#peace... i just want peace... something so deep and to my very core

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it. content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue

parts | one | two | three

The war table stretched long across the chamber, its surface weighed down with silk-draped maps, shifting borders inked with precision, and the quiet hum of consequence. The scent of melted wax and parchment clung to the air, heavy with the unspoken weight of decisions yet to be made.

At the head of it all sat your betrothed.

Not the man your heart was bound to.

Not Zayne.

He stood at his younger brother’s side, arms folded loosely in front of him, the very picture of indifference.

Pft, look at him. Acting like he doesn’t want to be here.

The courtiers droned on, voices blending together in a swirl of politics, war, and of course, predictably, your marriage.

More specifically, the matter of your so-called uncontrollable fire magic.

They spoke of you as though you weren’t in the room.

“Indeed. Fire is unpredictable. Dangerous, if left unchecked,” one noble mused, his voice carrying the same tone one might use when discussing a volatile weapon rather than a person.

Not a princess. Not you.

You resisted the urge to sigh, fingers curling against the edge of the table.

“They think themselves clever, cloaking their insults in diplomacy.”

A slow burn simmered beneath your skin. You cleared your throat, feeling the warmth coil deep in your core.

A subtle glance from across the table, Zayne’s hazel-green eyes meets yours.

He gave you a look as if to say, “Calm down.”

You flicked him a sharp look in return but obeyed, cooling the heat creeping up your spine.

Your betrothed, the crown prince, leaned back in his chair, a smirk barely masking the insecurities you knew festered beneath his skin.

His tone was condescending. That smirk, arrogant.

“You forget that she is to be my wife. Under my guidance, she will serve as an asset to this kingdom.”

The words landed like a slap, an attempt to remind you of your place.

You did not react.

You refused to.

“Heh. Asset, he says?”

“Do they think I’m a tool?”

You met his gaze without flinching.

A moment stretched between you, unspoken but clear, and you watched as his smirk faltered, just slightly.

Tilting your head, you let the silence settle before finally speaking.

“A wife or an asset, Your Highness? You speak as though they are one and the same.” A slow, deliberate smirk of your own curved at the edges of your lips.

The crown prince’s eyes narrowed. “I speak of ensuring stability. It is in everyone’s best interest that your… passions are properly directed.”

You inhaled, the simmering heat rekindling beneath your ribs.

It was always the same.

These men. Weak men, had never known fire. Not truly.

They only wished to harness it, shape it into something convenient.

Something obedient.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, a voice cut through the thick tension like a blade.

Low. Calm. Unhurried.

“You mean contained?”

The air stilled.

Zayne.

For the first time since the discussion began, he stepped forward from the sidelines, his posture casual, but his presence undeniable.

He leaned against the war table, fingers drumming idly against the polished wood, his expression unreadable.

The crown prince stiffened. “Then what would you suggest, brother?”

Zayne tilted his head, his movements slow, deliberate. “That you recognize the difference between ruling with fire and being burned by it.”

You saw it. The flicker of doubt in your betrothed’s eyes. The way his jaw clenched, frustration barely contained. “And you believe I am incapable?”

Zayne exhaled, the sound closer to an actual than a scoff.

“I believe the court is still debating whether you are capable of ruling at all.”

A murmur spread across the room, an uneasy shift in posture from those seated at the table.

Some looked away. Others suddenly found the tapestries on the walls utterly fascinating.

Zayne was not a man to waste words.

So when he spoke, even in the quietest of tones, everyone listened.

Your lips curled into the faintest smirk, hidden behind the rim of your goblet as you lifted it to your lips. “Perhaps the real discussion should not be about my power, but how little faith your court seems to have in yours.”

You could barely conceal the amusement in your voice.

A pointed silence followed.

One of the older lords cleared his throat. “That is not what we meant, Your Highness—”

“Isn’t it?” Zayne’s voice was still calm, still soft. And yet, it carried weight heavier than any decree the crown prince had ever issued.

Your betrothed’s grip on the armrest of his chair tightened. “Enough.”

You set your goblet down with a soft clink against the table, tilting your head slightly.

“On that, we agree. I tire of being spoken about as if I am not in the room.”

The words landed like a challenge, wrapping around the court like a vice. You let your gaze drift, meeting the eyes of every lord and lady present, watching as they struggled to form a response.

Beside the crown prince, Zayne smirked, just barely.

“A mistake they will not make again.”

Your betrothed was barely containing himself now. His pride wounded, his patience wearing thin. “And you speak for her now?”

Zayne shifted, crossing his arms with effortless ease. “No. She speaks for herself. You were simply… thoughtless enough to ignore her.”

Silence.

No one dared to fill it.

And there it was. The opening.

You did not hesitate.

“You assume I need guidance,” you said smoothly, your voice steady as you turned your attention back to the court.

Your fingers traced the rim of your goblet, slow and deliberate. “You speak of control as if it is something I lack.”

The room had fallen so quiet you could hear the faint crackle of the hearth.

“And yet, here I sit. Regal, composed, unmoved.”

The tension in the room was palpable, thick like smoke in the air. You could feel Zayne’s presence beside you, unwavering. No words passed between you, but it didn’t matter.

It never had.

This was how it had always been. Moving in sync without needing to speak.

“I am not a weapon for you to wield,” you continued, voice even, but edged with something unmistakable.

Authority. Power. Fire.

“I am a ruler. And if you cannot understand the difference, then perhaps you are the ones who lack control.”

Silence stretched long.

Zayne smirked, just barely, the glint in his eyes almost approving. “Well played.”

The crown prince’s glare burned with poorly hidden rage, but for the first time tonight, he had no retort.

—•

The court had been left in stunned silence, your words lingering like smoke in the air long after you and Zayne had walked away from the war table.

The heavy doors shut behind you with a dull thud, sealing the courtiers and their feigned diplomacy within.

The corridor was dimly lit, lined with towering stone pillars and torches that flickered against the cold walls.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, the weight of the evening pressing against you.

Footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You handled that well,” Zayne’s voice was laced with amusement, his tone as effortless as ever.

“Though, I think you nearly gave my dear brother an aneurysm.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Pity.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath, then leaned casually against the nearest pillar, his arms crossing over his chest. He was watching you, observing you, as he always did, with that unnerving calm.

It made you shift. You knew what came next.

“You’re fuming,” he observed, though it wasn’t a question.

You sighed, letting the flames of your frustration flicker beneath your skin. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Zayne tilted his head. “I don’t let idiots bother me.”

“And I’m supposed to?” You shot him a look, eyes sharp.

His smirk was slow, almost infuriatingly so. “You’re better at playing this game than they are. You shouldn’t let their pettiness get under your skin.”

You scoffed, stepping toward him. “And you shouldn’t have had to speak for me.”

At that, his expression flickered.

“I didn’t,” Zayne said smoothly. “You did just fine on your own. I only nudged them in the right direction.”

You gave him a dry look. “Oh, of course. And your ‘nudge’ just happened to be a complete dismantling of your brother’s authority?”

Zayne shrugged. “He walked into it.”

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face before glancing up at him again. “It’s dangerous, Zayne.”

His smirk faded, his features turning unreadable. “It’s the truth.”

You studied him, the way the flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows over his face, making him seem even harder to read.

Zayne always had a way of slipping through cracks, of appearing indifferent while moving pieces behind the scenes. But tonight, in the way he had stepped in, the way he had so effortlessly undermined his brother in front of the court, it felt different.

It felt like he wasn’t just playing a game anymore.

“…You enjoyed that,” you realized, narrowing your eyes.

His expression didn’t shift. “What are you implying?”

You took another step forward, voice quieter now. “That you aren’t as disinterested as you pretend to be.”

Something in his gaze flickered. “What I am,” he said, “is someone who knows when to speak.”

You held his gaze.

“And when to stay silent?”

A beat. Then, slow and deliberate, “Yes.”

A shiver ran through you, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his voice dipped, the way he looked at you like he was trying to see something beneath the surface.

You swallowed, turning away slightly. “You’ll make an enemy of him, you know.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “He was already my enemy. He just didn’t know it yet.”

That should have unsettled you. Should have made you wary.

But it didn’t.

Because the way he said it, the quiet ease of it, the certainty made it sound like a promise.

And that, perhaps, was what made it more dangerous.

—•

The scent of blooming nightshade lingered in the air, blending with the crisp bite of the evening breeze.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, the sky painted in the deep purples and golds of the dying sun.

This had always been your place.

Yours and Zayne’s.

Hidden away behind the hedge-lined paths, far from the ever-watchful eyes of courtiers and expectations, you sat on the low stone wall that framed the fountain, your bare fingers trailing over the cool marble.

He stood before you, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked loosely into his belt. Silent, as always. Watching.

“You’re brooding again,” you teased, kicking your foot out lightly, the tip of your slipper grazing his knee.

Zayne raised a brow. “And you’re distracting me.”

“Good. You could use a distraction.”

His lips curled slightly, but he said nothing.

Instead, he moved closer, standing between your knees, his presence a quiet weight in the space around you.

The air changed, charged with something neither of you dared name.

Your throat felt tight. “You’re leaving soon.”

Zayne sighed, glancing away. “You know I have to.”

You swallowed. You knew it.

Of course you did.

His duties and obligations would always call him elsewhere.

That was the nature of his existence, the shadow to his brother’s gilded throne.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I hate this.” The words left you before you could stop them. “I hate that you always go, and I never know when you’ll return.”

His gaze snapped back to you, sharper now. “And you think I enjoy it?”

You looked down, fingers curling against the stone. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

Zayne exhaled, then very softly, carefully, he reached for you.

His fingers brushed against your wrist first, hesitant, as if giving you a chance to pull away.

When you didn’t, he traced his touch upward, gliding over your forearm, curling around your hand.

A shiver ran down your spine, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

“I always come back to you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You know that.”

You should have pulled away. Should have scolded him for making promises he had no right to make.

Instead, you curled your fingers into his, holding him there.

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s the problem.”

His grip tightened.

The space between you narrowed, the warmth of his breath brushing your cheek, but neither of you moved further.

Because this was what it had always been.

A breath away.

A step too close.

A love neither of you could afford.

And yet, when he finally let go, his touch lingered like embers beneath your skin, one you knew would never fade.

But that was in the past, a past that no longer existed.

Buried underneath so-called duties and obligations, and your betrothal to his brother.

