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Rhys’s gaze was sharp as ever, watching Azriel closely. “You’re worried about her,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He could feel the weight of Rhys’s violet eyes on him, probing, trying to read deeper into his actions. His shadows rippled with unease, but he didn’t slow down. “She didn’t show up for work. It’s unlike her,” he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Cassian glanced over at Rhys with a raised brow. “You’re this worked up over someone skipping a shift?”

“She’s reliable,” Azriel said, his voice sharper than intended. “Something’s off.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a glance, their curiosity piqued, but neither of them pushed harder for details. They continued walking in silence, though Azriel could feel their unspoken questions hanging in the air. It was unlike him to be this open with his concern, especially about someone they didn’t know. It wouldn’t be long before they pressed him for more information, but for now, they followed.

Azriel’s shadows stretched out ahead of him, sensing the path to the apartment. His heart was pounding, every instinct telling him to fly ahead, to get there faster, but he couldn’t afford to tip them off. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Rhys broke the silence, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “So, who is she to you, Az?”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his shadows tightening around him protectively. He wasn’t ready to answer that question. Not now. “Just someone I work with,” he replied coolly, though even he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “You’re acting like she’s more than that.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his steps quickening as they neared the apartment. His mind was racing, and he could feel the tension coiling tighter in his chest. He needed to get to YN. He needed to make sure she was alright.

When they finally reached the street, Azriel stopped, turning to face Cassian and Rhys. The apartment was just ahead, and he wasn’t ready for them to know—wasn’t ready for them to see.

“I’ll handle this from here,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rhys tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Azriel held his gaze, not flinching. “I’m sure.”

Cassian looked ready to argue, but Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to stand down. “Alright,” Rhys finally said, though his eyes lingered on Azriel for a moment longer. “We’ll wait here.”

Azriel gave them a curt nod, though his heart was still racing. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him as he turned, heading toward the apartment alone. His shadows swirled around him, and though he kept his face impassive, inside, the panic was clawing at him.

He had to get to YN. He had to know she was safe.

---

YN’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard the angry voices just outside the door. She hadn’t been expecting anyone—certainly not the five men she could now see through the small peephole, all armed with knives and swords. Their menacing glares sent a wave of fear crashing over her, but she pushed it down, her instincts taking over.

Knox.

Her thoughts flew to her son. She moved quickly, grabbing the tiny three-week-old from his crib and rushing to the closet. Inside, there was a basket filled with blankets—Azriel had used it before to hide things in plain sight. She carefully placed Knox in it, her heart clenching as he made a small sound. "Shh, sweet boy," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Stay quiet for Mama."

Once she pushed the basket to the back, she grabbed a clothes hook and quietly wrapped it around the closet door, securing it as best as she could. She prayed it would be enough to buy them time. She wasn’t sure how much time they had, but she had to defend her son, herself—everything she had left.

Her fingers brushed against the cool steel of one of Azriel’s knives. He always made sure she had at least one hidden in the apartment, just in case. She gripped it tightly, her palms sweating, but there was no room for hesitation now. Her other hand went for the large pan in the kitchen—a ridiculous weapon, but Azriel had taught her that defense meant distraction first, striking with the most unexpected object.

Her shadows stirred around her, curling and writhing in anticipation, feeding off her fear and anger. It was their little secret, the shadows. No one knew she had them. Not even Azriel. She had kept them hidden, a part of herself she never let surface, but now—now she needed them.

The door slammed open with a thunderous crash. The men charged in, their faces twisted in fury. YN's heart raced, but she didn’t freeze. She acted.

The first man lunged toward her, knife raised high, but YN swung the pan with all her strength. The clang of metal on metal rang out as the pan hit the knife from his hand. He stumbled back, shocked, giving her enough time to drive Azriel’s knife into his side. He let out a pained grunt, eyes wide, before collapsing.

The second man charged her with a sword, but YN’s shadows snapped to life, dark tendrils wrapping around his legs, tripping him just enough for her to slam the pan against his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Her shadows retreated, swirling back into her, but they were weak—too weak to keep fighting like this.

Two down.

Her chest heaved as she turned to face the rest. These men were stronger, larger, and they weren’t going to fall for her tricks so easily. The third man, faster than the others, dodged her swing and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully until she dropped the knife. She tried to use her shadows again, tried to summon them with more force, but they sputtered, flickering weakly as the man backhanded her across the face.

She stumbled, her vision going black for a moment as pain exploded across her cheek. She tasted blood, but she couldn’t stop. Knox. She had to protect Knox.

The fourth man kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her crashing to the floor. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her, but her mind screamed at her to get up. She clawed at the floor, trying to reach for something—anything—but the fifth man grabbed her by the throat.

Cold, rough hands squeezed around her neck, and YN’s world spun as she was lifted off the ground and slammed back down. Her head hit the floor, dazing her, but the worst part was the grip around her throat tightening, cutting off her air. She gasped, her fingers clawing at his hands, desperate for breath. Her shadows flickered again, weak and useless. She couldn’t focus—couldn’t control them in this state.

Her vision blurred as the man leaned over her, sneering. "Stupid girl," he hissed, his grip tightening as black spots danced in her vision. The world was slipping away, her strength failing as she gasped desperately for air.

But even as the darkness closed in, YN’s thoughts were with Knox. She could hear him, small and quiet, rustling in the closet. He needed her.

---

Azriel’s heart raced as he neared the apartment, the shadows around him twitching with anxiety. He had been about to open the door when he heard the sounds of a violent struggle from inside—a cacophony of grunts, crashes, and muffled cries. His pulse hammered in his ears. It was YN. He knew it instantly.

“Rhys! Cassian!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street. His urgency was raw, fear clawing at his insides. They had been waiting outside, but now, he needed them.

Rhys and Cassian came running, their faces taut with concern. “What’s happening?” Rhys asked, but before Azriel could answer, the three of them burst through the door.

The sight that met them was horrifying. YN was on the floor, her face twisted in pain, her hands clawing desperately at the man strangling her. The other men were scattered, injured but not out. Azriel’s rage surged as he took in the scene.

Without a second thought, Azriel dove into the fray. His shadows lashed out, extending like living whips to entangle the nearest attacker. The man staggered, his weapon slipping from his grasp as Azriel’s shadows tightened around him, pulling him away from YN.

Cassian was quick to join, his wings flaring as he threw himself at one of the attackers with a roar. His movements were a blur of strength and precision, and the man he targeted barely had time to react before Cassian’s fists and kicks overwhelmed him. The man went down hard, crumpling to the floor.

Rhys, meanwhile, moved with a grace and lethality that left no room for hesitation. He focused on the fourth attacker, his eyes sharp as he dodged a blade aimed at him. With a swift flick of his wrist, Rhys disarmed the man and delivered a decisive blow that sent him sprawling.

But the fifth man—still holding YN—was the greatest threat. Azriel’s vision narrowed as he saw YN’s struggling form beneath him. Anger surged through him, fueling his movements. He lunged at the man, tackling him with all the force of his shadowed power.

The man grunted in surprise, losing his grip on YN momentarily. Azriel seized the opportunity, tearing the man’s hands away from YN’s throat with a savage strength. The man twisted and fought back, but Azriel’s rage was like a force of nature. He threw the man against the wall, sending him crashing down, but he didn’t stop there.

Cassian and Rhys were already on the remaining attackers, their movements synchronized and brutal. Cassian had managed to pin one man to the ground, delivering a series of calculated blows, while Rhys’s elegant strikes were precise, disarming and incapacitating with deadly efficiency.

Azriel stayed by YN’s side, his heart pounding as he gently held her hand. Rhys moved efficiently around the room, assisting with the attackers and making sure the area was secure. The tension in the room was palpable as Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on YN, willing her to wake.

Minutes felt like hours as he waited, but finally, YN’s eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused, but she managed to lift her trembling hand, pointing weakly towards the closet. Her lips moved, though no words came out. Azriel’s breath hitched as he followed her gaze, his eyes locking onto the closet where Knox had been hidden.

“YN, where’s Knox?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with worry. But her eyes were focused on the closet, her small, desperate gesture the only direction he had.

He turned to the closet, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the clothes hook she had used to secure it. It was a clever move, one he had to admit, and the hook was proving to be stubborn. Azriel’s frustration grew, but he fought to stay calm. His heart ached with every second that ticked by.

Rhys knelt beside YN, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Azriel, be careful. If she moves around too much, she could cause herself serious injury,” Rhys said firmly, his hand gently pressing YN back down to the floor. “We need to keep her as still as possible until we can get a healer here.”

Azriel nodded, focusing intently on the hook. After a few tense moments, he managed to pry it free and pull open the closet door. The sight that greeted him—a small, terrified baby wrapped in blankets—was both a relief and a fresh wave of anxiety.

With trembling hands, Azriel reached into the closet and carefully lifted Knox out of the basket. The baby’s tiny face was scrunched up in a frown, but Azriel’s soothing presence seemed to calm him. He cradled Knox close, his voice a soft murmur as he whispered, “Shhh, Daddy’s here.”

Knox made a small, inquisitive sound but settled against his father’s chest, finding comfort in the warmth. Azriel’s heart ached with relief and love as he held his son. He glanced back at YN, who was watching him with exhausted but relieved eyes.

Cassian, who had just finished dealing with the remaining attackers, joined them. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Azriel holding Knox, the tiny baby resting peacefully in his arms. Rhys stood nearby, his expression a mix of awe and concern.

“Azriel, I didn’t know…” Cassian began, but the words trailed off as he looked between YN, Azriel, and the baby.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “We need to get YN to a healer now,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “And make sure Knox is taken care of. Azriel, can you manage?”

Azriel nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Knox. “I’ll make sure they’re both okay,” he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil he felt inside.

With Knox safely in his arms and YN being carefully tended to, the reality of the situation began to settle in. Azriel knew there would be many questions and difficult conversations to come, but for now, his focus was on ensuring the safety and well-being of his family.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

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#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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megsdoodletag · 5 months ago

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yes ok I have been asked about the updated codex let’s talk updated codex

So. Post Plague-Wars. Ultramar system. Guilliman and Yvraine have a strong alliance, and in completely and totally unrelated news have a daughter named Juno Vaeyncaria Guilliman.

MEANWHILE…

on the other side of the Imperium, the Emperor is given a Text-To-Speech Device. Now the original ITEHATTSD obviously happens prior to Plague Wars so while the basic framework is there (kitten exists, magnus is back, dorn and his Boy are there, etc.) it’s obviously a lil different. Through a series of convoluted events we don’t need to discuss at this point, Magnus accidentally pokes the timeline in a weird way and pops the dead primarchs back into existence. They remember everything just fine! They are just. no longer dead. and now in 42k.

This brings us to what I’m affectionately calling ‘2012 Avengers Tower Imperial Palace.’ All the known primarchs are active, though some are still running around 'lost-ish' in the warp. Most of the previously dead primarchs are ‘recovering’ in their former residencies alongside the TTS crew, seeing to what’s left of their legion and figuring out what the hell is going on with. whatever is happening in M42.

Horus in particular is in a weird spot. first, of all the returnees, he’s alone. Ferrus makes up with fulgrim pretty immediately, sang is permanently covered in various marines of his geneline, konrad’s having a Great Time Actually (we’ll get to that later). but nobody seems to like horus much, a position he’s never been in, and this includes his legion which is entirely under abaddon’s control and not going anywhere in the near future. so he does what any guy going through a midlife crisis does and gets himself a hobby.

See, two supposedly dead primarchs remain unaccounted for after Magnus’ spell, namely the two original Lost Primarchs. by logic this means they must still be alive, somewhere. everyone else is unbothered by this, as Malcador’s memory spell disallows any concentrated thought of the two, and even though the primarchs are aware they had more brothers, to their knowledge dad went out to meet with them and something Went Wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️ and then he came back and retired shortly thereafter. weird! oh well.

but horus was not just killed, he was Unmade. when he was reconstituted it was as though he was new, without the stain of chaos.

and free of malcador’s influence.

while ostensibly crashing on dad’s couch, Horus throws himself into finding out what he believes is the key to all of this, the thing that poisoned the imperium before even the Heresy, the original Deviation from the Plan: whatever actually happened to the two lost primarchs?