And yet, standing there in the dim corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of torches, you could still feel it.

The past.

Him.

Zayne.

The memory of his touch ghosted over your skin, as if time itself refused to let you forget.

The walls around you were cold, suffocating in their silence, but the air between you?

Charged.

Stifling.

Dangerous.

“You’re thinking about it again.”

His voice was smooth, quiet, but it curled around you like smoke, and you could not escape.

You swallowed hard before turning to him. “And what exactly am I thinking about?”

He leaned against the archway, arms crossed, his posture lazy, but his gaze?

Unyielding. Searching.

His lips barely curved. “Us.”

Your stomach twisted.

“There is no ‘us’,” you said, keeping your voice even.

Zayne didn’t blink. “And whose fault is that?”

Your breath hitched before you forced out an easy shrug. “Fate’s, I suppose.”

A sharp exhale. “Ah, yes. Blame fate. Much easier than blaming yourself.”

His words struck something deep, something raw, and you hated how effortlessly he could do that.

How he could still see through you, past the composure, past the armor you had so carefully crafted.

Your jaw tightened. “You walked away just as much as I did.”

He pushed off the wall then, his steps slow but certain, closing the space between you too quickly, too easily.

“No,” he murmured, voice impossibly low. “I let you walk away. There’s a difference.”

The air changed.

Your pulse pounded, your breathing shallow as he came closer, his warmth wrapping around you even before his body did. The heat of him was too much, too familiar, too tempting.

You should have stepped back.

Should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Because this was Zayne.

The man who had once held your hand beneath the stars, who had whispered your name in the dark, who had been everything before duty and responsibilities had torn it all apart.

He stood before you now, the space between you nonexistent, his voice barely a breath away.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because how could you?

How could you lie when his gaze was burning through you, when his scent, his heat, his very presence was pulling you under like a tide you had spent years trying to resist?

His fingers brushed your wrist like a whisper of a touch, but it sent fire racing beneath your skin. You shivered, your breath unsteady, and his eyes darkened at the sight of it.

“Say it,” he murmured again, softer this time, but no less demanding.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Say it like you mean it.

Say it like it doesn’t keep you up at night.

Say it like your body doesn’t still crave him in ways it shouldn’t.

Say it like it wasn’t the worst mistake of your life.

You opened your mouth, searching for words, for anything, but Zayne wasn’t patient.

His fingers lifted, grazing along your jaw, his touch soft and gentle, like he was daring you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Because god, you still wanted him.

Zayne’s fingers barely touched your skin, but it was enough.

Enough to set fire to the air between you.

Enough to make your breath catch, your pulse erratic.

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw, his touch deliberate.

Too light to be possessive, too heavy to be innocent.

You should have pulled away.

Should have reminded him of the ring on your finger, of the man waiting beyond these walls.

But when you exhaled, it wasn’t in protest.

It was in surrender.

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second.

A heartbeat, a breath, a mistake waiting to happen.

He was close now. Too close.

You could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mingling with yours, the weight of his presence.

His cold ice pressing against every inch of restraint you had left.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. Dangerous.

“Say it, and I walk away.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “Zayne—”

“Say it, and this stops.” His forehead nearly brushed yours, his words laced with something unspoken, something almost desperate.

You swallowed, but you didn’t say it.

His fingers slid down, grazing the column of your throat, lingering just below your pulse like a silent challenge, a dare.

Your heart pounded against his touch.

His breath shuddered.

“…that’s what I thought.”

And then ever so slowly, so torturously, he pulled away.

Cold air rushed between you, but the damage was already done.

You were burning, and it was not because of your magic.

—•

The next morning.

The war table, its silk-draped maps spread wide, was marked with careful ink strokes, shifting borders that could just as easily shift again with the wrong decision.

You sat poised, your hands resting lightly against the table’s surface, composed yet unyielding.

Across from you, a noble, Lord Callas straightened in his chair, his gaze sharp, his mouth already forming another shortsighted argument.

Zayne stood near the edge of the room, arms folded, unreadable.

But you felt his presence lingering as if beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just as he always did.

Callas exhaled sharply. “Your Highness, we must establish dominance.”

You tilted your head slightly, fingers grazing the edge of the map.

“Dominance?” Your voice was smooth, measured.

“Tell me, what kind of dominance do you imagine? One built on empty threats? On brute force?”

Callas narrowed his eyes. “A display of strength is necessary.”

A soft hum left your lips as you tapped a finger against the capital city inked onto the map.

“A display of strength, you say.” A pause. Then, you lifted your gaze. “And when has brute force ever earned peace?”

The tension crackled.

Besides the crown prince, Zayne shifted slightly, just enough that his attention became unmistakable.

Callas scoffed, his fingers curling against the table’s edge. “My father served in—”

You leaned forward slightly, voice turning smooth, precise.

“Your father.”

His jaw twitched.

“What about you, Lord Callas ?” Your hand moved across the map, fingertips gliding over contested borders, lingering over cities on the brink of war.

“Have you ever stood on the battlefield?”

Callas hesitated.

Your eyes locked onto his.

“Have you ever seen men bleed for thoughtless orders?”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.

Your voice lowered.

“Have you watched as cities burn under the weight of a war that could have been avoided?”

Silence.

A moment too long. A pause too telling.

And in that hesitation, you struck.

“No?” You leaned back, your fingers leaving the map as your hands folded in your lap.

“Then I suggest you reconsider before you advise me on matters you do not understand.”

The room stilled.

Callas’ face darkened, but his mouth remained shut.

He wouldn’t dare argue.

Across the table, Zayne smirked.

Just barely.

But enough.

Silence settled over the chamber, heavy and sharp, the weight of your words pressing against the gathered nobles like a blade to the throat.

Lord Callas sat rigid in his chair, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

He did not speak.

Because he knew he couldn’t.

But, of course, your betrothed would not allow the silence to linger.

The crown prince leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair in slow, deliberate movements.

His expression remained composed, but you could see it.

The flicker of irritation in his gaze

The faint tightening of his jaw.

“Lord Callas speaks from experience, Princess.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, cold and thin like a knife’s point.

“He has studied warfare extensively, as have many on this council. It would be unwise to dismiss their counsel so easily.”

You inhaled slowly, fingers grazing the edge of the map before you, tracing the ink-stained borders of a world they sought to carve into something that suited their desires.

“Studied warfare?” you echoed, tilting your head.

And then, with a slow blink, you lifted your gaze, your voice turning soft, thoughtful—dangerous.

“Tell me, Your Highness, has Lord Callas ever read about the sound a man makes when his lungs freeze from the inside out?”

Callas stiffened.

You did not stop.

“Or perhaps he studied the way a body turns brittle in the cold, the way flesh cracks apart like shattered glass when left in the dead of winter?”

The temperature in the room seemed to shift.

It wasn’t real, at least not yet, but the weight of your words made the air feel thinner, evident in the firelight flickering against the frost creeping at the edges of the war table.

“There is a difference,” you continued, voice cooling like a blade dipped in ice, “between knowing war and surviving it.”

The crown prince’s fingers stilled against the wood.

His smirk, polished and practiced, barely flickered.

But you saw the tension settle into his frame.

“You forget your place, Princess.”

You tilted your chin slightly, meeting his stare without hesitation.

“No, Your Highness.” A slow smirk curved your lips, one that did not reach your eyes. “I believe you forget mine.”

A sharp inhale, his eyes narrowed.

And the tension stretched.

And then Zayne spoke.

“Careful, brother.”

The words were low, unhurried, amused.

He hadn’t moved from his position, still leaning against the table’s edge, arms crossed, posture effortless.

But there was something different now.

There was a quiet shift in the air, a subtle weight settling across the chamber.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, his smirk lazy, his words laced with mock concern.

“Wouldn’t want to raise your voice at your future wife.”

A beat.

“It would be… unseemly.”

The jab landed clean.

A few courtiers glanced away, shifting in their seats while some others barely concealed their intrigue.

The crown prince’s patience snapped like ice underfoot.

“Enough.”

Zayne arched a brow.

“Oh?” He exhaled, feigning a look, thoughtful.

“Have I offended you? That wasn’t my intention.”

A pause.

“Not entirely, anyway.”

The crown prince stood.

And Zayne, never one to be outdone, stood his ground.

The shift was immediate.

The air turned sharp, the warmth of the torches dimming slightly, the faintest hint of frost licking at the stone beneath their feet.

A subtle show of power.

Silent, but undeniable.

A challenge.

The room stilled as the tension coiled, as cold crept along the edges of the chamber, biting at the air between them.

Zayne’s smirk remained, but his breath misted slightly in the cooling air.

The crown prince’s fingers curled against the wood of the chair, frost cracking along its edges.

The courtiers felt it.

You could see it in the way they hesitated, in the way they darted quick, careful glances between the two brothers, one, the heir to the throne and the other who had no interest in it.

But of course, power did not care for intentions.

Zayne’s voice was softer than it should have been, given the weight behind it.

“Careful, brother.”

A quiet breath.

The frost spread an inch further.

And the crown prince said nothing.

Not yet.

You could feel the frost creeping along the war table, spreading in thin, jagged lines across the polished wood.

The torches flickered, their flames dimming under the weight of the cold pressing into the chamber.

The air was sharp, biting, charged with a tension that no one dared to break.

The prince sat rigid, fingers curled around the armrest of his chair, ice cracking under his grip.

Across from him, Zayne stood with effortless ease, hands resting against the table, expression unreadable.

The cold between them wasn’t just power, it was a warning.

No one in the room moved.

The courtiers watched carefully, caught between fear and fascination, knowing full well what a battle between brothers could mean.

You, however, were already tired of it.

Fingers tapping against your goblet, you let out a slow breath.

“Tell me, are we really going to start a blizzard indoors?”

The frost stopped.

The crown prince’s eyes flicked toward you, irritation flickering behind them.

Across the table, Zayne’s smirk deepened.

“I’d win.”

The prince’s jaw tightened. “Would you?”

The torches wavered and the temperature dropped another degree.

Zayne leaned forward slightly, ice blooming beneath his fingertips, creeping just a little closer to his brother’s.

“Do you really want to find out?”

The courtiers stiffened.

“That’s enough, boys.”

With a calm breath, you placed your palm against the war table, letting your fingers trail through the frost.

The ice melted beneath your touch, fading into nothing.

The shift was immediate.

Not an attack. Not a challenge.

A reminder.

The frost recoiled.

The tension however, did not.

Your gaze slid between them, unimpressed.

“Are we done?”

Silence stretched, heavy and unyielding, before the prince finally exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to relax.

The ice at his hands faded, his expression smoothing back into his normal, unfazed look.

Zayne watched him for a moment longer before leaning back, smirk still present, but the storm in his eyes dimming.

He met your stare briefly, as if to say he understood exactly what you had done.

You pick up your goblet, fingers curling around the metal that was still warm from your touch.

“If the theatrics are over, perhaps we can get back to actual politics.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath.

The prince said nothing, but the irritation in his gaze was clear.

The courtiers hesitated before shifting back into quiet discussion, the meeting resuming as if nothing had happened.

But as Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet amusement, you knew the fight wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

—•

The corridors of the palace were empty, save for the two of you. The torches lining the stone walls flickered weakly, casting shifting shadows against the cold marble floors.

The weight of the meeting still clung to the air, lingering like frost long after the ice had faded from the war table.

You walked beside Zayne in silence, steps slow, measured.

You could still feel the tension from earlier, the quiet storm between him and his brother, the unspoken challenge.

But, this felt different.

This wasn’t the casual, detached Zayne who always lingered at the edges of power, just close enough to influence, but never enough to claim it.

No.

This Zayne felt closer. Sharper. Decisive.

“You handled them well,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but lacking its usual amusement.

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You mean I handled you well.”

That earned you a flicker of something familiar.

A smirk, faint and fleeting. “If that helps you sleep at night.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “You enjoyed that too much.”

Zayne’s smirk didn’t last.

Instead, he slowed, gaze drifting toward the high windows where moonlight stretched across the stone floor.

“He makes it easy.”

He.

You didn’t need to ask who.

The crown prince. His younger brother. The man you were meant to marry.

The man Zayne had once let rule without challenge.

But something had changed. You could feel it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, barely noticeable, but enough for you to see the tension in him.

A tension that hadn’t been there before.

You studied him carefully. “You never wanted the throne.”

His jaw shifted slightly. A slow exhale. “No.”

But there was something else in his voice now. Something new.

“And now?”

Zayne didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned against one of the columns, arms folding across his chest, eyes flickering toward the darkened hallway beyond.

“Now, things are different.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“Because of him?”

A humorless chuckle.

“Because of you.”

You stopped in your tracks.

Zayne tilted his head, gaze settling on you fully now.

Nog lazy, not indifferent, but weighted with intent.

“I spent my whole life letting him have it,” he murmured.

“Because I knew what that crown did to people. What power did.”

His fingers tapped absently against his arm, slow, deliberate.

“You take the throne, and suddenly you don’t own yourself anymore. Every move, every word, every alliance, every sacrifice—”

His voice dipped lower. “You don’t rule it. It rules you.”

His eyes darkened. “And I never wanted to belong to it.”

You swallowed. “But now you do?”

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t break your gaze.

But the shift in him was undeniable.

He wasn’t just watching the game anymore.

He was stepping into it.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

He didn’t say your name.

He didn’t have to.

Because you both knew exactly what he meant.

The air between you was cold, but the tension was sharper.

The corridor stretched long and empty, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone.

But you weren’t looking at the walls, or the flames.

You were looking at him.

At the weight of his words still hanging between you.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something in your chest twisted.

Heat curled under your skin, not from anger, but from something close to disappointment.

You stepped forward, closing the space between you, forcing his full attention.

“A prize?” Your voice was soft, feeling offended.

Zayne didn’t move, his expression unreadable, but you caught it.

The flicker of tension, the way he had expected this.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” You didn’t let him look away.

“You talk about power like it’s a game. Like the throne is a war you’ve suddenly decided is worth fighting because of me.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not—”

“I am not a prize.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Not a throne to be claimed. Not a crown to be won.”

His eyes darkened, but he stayed silent.

“I have spent my life being bartered, measured, weighed for my worth. I won’t let you do the same.”

Zayne’s gaze held yours, quiet but relentless.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, but there was something behind it, something deeper than frustration.

You swallowed, but didn’t speak.

“You are not a prize, Princess.” His words were deliberate, calm, unshaken. “But you are worth fighting for.”

The torches crackled in the silence. His expression didn’t soften, but the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable.

“And you deserve someone who will.”

Zayne never wasted words.

That is why they are impossible to ignore.

You know you should have walked away.

Left him standing there in the dim corridor, let his words fade into the silence.

But you didn’t.

Zayne watched you, waiting.

His words hung between you, firm and unshaken. He wasn’t taking them back.

He wasn’t giving you an easy way out.

“And if I don’t want to be fought over at all?” Your voice was quieter now, controlled, but not weak.

His head tilted slightly. “Then I’ll stop.”

The words came too easily.

They should have reassured you, should have given you the control you wanted.

But something about the way he said them, the way his gaze held steady, the way his body remained perfectly still, made you wonder if he was lying.

Or worse, if he was telling the truth.

If you told him to stop, he would.

But that didn’t mean he would ever truly let you go.

You exhaled, fingers curling at your sides. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Zayne let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t care about simplicity.”

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but before you could speak, he moved.

Not closer, not away, just a shift of weight, a breath of space given and taken in the same moment.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze flicked down to your hands, still clenched at your sides.

His fingers twitched at his own, like he might reach out. Like he had the right to.

He didn’t.

But it would be so easy.

Your throat tightened. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” His voice was smooth, maddeningly calm. “Tell the truth?”

You inhaled sharply. “Act like this is a choice.”

His smirk faded slightly. “It’s always been a choice. The only difference is I’ve finally made mine.”

Your stomach twisted. “Zayne—”

“No.” His voice was steady, firmer than before. “You don’t get to tell me I should have wanted the throne all these years, then be angry when I finally decide to take it.”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. “You’re only doing this because of me.”

Zayne’s gaze darkened. “Yes.”

The admission was too quick. No hesitation.

Your fingers curled. “That’s not how this works.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Then tell me…how does it work?”

You weren’t sure who moved first.

But suddenly, the space between you disappeared, stolen in an instant.

The cold of the corridor pressed in, but his body was warm.

Too close, too much, too familiar.

Zayne’s breath brushed against your skin.

His voice was low, controlled, edged with something raw.

“If you think I’ll stand by while you’re bound to another man, a man who wants to use you as a bargaining chip, then you never knew me at all.”

Your throat tightened.

Your hands shook.

But still, you didn’t move away.

The space between you disappeared.

Not by hesitation. Not by accident.

By choice.

Zayne’s breath was warm against your skin, his body close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The flickering torchlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the shadowed curve of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes that had been building for way too long.

Your pulse pounded.

Every rational thought screamed for distance, for restraint, for control.

But control had been slipping since the moment he stepped into this fight.

Since the moment he chose you.

His hand lifted, hovering near your waist, fingers twitching as if caught between restraint and inevitability.

You felt the hesitation, the last fragile thread of self-control fraying at the edges.

You could stop this.

You should.

But you didn’t.

Your fingers curled into the front of his tunic, just barely, just enough that he felt it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy and breathless, before he finally moved.

His lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting, years of tension snapping in an instant.

There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed you, nothing careful in the way his hands could finally grip your waist, pulling you against him, pressing you into the cold stone wall as if he had been holding back for too long and had finally given in.

Heat surged under your skin, your body igniting in a way that had nothing to do with magic.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tighter when his teeth scraped against your lower lip.

Zayne exhaled sharply, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

His breath was ragged, his grip firm.

Like he was afraid to let go.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his sleeves, voice barely steady.

“Say what?”

His lips brushed yours again, teasing, testing the last remnants of your resolve. “That you don’t want this.”

“That you don’t want me.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because it would be a lie.

And you both knew it.

His smirk returned, softer this time, his thumb tracing slow circles along your hip. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stop him when he kissed you again.

Because, you wanted this.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVENTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, degrading, mentions of death/blood, dove is called some nasty words, please heed warnings for this chapter masterlist a/n: girlbossed a little too hard and finished the chapter a day early. posting this after my 14 hour shift with nothing but hope and dreams. this chapter is a long one, i think the longest one so far, so have fun :p

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Up close, Graves was even more sinister than imagined. It was as if you were living in your own nightmare come to life, with beady eyes crinkling back at you as a curled smile stretched over his face. Adorned in all black from head to toe, with the only spouts of color being the mess of dark blonde atop his head, nearly covered by the old, leather pirate hat.

His skin was deathly pale, a feat you knew to be from his reaping sins. To take a life in return for a piece of his—a soul bind.

If he weren’t such a sick man, you’d dare say he’d been handsome, if it weren’t for the look of rotting to the core. His personality did no justice, something cocky and mighty. He knew exactly how to play his game, and he played it well.

In your turmoil, you dared to wonder if all of this was indeed another nightmare. Perhaps you were still asleep, stuck in an endless loop until Soap or Gaz awoke you as they always did; but with a sharp pinch on your thigh beneath the thin covers of Price’s bedspread, the world remained at ease.

This one wouldn’t be easy to get out of.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Graves mused, smile so wide you worried the corners would crack and bleed. You wished you could see him writhe like a helpless roach beneath your shoe. “Why the long face?”

“How—” You swallowed, fisting the sheets. “How are you here?”

Graves stood straight, glancing around the room. He pretended to ponder, holding his arms up to shrug. “I let myself in.”

Your eyes followed his every move as he slowly stepped throughout Price’s quarters, taking it in. You sat as still as a statue, completely frozen in place. The sound of his heavy boots along the wood floors rang alarm bells.

The air in the room fell icy cold, rising goosebumps on your skin. There was that frigid chill that felt as if you’d just stepped into a slaughterhouse, a hint of decay tickling your nostrils.

This was the feel of death you’d always felt, lingering behind you, watching. He’d always been there, even if only in your mind.

“Where is the Captain?” you asked, attempting to make your voice firm. Show no weakness—it was the very thing you’d been taught since your first day on the ship. You hoped Price would be proud that you remembered.

Graves’ eyebrows raised and while his smile remained, it only seemed to glimmer with excitement when the question was asked, as if you asked a dog if he wanted a bone.

“He truly has you on a leash,” he snickered, finding something amusing in all of it. “You’re like their little bitch, aren’t you?”

Your blood ran hot at the demeaning nature his words brought, but you knew better. They were for show, something to make him appear taller. If you fell for it, you’d only be digging a deeper grave for yourself.