Ok it’s later now. Konrad Curze always believed in fate. He followed it dutifully into its darkest depths, to his own grisly death.

And then he came back! He never saw anything about that! He figures that, having lived out his fate to its completion, he’s now free of it entirely. Oh he still has visions, but he’s much more lax in interpreting them, and thinks himself above their dictates besides. So. He still likes flensing people and thinks fear makes a fine method of control and hes still got…issues…but he’s not quite as stuck and he's having a wonderful time about it. and he’s also hanging around the palace bc he’s also got very little contact with his legion, which is either scattered or under Sevatar and/or whichever NL prophet we're on now.

So he gets roped into fucking around in emps’ restricted history section with horus! yippee!

The two actually work really well as a buddy-cop kinda pair, with horus slowly repairing his relationships where he can while konrad trails him and learns how to be alive outside of the narrow scope of his futuresight. Magnus inevitably sticks his nose into things and gets to work undoing the mind-block on the rest of them. Alpharius gets involved because it turns out one of the lost legions might actually still exist. and even lion and leman join the hunt cause honestly they're really curious at this point.

Eventually the uncles drag their niece and her friends into the whole ordeal, in part because she happens to have a particularly strong psychic presence that attracts lost and dead marine souls in the warp. Like a cooler, named character version of the Legion of the Damned. Usefull when trying to gain accurate historical info.

oh yeah and emps gets off the throne at some point. he’s not bothering with the Mystery Gang because he’s too busy being one half of a political deadlock with guilliman, where it’s very clear gman does not actually trust him to lead the imperium anymore and is essentially running his own show off-leash from ultramar, but neither of them are remotely willing to like, discuss this. in any way. so instead they’re just stuck awkwardly across from each other, guilliman never offering control of the imperium back to his father and emps never reaching to take the regent position from him and i think if he stopped to think about it this is bc emps would be. a little nervous about resuming full command back from guilliman. because he’s not sure guilliman would give it to him. and he’s not sure he’s in a position to handle that. again. but emps is allergic to being emotionally competent so his brain skates over that thought, unable to confront it directly with any introspection, and instead he just. doesnt mention it! and guilliman doesnt mention it and emps sits in the wreckage of the dream he accidentally set on fire himself while his son methodically does the work to put it out and they won’t look at each other and its fine its all. fine.

and that’s the Updated Codex! 👍🏻 feel free to ask more

thanks to @wolf_feathers12 for the chance to give my ted talk, and tagging @thisuserissilly for lore posts (tm)

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bamsywrites · 8 months ago

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And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

Series Masterlist

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #halbrand x oc #sauron x oc #rings of power x reader #rings of power fanfiction #trop fanfiction #trop x reader #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings fanfiction #///mine #And Comes Dawn.

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albondiguilla007 · 5 months ago

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Hinny recs (60k words and on)

✨ The Changeling / 182k / Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

✨ pick it up, pick it all up and start again / 69k / The thing about war is that it never ends. Not really. The battlefields just change locations. Harry and Ginny after the war.

✨ we can still be, who said we were / 124k / Navigating distances and finding your way back home. Harry and Ginny after the war. Second in the Armistice Series.

✨ in my head we do everything right / 210k / It’s not as easy as it sounds, going from hypotheticals to reality. Harry and Ginny navigate life after Hogwarts. Third in the Armistice Series.

✨ we can't control (watch me unfold) / 73k / It’s a simple arrangement. Between her grueling quidditch schedule and his mysterious auror duties, Ginny and Harry find time to have spectacular sex with no strings attached. It’s incredibly uncomplicated. Except when it isn’t.

(I ADORE THIS FIC. Ginny and Harry’s characterizations are so so SO good. Their chemistry is off charts, and the plot/government conspiracy had me ON MY TOES. Please read it.)

✨ An Hour of Wolves / 110k / Sirius is dead, but Harry's doing alright: between a brand new Quidditch Captaincy, private lessons with Dumbledore, and increasing suspicions about Draco Malfoy, he's got enough to keep him busy. And if an uncomfortable encounter with a classmate ends up leaving him with another challenge to face and even more secrets to keep, well...he's still fine.

Really. He is.

(Handles darker themes like eating disorders and sa, so be aware of that. Mental health is a big part of the story, even more so than the ship itself.)

✨ Noticing / 105k / Ginny suddenly realizes two things, in very quick succession: One, that Harry’s never really looked at her that closely before, and two, that he is absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, doing that. Right now.

This is the story of how Harry comes to notice her... but more importantly, it's the story of how Ginny comes to notice that he noticed.

(An incredibly realistic and hilarious portrayal of teenage struggles, I laughed so much with this one.)

✨ Not From Others / 132k / She may not have been able to join Harry, Ron and Hermione, but Ginny refuses to go down without a fight. As war approaches, Ginny returns to Hogwarts to resurrect Dumbledore's Army and face the darkest year the wizarding world has ever seen.

✨ The Path From You / 142k / At 22, Ginny had lived through several lifetimes worth of misery. She'd been deceived, betrayed, and possessed, her very soul almost wrung out into nothing. She'd been subordinated, humiliated, and tortured, lived almost an entire year surrounded by enemies.

Fought Death Eaters and dementors and giant spiders. Been heartbroken, anguished, and grief stricken. Lost friends and mentors and a brother.

And through it all, she'd survived... because of luck, or sheer force of will.

Maybe a little of both.

If she could suffer and endure and prevail through all of that, she could live through some anonymous wanker plaguing her with badly written poetry.

(An amazing take on Ginny and her struggles post war. Waiting for the author to update 🙏🏻)

#harry potter #ao3 #fanfic #fanfic rec #hinny #harry x ginny #ginny weasley

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myownwholewildworld · 6 months ago

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veni, vidi, victus sum (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus returns from war with the worst news possible. a/n: considering that i started this story here by posting the end first... may i interest you in how it all started? c: i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. pure angst because i don't know any better. death of a secondary character. w/c: 2.3k

July, 106 AD

Marcus’ right hand shook uncontrollably. So much so, he had to wrap his left around the opposite wrist and squeeze as hard as he could, hoping to stop the tremor that suddenly took hold of his muscles and soul.

He hadn't even had time to wash off the mud and sweat. Nor to process everything that had happened in the last few days. Once his mission was done and dusted, only then and in the privacy of his own company, would he give himself permission to break down. He would be a terrible General if he let himself be dominated by emotion at such important moment for the Empire.

Returning from Dacia after an intense campaign, Marcus had been at the head of the Roman column that would carry out the offensive towards the east of the Dacian capital, Sarmizegetusa, while General Atticus, his inseparable friend to whom he would have blindly entrusted his life, and son-in-law to Emperor Traianus, led the battle towards the center of the town.

That week the Empire had annexed a new region that would bring great wealth. But Marcus, personally, had lost much more than what he truly had gained. Lady Justice had spoken, letting the balance tip completely in favour of collective Roman rule and not his personal one.

Marcus walked between the marble columns of a secluded hallway in the Domus Flavia, the public area of the Imperial Palace on Palatine Hill, as if he was an umbra. He put one foot in front of the other automatically, his mind on a land more than six hundred Roman miles away.

The siege of the Dacian capital to the east had been especially bloody. The enemy had presented a good strategy; the thread of many souls being skewed by the Parcae on both fronts. Among them, that of his own son, Augustus. At eighteen years old, he had been a great military promise, the best candidate to one day replace his father.

If Marcus closed his eyes, he could still remember Augustus’ warm, battered body in his arms. His empty orbs, observing the infinite, reflected the horror of his last seconds in this world. A thick and rudimentary pilum protruding from his chest was a macabre picture Marcus would have trouble forgetting. Its tip so sharp, it had pierced through the segmented lorica with ease, embedding itself in his heart, blood still gushing out.

By the time Marcus’ knees hit the ground by Augustus’ side, Pluto had already claimed his son to join His ranks. The bloodshed had continued to unfold around him, a maddening dance of swords, as if the world had not just stopped —as if Marcus had not just lost the only reason that kept him standing.

His reality had just sunk into the blackest misery and the rest of humanity was there, present yet impassive, blind to his pain.

But there had been no time to grieve — not there, during the darkest hour.

An enemy sword hovered over him, and he had to react.

When the battle died down and his soldiers celebrated the victory, Marcus dragged the corpse of his only son to the edge of some oleanders, where he managed to dig a hole with the help of his gladius and his own fingers.

Time was of the essence, which prevented him from laying Augustus to rest following the rituals of the Roman religion. He could only place a bronze coin over Augustus' mouth as payment to Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, before throwing dirt on him. He then had composed himself as best he could, letting the General's façade fall on his face, and headed east, unaware that his friend Atticus had suffered a similar end.

On one day alone, he had lost two of the most important people in his life.

His mind returned to the present. From his right hand hung the decapitated head of Decebalus, already so decomposed that there was no blood left inside. The coward had tried to escape to Ranisstorum and, in his last desperate moments, committed suicide when Marcus and another officer, Tiberius Maximus, were hunting him down.

Finding his enemy defeated by his own demons was an anticlimactic moment, given the events of the previous days. Tiberius circumambulated towards Sarmizegetusa again, while Marcus and his legion, along with Atticus’, returned to Rome.

He was defeated, physically and mentally. Marcus just wanted to finish that damned mission and return to his villa. An empty one, devoid of a family he once revered.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the throne room, with Emperor Traianus staring at him, a sardonic smile painting his lips. After placing the head of Decebalus at the feet of the Emperor, he gave his last report of war. When the time came to deliver the news that his son-in-law, General Atticus, had perished in battle, the smile faded from Traianus’ face. That would be a hard blow to recover from.

Marcus explained the details that had been entrusted to him, omitting the death of his firstborn and ending with the fact that Atticus’ legion was carrying his corpse through the streets of Rome at that very moment, heading to the basilica of the Domus Flavia to begin with the funeral rites.

At least one of the two would have proper burial.

He said goodbye with deferential courtesy and shuffled out of there. He still had one last assignment: to inform the wife of General Atticus and daughter of the Emperor, you.

With heavy feet, Marcus ambled towards the most private wing of the Palace, the Domus Augustana. One of the maids guided him through the unfamiliar corridors, leaving him in front of a basin raised on a half column. Marcus took the hint, realising that there was still dirt—and specks of dried blood—embedded in his face. He did as he was asked, drying his skin with a linen cloth, before resuming his pace.

Finally, they stopped in front of double doors, and the maid knocked.

A minute later, they swung open.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Marcus bowed his aching back, keeping his eyes on the expensive stone that lined the floor.

“Domina mea (my lady),” he greeted you with deference.

Keeping busy while worry stalked the back of your mind was a colossal task. One you should have been used to by now, but it was nonetheless nerve-wracking.

Having to wait around until you heard news from your husband was not how you wanted to spend your days, but for love you had to. For Rome, you had to. Your husband, Resius Atticus, was your father’s most trusted ally, which meant he was kept away from you for long nights.

You flicked through the pages of the shabby parchment, its ink slowly fading with the passage of time. Finding yourself reading the same paragraph again, you decided to put it aside. You curled up on the chaise lounge, hugging your knees as the sun filtered through the slit window — a ray of sunshine kissing your skin, leaving a warm trail.

Closing your eyes, you revelled in the rare moment of quiet, of peace, a smile lingering on the corners of your mouth.

A knock on the door swept the instant away, and then your heart fluttered uncontrollably.

Today was the day when Resius was meant to return. To his duties in the court, but also to you. You looked forward to settling back into a routine with him, lazy afternoons spent by the private gardens, talking sweet nothings to each other. Despite the years spent by his side, you didn’t tire of him, of your unbreakable relationship.

So, when you swung the double doors open with a pearly smile tugging at your lips, you did not expect to see your husband’s best friend instead.

Your heart suddenly stopped in your chest, swelling to an uncomfortable point. It stretched, a crawling feeling tearing your skin apart from the inside out.

Widened eyes, they locked on his, searching for answers and finding none. Marcus wore an impassible expression, but the way he averted his glassy eyes told you everything you needed to know.

This could only mean one thing. Your worst nightmare taking form, escaping from your dreams and filtering into reality.

Still shocked, you saw the server scurrying away, leaving you alone with the General — but not your General.

“May I come in, Augusta (Imperial Princess)?” his soft voice broke through your blocked eardrums.

Jarred, you nodded, stepping aside to let Acacius in.

You stood there, numb and confounded, your brain trying to find another reason for General Acacius’ visit.

“Please, let us sit down,” Acacius spoke gently, a firm hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the chaise lounge.

This truly felt like a dream, ethereal and foggy, something your vivid imagination had come up with during an unrequited afternoon nap. That had to be it, because this could not be it. You still had a thousand lives to live besides Resius — you had prayed to the Gods for his safe return and they never failed you.

Under Acacius’ direction, you sat down, the pillow underneath giving way to the weight of both of you.

“Domina mea, I regret to be the bearer of bad news. General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword, defending two of his fallen soldiers from certain death,” his words shook your system, the numbness taking hold of all your being.

Silence lingered, and you both sat there with eyes fixed on nothing.

This just wasn’t real, couldn’t be. You refused to register such cruel information, shaking your head to unhear what had been spoken aloud.

“No, you have to be wrong, Acacius. I am sure you are,” you finally replied, eyes looking for his tired orbs. A hand flew to one of his resting on his knee, squeezing it tight. “You are wrong. This must be some twisted joke.”

Acacius’ sight did not lie though. You could see the pain emanating from his eyes, the utter bareness they exuded. With pursed lips, he just stared at you, his free hand hovering over yours on his knee until he stroked it warmly.

“I am truly sorry, Domina mea. I… I wish I was lying,” his voice faltered momentarily. “I lament not having been by his side. Had I been, I would have gladly traded my life for his. I would have…”

Acacius did not finish the sentence, because the wail that tore through your throat interrupted him. A fresh wound split your chest in half, all emotions pouring out in a sudden burst. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and you clutched at your chest, your lungs shrinking with your heart. A burning sensation filled you and then deserted you, leaving you empty, cold — broken.

Losing Resius was a death sentence to your heart, to your soul. To all you were and would be. Life would not—could not—be the same if he was no longer brightening it for you. Hope was no longer your companion, the easy happiness that usually shimmered within you all gone with the blow of a few simple words.

Something crawled inside you, twisting and twitching and breaking and consuming. Something dark, something sad, something shattered. Grief suffocated your heart. This was not pain, this was torment. Living hell.

The raw intensity of it all clouded your mind. Your fractured soul looking for a chink of solace, wanting to cling onto a sliver of hope. Before thinking, you let go of the dam of your emotions, sobs flooding your mouth, as you turned around and hugged Acacius.

Little did it matter the blood and dirt on his worn armour, you needed the comfort of a friendly shoulder. Acacius would understand your pain, the suffering that crushed your soul, because he had also lost his best friend. The two of them had been inseparable for decades — you both had lost someone important that day. He would understand. You knew he did.

Threading your arms around his shoulders, you cried your sorrow in the crook of his neck, kind palms rubbing your back, commending your pain to leave your body. So, you wept until your eyes were bloodshot, until they itched and dried like a river during the worst drought of the century. Trickles of tears stained your cheeks, lashes clumping together under the heaviness of tearful dew.

Time was lost to the dragging pain, and only when Acacius’ hands stroked your shoulders, did you venture a look in his direction, leaning back. The naked expression on his face told you how much agony he carried. The soreness his eyes distilled was on par with yours.

“I am sorry for your loss too,” you offered your condolences. After all, he had lost his best friend. “I trust that your son Augustus found his way back home safe.”

Before their departure, Acacius and his son had paid you both a visit, a meal shared at night between old friends’ jests and company. You remembered Augustus’ enthusiasm to make his father proud on their first campaign together. How Acacius had looked at his heir with adulation and pride — the apple of his eyes. Acacius’ wife had died during childbirth, which had only reinforced the close relationship between father and son.

A feeble smile loitered on his mouth, a brief nod putting your mind at ease. Neither of you needed more suffering tonight.

“He is resting now,” was his succinct reply.

But Acacius always was, so his reassurance soothed your soul a little.

At least Acacius and his son had made it out alive.

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ghostedgwen · 2 months ago

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come one, come all | r.black [part one]

note : yaaaay finally something for reggy! took this plot from a fic I posted on wattpad that is currently on hiatus, idk if I'll continue it in all honesty but I'll just steal the plot for a bit for this fic, if all goes well I might just abandon the fic on wp and settle with this as a mini series? we'll see~

warning/s : pureblood shit, angst, brewing war on the horizon, dark themes, arranged marriages, grief and death of parents, themes of abuse and manipulation, last name given | words : 3.8k

After the sudden death of your parents, you’re thrust into the darkest corners of the pureblood world—grieving, cornered, and helpless. As the precious heiress of the Greengrass name, you're offered as a pawn in an arranged engagement to none other than Sirius Black, the rebellious heir of a family you want nothing to do with.

You weren't sure what to make of it - your life changed so much in just a matter of a week, and everything you’d learned to love had crumbled to the ground.

It's almost funny how one's world can turn upside-down and flip sideways in such a short amount of time. Had it not been happening to you, you might’ve even laughed.

But alas, you were unfortunate enough to be hand - picked by life and thrown into the unknown. Life had been good. Even with danger lurking around every corner, you were happy - with your family.

"My, such an unfortunate situation indeed." The woman’s bony fingers caressed your cheek lightly. You knew there was no affection behind it - only calculation.

You kept your eyes ahead, staring past the sea of adults draped in dark robes. They were all looking at you like some sort of strange artifact. Something to be evaluated.

To be honest, it felt like you were being auctioned off. Their greedy eyes made your skin crawl.

They were assessing you - searching for flaws, imperfections. You saw the collective nods when they found none. Not in your appearance. Not in your name. Not in your blood.

"But the Greengrasses did well bringing you up - such fine pedigree, this one." A man with platinum blond hair spoke, his icy blue eyes fixed on you, and you held his gaze without flinching.

You were raised well, that much was true. And you knew better than to appear weak in front of people like them. You knew what they were capable of.

You knew exactly who they were.

"No need to be shy now. Introduce yourself and present yourself properly to the Dark Lord."

Merlin.

Alarms shrieked in your mind - red and loud and blinding.

You were only fifteen. There was no way life should be this cruel already. Don’t you deserve a little more time?

The adults parted, and standing a few feet away was a man - no, something more. The most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Despite the wicked glint in his red eyes, he was mesmerizing.

Your breath caught. You looked into the eyes of the devil and questioned everything.

Should you lift your chin and speak with pride? Or drop to your knees and cry like a child?

No. That wasn’t an option.

You were a pureblood. An heiress. Crying would make you prey.

"I greet the Dark Lord," you said, bowing your head and lowering yourself into a slight curtsy before rising again. Chin high, lips smirking - though they trembled. "I am the daughter of the late Vienna and Heathe Greengrass."

He raised a brow, and silence fell between you.

You waited - timing was everything.

"And like my father and mother before me, I dedicate my loyalty to the Dark Lord."

His face shifted, the edges of his mouth curling into a smile. Amusement sparkled in his gaze.

You exhaled quietly.

You survived.

For now.

The adults around you murmured with approval. Nods exchanged. Satisfied smiles.

You masked your shock when Walburga Black stepped forward, giving the Dark Lord a respectful bow without even glancing at you.

"My Lord, let me take the girl in. The Greengrasses were among the purest of the pure. Such a fine lineage. Their legacy has always impressed the Noble House of Black." She paused, almost smiling.

Your throat tightened. Adoption by the Blacks? Things could always be worse - but you knew how that family operated.

You’d heard the stories.

"I guarantee she’d make a perfect wife for my son."

Ice filled your veins. A wife?

You thought you’d be taken in as a ward.

Not sold off like livestock.

You opened your mouth to protest - but bit your tongue. You knew where you were standing.

"Please indulge me, oh Dark Lord. She would be a fine addition to our family tree. They shall produce pure heirs."

You were standing before the darkest of the dark. Purists. Supremacists. Monsters who would spill blood for the sake of their beliefs.

And you?

You were an orphan. A mere child, left alone. They worshipped your bloodline, and they would eat you alive if you didn’t play your role to perfection.

"And what do you say to that, girl?" the Dark Lord asked.

You raised your head and looked directly at Walburga. Her stare was like a blade - sharp, cold, calculating.

You gave a cold smile in return. One pureblood to another.

"I’d be honoured to be a part of the Noble House of Black."

You almost vomited from the lie.

The Black estate was just as you imagined. Cold. Dark. Timeless.

You arrived by apparition, Walburga’s hand resting gently on the small of your back.

You doubted she’d be half as gentle if you weren’t a Greengrass. You’d heard the things she’d done to Muggleborns. Half-bloods. And even those Pure of blood that sympathized with the lot.

You weren’t eager to see that side of her up close.

The house reeked of history and prestige. The kind that’s soaked in blood and had you not known its history, you would've adored the decor.

Gold-framed portraits lined the walls. You scanned them, and your gaze landed on the boy sprawled on a couch. He rose as soon as he saw you.

Regulus Black.

Walburga clapped her hands, summoning a house-elf in an instant. He bowed low. You remained quiet, pretending not to notice the glances Regulus kept sneaking your way.

You already knew who your fiancé was. You were in the same year as Sirius Black. Walburga hadn’t even looked Regulus’s way when she mentioned a betrothal.

Sirius Black.

Gryffindor’s pride. The infamous Marauder. The rebel.

You’d seen him. Loud. Charismatic. Annoying. His group caused chaos on a weekly basis.

You'd kept your distance. Slytherins were frequent targets. And now you’d be his fiancée. Just your bloody luck, eh?

"Kreacher, make tonight’s dinner extra special. We have an important guest and an even more important announcement," Walburga said, and the elf disappeared with a nod.

She turned to Regulus. "Tell your brother to prepare for dinner. He is expected to behave."

Then she turned to you, smiling. "This is the Greengrass girl. I trust you know her from school, Regulus?"

You turned to him. It was like looking at a younger Sirius. Long black hair, stormy grey eyes. An exact replica but also - he felt awfully different, the aura they exude couldn't be more different.

"Regulus Black. A pleasure to meet someone of such high status." He extended his hand.

You took it with a calculated smile. Walburga beamed from the corner of your eye.

Would you be here if you weren’t a Greengrass? If you were a Weasley, or a Potter? Would they have thrown you to the wolves instead?

"Pleased to formally meet you. I look forward to dinner."

You didn’t.

Your bedroom was huge but suffocating. The wallpaper was dark, the bedding darker still.

You wasted no time. Taking down the portraits without a care of being questioned, surely they'll understand if a girl wants privacy. You didn’t want their eyes on you.

Your trunk was filled with clothes that clashed against the gloom. Bold, bright pieces that looked out of place in a home like this - you wonder if you should change your wardrobe to be seen less in this gloomy decor.

You placed a single photo - your family - on the nightstand.

It didn’t feel real.

They were so young. So powerful. And so very dead.

They adored you. Their world revolved around you, and you around them.

Now?

Now it was just you.

"Oh, Mother… Father…" you whispered, brushing a tear away. "I’m to be married to a stranger. How unbecoming of your daughter."

A knock at the door made you turn your head swiftly. You opened it hesitantly to find the house elf bowing his head low to greet you.

"Dinner is ready, miss Greengrass. Kreacher will escort you."

You nodded, glanced in the mirror. Hair neat. Face composed. Perfect.

You had to be perfect.

“There she is,” Orion Black greeted you with a wide smile. He motioned to the seat waiting at the long, elegant table.

Every chair was filled. Even Lucius Malfoy was here, sitting beside his fiancée.

You took your seat - next to Regulus, directly across from Sirius.

Lovely.

Sirius’s eyes narrowed locking in on you. You felt the weight of his stare but pointedly ignored it.

"Our important guest is Greengrass?" he asked, his tone edged.

"I am terribly sorry for your loss," Malfoy interrupted, cutting in smoothly. "Such fine wizards they were."

You didn’t respond. Just stared at your plate as you willed yourself not to lose focus. It's one thing to have your parents die, it's another to be adopted so suddenly by another family and bethrothed to a stranger who you knew would hate your guts.