“No,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I am a pirate, just as them.”

Graves barked out a laugh, one that made your ears bleed. It was meant to deplete your confidence, poisoned with arrogance.

“Is that right?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. “A pirate, are you?”

Graves stalked towards you, agonizingly slow, stopping when his knees bumped the side of the cot. He leaned down so his face was level with yours, empty eyes peering deep within your soul. His breath reeked of death and despair, nearly knocking you unconscious.

“I’d like to test that.”

His icy hand wrapped around your bicep, hauling you out of the bed. With a yelp, you stumbled to your feet, bare of their shoes. The world beneath your soles felt foreign now, ever since Soap had given you your gift and you’d never take them off unless you were falling asleep.

The grip was tight, causing your heartbeat to thump through your muscles angrily. Your skin under his hand paled from the sheer force.

Graves tugged you along as you fought to resist him, squirming and attempting to plant your feet to the floor. Without the help of your shoes compared to his unruly strength, your fight was deemed useless. He continued dragging you, so much so you could feel little splinters begin to dig into your soles and invoke dull pangs of pain.

Fear filled your body from head to toe, your heart pounding against your rib cage. A lump filled your throat, coated with anxiety. Your mind filled with millions of thoughts, smothering any confidence you previously had and replacing it with the idea of death.

Was this where all would end? Your crew was one of the most feared among the seas, a healthy bounty placed over their heads. But there would always be one person above, and that person was Graves.

Every kick, bump, resist was fruitless as Graves hauled you to the door. What lay beyond it terrified you, images of your men dead flashing before your eyes.

Coated in their own bloodbaths, bodies laid limp amongst the floors of their own homes, sprawled out as if they meant nothing. Oh, you couldn’t bear it. You’d have to go, too—you’d have nothing left.

When Graves opened the door, you weren’t sure if the sight was any better.

It was dark, the moon only a sliver in the sky, granting no room for light. A single lantern was all that was left to cast orange shadows, its fire flickering in a dance for a way out.

Your crew was lined shoulder to shoulder, on their knees in a submissive front, hands bound with thick rope behind their backs. Graves’ men, his Shadows, held the barrel of their guns to each of their heads.

Though the sight was an improvement from what you initially prepared yourself for, it was far from good. It was bordering those images, a glimpse into what could be a massacre.

The moment you were out of Price’s quarters, Graves let go of you, shoving you. You lost your balance, tumbling to your side, your head slamming into the deck. Pain blossomed under your skull and you hissed in pain.

“Dove?” you heard one of them call out. Your head spun, making it hard to figure out who it was.

A heavy blow landed on your side where you lay, and you wheezed, Graves’ boot unexpected. It kept you in place, applying pressure to guarantee you wouldn’t try to flee and fight back.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Price growled. You could recognize it, filled with a burning venom that dared to kill anyone that was in its crossfire. “This has nothin’ to do with her.”

“It’s all to do with her,” Graves spat, digging the toe of his boot into your rib cage. His previous cockiness had melted away, revealing his boiling rage. “Isn’t that right, dove?”

Graves lifted his boot, granting you a brief moment of relief before it slammed back down. It knocked the air right out of your lungs, leaving you croaking out a plea to stop.

You coiled in on yourself, curling into a ball in attempts to lessen the damage. It did nothing to stop his boot from weighing on your side. The pain felt like nothing you’d experienced before, and you were sure you felt a bone crunch.

“Dove,” Gaz called out, frantic. He tried leaning forward to get a glimpse of your face, to search for your eyes, but the barrel of the gun only pressed deeper into the back of his skull in warning. “Dove, it’s okay. Just listen to my voice, alright? I’m right here.”

Your eyes were widened with fear, chest heaving to catch the breaths that were stolen from you. You couldn’t move, frozen in place, even as Gaz called out for you with the threat of a bullet through his head.

“I don’t know what you’re plannin’, Graves,” Price snarled, “but this is between us.”

Graves laughed diabolically, throwing his head back. It only made everything much more tense.

“Isn’t she apart of you now?” Graves humored, cocking his head. His fingers drummed along the gun in its holster on his hip. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s a pirate. I believe those were your words, Price.”

The realization that Graves knew had you going cold. The closer he got, the stronger the connection became.

“What the hell is it ye want?” Soap asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were darting back and forth between your crumpled form and Graves. “S’always somethin’ with ye, aye?”

Graves eyed Soap, a glint in his gaze. There was something unfamiliar in it, as if he held a personal grudge towards the man in question.

“There is something I want,” Graves agreed, letting out a dramatic sigh. He tapped at the gun once again, staring up at the sky in thought. “I think dove here knows exactly what that is.”

Graves dug his boot once again, peering down at you as if you were scum. You couldn’t stop the small whimper from the agony drumming in your side.

“Go on, dove,” Graves taunted, grinning. “Tell them.”

“I don’t know,” you panted. You were unfocused, eyes staring at the old floor from where your head rested.

You tried recalling what it is he could want, anything at all, but nothing was becoming clear. You scavenged through the deepest parts of your brain for even a simple clue, but the blows had made you dazed.

“I swear, I’ll fuckin’ kill you—”

“You do know,” Graves repeated, cutting off the Captain. His tone grew annoyed. “Think real hard, dove.”

“I don’t know,” you cried, shoulders beginning to shake. All the built up confidence to fight back had vanished into thin air. Now, you felt like a scared little girl, begging for mercy.

Graves’ boot lifted, then returned back down. A string of curses were thrown his way from your crew, who were thrashing in the binds, unable to aid you under the lineup of guns to their heads.

You felt wetness cascade down your cheeks, dampening your skin and falling down to the side of your head from the angle you laid. It was then you realized you were crying, embarrassingly so.

Only mere hours ago you were deemed a pirate, and yet at the start of war, you fell apart like a damsel.

“The telescope,” Ghost said, voice low. It was the first he’d spoken, only sitting there silently as you were beaten down. His head hung low, as if ashamed, though the darkness in his eyes was enough to cast doom across entire continents. “He’s talkin’ about the telescope.”

You blinked away the tears, eyes burning. Realization dawned on you the moment Ghost spoke. Through your huddled position, you tried to tilt your chin down to meet his eye. As if thinking the same thing, he lifted his head, connecting your gazes. You could see that familiar apology pooling out of him, expressing everything he needed to say.

Washed away to land and shore,

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

The telescope you found for Gaz was an innocent gesture. The sight of it called out to you, as if meant to be owned by you. If you would’ve known it was Graves it was calling, you would’ve thrown it into the deep sea so it could never be found again.

“So he speaks,” Graves mused sarcastically.

Ghost broke contact first, eyes boring into Graves. He looked murderous, plotting his own bloodbath with just a simple look. The dim light of the single lantern did nothing to lessen the ominous glow, only highlighting it.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to him,” Soap hissed, scowling. The look of pure disgust was such a contrast to his normal, boyish grins.

Graves paid no mind to him, stuck in a contest with Ghost. The two of them had a dark force swirling between them, one that even outside made the air heavy and suffocating.

“A point for your bravery, Ghost,” Graves sighed dramatically, breaking his stare. He looked between each and every man, sparing you no glance while his boot remained in place. “My telescope. Give it to me, and I’ll let her go.”

You instantly shifted your eyes to look at Gaz, who seemed to be struggling with a decision. You knew why he was having a hard time—you gifted the telescope to him, unknowing of who it truly belonged to. It was something he treasured, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“I have it,” Gaz said lowly, head bowing. “It’s in my quarters. I’ll take you to it.”

Graves sucked his teeth, feigning pity. He shook his head, hand fully resting on the gun at his hip. “Not going to work on me, Gaz. I’m quite capable of getting it myself. You sit tight, aye?”

Gaz stiffened, expression growing grim. Nevertheless, he said nothing, deciding silence was the best contender for a fight bound to end in loss.

Graves gestured for the man behind Price to fetch the telescope from Gaz and Soap’s shared quarters. Price didn’t tear his eyes away from Graves once, even as the Devil of the Seas took out his own gun and pointed it right at Price’s forehead.

He pressed the barrel of the gun into Price’s forehead, indenting the skin. It was a snug fit, a perfect shot for Graves if he wished to end things the easy way.

Graves didn’t like it easy. He liked it fun.

“Scared we’ve caught on to your trail, aye?” Price bluffed, voice gravelly and malicious. “That’s why you came out here like a fuckin’ mutt, hidin’ in the storm until you found the right time to ambush us?”

“You have your dove to blame,” Graves replied nonchalantly, rubbing his boot back and forth along your side. The pressure had you sucking air through your teeth, eyes clenching shut. “She might be your new toy, but she’s just as much a mutt as I am.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Price snarled, body shaking with feverish rage. If he could pounce on Graves, you knew he would.

“Looks like you finally grew some balls, Captain,” Graves snickered, pulling back the hammer of the gun. It resounded a loud click, which translated to a warning bell in Price’s favor. “Such anger. That anger has never worked for you, Price. It didn’t work for Ghost—it won’t work for her.”

Price let out an animalistic growl, his lips pulling back in a sneer. You’d seen the Captain angry, and you’d seen him under the guise of a scary, ominous pirate who would kill any innocent bystander that stood in his way.

This was entirely different. This was personal. A build up. This was a storm that had been coming for ages, and you were only toeing the edges.

The Shadow returned, holding the telescope you’d gifted Gaz. It shimmered in the lantern’s glow, glinting its gold details and showing it off. It felt like a goodbye.

“I’d be real careful from now on, Graves,” Price warned. It was the first you ever heard him speak so menacingly, like the demon inside of him was erupting with a stream of hot lava filled with nothing but spewing hatred. “When I find you, I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself. String you up on my sails until you’re dry, toss you into the ocean to the sharks. I’ll take pleasure in watchin’ you burn until there’s nothin’ left but ash and dust.”

Graves took the telescope from his Shadow’s hand, inspecting it. The words Price spoke clearly struck a nerve, for the arrogant grin had vanished, replaced with a gloomy, threatened expression.

“Hm,” Graves huffed, letting his gun fall and placing it back in its holster. He signaled for his men to follow suit, and you watched as all weapons dropped. “I await the day that happens, Captain. Until then, keep your mutt on a leash, aye?”

Graves made no effort to untie the crew, leaving them bound as he gathered his men to walk the plank connecting the two ship. A long, woden plank that creaked under the weight, one od wish you could kick from its balance and send them flying into the dark sea.