None of them mourned your parents. Not really. They mourned the bloodline. The power that they could've used in their fight, not the people they were and the parents they had been - only you truly mourned them.

Food appeared on the table, but your stomach twisted. You forced yourself to sip water. Again and again, tearing into the meat to separate it into bite-size pieces but never actually putting one in your mouth.

Regulus’s elbow brushed yours occasionally, snapping you from your daze. But reality was no comfort.

And Sirius - Sirius kept glaring. Like he could burn through you with his eyes alone.

To him, you were just another Slytherin. Another arranged name in a family tree, another evil snake that wanted to rid the world of people that he surrounded himself with - just another purist like his entire family.

Let him think that.

Dinner dragged on with you just playing with your food and taking sips of water, if the boy next to you noticed - he did not say anything as he kept stealing glances that you always caught. At least he was subtle about it, the older brother was shameless in outright glaring at you from across the table.

And then - Walburga placed down her cutlery.

"Now, for the announcement- " she grinned so widely, one you could almost paint as sweet had it not been for the wicked glare in her crazy eyes. She turned to Sirius, as if to mock him, "Am pleased to inform you all that my son, Sirius, will be betrothed to our dear guest and they shall make beautiful pureblood heirs!"

You didn’t need to look. You felt the full force of Sirius Black’s hatred crashing over you like a tidal wave. You could try and come up for air but the waves kept coming and coming until you eventually lost all your power - left to swallow the water and let it fill your lungs.

If looks could kill - you'd already be buried.

You manage to sit still with a blank expression as he continues to direct that angry glare toward you. The heir to the Black name in all his Gryffindor and rebelious glory, deciding you were the enemy. As if you were the one who made the announcement—why are you taking the heat for something you had no part in?

You don’t look away. You raise a brow instead, and that small, subtle act seems to provoke him more than anything. His fist slams onto the table, cutting off the cheers and applause ringing in the air.

"Welcome to the family, Greengrass," Bellatrix grins from across the table. You don’t bother forcing a smile. You turn back toward him, who looks about five seconds away from exploding, somehow - you delighted in the sight.

You can't outright show your distaste for this whole arrangement, but he can - and you were counting on it. He will do his very best to defy his family and this marriage, and you were hoping for it.

You shall live vicariously through one Sirius Black who never hesitated, never held back.

"Why the sudden engagement, Mother?" he asks, voice tight. His eyes flick from her to you, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

What - does he think you planned this?

As if you’re some lovesick little fourth-year who begged for this. You’d rather saw off your fingers and feed them to a thestral than claim to fancy him. Which, for the record, you absolutely do not.

"And why not? The Greengrasses are exceptional, pure-blooded wizards." That came from his father, whose sharp eyes cut toward his son. The heir’s scowl disappears quickly - much toi your dismay - he’s learned how to hide behind masks when facing that man. "You are to wed before returning to Hogwarts."

Your jaw went slack at that, your mask dropping for the quickest moment - had it not been for Regulus nudging you, you pursed your lips tight.

Even Malfoy and his betrothed aren’t getting married that quickly. This is madness.

You clear your throat. "Might I make a request?"

His mother looks toward you with interest. You avoid the boy’s gaze altogether - you already know he's trying to burn holes through your skull with a glare and you couldn't care less about what he thinks of you this very moment.

"Would it be possible to push the date back - a year? I am still in mourning. I would like time to study what it means to be a proper wife, to ensure I do not bring shame to the Noble House of Black."

Her smile stays in place. Even through the absurdity, you think you’ve played your cards well. The excuse is believable enough. A year might be enough time to figure out how to get out of this mess. Or rather - for Sirius Black to get out of this mess.

"I don’t see why not," she replies, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. You see how he tenses beneath her touch. And guilt stirs in your chest, unwelcome and heavy.

This must be hard for him too - being forced into an engagement with a Slytherin his parents adore and he clearly resents. The perfect pureblood heiress to wed the pureblood heir from the noble house of Black, just the imagination alone could make a purist cheer gleefully.

But if it were up to you, you wouldn’t even be here.

"Then it is settled. You two shall marry by the end of your sixth year."

You survive dinner.

Somehow.

Today has been a string of horrors. You’ve never longed for rest as desperately as you do now. Normally, you'd be restless, your mind buzzing with ways to fill your time - but tonight, all you want is peace.

You've had a long day.

You met him face-to-face.

Until now, he'd only existed in whispers. The man didn't disappoint. His beauty was eerie, and the darkness around him clung to every inch of the room. You could feel it in your bones.

And now - just when you reach your bedroom door - "We need to talk."

Bloody hell. You turn to face him, already recognizing the voice. He's already leaning against the frame like he's been waiting. You spin back to the door, reaching for the knob. His body shifts to block it.

A defeated sigh escapes you.

"I'm tired. Move."

He doesn't.

You’re not sure how much longer you can play nice, but every nerve in your body is frayed, and his presence is only adding to the chaos.

"I said we need to talk."

You spin back toward him, meeting his eyes with the nastiest look you can summon. "And I said I’m tired."

A silent battle begins - gazes locked, neither of you blinking - until he steps aside.

Your victory is short-lived. He follows you inside and locks the door behind him.

You roll your eyes. "They're in the trunk." He’s looking for the paintings, of course.

You sit at the vanity and begin pulling out the pins from your hair. He stays there - silent and still - watching. His gaze follows your movements. You meet his eyes through the mirror and sigh.

"You came into my room to talk. So talk."

He hesitates. More than once. Lips parting but no words came, you sat rather patiently watching him through the reflection.

"I’m now engaged to you," he finally says.

"I was there when it was announced." you reply in a sarcastic tone.

"You don’t seem surprised."

He steps closer, confusion plain across his annoyingly attractive face. It’s a shame. He’s beautiful, but you’re not foolish enough to let that change anything. You did not fancy him in any way, he was far from your type.

"I’m not surprised." you confirm.

"Was it your idea?"

That pulls a laugh from you. Genuinely, a sound that has not escaped you since - since your parents died, what a talent these Marauders have. "You flatter yourself too much, Black."

You shake your head, still smiling. "Is that all? Because I need to sleep. So, if you don’t mind. . ."

You stand, grabbing his arm, and drag him toward the door. He resists just enough to be a nuisance - his hand flies out to block the doorway. Stopping you from throwing him out like intended.

"I can tell you don’t like me. So why didn’t you say ‘no’?"

You pause. He says it like it was easy. Like all you had to do was shake your head and walk away and they would've let you.

The noble Gryffindor heir. The rebel. The Black who runs toward the fire while the rest of them stoke it. The heir to the pureblood lineage who prided themselves in their prejudice, yet he surrounds himself with muggleborns and traitors alike.

And you? You’re the villain. The obedient little snake who didn’t speak up, who sat quietly while they decided both your fates.

"You’re asking a stupid question," you reply.

Then you kick the back of his knee, watch him wobble, and shove him out of the room.

He stares back at you like you’ve just slapped him.

You give him a pointed look. "I’m sure there’s a brain under that gorgeous hair. Use it."

You try to shut the door, but he stops it with his hand. You fought against the urge to actually slap him in the face just to finally end this day. You let the last bit of your patience run - watching him.

"Greengrass."

He says it like a warning.

You could laugh. He thinks you’ll flinch? After today?

"I gave you a year to find a way out of this," you tell him coldly. "Goodnight, Black."

Then the door slams in his face.

You change into your nightgown, collapse onto the bed, and curl toward the picture on your nightstand. A little girl in braids stood smiling in front of a couple that appeared much older - a perfect mix of their feature, the girl was. So happy despite the fact she was missing a very obvious front tooth.

Sleep is fleeting.

You only got two hours at best from how your shoulders felt heavy - like it wasn't your own.

The rest of the time is spent staring at the ceiling, replaying memories of your old life.

You used to sit on your mother’s lap while your father read aloud by the fire. The house was peaceful and quiet, it was just the three of you while the elves worked in the kitchens and the gardens. Life was perfect.

They believed in purity. They supported the Dark Lord.

They weren’t good people, you knew that much - you never brought into the blood purity nonsense but they did - so you knew deep down that they weren't good people.

But they were good parents.

They never forced their beliefs on you. They encouraged you to explore. To question. They didn’t mind when you played with Muggle children or devoured books on Muggle science, they wanted you to form your own beliefs even if it strayed from theirs.

They supported you.

And then Dragon Pox took them.

A disease no powerful wizard had ever found a cure for. Not even the purest of bloods could escape it. How funny.

You leave your room quietly and wander the halls, hoping to find the kitchen. Instead, you find a shadowed figure in the living room. You attempted to flee as to not meet anyone in the dead of night but -

"Greengrass?"

You pause.

Regulus Black.

You hadn’t seen him there. He has a way of disappearing into his surroundings. In the dim light, his eyes nearly glow. They're the exact same as Sirius' but his appeared colder and deeper - like one could get lost in the depths of them.

"Black," you reply. "I was looking for the kitchen."

He nods slowly, walking closer. When he steps into the light, you see the robe over his pajamas. A book in hand. He must’ve been reading, you neglect to check which book it was.

"I can take you."

You nod. "I’d appreciate that."

You trail behind him, memorizing the turns as you go. He leads you into the kitchen without a word, and you’re relieved to find it empty.

You only wanted water. But even that feels like too much. You don’t want anyone seeing how hollow you’ve become. An entire day dancing around dark wizards and barely two hours of shuteye.

"Here we are."

You linger near the sink. He stands nearby. Watching.

You raise a brow. "You can go back now. I’ll be fine."

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then says, "I’ll escort you back. In case you get lost again."

Thoughtful. But not necessary.

He seems to sense your resistance and turns to leave. You stop him without thinking.

"Didn’t you say you’d escort me back?"

He looks surprised. Then smiles faintly.

You realize you’re still holding his arm. You let go quickly, turn your back, and finally pour yourself a glass of water.

Each motion feels heavy, like your body wanted nothing more than to collapse on itself but you willed with all your might to keep going.

You drink slowly, the silence thick between you.

"I’ll go back now," you say quietly, setting the glass down.

He walks ahead, and you follow. Eyes on his shoes as you didn't feel like watching the back of his head - it's too identical to Sirius and you fear you'd smack it if your control leaves you. You nearly bump into him when he stops outside your room.

You open the door, facing him. "Thank you, Black."

"Might be hard to know who you’re talking to in this house if you stick to last names."

You say nothing. You’re not ready to use names. But the way he talked was unlike you expected, he always seemed so reserved and always kept to himself, you didn't think he had it in him to ask you to be comfortable.

"You’re welcome, Greengrass."

You nod and begin to close the door when he speaks again.

"And I’m sorry," he says softly. "About your parents."

You can’t speak. So you shut the door instead.

And fall onto the bed with your eyes wide open and lips parted slightly from utter shock.

It’s the first time anyone’s said that and actually meant it.

to be continued . . .

part two masterlist

#marauders #marauders era #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus blakc imagine #sirius black #slytherin #slytherin reader

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carmenlikeme · 17 days ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE: THIS IS GONNA BE ONE OF THOSE THINGS

COWBOY LIKE ME: A JACK ABBOT SERIES.

pairing: Jack Abbot x rescuer!reader

Where Jack Abbot meets an eccentric doctor in the middle of a catastrophe, and finds light in one of the darkest places imaginable.

genre: fem! reader (no physical descriptions) romance, slowburn (on paper, speedrun irl), hurt/comfort, breakup, happy ending (?), sprinkled comedy, idk what else, highly medically inaccurate, heavy dialogue for the first chapters.

wc: 5.7k

warnings: age gap (reader is in her late 20s, jack late 40s), major natural disaster, medical trauma, PTSD, mentions of war and violent situations, graphic depiction of injuries, mentions of COVID and death. Will edit as I write more.

a/n: this just keeps getting longer and longer bc my idea was getting little 3k chapters, GUESS NOT!! i am so happy over the love this series got and you bet I'm already writing like a maniac!! Every title is inspired by a song, I think this one is pretty on the nose!! you can also comment so I can add you to my taglist or send me an ask!

you can find the masterlist HERE!

Despite popular opinion across PTMC, Jack Abbot wasn’t nearly as pragmatic as he looked.

In fact, he was downright superstitious.