The moment was brutally silent as they left. Nobody moved a muscle until Graves was on his ship, the plank pulled from its placement, and the skull flag waved goodbye as they set sail into the pit of the night.

Time stood still, but the second Graves and his crew were hidden in the waves, all hell broke loose. Price and Gaz worked together to unbind each other with their backs to one another, frantic to be released. Ghost sat silently, eyes staring into the floorboards as if they’d speak to him.

“Say somethin’, dove,” Soap begged, scooting on his knees to be by your side.

As if the dam broke, you began to cry once more, heartbreaking sobs coming right from your core. You curled up tighter into your ball, your hand resting on your side as if it would magically ease the pain.

“It hurts,” you replied, voice cracking.

You’d stayed strong up until that point. Now, you couldn’t hold up your front.

You were scared. You felt more helpless than ever. You couldn’t remain strong for the sake of pretend anymore. Everything hurt, and Graves’ presence shook you to your very core.

“I know,” he cooed. He made a frustrated noise when he struggled against the binds. “I know, dove. We’re right here, alright?”

It felt strange, being on the other side of the spectrum. You were used to being the one to aid people in their injuries, but now, it was you being comforted. You couldn’t grasp what your life had become.

Price was released from his binds, quickly helping Gaz slip out of his. While Gaz made quick work to move to work on Ghost, Price was by your side in an instant.

One hand rested on your hip, turning your body towards him while the other found your face, resting his palm on it. His eyes were filled with worry when you faced him and he urgently wiped at your tears with his thumb.

“Dove,” he breathed in relief, his heart aching at the sight of you so broken. This was his fault. “You’re okay, I have you.”

You whimpered when he shifted so he could slide his arms beneath you, one under your shoulders and the other in the bend of your knees. The movement flared pain all over again, and Price murmured apologies, unsure of what to do.

He hurried to his quarters, his men following closely behind like scared dogs with their tails between their legs. Gaz held open the door, and you only caught a glimpse of his guilt-stricken expression before you were ushered in.

Price carefully slid you on to his cot, wincing every time you whimpered or cried. The pain felt excruciating, your breathing quick and labored.

“She needs a medic,” Soap stressed.

“She is a medic,” Gaz reminded, resting his hands on the edge of the cot so he could lean over and inspect your face. “We have no help besides her.”

“Well, she can’t treat herself, ye fuckin’ oaf,” Soap snipped, shooing him away from your space. “Cap, she needs to get checked. She can’t even breathe properly!”

Your head began to pound from the sheer loudness that filled the room. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the ache while simultaneously trying to correct your breathing.

You knew well enough that there was something shattered or broken. A rib, though small in theory, but dreadfully painful without the correct medicines. Not to mention the amount of force Graves had used—it was pure hell.

Price was silent, as was Ghost, the two of them sharing a conversation with just a look. There was an understanding shared, and Price gently shoved Gaz and Soap aside, replacing them.

He mimicked Gaz’s previous stance, leaning on the bed. His hand came to brush a stray tear away, frowning embedded in his mouth.

“Tell me what to do, dove,” he said softly. “I’ll do whatever it is.”

You sniffled, hand shaking where they rested on your side. You shook your head, nearly deranged from the shock and horror of it all, unable to snap out of it.

“I—I can’t fix it on my own, Captain,” you quivered, lips trembling. “It hurts.”

Price nearly broke, filled with guilt. He glanced behind him at Ghost, who quickly looked away, hands balling into fists.

“I know,” he assured calmly, brushing his finger along your cheek where he wiped the tear away. “We’ll fix it, aye? You just have to sit tight until we can. Can you do that for us, dove?”

Though you knew the wait would be cruel—a slow healing process until you could receive proper care—you found yourself nodding shamelessly, instantly trusting Price and his promises.

Price nodded along with you, giving your cheek a comforting pinch. “Attagirl,” he praised, calming your nerves.

“I’ll fuckin’ gut him,” Soap muttered, jaw pulled tight. “He’s fuckin’ dead.”

Gaz reached up to grip Soap’s nape, tugging at his hair. Soap threw him a glare, one Gaz promptly ignored, turning his attention to you.

“Listen to Cap, birdie,” Gaz encouraged warmly. “We’ll get you all fixed up. You won’t even know you’re hurtin’.”

Price had a look of hesitation when you caught his eye. You furrowed your eyebrows, frowning in confusion before he spoke again, causing you to grow uncomfortable.

“We need to check it first, dove,” he said apologetically. “If you don’t feel well with all of us bein’ here, you can pick who you prefer. No hard feelin’s, hm?”

The idea that one, if not all, had to see you undressed in order to inspect the damage was one that made you a bit dazed. You’d never been seen beneath your raggedy clothes in the village, and the same applied for your time on the ship. It felt sacred, like your vulnerability was on the line, but you had to remind yourself that it was purely medical—you’d done it plenty of times when in practice at your old home.

“It—it is fine, just… just turn away, yes?” you pleaded, unable to meet any of them in the eye.

You heard a round of shuffling, only seeing Gaz elbow Soap in the corner of your vision. Once you were sure they feasted their eyes upon the old wall, you began to carefully lift your hips, biting your lip to muffle the pained noise that threatened to leave.

The hem of your dress was swiftly pulled up past your thighs, all the way until your torso was exposed. You stopped it beneath your breasts, quick to tug the blanket over your nakedness that remained uninjured and in no need to be checked.

The anxiety that pooled in your stomach left you queasy, but you toughed through it, knowing how important it was. If you had more than a mere fracture, it could become worse over time.

“Okay,” you said quietly, cringing when they turned to take you in. The men did their best to make you feel as at ease as possible, gearing their focus towards the nasty swelling on your side.

You dared to take a peek yourself, fearing for why they were so quiet. What you saw was ugly—swollen and puffy, beaten to the point it was already turning purple and blue. It was tender to the touch, even more so without clothing as a barrier.

The worst was the gnarly, black veins that spouted out like roots, dipping deep into the new bruising. It was inhuman, something completely out of the ordinary. You knew it was Graves’ dirty work, and it reminded you of when Ghost had cut his finger in the kitchen and his blood turned black, vanishing into thin air.

When you shifted your eyes from your injury, you searched for Ghost’s, who was hard-stuck on the veins. His body was tense, a darkness swirling in his irises.

“Ghost?” Soap tried, nudging the brute lightly. “Any idea what that is?”

Ghost glanced over to Soap before returning to your side, taking in the sight. “Could be anythin’,” he muttered, unsure. “I don’t know what all he’s capable of. For all we know, it could already be infected.”

“Infected?” you asked, a worried chill racking through you.

Price reached out a careful hand to spread his fingertips along the veins. You choked on a gasp at the immediate discomfort, face scrunching up into a wince.

“We’re goin’ to a doctor,” Price nearly growled, taking his hand away. “I don’t care where. The moment we spot land, we’re goin’.”

“We still have bounties on our head, Cap,” Gaz reminded with a frown. “We can’t just go anywhere. It’s not the same as shoppin’. If we end up in the wrong place, we might get ourselves in deeper shit.”

“That is a risk I’m willin’ to take,” Price argued, firm in his stance. “If we start nitpickin’ where to go, it might be too late. You’re either in or out.”

The room fell silent as the men stared at their Captain. The answer to them was obvious, though you knew why they hesitated; if they were imprisoned, it would do you no good.

Emotions were high and the clock was ticking. It placed everyone on edge.

“I agree with Price.”

All heads turned to Ghost, who stood with his arms crossed, eyes boring into yours.

“It’s my fault she’s marked. So long as she gets fixed up, I could care less about bein’ thrown into a cell. I’m with Price,” he finished.

“Ghost—” you tried.

“I am quite firm in what I’ve decided,” he interrupted harshly before realizing his mistake, calming himself down. He looked away from you, crossing his arms a bit tighter. “I’m in no mood for arguments.”

You went quiet, watching Ghost turn towards the door and plot his escape. You knew out of everyone, he was affected the most, tormented with sickening guilt for all that’s transpired. You could only imagine how he felt, now that times had grown darker.

“Let him go,” Soap murmured softly, gaining your attention. “He’ll be alright. Let’s just worry ‘bout ye, aye?”

You were torn, but you nodded nonetheless, silently agreeing.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Price explained. “No use in movin’ you anymore than I have. I’ll get you situated for now, and then you can rest.”

Gaz, Soap, and Price muttered amongst themselves, discussing a brief plan of what to do. The two set off to find more pillows to extend your comfort while Price remained by your side, plopping himself in his chair with a heavy sigh. His elbows rested on its arms, his fingers coming up to rub at his temple.

He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent the longer you looked.

“I am sorry, Captain,” you said quietly, eyes glueing to the ceiling.

“What have you got to be sorry for?” he asked, frowning. “Got nothin’ to apologize for, dove. Our worry stems from care.”

“Yes, but,” you paused, gathering the words, “I have caused much trouble since my arrival. Things only seem to be harder for you.”

“Life was hard before you, dove,” he assured, letting his hand fall from his face. “That’s the way it goes. It is to no fault but the world.”

You took in his words, letting them sink in. You hadn’t known a true life of trouble before, the only hardships being your utter loneliness and daily taunts from the local villagers. This was something beyond your knowledge, and you were beginning to understand that there was more to life than simply displeasuring people. There was more than what meets the eye, but there was also light at the end of every tunnel.

“You do not see me as a mere burden?” you asked, and he huffed.

“What have I told you before?” Price pressed in return, tilting his head. “You are one of us. A true pirate, if that is what you’d like.”

“I am far from a pirate,” you scoffed to yourself, ashamed. “I could not even defend myself or any of you.”

“Dove,” Price called out softly. He scooted his chair closer to your bedside, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. “A loss is not always a failure. Some wars are too big to handle on your own. There’s nothin’ wrong with that. Why must you speak so lowly of yourself?”

You stared at him unblinking, studying the furrow of his eyebrows and the curl of his lips, hidden beneath his beard. The worry lines on his forehead showed years of hardship, and you wondered how he managed to live through it if you could barely survive your own smaller ones.

“I have known nothing else,” you confessed bitterly, though not towards him. You were angry, not only with yourself, but at life for dealing its deck of cards in such an unfair way.