Jack hated working during full moons and disliked how Shen threw the word quiet around like it meant nothing. He never called it out, just scoffed and braced for impact. There was no reason to complain. It would get him nowhere.

Ellis was a lot like him in that regard, though she didn’t care if anyone believed she was crazy for keeping her rituals pristine.

It was a night shift thing.

Shen was not yet there, but sometimes, just sometimes, he paused before throwing words around like they meant nothing.

A start, at least.

Still, Jack clung to his habits and superstitions like a mantra. Robby loved to make fun of him, calling him too old school. But he noticed how Jack never said how long was left in a shift, how he believed bad outcomes came in threes, how he wouldn’t say the name of a patient he hadn’t seen in a while.

Jack Abbot was a man full of superstition.

For example, at PittFest.

He woke up that afternoon, groggy and exhausted, but somehow, his leg didn’t hurt. When he put on the prosthetic to head to the bathroom, it didn’t itch. Calmness was odd for a man like him.

Still, he returned to his bed and pulled the blackout curtains just enough to let the afternoon sunlight spill across the room.

And there it was.

A crow.

It stood there in silence. Jack was sure that if he moved, the crow would fly away. His hand was barely able to reach the radio as he sat down on the bed. He turned it on, his gaze never leaving the crow that just seemed to be minding its business on Jack’s balcony.

It wasn’t until the reports of a shooting at PittFest that the crow flew away from the balcony. He sighed and grabbed the fresh pair of scrubs he always had at hand.

So, the day he woke up to nine crows on his balcony, he almost fell flat onto the floor.

For once in his life, he hoped his crazy ideas were wrong.

They never were.

Jack walked into the ED cautiously, as if testing the ground. He knew his predictions weren’t always accurate, but most of the time, it was more about when than if. That left him skittish for the entire shift.

The rain started that night. It didn’t stop.

And, as twisted as it sounded, Jack felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he realized the crows still meant something, just not what he expected. Not love, but chaos.

His mind spiraled as his senses suffocated with memories from that afternoon. He snapped back as the van rattled as they made their way into the disaster.

It was their first time outside after the catastrophe, and already they felt an immense difference as they traveled the empty streets of downtown Pittsburgh.

They slowly made their way into the most affected areas. A couple of hours into the storm, a residential neighborhood was flooded, making it the focal point of the disaster.

The mix of people in the cramped van wasn’t particularly ideal for forming any type of conversation; Abbot barely interacted with them during shift changes, if at all. The last time they worked together for a full stretch was back at PittFest, and now this, it wasn’t the perfect foundation for good communication. Plus, the van driver kept talking on the radio. Jack immediately recognized the language as Spanish, the driver was struggling with the signal, but it didn’t seem to be such a problem, because he barely asked questions.

Mateo and Garcia, on the other hand, focused all their energy on what the radio was saying; they would furrow their eyebrows just slightly on occasion. Abbot realized how lucky they were by bringing two Spanish speakers with them, considering most of the rescue team was from Mexico.

“K9s are out, rescue and cadaver. No hits yet.” Mateo’s jaw clenched at Garcia’s words. “Two drownings already.”

Whitaker, with not a lick of Spanish in his brain, looked pale as a ghost. Abbot wondered if he would throw up before even arriving.

Still, after everything that had happened, he never backed down.

A true boodhound.

“What can we expect, Dr. Abbot?”

Mateo finally spoke up. He didn’t look concerned, but the overwhelming radio chatter was messing with him.

As they got closer, the agitation in the voices was palpable, Abbot could even hear debris shifting in the background. Maybe he was making it up. Maybe he wasn’t

“We can’t say yet,” he replied. “We won’t know how many are being pulled out by rescue, or if they are getting someone out alive. Still, our protocols are the same. Assess in ten seconds and add a wristband: red, pink, yellow, green, or black. Stabilize in five, send the reds first. The only difference is we are doing the quickest and easiest fix to keep them alive long enough for medevac. That’s it.”

“What type of injuries?”

“Could be anything. Mostly crush injuries, but I won’t put it past us getting some electrocutions, drownings, or heat stroke. Definitely dehydration. Some head traumas too.”

A pause.

“Okay, I’m going to say it since none of you guys seem to actually want to; aren’t you excited to see the topos in action?” Garcia confessed.

Whitaker turned to look at her, a hint of shock on his face. Mateo did the same, only he gave a bothered smile.

“I heard they were in those floods in Spain,” Whitaker added.

“I believe you’re the only one who thinks like that,” Mateo argued.

“You can pretend you don’t want to watch them, I know Abbot does,” Garcia smirked at him, and just for a second, he hoped they had sent Walsh instead of her.

“When was I included in this?” Jack muttered under his breath, avoiding the eyes on him as awkward silence took place.

“We’re here.”

No one said anything as a man guided them towards the triage zone. His voice was soft but commanding, accompanied only by their shoes sinking into the mud, each step harder and harder to pull as they got closer. Long ago were the days when Jack felt like he was walking over quicksand; at those times, the rain was so heavy that half of his shoe got stuck. This time, he made sure to put purpose on each step.

Once they were within distance of the site, they immediately shifted their attention to the people in bright orange suits, whose chests, arms, and backs were covered in patches of flags and logos. They walked around with determination, some prospecting the area with dogs, others reinforcing unstable areas to avoid more damage, and a couple more, putting a harness on someone.

The awe lasted just a few seconds.

Not even the media had gotten as close as them. Houses were destroyed, nothing but piles of what once were people’s homes, collapsed, gone. It was clear that the people there were working overtime; a neat triage zone, a huge square, clean of any debris, was waiting for them. Next to it, several vans filled with material and covered with mud almost to the roof. He wondered how hard it was to get it there.

“Here’s your triage zone. So far, we’ve identified three living under the third north quadrant. They’ll be out in about fifteen minutes. From now our EMTs are helping people hurt but not trapped, right there.”

About a dozen people sat on plastic chairs, all of them in emergency blankets. They looked physically okay but very disoriented. Jack’s mind immediately looked for any visible injuries.

“No criticals at the moment. I’ll talk to you when we pull someone out. Who’s in charge?”

Whitaker, Garcia, and Mateo took a step back, leaving Abbot by himself.

“Cowards,” he muttered.

“My name is Oscar, you can call me Oso. Here’s a walkie.”

Abbot took it quickly and set it up in his belt, Oscar offered him a firm handshake.

“Jack Abbot, emergency medicine. We’ve also got Yolanda Garcia, surgical resident; Mateo Diaz, emergency medicine nurse; and Dennis Whitaker, MS4.”

“Nice to meet you, I’ll get back to work, we’re sending one in. Call me if you need anything. Sorry, no time for chit chat. They’ll be sending you another team to take over for you in about six hours.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

Oscar jogged back towards the group, putting the harness on one of their teammates, and as much as Abbot was curious to watch them work, he turned around to talk to his team.

"Okay, people. It's go time. I'll work with Whitaker; Garcia can work with Mateo. If you need anything, let me know, make sure our yellow and pink patients don't die either. Double-check everything, triple-check if possible. Crush injuries are no joke."

“I have a feeling we might have a lot of hidden concussions,” Garcia mentioned as they quickly set up.

“I have a suspicion we might be here all day,” Whitaker replied under his breath.

Jack laughed, slipping on his gloves, and moved to an elderly lady who had a minor head laceration. Then, in the blink of an eye, twenty minutes went by. He was so focused on making sure they examined their patients correctly when they had some extra minutes on their hands, he even had time to explain to Whitaker some things to look out for in patients and how to make sure he remembered to do a full body exam.

The false calm broke in seconds.

Nothing major happened until a distant voice yelled, ‘Pull her out!, which made all of them shift. One of the topos got out of the rubble, closer to them than expected. Oscar followed her closely. She took off her helmet, then the glasses, and finally pulled down the mask. She hissed as Oscar matched her steps.

"Someone's already in trouble?"

Garcia asked, she kept glancing sideways as Abbot urged her to focus on the patient at hand, but it was harder than it sounded. Another member, an older gentleman in his 70s, walked down the path. Still in her harness, she barked back.

"I can smell the fucking burnt plastic from here. They didn't cut power in there," she pointed, her orange suit was slightly dusty.

The man tried to calm her down, but she wasn’t having it.

“That incident commander isn't talking to us straight. He’s about to piss me off” she complained once more, both her and the man looked at each other for what it felt like an eternity, until the aforementioned showed up. “I’m going in again, from the west side. There’s a path there.”

The older man pulled a small plastic bag from his jumpsuit. He carefully opened it, and with the kindness of a father, he wiped her face softly, removing any dirt from her face. It looked so natural, she continued to complain, unmoved by his actions, as if she were used to it. Jack made a mental note to ask them if they could spare some decon wipes like the ones they were using.

“What? I was told the power was cut, but there’s probably a backup generator running. It’s too dangerous.” The incident commander snapped.

She waited until her boss finished and tried to walk away from the three men.

Oscar placed a hand on her chest, stopping her. She shoved him off with a swift motion, but still didn’t move until Oso took a step back.

“Too dangerous my ass.”

She pulled her face mask on again. Jack noticed a few hairs stuck to her forehead, the sweat running down her forehead and neck. He could only imagine how hot it was under that suit, he could see she had at least one undershirt, plus a bandana on her neck and her gloves. Even with a lower temperature, it would feel like hell.

“Can I get in?” she asked the older man, who immediately nodded. Oscar looked disappointed.

They walked back as he instructed her on what to do. There was still some resistance, something about him pulling her out if she went silent for more than 2 minutes, and more complaining. More comments about keeping some oxygen at hand, which prompted Jack to check their reserves just in case.

She seemed to have no regard for her own safety. And somehow, that got him a little excited.

Admiration? Yeah, probably.

“Looks like you ER cowboys are nothing compared to that girl. How old is she? 25?” Garcia laughed.

“She’s very young to be getting under all that stuff.”

Whitaker stumbled upon one of the makeshift gurneys as he tried to get a better view of the situation. By that moment, most of the critical patients were waiting for transport, which allowed them to take a minute to breathe.

“Are you guys hungry?”

One of the rescue team members walked towards them, he was holding a big blue cooler. He was wearing the same orange suit, except his had the nickname ‘Cholo’ written on it.

He grabbed a couple of items from it before throwing some at them without warning. The food felt warm in Jack’s hands.

“Some lady brought burritos, rescue already raided them, so feel free to eat as much as you can.”

Whitaker almost cried. He sniffed the food and started to eat immediately. Garcia wasn’t as desperate. Jack decided to put his away for the moment and eat it when he got hungry.

“Thanks, man. We’ve been quarantined at the hospital. I think I won’t eat a turkey sandwich in at least a year.” Mateo pulled the tin foil quickly and took a big bite of the burrito. “We even ran out of coffee.”

“Yeah, we run on what the people give us, and your people have been very kind.”

“Are you one of them?” Whitaker asked, as the girl who was just under the rubble argued with Oscar.

“Yeah, I’m an EMT. You can call me Mario,” he said with a soft smile.

Garcia took another bite of her burrito, her hands motioned towards the chaos. She waited a second to chew before talking.

“What’s going on down there?”

“Oh… one of our teammates is doing a rescue, but there’s a flooded section with live wires, so they’re working on finding a safer point of entrance.” Mario pointed out, as if it were a walk in the park.

“Don’t worry, she’s not as reckless as she looks. Oso is just too cautious, he’s going to follow her just when she makes contact, or maybe send me.”

As he spoke, more patients arrived from different areas. The topos weren’t the only rescue team on site, but it looked like they had the most coverage and momentum. Mario explained that some of their teams were out in boats, searching for people still trapped in their homes. Everyone on the squad had a specialty, but the main focus that day was search and rescue under collapsed structures.

“We all know how to do it,” he said, his eyes drifting briefly toward the chaos around them. “But there’s something about her. She just knows where to move… and where not to. She’s faster than most of us, too. Luis, one of the OGs, trained her personally.”

Occasionally, radio chatter interrupted their conversation.

At times, Mario would hear something urgent and sprint to help his team with new victims coming from the submerged neighborhoods still standing. He would return shortly after, giving Jack and his team a quick debrief of the situation, even helping when he could.