“I see,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. He tapped his fingers along the armrests, getting lost in thought. “It was the same for me as well.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he sighed, picking at the splintering wood of the armrests. “My father was a captain before me. Had the tongue of a devil. Always angry, always cold—treated me like scum, even as a child.”

“I am sorry,” you murmured quietly. Price bristled, frowning.

“That is not the point, dove,” he replied. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the side of the bed, mere inches away from where you laid. You waited patiently for him to continue, keeping your gazes connected to show you were listening. “Some may treat you like a mutt on the street and deem your worth how they please. The only thing that matters is how you take it and how you come out of it.”

It dawned on you what he was implying. It was his way of comforting you, shielding you from your own burdening insecurities that never seemed to escape your mind.

“I could’ve remained angry and bitter, but now I captain my own ship and crew. The same applies for you—you may have experienced cruelty all your life, but you must take the reins on your own worth and decide what it is, dove.”

A blinding warmth shrouded you, like a blanket after being trapped in the icy cold, and you welcomed it with a smile. You’d never known Price to be so well with words, not int he way he was expressing now.

He knew what you needed to hear after being trapped in your own world of darkness, and he provided the light you needed to find your way out—all of them did. A glimmer of hope in a world full of loss.

“I am very thankful you kidnapped me,” you blurted, unable to contain your inner thoughts.

Price laughed, boisterous and loud, a smile washing over his face. It was a lovely sight, one that made your heart pound. Even through your pain, you found solitude in the aftermath, reaching a level of comfort you’d always wished to feel.

“I am happy to have you here despite it,” Price teased warmly. “I can say the same for the rest.”

You laughed, almost immediately regretting it at the shooting pain coursing in your side. He shot you a sympathetic smile, slowly standing from his chair.

“I will let you rest,” he said, giving you a gentle pat to your thigh over the blanket. Your heart jumped at the action, and you repressed it.

“You are not staying?” you asked, deflating.

“Soap and Gaz will be here with some more pillows soon. I must gather a plan so we can get you to a medic as soon as possible.”

It made sense, and you knew it was important. There was no telling what was flowing through the black veins, but your heart longed for more of his presence.

“Just for a moment longer?” you dared to request, voice small.

Price peered down at you from where he stood over you, a hint of surprise flashing on his expression before it softened. He nodded, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. You held on as long as you could.

“Just a moment then,” he repeated. “I will do it for you.”

You squeezed his hand in return, feeling as if you were on cloud nine. Your feelings were uncertain, but the more you spent with them, the clearer your vision became. It was an inner battle, forcing yourself to push them back in order to protect yourself. Now, though, you decided to allow yourself the comfort, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” you told him, unaware your voice had become a mere whisper. The air between you felt heavy, as if something unspoken was there.

Price glanced down at your hands that remained interlinked before shifting his gaze back at you. The gears in his mind were turning, and just as you were about to ask if it was alright, he beat you.

“I am not an emotional man,” he murmured quietly, seeming just as unsure as you were. “I make very stupid decisions and take paths I shouldn’t take. One of them is tellin’ me to kiss you, and I’m not sure if that’s alright.”

You froze in place, eyes growing wide. You were unable to look away, lost in your own little moment. Everything in you was yelling yes, yes, yes! and it was hard to ignore. You had always been weak in your feelings.

“Gaz tried to when I gifted him the telescope,” you said, unsure of why you did. “I hope that is okay.”

Price broke out into a smile, huffing out a breathy laugh. “So long as he did not beat me to it.”

You released a relieved breath, a shaky smile spreading on your lips. Price did not seem angry, and for that, you grew more enticed for a kiss. While your feelings for the others were all different in their special ways, having Price be the first was not something you could deny. It excited you more than it should.

Before you knew it, Price leaned down, capturing your lips in his own. There was no spark like you’d read in books you’d read at merchant stands when you couldn’t afford them, nor were there fireworks.

Instead, it was a calm sea that smothered you in peace, easing every worry that crowded your mind. They washed away, replaced with a warm buzz.

He was gentle, hand still grasping yours, the other coming to rest beneath your jaw. His skin was hot to the touch, rough from the callouses on his palm.

The moment wasn’t long, and when he pulled away, you wished you could reel him in for more.

“Rest,” he encouraged, his smile brighter than a thousand suns. “We’ll get you fixed up and better before you know it, alright?”

You nodded dumbly, your head empty. You were practically vibrating with excitement, the feel of his lips still tingling on yours.

He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone before pulling back, stepping away from the bed. He gave you a soft farewell, reminding you that the boys will be back soon and to try and sleep until then.

Once he was out of the room, the quiet didn’t bother you. It wasn’t maddening, driving you up a wall, suffocating you with loneliness—it was peaceful and kind, welcoming you with open arms as you slipped into unconsciousness, the images flashing behind your eyelids of the four of them in your life only bringing you true comfort after the storm.

[latin5mamii]

Can you do one with Jude just purely dirty talking to you being very mean and possessive

Yours - Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talking, possessiveness |SUMMARY: You and your boyfriend get into a fight, but there's only one way to make peace...

“He was totally flirting with you, you can’t say otherwise”

Here you were, arguing again because of your friends.Actually, if you have to say it right it wasn’t your friend’s fault,it was your boyfriend’s.

“He wasn’t flirting with me Jude.He was just being gentle!”

“Trust me, I have experience and i know that he was.I’m not a fuckin’ idiot”

“Even if he does, what do you even care about?You think I would cheat on you?”

“I’m not saying that.I just don't want to share what's mine and don't expect me to sit still when someone flirts with my fucking girlfriend!"

 He says raising his voice, you know you shouldn't push, but you do because he can't boss you around as he pleases.

"You can't just claim me like some object," you retorted, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name.

Jude's eyes darkened, and he pinned you against the wall, his grip firm but not painful. "You think you're so fucking hot, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "All those eyes on you. Well, guess what, princess? You're mine. Only mine.Do you understand?”

Probably never once has there been so much passion during an argument. You can feel the tension between the two of you as he waits for an answer. Little does he know that the answer you give him will not be so satisfactory.

“Really?If i’m yours show me, then”

Jude's expression hardened, a flicker of something primal in his eyes. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer, his grip unyielding. "You want me to show you?" he snarled, his breath hot against your ear. "Fine."

He kissed you roughly, his lips crushing against yours with an intensity that took your breath away. His hands roamed your body possessively, leaving no doubt that he was claiming you. You tried to push him away, but he pinned your hands above your head, his grip ironclad.

"You like this, don't you?" he whispered harshly, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and kissing with a desperate hunger. "You like it when I'm rough with you, when I remind you who you belong to."

You moaned softly, the mix of pain and pleasure igniting a fire within you. "Jude," you gasped, your body trembling under his touch.

"You're doing this on purpose, right? You want me to get angry so I can be with you like this" His hands touch your core, already soaking wet, from the things he's telling you. Him being so hard on you makes you so horny and he knows it very well.

“Oh baby, you're already so wet, just for me” He moves your panties to the side and sticks a finger inside you, making you gasp and moan loudly. You bite your lower lip to hold back, but he grabs your chin and whispers in your ear:

"Don't do it, I want to listen to you carefully"

As soon as he says that he immediately pushes another finger inside you, you moan out loud and he smiles giving you a kiss on the head.

"You're so beautiful when you want to challenge me but you can't"

"Please Jude, I need you"

"What do you need? Tell me"

“Stop teasing me and just fuck me” He kisses you hungrily, removes his fingers from inside you and begins to unbutton his pants quickly, he certainly doesn't want to keep his princess waiting.

Soon you wrap your legs around his hips and he starts rubbing his tip at your entrance. He moans at the sensation of entering you, as if he hasn't already done it a hundred times. He doesn't want to hurt you given his size, in fact he enters slowly, holding you tightly to himself. His movements are decisive and deep, the speed increases every second that passes and the room fills with the moans of both of you.

"Look how fucking beautiful you are. All for me" He whispers in your ear.

"Oh god, Jude." He can feel you getting close to your peak and you can feel it too.

"Please come inside me, please." The thrusts become more demanding and he places his thumb on your clit to stimulate your orgasm.

The thrusts become sloppier and his moans and words make you come on his cock, the feeling of you coming with him inside makes him empty himself inside you until he fills you completely. He places you gently on the bed, your breaths begin to calm down .

“I'm yours, always.” He smiles against your lips and kisses you gently.

"This is my beautiful girl"

[scarletttries]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions With a Shy GN!Reader...(Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Request: " Can I request for Baldur's Gate 3 companions with shy gender neutral s/o please?"

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who sent in requests and has been reblogging my Baldur's Gate posts! Consider me open for any BG3 requests, let me know if you want to see more headcanons like this :)

Astarion:

- At first Astarion would find it hard to reconcile your shyness with his understanding of the way people behave. He would be suspicious of you initially, wondering why you insist on playing your cards so close to your chest. It wouldn't be until you finally warmed up to him and started to talk a bit more that he realised that this quiet tone to you is actually very endearing to him.

- When you two get together he would feel very proud to be the person you speak to the most. Astarion can be a little insecure sometimes so knowing that you choose to talk to him despite being selective with who you speak to would mean a lot to him. It would help him to trust you more too, knowing the the deep bond between you is almost a secret that you would never dare whisper to anyone else.

- Astarion loves being able to communicate with you with just a sly glance or a single whispered word, the two of you often having entire conversations without saying a word to those around you. When you need to talk your way into somewhere Astarion's always happy to do the talking, but he can't help but be impressed with the way you can navigate through a room quiet and unnoticed.

- As a partner Astarion needs more reassurance than he ever likes to show, so knowing that you'll go against your shy instincts to whisper a flirty thought or a sentimental memory to him when he starts to look worn out always boosts his spirits. He didn't know how much he needed someone just like you in his life until you became a core part of it.

Wyll:

- Wyll never shies away from the public or a spotlight, announcing himself as he enters almost any room, so when he meets someone who prefers to listen to those around them instead of interrupting, he'd become very interested in what you have to say. He'd make the effort to get to know you even if it didn't happen as naturally as sometimes other bonds have come to him, but as he worked to gain your trust and attention he'd never regret a moment of time spent getting you to warm up to him.

- When the two of you are together Wyll will never miss an opportunity to sing your praises, no matter how bashful it makes you! He needs you to know how amazing and appreciated you are, as he can never tell if you fully recognise your own brilliance.

- Wyll falls in love with the way you think before you speak, listening to every part of his story and really considering everything he tells you, never jumping to an assumption as so many people in his life have. He finds your accepting nature makes him a better man, and in return he only grows a deeper fondness for the way you carry yourself.

- As a partner Wyll always needs someone to be there for him, listening and reassuring, and he really finds that partner in you. He's never felt more loved and respected as he does when you give him the time and space to work through his feelings and history, the quiet stillness you bring to his life letting him find a peace he's never known before.

Gale:

- Gale has spent enough time studying magic at scholarly institutes to have met more than a few shy souls in his past, so when he notices you playing the shrinking violet he knows exactly how to give you all the time and space you need to finally share a bit of yourself with him.

- He knows that the most important things to hear usually come from those who don't speak unless they have something to say, and there's no exception to that in you. He really gives weight to everything you share with him, every opinion you pose, and every compliment you reward him with through flushed cheeks and nervous laughter. It only makes it that much sweeter that you don't dish out such comments absentmindedly.

- Gale also enjoys using a bit of your shyness against you, gaining a certain amount of satisfaction from being overtly flirty in public once the two of you are well into dating. He can't help but smile at the way you shy away from his loud declarations of love and the flirty comments whispered far too loudly across a tavern. His heart practically bursts when you try to hide your face in his hands when he's being far too vocal about how beautiful he finds you in front of the rest of your companions, and not a day goes by that he doesn't remind you of that fact.

- Thankfully he usually waits until you are alone to let his adoration pour out in his gentle words and touches, enjoying that while he can be a brash as he wants in public, he can feel your true appreciation in the quiet you spend alone. His life has held more than one dramatic chapter, so having someone who loves him so sweetly and mutters his name so softly when they praise him really means the world to Gale.

Shadowheart:

- More than anyone else, Shadowheart can appreciate the desire to keep parts of yourself hidden behind some firmly closed doors. She finds herself drawn to your quiet personality as the rest of the party are a bit boisterous for her taste, often favouring the seat beside you at any given campfire, knowing her boundaries will be respected, and any conversation made will be worthwhile.

- Once you two are together, she sees you as a respite from the endless questions of the outside world. The two of you can spend hours in comfortable silence together, only your interlocking fingers letting the other know you are still there. You give her the space to think through her decisions, but at the same time she knows that if you choose to speak up then she really should consider listening to what you have to say.

- Shadowheart finds herself more able to share pieces of herself with you, as you open up at the same gradual pace that she does. You don't rush to tell her everything or bombard her with questions like the others. Instead she'll often finding you waiting outside her tent at first light when she rises, offering her a hand for a quiet stroll through the forest as you softly tell her a tale from your childhood and she tries to imagine herself growing up alongside you, in a sweet version of her life she could almost convince herself is the truth.

- Shadowheart doesn't fully know her past, but with you as her partner, her future finally starts to come into focus, all because of you.

Karlach:

- Karlach has been loud and brash since the moment she could speak, so at first she thinks your shy demeanour is a sign of rejection of her friendship. It's disappointing that you don't want to talk to her, but she's not sensitive enough to worry about what every single person thinks of her. It would be endlessly frustrating to you that you have to really put yourself out there, making every effort to be by her side and forcing yourself to respond to her every remark to try and let her know you really do like her. In the end you'd just have to ask her to dance at a celebration with the rest of the group, and when she laughs and says she thought you didn't like her, please prepare yourself to tell her you like her so much that it makes it genuinely hard to talk sometimes.

- Once Karlach understands the concept of shyness and that it is not a personal affront to her, she will be very happy to do all the speaking for both of you. Every journey you take across the lands she will gladly fill the silence with every thought and tale, celebrating loudly every times she manages to make you gasp or laugh along with her.

- Karlach will take a lot of pride in the thought that you like her so much that you are almost rendered speechless, and get quite jealous when she realises you are being shy around other people too. Worried that everyone will be seduced by your strong-silent type behaviour she would definitely insist on holding your hand as much as possible, or loudly shouting across combat that you and her are an item just in case anyone was getting the wrong idea.

- While your personality might have started as a bit of a mystery to Karlach, once you two really know each other she'll come to highly value your way of carrying yourself, learning a few things about protecting herself from undue influences, while keeping herself open to the important people in her life, like you!

[roamingwildflower13]

Soapbox

I know the internet is often a cess pit, but I can’t honestly believe there are supposed jikookers out there who actually think that Jimin and Jungkook would use a show to patch things up as if they are from some k drama going through a breakup/ fall out / miscommunication or rough patch.

I know we don’t know them, but have we all ‘met’ Park Jimin? The perfectionist idol of idols. You think he’d use a filmed reality show to mend things with someone? Friend or foe? 

Honestly it’s so delusional to think that, let alone incredibly disrespectful of Jimin and Jungkooks relationship and bond.

If they are together like we think, there is no way they would have gone on camera to fix things. 

They aren’t the Kardashian’s. Jimin has extremely deep emotional intellect and empathy, you think he’d air his and JK’s dirty laundry for entertainment.

What we saw if you want to describe it as awkward, in episode 1, was them getting used to being on camera together again. Imagine going on camera together, just them, for the first time in a very long time (and even then not to this extent) and knowing how exposed they were going to be. Just watch the show and watch Jimins face when he gets into the Jeep for the first time. Do you see it?

We all have those moments right? Where you decide on something and when it gets closer to the time, you start to doubt yourself and your decision. 

This is what Jimin surely meant when he said he was starting to doubt himself on the plane over to the US.

They made themselves vulnerable by doing this show, they were putting their bond on full and pure display for the first time ever, all by themselves, no other member to protect them or shield them, or play off of. In front of Army who for the most part do not know how to label them, (seeing as Jikook never labelled themselves outside of all nighter friends ) and whom most would not even consider the closest, let alone this and the enlistment.

Can you imagine what that was like? For vultures, the cult, etc to pick apart your bond, even doubt the very core or truth of your friendship. Then on top of that you’ve got so called supporters questioning you and inventing drama for funsies. Them, a probable closeted queer couple from the biggest band in the world. They were brave in my eyes.

They knew what they were intending to do with the show but that does not make it any easier.

As it was, by the second day, despite Jimin being poorly and JKs cold, they got into the groove of the slow and simple travel show. They set sail on the high seas and looked so at peace just being together. 

They deserve that, they deserve their moment of peace and happiness. Them just being together, and enjoying time off their hectic schedules. I sincerely hope they afford themselves more of it in the future, and as much as I love the show, without cameras too. They also deserve to be respected.

So to those who are creating drama filled narratives in their heads, or posting them for all to see, please consider all of this before spouting such nonsense and drivel, because our beautiful men and their beautiful love deserve better. 

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

(I just love this picture)

and please stream Who!

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAs cold as your heart ･:*:｡𓏲ּ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDr. ishida uryu x f! reader

Chapter 5: Desperate. lust can't wait

❄ a/n: sorry for the delay! vacation got in the middle but my "hornyness" for this man (men, count Ryuken too) never goes away. Enjoy a slightly longer chapter! ❄ tw: MDNI. This chapter contains smut. their first time together, tinted by desperation and desire. oral. fingering. passionate love making. vag. no protection. creampie asked and given :p. sorry about the end, but I just can't let it pass... from now on shit is about to go down... AGAIN. ❄ wc: 3,6k ❄ masterlist

“Ryuuken!” Uryu calls his father from the door of his room, allowing you to swiftly slip past him into the hallway. With your heart pounding, you make a beeline for your office. 

The door finally closes behind you, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

Quickly, you strip off the wet clothes and replace them with dry ones. Both sensations, cold and warmth, attack your skin; how embarrassing? Will Uryu make up for some random excuse? What if you tell a different lie? 

“Never mind, back to work” you murmur, easing the anxious thoughts away. However, the smirk on your face seems plastered, inked. It would take a lot to erase it from your lips, and especially to get rid of the soft touch of Uryu’s hands on your skin… of his kisses, of his hardness against your core. 

Soon, and without noticing, the hours pass. You weren’t really worried for Uryu’s fever, as his father hasn’t left the room since the moment he came back; you can assure he is in good hands.  

However, as the leaving time approaches, you most definitely visit your patients one last time. You decide to leave Uryu’s room to be the last, and when inevitably the moment comes, you take a deep breath before knocking on his door. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, a little shy.  “You may come in” Ryuuken’s voice, low and almost whispery, sounds from the other side of the door. 

Slowly, you get yourself inside. No lights but a little reading bulb on top of Dr. Ishida’s book and the blue hue of a snowy night coming from the window. 

Uryu seems to be asleep, but even with the lack of illumination, you can see his skin tone looks healthier; he must have stopped running a fever a long ago. 

“How is he doing, Dr.?” you ask. “He is doing better; no fever since you left the room” Ryuuken comments, barely looking at you from over the glasses. 

You can tell he is back at being the cold man he used to be when Uryu was still around six years ago… does he know already? 

“I see… we use cooling methods” you comment, writing on Uryu’s report. 

“Hmm…” Ryuken answers, as he continues reading a book completely written in German. 

A shiver runs through your spine; he hasn’t acted that distant for so long with you, it feels you’ve done something wrong. In any case, you won’t stay to find out.

“My shift is over, Dr. Ishida… I’ll go back home now and shower so I can come back and take care of Ury-“ you inform, but you get interrupted by his hand being lifted up to stop you. 

He stands up and shows you the way out of the room. You comply, scared. What did Uryu tell this man? 

Ryuken closes the door behind him, both being in a very empty hall already. When the shifts are over people seem to vanish, to disappear from work -which is totally valid-. 

“You’ve done too much for my son already. I’m thankful but now he should be at peace. Please, go home and rest” the snow haired doctor commands; his hand on your shoulder feels cold, distant… almost mad at you. “I don’t want you him to be a complete distraction on your job, remember you are my most important collaborator here” 

You look down at the paperwork in your hands; you aren’t able to look into his blue eyes. Somehow, you understand what’s happening now, and he isn’t mad at you for taking his son away from him… But he is mad at his son for taking you away from himself.  

You nod, in silence. And equally in silence you walk away, feeling the intense sight of the man that should only be your boss – and the father of the man you love- fixed in between your shoulder blades, or perhaps, down, down your waist. 

You practically run away, grabbing your coat and bag all at the same time. Never have you ever wanted that cold slap of winter to hit your cheeks faster than tonight. No matter how much it might be snowing, you only want to walk away from that hospital. 