"So what do you do when you're not rescuing people?" Mateo asked about fifteen minutes after they saw the girl enter the structure. Mario looked worried, a little distant.

"Oh, I'm a cook at my family's restaurant."

"I thought you all were experts," Whitaker pointed out and cleared his throat, realizing he sounded a little too harsh. "I mean..."

"Nah, I get it. But the cardinal rule here is to have a job so you can support yourself. Only a few of the topos here do this for a lifetime, and it’s mostly the founders who stick with it."

Five minutes ago, Mario would’ve kept talking about his personal life and how he ended up here. But his silence made Garcia realize everyone was waiting for something more. The radio chatter continued, muffled but still decipherable.

"All good man?" Mateo walked over to Mario, who nodded.

“Yeah... she’s been there for a while and says the smell is itching at her. I’m worried she’ll stay there and pass out.” Mario was called just a second later and sprinted toward his team, muttering an apology under his breath. He quickly accepted the harness someone handed him.

Jack remembered he still had the walkie Oso had given him and turned it on, hoping to get some sort of update. Her voice crackled through the static. Something about not being able to make contact, and then something more about being in a tight space. “No visual,” was the only sentence they could piece together.

Long minutes passed. Sometimes the conversation was in Spanish; other times, it switched to English when the incident commander demanded it.

Mateo and Garcia did their best to translate as much as possible, but sometimes they could only hear the movement of the rescuer. All they got was how she couldn’t see much due to smoke coming from another area, most likely the origin of the power failure. Last they heard was the girl reassuring her team that she was still conscious.

"I hear them! Down south. I'm making contact. Three alive!" she yelled, and a collective sigh of relief rippled through the team.

Then, everyone above her got to work. Mario was still ready to jump in, just in case things got sticky. Another ten minutes passed before they saw a stretcher, then another, and a third. Finally, the rescuer was pulled out by a rope. Her bright orange suit was caked in mud and dirt, and the harness was practically glued to her.

She spoke briefly with the guys, her gloved hands patting her suit. Abbot realized then that the people she had just pulled out were now his patients.

They wasted no time in treating them, and within minutes, the patients were sent off to the ambulances, out of their reach. Mario and a couple of other rescue workers took the first of the three for transport. She was the worst off. A wall had fallen on her, knocking her unconscious for some time. The second was also unconscious, while the third could walk, but they still played it safe.

He saw more people arrive, this time to find the source of the smell and to stabilize the area underneath, as it seemed they had found more people. Jack noticed their lack of urgency compared to a couple of minutes ago, which led him to believe that the new victims were already dead.

Finally, the girl came down from the collapsed building.

Oso followed close behind, giving her safety instructions. She finally stopped, nearly in front of Jack. She pulled off her helmet, which hit the ground with a solid thud. Her protective glasses followed, and only then did Jack realize she was drenched in sweat. She removed her face mask more gently as well as her gloves and tucked everything into the helmet, bending down for a moment to catch her breath.

She asked Oso for help. He grabbed the zipper on her wrist and pulled it down to her armpit, then repeated the motion on the other side.

Panting, she reached for the next pair of zippers; one on each clavicle. They ran down to her ankles, clearly designed to be put on fast and taken off even faster. She pulled the zipper at her hips, then slid her arms out of the parted suit, revealing a black tank top underneath. She tied the sleeves around her waist.

"Hey, Abbot, do you still have oxygen?"

Oso asked as the girl dropped into one of the plastic chairs recently vacated by a patient. She didn’t protest as he crouched beside her to assess her.

"Yeah. I'll go get it," Abbot replied, heading toward one of the vans where an unused oxygen tank sat; the same one he’d checked a minute earlier.

As he walked back, he heard coughing and muffled complaints.

"Hey, doc," Oso called out. "Could you please explain to this reckless girl why it's important to take a little oxygen after inhaling all that shit down there?"

"I know the consequences, Oso. I’m not a child."

Jack offered her the mask, and she placed it over her face, her eyes piercing the man's.

Oso pulled the string of the oxygen mask to place it properly. She rolled her eyes.

"You're a doctor but would rather die than get treated. That sounds like a child to me." Oso grabbed her wrist and checked his watch. "Careful, or I'll let Dr. Abbot do this exam for me."

Jack tilted his head, already stepping in. "I think I’ll take over. Looks like you’re buying time anyway."

He gave Oso a knowing look, and the rescuer sitting in front of them scoffed.

She rolled her eyes again and looked away for a second. But her body betrayed her; a cough hit just as she reached to pull off the oxygen mask. Jack had just slipped on his gloves and gently guided the mask back into place.

"I'm good. I mean it," she said, but Abbot continued with the exam, now a little smug about it. He pulled out his stethoscope and pressed it to her chest.

"How long were you under there?" he asked.

"About ten minutes."

"I counted more."

She paused.

"Maybe twenty."

Jack looked at her, his sharp eyes scanning her features. They stopped talking as she took deep breaths, his stethoscope moving around her chest and then her back. He scrunched his nose, moving elsewhere before returning. She coughed a couple of times, which allowed him to come back to the original spot.

“Something wrong, doctor?” she asked. Jack took a step back.

He grabbed a pulse oximeter from his go bag. Without asking, he held her hands, and only then did he notice the pink compression gloves she had on. He peeled them off and put the oximeter on, then placed her hand back on her chest. She didn’t complain.

“There’s some wheezing I’m worried about. Might have to pull you out of duty for today,” Jack suggested. She shook her head repeatedly.

“And it’s not a suggestion.”

“I'm afraid I only take suggestions,” she said, her free hand pulling down the mask just enough to speak. “My team needs me down there.”

“Oh, I am sure they do,” he met her gaze, his hands coming to her neck. She lifted her head, matching his stare. “But I won’t risk it, what about six hours?”

“Four and I won’t get under any structures for the rest of the day,” she smiled at him.

Jack scoffed. He studied the determination in her eyes as he pulled down the oxygen mask. She smiled brightly, despite the redness of her eyes, and how he knew her throat itched. He grabbed a tongue depressor, his index still holding onto her chin lightly, thumb barely brushing her too.

“Five, and you don’t go near anything that smells funny for at least 24 hours.”

“Oh, I can’t just abandon my team. I know they smell weird, but…” She coughed before she could finish her joke. Jack looked at her, his hand not leaving her chin despite the movement.

“No smoke. I mean it. Now, open your mouth for me, please,” he whispered once she stopped coughing.

“Careful there, I only get asked that during the second date,” Jack didn’t respond, but his gaze softened as he waited for her to do what he asked for. “Fine. But I need to know your name before we do the kinky stuff.”

“My name is Dr. Jack Abbot, you can call me Dr. Abbot, ” he whispered as his flashlight moved around her mouth.

“Is that how you do an exam, or are they about to fuck?” Garcia muttered under her breath. Mateo only nudged her in response. “I mean it! What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know, but I won’t get close to them even if they asked me to.”

"Any pain? Dizziness? Weakness?" he asked, his flashlight now aimed at her eyes. For once, it was comforting not to have to give instructions.

“None of that,” she replied. This time, she put the oxygen mask on herself. Then, she looked at the pulse oximeter and rolled her eyes. “Can I take off this thing now?”

“Not until I say so. I can tell it hurts to cough, and the least you can do is sit still for a second,” Abbot finally stepped back. Only then did he realize they were just inches apart. “So put it back on.”

“Ugh, you’re so bossy.”

“So I’ve been told. Any injuries you’re not telling me about? Did you hit your head down there, bump into something, pull your neck, anything I should know?” he asked. She shook her head softly. “So if I ask you to walk to that gurney over there, you won’t have any problems?”

“Not at all,” she replied confidently.

“Great.”

Abbot peeled off his gloves, and the stranger stood up from the plastic chair. He grabbed her shoulders, directing her back to her place.

“Did I say you could go? Sit. I won’t let you go until I’m content with your oxygen levels.”

“I’m not hypotensive,” she complained. Jack looked at the oximeter, then at her, and back at the oximeter. “Seriously!”

“No, but you could become hypoxic, develop atelectasis, or pulmonary edema. You’re already halfway through spitting a lung.” Jack paused for a second, unsure of his next words. “I might have to order medevac.”

She took off her mask quickly. Abbot put it back in its place without a word.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed. “I don’t need that.”

“You’re not the doctor.”

“No, but I have no cutaneous burns. My airway isn’t compromised; I went in with face protection and only exposed myself for a limited amount of time. At best, I’ll let you give me a non-rebreather,” she snarled.

“Non-rebreather, Ringer’s lactate. But I don’t have that with me,” she pointed toward one of the vans in the back.

“I do. I can accept that. It’s in the pink EMS bag over at the van. There’s albuterol in there too,” she added quickly.

“I’m not done. I would also have to come back and check on your airway tonight and tomorrow morning. No buts.” Jack took off the oximeter and crossed his arms, waiting for a response.

“If you want to ask me out, you could just say so, you know that?” She tilted her head, and Jack laughed. He raised his hand in defeat, then turned around.

“You said pink?”

She nodded. Jack walked over to the van and found about ten different bags. Thankfully, the pink one stood out like a sore thumb. He pulled it out and took a second to admire the different patches and small keychains attached to it. He wondered if he should bring it with him or just grab what he needed, ultimately choosing the latter.

Her bag was in pristine condition, packed with everything necessary to take care of anyone in an emergency. It almost felt like going through his own bag, so he had no trouble finding the Ringer’s lactate and everything else he needed. He looked around before stealing a granola bar hidden deep inside.

He came back and pointed toward an empty gurney. This time, she didn’t protest.

She lay down on the gurney and remained quiet. When a pair of hands reached for her left arm, she almost jumped. Jack had appeared in front of her.

She was lying, of course. The dizziness was getting to her, but she was sure it would pass. She glanced at the person inserting the IV and realized it was most likely a nurse. Mateo smiled at her, then focused back on the task.

“You’re just going to feel a little pinprick,” he whispered.

“Okay. You’re in good hands with Mateo. I’ll go talk to your boss now, okay?”

“Okay, but you still owe me your phone number,” she said, pulling down her mask to make sure he heard her.

“I will give you my number if you agree to medevac, now rest!” he yelled without looking back.

She laughed and lay down in the gurney. Mateo’s curious eyes hit her.

“Tell me he’s single.”

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” Mateo replied, and finished setting up. “If you need anything, just holler, okay?”

She nodded.

Meanwhile, Abbot waited nearby as the rescuers continued searching for survivors. The older gentleman—the one who had been speaking with the girl less than an hour ago—walked up to him. He looked more like he was supervising than getting his hands dirty, but Jack was pretty sure he’d seen him take a few rounds around the perimeter and pitch in.

“Hey, you must be one of the doctors they sent for triage, right?” he asked, immediately offering his hand.

“Yes, sir. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot,” he replied, caught off guard by the firm handshake. “I’m taking care of one of your girls.”

“Oh, la Golondrina? Yeah, I saw that. Is she okay?” He stepped down a little farther, moving away from where rescuers and others were still rushing around to help.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to Oso about. I’m afraid she has some lung damage. I’m considering medevac if it gets worse.”

The man looked at him for a moment, then turned toward the tent and sighed.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I haven’t introduced myself.” He smiled and offered his hand again; this time, not as firm as the first. “My name is Antonio. You can call me Tony. People call me Don Toño, but I’ve noticed you gringos have a hard time with pronunciation.”

“I might be a bit of a gringo myself, so I’ll have to stick to Tony,” Jack smiled. He was about to speak again, but Tony beat him to it.

“Why don’t you join me up here? I can tell you want to be out of that triage zone. Besides, Oso won’t come down for a while,” Tony suggested.

Jack hesitated for a second. It seemed like the team had cleared a path for people to walk around the site, but the debris and scattered materials still made him uneasy. Tony seemed to notice and offered him what looked like a makeshift cane.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me an old man has more flexibility than you.” He walked a little ahead, just enough for Jack to test the cane and nod.

“None of that. It’s just…” He pointed at his right leg with the cane. “I don’t have much movement here.”

“So what? Worst that can happen is you slipping and falling. Don’t worry, it’s secure. Besides, you’ve got better form than half my guys.”

Jack looked around. Behind him, triage was steady. No new patients; he could afford to walk and talk for a second.

“Okay then, but if I fall, it’s on you,” Jack pointed out, making Tony laugh.

“Right. No worries, just stay steady. Oso is over there.”

As they walked up the mountain of debris, Jack slowly realized how big a catastrophe it truly was. There wasn’t much of a height difference, maybe just about as tall as a fence, but he could understand why the girl had been so adamant about not stopping.

As promised, Oso was less than half a mile away from the collapsed houses. Jack could see more people walking around, checking different areas. It was the perfect spot for supervision.

“You miss the field, son?” Tony waved at Oso, who stopped talking to some of his team members and jogged towards them.

Abbot didn’t answer right away. He already felt self-conscious enough as he got there. Those people could learn a lot about someone within seconds. It was very similar for him. How the young rescuer, currently resting in his triage zone, had been doing it for years despite looking like a newbie. How Oso thought of her like a daughter, maybe mirroring one he lost.

“On occasion. I think I enjoy my life right now,” he replied briefly. Oso finally made his way up to them.

“How’s the little bird, doc?” Oso asked as he got within hearing distance of them.

“Not so bad. She has some wheezing in her left lung. I’m afraid she could develop a pulmonary edema, but she’s refusing medevac,” he explained. “She’s stubborn.”

“The only way you’re getting her out of here is unconscious, and even then, I feel she wouldn’t allow it,” Oso said, playing with a lighter in his hands. “If you can convince her to at least get checked out at your hospital, by all means. I can’t force her.”

“She’s a damn force of nature. I couldn’t stop her if I tried. But maybe she’ll listen to you.” Tony pulled some candy from his pocket and peeled off the wrapper quickly. “Best I can do is have her visit you tomorrow for clearance.”

“Anything is perfect. Please,” Jack nodded. “How’s everything out here? Need a hand?”

“We’re trying to find as many people as possible. But for now, we’re good. You being there to wait for patients is the best way you can help us now. Anything you need from us?”

“Yeah. Tell her you ordered her a visit tomorrow,” he joked, but part of him hoped they would take it seriously.

“Nah, man. You’re on your own.” Oso held Jack by the shoulders and shook him slightly, followed by a friendly squeeze. “She’s all yours.”

“Oso is scared of her. And I’m too old to be following kids around,” Tony explained.

“Cowards,” Jack scoffed and turned back around. “How hard can it be?”

Turns out, very hard.

285 notes · View notes

utterlyotterlyx · 11 months ago

Text

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Three

Warnings - fluff, mentions of blood, mentions of war, pining

Part One Part Two

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

"Would you mind not staring at my sisters ass, Azriel?"

The smug words of Rhys pulled the Shadowsinger from his thoughts, of what he'd never be able to divulge, but he was certainly pulled from them unwillingly. With red threatening to tinge his cheeks, Azriel uttered a silent apology, unaware that his eyes had been so trained on the backside of Rhys' queen sister.

That morning, Cassian had awoken with far too much confidence, patting y/n on the head and telling her that he'd go easy on her if she asked nicely, to which she had simply hummed and smirked in reply, her eyes finding Rowan across the room swimming with faux annoyance as he passed another grape between his lips, scowling at Aelin when she asked him if he'd like some birdseed instead.

So when y/n sauntered into the Peregryns training grounds clad in a tight black second skin, did Cassian realise that he had most certainly underestimated her, and his thoughts were confirmed by the wicked smiles of Rowan and Aelin who were perched upon a nearby rock. It seemed as though Cassian's challenge had reached the ears of Helion and Eris, both of whom had decided to join the group on the training grounds that morning.

Helion was slightly unnerved by y/n's lack of interest in him the night before; he had gone to spend time with the Inner Circle that he adored so dearly, especially the males within it, but found himself completely awestruck by the Fae Queen before his eyes, an exact mirror to the High Lord of the Night Court but darker in ways that threatened to make him salivate.

Her attention was completely held by her brother the evening before, they spent hours telling stories of their lives, the good and bad, the funny and heart-breaking, and by the end of it the pair seemed rather inseparable. It was Aelin who had to remind them that their presence within Prythian wasn't permanent, that y/n had a people and land to return to in Erilea, and that fact dampened her mood somewhat, so much so that she took herself to bed not long afterward.

It wasn't like y/n didn't want to return to Erilea, or home if you could even call it that, but she wished to stay with her brother in her homeland for as long as she possibly could. Even with her mother, y/n had always felt out of place, like she never truly belonged there, but the moment her eyes connected with those of her brother, the one who used to read her to sleep when she was a babe, did she feel her soul settle.

"You look a little scared Cass," Mor shouted across the ring that y/n had stepped into, hair unbound and swaying at her hips, feathered wings that rivalled the Peregryns own folded neatly behind her back.

Azriel wasn't the only one who seemed to agree with the second skin she wore, noting how it hugged her hips and curved around her breasts perfectly, like it had been moulded to her body and was made for her and her alone. Eris also enjoyed looking at her, and he was far less polite about it than Azriel was.

"No," Cassian huffed, securing the leather of his fingerless gloves around his wrists and rolling his shoulders, "She doesn't even have a weapon."

Cassian's confidence was torn apart by Rowan's laugh, a hearty thing that erupted from his lips which had him almost keeling over on the spot, "Sorry, sorry," he breathed through his laughter, waving a hand in the air and stealing Cassian's attention away from y/n's darkening eyes, "It's just how you think she needs a weapon to end your existence is hilarious to me."

During Cassian's confusion, y/n prowled around the ring, head tilted as her violet orbs assessed each and every muscle and curve, how each one contracted and moved like water rushing around a riverbend. By the time Cassian turned to face his partner for the morning, there was little to no time to stop her onslaught, y/n slid between his legs, grasping his ankles with her fingers and swept the ground from beneath his feet.

Within moments the Lord of Bloodshed had risen to his feet, bouncing back and forth on the balls of them, "That's cheating," he scolded, and y/n simply shrugged and twirled a strand of her raven hair around her finger.

"Distractions get you killed. I thought that you'd be wise enough to know that, considering you're a big tough Illyrian warrior," her voice was low and sultry, violet orbs peered from beneath her lashes and she moved around the edge of the ring, each step sending shockwaves through the dirt.

With nostrils flaring, Cassian paced across the ring, and Azriel watched her heels dig into the ground as he reached for her. Nothing in the universe would have given Cassian the agility to be able to capture y/n, every time he turned she'd slip between his legs or under his arms, or winnow half way across the training ground and taunt him to approach her.

Once he finally landed a single blow to her ribs, although by pure luck, she returned it with three perfectly synced kicks to his knees, abdomen, and then face, the power in her legs sending him sailing through the crisp morning air, and he landed in the dirt with a heavy thud, skidding to the edge of the ring where Helion stood choking back a smirk.

Looking upward, Cassian seethed at the grin on Helion's face, his lips contorting into a growl as he pushed himself up to stand, swirling on his feet to find y/n not even breaking a sweat and instead leaning against Aelin idly picking at her nails. Unphased. Unbothered.

"Amren," he strained, and the firedrake moved to his side, leaving her place by the rack of weapons standing toward the mouth of the ring, "Spear. Now."

Amren smirked and sauntered over to the rack, coiling her fingers around a beautifully crafted oak spear with a tip of jagged glass and throwing it to Cassian whose eyes remained unmoving from the Fae Queen before his eyes.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rhys' eyes danced with wonder, and he spoke, to Azriel or Feyre or anyone who would listen, "This is going to be interesting."

Azriel couldn't help but notice how everyone's orbs had become fixated upon y/n, the one who had sent the Lord of Bloodshed crashing into the ground with not much effort at all. She dragged her gaze across the spear in Cassian's hands, her eyes widening with a sickening delight as she craned her head to whisper something to Rowan, her lips moving slow and sure.

Not long after she had withdrew her whisper from her companion, Rowan pushed himself from the rock and reached behind him to retrieve two twin blades, curved and sharp and gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Rowan handed the blades to y/n, nodding once to her as she twirled them between her fingers to assess the weight of the weapons, balancing them on her fingers, throwing them up in the air and catching them with ease.

"Don't hold this against me," she spoke aloud, her voice drifting to Rhys in knowing that she was about to harm the general of his armies.

The pair circled one another, Cassian's knuckles turning white around the beam, and y/n's fingers holding steady and true.

Cassian lunged first, and y/n expertly dodged his attack by sweeping away from him like a phantom wind, rounding on the pads of her feet to face him again as he turned. The tension was suffocating, and it seemed as though y/n was tired of his lunges and feeble attempts to knock her off of her feet. So she ascended upon his position, knocking every jab of his spear away with the fortified muscle of her forearm, hair swaying in the breeze and feet dancing closer and closer to Cassian until he was at her complete mercy.

Y/N moved gracefully, feline almost, her arms moved like the wind, adjusting their course when necessary, and she brought her taut fury down upon Cassian, slicing through his leathers and drawing blood from his shoulders and thighs; and when Cassian dropped her to the ground, she simply rose to her knees and curled on them, dragging her blade right across his midsection before coiling her legs around his own and rolling him beneath her.

With the blood coated blade pressed against his bobbing throat, y/n asked sweetly, "Do you yield?"

Panting, and knowing there was no way of winning, not when bloodlust danced in her violet orbs, Cassian breathed, "I yield."

Rising to her feet, y/n offered a hand to Cassian which he took albeit tentatively, and she hauled him to his feet, the muscles in her thighs rippling as she did and steadied his weight against her, "Remind me to never underestimate you again."

Biting back a laugh, y/n motioned to Helion, knowing that his healing touch was what Cassian needed, "I don't think you'll ever need a reminder." Helion gladly removed Cassian from y/n's grip, sending her an impressed smirk and a curt bow of the head before moving the Lord of Bloodshed elsewhere so that he may be able to begin healing him.

Ruffling her wings, y/n turned to Rowan who wore a proud smile, so wide that his gleaming canines could be seen from across the training ring, "I knew I taught you well."

There was a tone of adoration in his words, Azriel noticed, but not romantic, it was the type of adoration you'd find in the words of family, "You did," y/n admitted, walking into his open arm and allowing it to drape over her shoulder whilst Aelin barked on about how that wasn't even a real show of y/n's true power.

"How does someone even fight like that?" Azriel asked himself, catching the beaming smile and calming eyes searching the space, connecting with his own and sending him a subtle wink.

Rhys, nudging into Azriel slightly, spoke lightly, in total awe of what he had just witnessed, a part of him never thinking such a display of raw power and strength was possible, "She grew up in a world where such ability is needed. Mother above."

"Do I even want to know what she's faced to be able to fight like that?" Feyre asked in a whisper, eyes trained on the trio bickering by the rock formation at the edge of the ring now coated with Cassian's blood.

"Yes," Azriel answered too quickly, unable to move his gaze away from her whilst knowing that both Rhys and Feyre were exploring his face with knowing eyes and grins, "I want to know everything."

Though, before Azriel could cross the ring, the same ring that he would have usually infiltrated to save his brother, Rowan and Aelin had taken her away, gently nudging y/n back toward the Dawn Court Palace that loomed in the distance. And Azriel knew in that moment that he would do anything he could to get her alone, if only to know who she was under the mask that she wore.

The second meeting had passed without any other issues, and y/n had watched each and every High Lord make their statements and desires known whilst she and her cadre watched on, waiting for another spectacle to occur like it had at the meeting prior.

And y/n was surprised when the attitudes and composure of the men before her had eddied to calm and stoic. Cassian winced with every movement he made, most of the damage had been tended to, but the bruises to his skin and ego wouldn't be disappearing any time soon.

"And what is it that you want?" Aelin nudged an idly drifting y/n at the question sent her way by Thesan, "For your assistance in this war. What is it that you want?"

Glancing to Aelin and Rowan, y/n straightened in her seat, "I want no lands of titles, there is nothing material that this world could offer us that we don't already have," it was selfish really, her desired gain from a war that would kill thousands, "All I ask for is the blessing to come and go from this world as we please. My brother is here, as is his family, and I wish to be a part of that as well as my own. In return, there are materials in my lands that don't exist here, we can provide you with weapons, and train you in our fighting and healing techniques. We seek an alliance to last until eons after we are all dust. We have seen too much war and bloodshed and loss," Aelin smiled sadly, "We seek harmony."

"A Queen indeed," Helion drawled with a smile, knowing that all she had said was as true as it could be, "Is that all? You could beckon a husband? Perhaps a High Lord?"

As fast as it came and went, Azriel noticed the lightening glance she stole toward him, and she spoke, in a voice like a glorious storm, "I think you'll find that Lords cower before me. My match is someone who welcomes the darkness, someone who is not and will never be afraid of what it holds," y/n's fingers curled around the arms of her chair, and she continued, "To be able to see my brother whenever I wish is all I want, yes."

Thesan dragged his orbs around the room, seeing no objections from the eyes meeting his stare, "Your desire is our honour to grant."

"Thank you."

The second meeting of the summit concurred, and the High Lords and their companions and lovers took their time speaking their farewells. Helion strode up to y/n last, appreciating her figure in the strapless taupe gown she adorned which was glittered in a million crystals, shining dimly in the light from their dwindling sizes; he took her hand in his, noting the length of her talons, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, "It was a pleasure laying eyes on you," he told her gently, his warmth spreading across her skin, "I suppose I'll see you on the battlefield."

"That you will. Try not to gawk, you may end up six feet under."

Helion backed away with a smirk, still facing the exquisite woman before his amber orbs, "I won't make promises that I cannot keep, Your Majesty."

Then he left, taking his clan with him after one final goodbye to Rhys. Aelin appeared at y/n's side, staring after Helion with a feline wonder in her eyes, "I bet you anything that he's a firecracker in bed."

"Aelin," y/n scolded whilst trying to contain a grin, knowing that the thought had passed through her mind rather shamelessly the night prior.

"Don't scold her," Rowan drawled from her other side, he too peering at the retreating High Lord, "She's not wrong."

"Remind me to bring Aedion and Lorcan next time," she barrelled her fists into either of their arms, noticing the High Lords leaving one by one, "I suppose we should be leaving too."

Aelin titled her head slightly at the tone of defeat and longing in y/n's mouth, glancing to Rowan who nodded once to his mate in agreement to her silent thoughts.

"Perhaps it would be a wise idea if you stayed," Aelin twirled a strand of y/n's raven hair in her fingers, her sentence had caught the attention of an already eagerly awaiting Inner Circle, and they moved to the trio without invitation.

"But, Doranelle-"

"Will be fine," Aelin motioned between her and Rowan, "We will ensure it, and I'm sure Manon would love to play queen for a bit," sensing y/n's apprehension, Aelin continued, "We are not leaving you, and you are not abandoning your people. Our nations are one, it will be alright."

Azriel moved to y/n's side, his shadows peppering her wings with their wonder causing them to rustle slightly with silent delight, and Azriel felt the waves of comfort pour from her, "When was the last time you saw Velaris?"

Turning to face the Shadowsinger, y/n clearly already knew the answer to the question, "It's been too long," her eyes swam with the lost time, and Azriel gingerly settled a hand beneath her elbow, a crutch to do what it was that she wished, and offered her a gentle smile, and she returned it, "Are you sure?" Y/N turned back to Aelin and Rowan who both nodded, "And if you need me-"

"We'll get Lorcan to pull on the bond," Rowan rolled his eyes playfully and closed the gap between him and y/n, pressing his lips into her hairline before taking a step backward, "Live, y/n. Embrace whatever time you have, it's a gift.""

Bond.

Did y/n have a mate?

Azriel's mind swam with possibility, but his marred fingers did not once leave her skin, not for even a moment, "Alright, but prepare yourselves for the arguments once you return without me," y/n waved her fingers and a rippling portal appeared upon the steps where they stood, showing a land of rolling hills and white mountains awaiting beyond.

Pointing a long finger to Rhys, Aelin with a tone of warning spoke, "Look after her."

"Such a mother hen, Aelin," the blonde haired queen rolled her eyes as she stepped to the edge of the portal, dragging Rowan with her.

"No, that's him," and before Rowan could retort in his usual dry fashion, Aelin pulled him through the portal and sent y/n a singular wink as the portal rippled smaller and smaller, until it had vanished completely.

Turning to face Azriel, still feeling his touch against her skin and soul, y/n moved her gaze to Rhys, not moving, not wanting to be away from the comfort of Azriel for even a moment, "So, Velaris then?"

Rhys smiled, taking a step toward his sister, "It's missed you."

"How do you know?"

Shrugging, Rhys spoke with knowing eyes, "You'll see," he offered a hand to her, partly to be able to winnow her into the City of Starlight, but also to get her away from Azriel for a moment, already sensing the Shadowsinger's obsession growing.

"I'd like to fly. It's been awhile since I've been able to stretch my wings," and as if sensing the wind in their feathers, her wings unfolded to reveal the most beautiful set of wings Azriel had ever seen. They were as dark as the night itself, glossed with a thousand stars, and the apex of the one million layered fathers stretched upward to the ceiling.

Before Rhys could offer his guidance, Azriel cut through his thoughts, "I can accompany you, if you'd like?"

With a glitter in her eyes, y/n accepted Azriel's offer and allowed him to guide her outside to one of the balconies encrusted around the duomo of the palace. Peering over the edge of the railing and seeing the drop below, y/n inhaled the crisp air of the horizon, allowed the depleting sun to seep into her skin, "Let's see how fast you can fly, Shadowsinger," and then she leant backward, toppling from the edge and embarking on the most glorious free fall she had endured since the time she had escaped the clutches of her mother.

When she was but metres from the ground, her wings instinctively caught the wind and propelled her upward, sending her soaring past the balcony where she heard Cassian's barking laughter and jeering resonate as she drifted over the dome. It wasn't long until Azriel joined her, smirking at her display and unable to find the words to convey his feelings. His heart was still lodged in his throat from stupidly believing that y/n would be nothing but blood and bones against the rocks below, another mistake of underestimation.

Their wings levelled out, Azriel flying just to the side below her, and y/n couldn't help but watch the world go by as they flew over mountain ranges and fields plush with wildlife, towns and villages glowed gold beneath her eye as the moon began her ascent into the sky, glittering the sky in a violet hue. It was wild to know that she had never witnessed her homeland in such a way, or at all really, but she welcomed each sight like an infant exploring a forest for the first time, stopping at every rock and stream possible.

Watching how the wind swept through her hair, Azriel wondered what it would be like to run his marred fingers through, the silky gloss to it beckoned him in a way even the darkness could not, and he found himself edging closer to her with each passing second.

"I never realised how beautiful it is," y/n muttered to no one in particular, it was more of an aloud statement than an invitation for conversation, and Azriel knew that but chose to engage in it anyway.

"What is Doranelle like?" Azriel observed how her eyes softened in memory, the violet orbs that rivalled Rhys' own shining. What Azriel would give to see the world through eyes like that, mesmerising but calculating, a perfect myriad of awe and observation.

Casting her mind to the city shrouded in pale stone and flowing rivers, a soft smile found her lips, "Doranelle is beautiful," she stated simply, "It's known as the City of Rivers. My mother built the city there to protect her against Brannon's heir. Against Aelin." There was much to her story that she wasn't sure that she'd ever divulge, from the arguments she used to have with Rowan and the initial place she stood at the beginning of the war, to the darkness that lurked within her thanks to her mother and the danger that came with it.

Though, Rowan and Aelin had worked very hard to settle that part of y/n's soul, the part that salivated over the light and sought to devour any form of power that crossed it, and, thanks to their help along with Manon and Yrene, y/n found herself paying little heed to that dark spot hiding within her essence.

"The city is just beyond the Cambrian Mountains and lies east in the continent of Wendlyn. The air is heavy with spice and magic, and I don't ever remember a time when rain found the city naturally," she twirled in the air, diving and dipping without a care in the world.

It was true. Doranelle lay in a rich valley lush with mountains and forests, and it was rare that any negative weather descended upon the City of Rivers, not unless she willed it to and each time she had y/n had been punished greatly.

"It sounds beautiful," Azriel turned onto his back, gazing upward at the Queen of the Fae and appreciating her beauty whilst her wings flapped in long lazy strokes, "Your mother built the city to protect herself against Aelin?"

With orbs darkening, y/n found Azriel's gaze, ignoring the drowning hum sounding in her ears, "My mother was the vilest of creatures, she only ever sought to protect herself, to make herself live for as long as possible. She was known as an immortal queen, but she screamed when I drowned her in the storm. I believe that she only welcomed me into her city to prepare me to host her soul once she tired of her own body."

A preposterous thought, a vile act to insight upon any child let alone your own. Azriel shuddered, not being able to imagine her violet orbs dissipate to black. "Why would she do that?"

Contemplating the question, and not at all feeling like the words she would say would ever be used against her, y/n admitted, "I think she knew that I was more powerful than her. My abilities had always intrigued her, I think that's why she spent so long finding the right being to train me."

"Rowan." Y/N hummed lightly in response. "And what about Lorcan? Rowan mentioned a bond?"

Azriel hated to pry, but he had to know if she was mated, there was no indication telling him that she was, no scent or marking on her skin, but he had to be sure. Tilting her head at Azriel with an incredulous look in her eye, y/n smirked, "Lorcan is my blood-sworn, he protects me and acts on my wishes. Aedion is also my blood-sworn, he's Aelin's cousin, and a fine warrior and friend."

Friend.

Feeling his soul settle somewhat and his shadows finally relax, Azriel dipped low as they approached a mountain range, sighting the rippling wards around the city open with invitation and eagerness, Azriel guessed that the excitement was not for him. Azriel slowed on his flight, willing y/n to do the same, to give her time to prepare herself to see the place in which she had been born.

He reached for her, hands holding steady and true, and curled his marred fingers around her wrist to act as her anchor, or to be whatever she needed in that moment, "Are you ready?"

In a hush above a whisper, y/n replied, "Yes," and the pair dove through that rippling hole that concealed the city from any outside prying eyes, and Azriel could have sworn that the valley of gold brightened immediately, that the closed buds within the gardens bloomed, and that even the Sidra craned its lovely neck to witness her.

As if in welcome, sighing at long last, the mountains roared into the night, rumbling the air and singing their relief. Gasping, y/n soared downward through the night-kissed air, slipping from Azriel's grip as she banked along the waters surface, running her fingers over the perfect reflection of the night sky, smiling when it came alive at her touch and danced up her arms.

The Princess of Velaris had come home, and the city wept with joy at the sight.

Weaving to a place beside her, Azriel smiled faintly at the pure ecstasy that was written upon her features, and he wordlessly kept his pace whilst she ebbed and flowed throughout the city, only stopping when she did. Her wings touched the skies and mirrored the night perfectly, y/n swirled to Azriel, water gathering on her bottom lids, and asked, "Where are they?"

Azriel stretched out his arm, pointing to the opulent residence built into the mountain side, "They'll be up there. It's called the House of Wind."

"Is that where you live?"

Azriel hummed in answer, "And you're welcome to stay there too," he hoped as he edged toward her position floating atop the Sidra, so close to the surface that her toes glided against the water, "The view is incredible from the balcony."

"Really?"

"Really." Nerves settled in his gut, knowing that there was a very slim chance that anyone so beautiful let alone a Fae Queen would ever accept his offer, but he couldn't explain his need to be near her, his need to protect her, "I can show you around the city tomorrow if you'd like?"

"A war is coming. Surely Rhys will be putting you to work come dawn," she took his offered arm and felt his weight propel her upward toward the House of Wind, grand and regal in its own right.

"This is more important."

If it weren't so dark then y/n was sure that Azriel would have seen the blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Then yes, I would like that very much."

"Plus," Azriel leaned in close, his breath fanning against her bare shoulder as he noted the scars littering her skin, "I'm sure that Rhys would give you the world on a string if you asked for it."

"And what would you give me?"

Flickering his eyes upward to meet her own, enjoying how the interior lights of the House of Wind cast a heavenly glow over her face, Azriel smirked, "Name it and it's yours."

Author's Note

Part 3 eeek! x

Also I know I've been super absent recently - life has been hitting me hard but I'm in a much better place now so expect lots of updates next week!

Also - it wouldn’t let me tag certain people, sorry about that! Let me know if you’d like to be added 🤍

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