“What the fuck…?” you murmur to yourself, feeling your feet become two blocks of ice as you run through the streets of Karakura. “I must be delirious… I haven’t slept well, that’s all it is” you continue as the pedestrian sign turns red and you wait to cross the street. 

The sudden vibration of your phone scares you a little; it comes as a surprise, but you are still able to tell whose that number is. 

Unknown > what did he say? Why did you leave?  You > to go home and have some rest. How are you feeling?  Unknown > going home rn. Send me your location, will be there later. You > Uryu… your whole point is to never let me rest, right?  You >  📍 location  Unknown > you bet I won’t let you rest tonight 

You giggle, noticing your cheeks become hot and your stomach a butterfly mess. Not enough cold outside can compete with your inner heat right now. 

“Do I have something to offer when he arrives?” you think, making a quick stop by a convenience store before going back home. Truth is, you find yourself trying to remember Uryu’s favourite snacks back then, annoyed by the fact that the sunflower seed store he loved has already closed a couple of years ago. 

Something savoury should do, despite knowing, deep inside, all he wants to eat is you. 

You quickly -and panting- arrive at your apartment. As always, everything looks like an organized mess. You can’t waste time on being a perfectionist, but you most definitely take time to hide the panties you hanged inside to dry; or the chocolate wrappers you left the other night on your bedside table while you were watching One Piece. 

Your reflection catches you out of guard, as you run through the little hall that separates your room from your kitchen. There, a little mirror shows your face tinted in every shade of anxiety; now, a lot more mature than six years ago, absolutely sure and unsure at the same time, waiting for Uryu to be finally yours. For you to be finally, and once and for all, his. 

The sudden ring on your door scares you a little; your hands, that had fallen upon the little table that still holds old picture frames of your younger days, curl their fingers around and carve your nails against the wooden surface. 

You take a deep breath and run to open the door; it’s cold outside, and Uryu shouldn’t be waiting after being sick. 

Uryu’s fist helps the door open faster, making space for his desperate self to pass. No word said before his hand slid through your waist to pull you closer against his body.

You gasp, with your lips barely millimetres from his. Your chest goes up and down, your cheeks on fire getting a little bit of relief as the cold breeze filters from the still opened door. 

“Hi” he grunts before attacking your lips. 

Your eyes open big in surprise; but soon remember that Uryu can be more than impulsive when he desires something. And right now, he is desperate for you. 

You take little steps back without separating from him. Your arms have already surrounded his neck, your body begs for more. 

His tongue, disrespectful, dances with yours; lustfully, unstoppable, like fire burning. Soft little whimpers scape in between the little gaps of your mouths; his nails carve like claws on your waist, and then, down until your ass. 

“Do-door- close- mnh- it” you mutter, muffled by his imprudent, freed love.

“Let them watch” Uryu murmurs, perhaps jokingly… perhaps not. 

You are out of breath, unable to escape his arms, watching everything happen through black strands of hair and the metallic little side of his glasses carving on your face. 

Uryu chuckles sexily, kicking the door close with the back of his heel. As if he wanted you to notice, he allows you to look while he takes his glasses off. 

“Sorry, not used to” he comments, showing you his modern eye glasses on his hands.

“Uh- It’s – UH-“ you are simply out of words; is this man really not “used to” kissing this way?

Though it doesn’t matter if you can’t think of what to say, because his lips are immediately back all over yours. 

Your back hits the wall behind you; feeling even more trapped underneath Dr. Ishida, your legs tremble in excitement, perhaps eager to be split open already. 

The taste of his kisses is by far delicious; like biting a fistful of juicy raspberries, like chocolate dripping down your tongue. 

Oh, but for him, no ambrosia is enough if he hasn’t still tasted the whole extents of your flesh; And after trapping your lower lip in between his teeth, pulling ever so softly and yet so deadly, his butterfly kisses land down your chin and into your neck. 

You throw your head back, lips semi open, allowing sweet moaning to reach Uryu’s ears. It makes the man shiver, to attack the skin closer to your collar bones, harder. He seems to be inhaling your perfume, the scent of your flesh, letting his right cheek rest on your chest for a couple of minutes when the lust for your body gets even too much for him. 

“I’m sorry” he huffs, closing his beautiful blue eyes for a second, still with his cheek pressed against your breasts.

“I don’t want to hear more “sorrys”, you know that belongs in the past…” you whisper, caressing his head, playing with his straight, soft hair. 

“No, I’m being desperate…” he confesses, ashamed of the need, of the lust he experiences when it comes to your body.  

“I’m as desperate as you...” you reply, this time not ashamed, almost in pain because you want a lot more.

Uryu looks up at you, like earlier today, though his eyes don’t show regret… this time, they show love. Love and madness. Sex, desire. 

He stands up, turning you around, allowing you to face your kitchen. His hands surround your waist from behind, his nose buries on the small of your neck. 

“Where’s bed?” he asks, with his lips against your nape. His presence behind, his chest against your back, his hardness against your ass cheeks... lord. 

“Follow me…” you whisper back, turning around sexily as you grab his hand to guide him. As sexily you walk towards your bedroom, like the snake incited Adam and Eve to sin, you do. 

Uryu is pleased your apartment is small, should he wait a little longer he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from fucking you on your kitchen table.

“Looks like your old room” he jokes, before pushing you softly against your bed. 

“Despite all, it’s still me…” you purr, grabbing him by the belt, pulling him closer. 

“You are right, you are still you…” he replies, letting his white jacket slide down his shoulders and fall into the ground. 

He doesn’t even think of taking any more clothes but yours, that’s why immediately after, Uryu crawls in between your legs. 

The longest part of his bangs tickles your cheek, while the tip of his nose grazes yours. You both look into each other’s eyes, with a pure expression of longing and need. For how long has this been due? 

Dr. Ishida slides his right hand until your thigh, while his lips become closer to yours. No matter how desperate he might be, he needs to clearly state what he wants the most right now. 

“Now I need you to be mine…”

You nod, biting your lower lip before he could kidnap your mouth for a violent deep kisses torture. It makes you shiver; how mature he can be at certain times; those six years have passed for the both of you. 

Uryu lifts your leg, allowing his core to reach yours. Even underneath his jeans, the erection makes its presence more than clear, perhaps even being painful for him to bear, to tolerate.

You buck up your hips, just to let him know how much your sex desires him, his intrusion. Your hands work to unbutton his shirt; it is hard to do, but they come undone one by one. 

“I still wonder how you got this” you whisper, in between kisses, while tracing the inked Quincy star on his chest with the tip of your fingers. 

“The price I had to pay to regain my powers…” Uryu replies, now standing up just a little to undress you. It’s been enough waiting; he needs you completely naked now. 

His skilful hands take no time to rip your polyester coverings; inpatient, he wants instead, to see fine lace against soft skin… but even though Uryu enjoys the look of it, nothing can match the beauty of naked anatomy. Of your naked anatomy.   

Again, fighting desperation, he pounces back at your chest. The scar on it, still makes his whole being hurt, but the need to bite your erect nipples grows stronger, almost inevitably, on him. And so, he indulges on them, trapping a hard button in between wet lips.

Uryu sucks, Uryu bites, Uryu nibbles. You moan, you grunt, you whine…

Ah, delicious, he knows exactly what to do to turn your skin all bumpy, to make your brain a mess. 

And despite your wish to touch, to give that man at least a little bit of pleasure in return, he won’t allow you to do so. Not now, not yet. Uryu slaps your arms softly away, making them bounce back and behind your head. 

He just wants you to focus on one single thing: your own pleasure. 

Dr. Ishida’s hand slides down as he kneels in between your spread legs. A swift motion allows him to lower your pants, taking the panties with them too. 

A shivering grunt abandons his lips when your femininity flashes before his cerulean eyes; you can tell his erection has grown a little bigger, a little harder because of it. 

Uryu can’t stop himself from touching your warmth, burying his index in between your folds, getting them soaked with the honey he’s been dying to try. He wishes he could go slower, but there is much he could do. Nothing can stop a crave like this. 

When the fingertip of the young doctor encounters the little bump of pleasure, you react curling your back. The simple touch, the simple graze on your clit triggers your body like with no other man. Ah, the power of love, the power of lust. 

“You like it like this?” he dares to ask, maybe even enjoying this with naughty intent. You can tell, because it is all over his face, with a smirk you’ve rarely seen on his pale façade. 

“More…” you whimper, as he begins to trace circles and ups and downs. 

Uryu smirks grows even bigger; 

“More?” he murmurs, going faster, dragging your juices up and down and then back inside your entrance. 

You nod, with lips trembling, sloppy eyelids and little spasms here and there. 

Uryu then, lured by the carnality of your gestures, snakes down your core until his face reaches your heat. 

You try to lift yourself from the bed, but he won't allow you to do so. What must be lifted, are your legs, that soon are made to rest on each of his shoulders while his lips seal your intimacy. A furtive tongue slips in between your slit, getting full of unholy syrup. 

The doctor slurps, almost disgustingly but definitely deadly deliciously, everything your body produces. And the more he does, the more your core engulfs his pretty face… you have clenched your fist on his hair, moving his head up and down, and against. 

Uryu is sure his lips must have turned blue a long time ago, as oxygen became scarce, muffled by your folds… but he doesn’t care, in fact, he won’t tell as he feels lightheaded from pleasure. 

You contort and retort to a coming orgasm, carving your heel on his back, throwing your head back, waking your neighbors up with your loud moans. 

“Uryu… I- ugh… nghh!” all you can whine, all you can whimper.

“Come… come…” all he can murmur, or try to. 

When the explosive sensation takes over your whole body, and his chin and chest gets bathed by you, you let go of his hair. He doesn’t mind, in fact, while he recovers a little bit of air, Uryu already crawls back to kiss your lips. 

“I love you…” he lets you know before trapping your panting with his kisses. 

“I – lov..love you-“ you pant, bringing him to receive his mouth on yours. 

You can tell he wants you to rest, despite the pain on his crotch… those jeans must be a prison to his masculinity. So, you take action, no matter how tired or how much you still shiver due to climax. 

“Lay by my side, please…” you plead. 

Uryu lets his body flop to your right, trying to hug, to pull you closer to his chest. But that should wait, unless until you both decide to go to sleep. 

“Do these pants hurt? Why are they still on, Uryu?” you ask, smiling, leaving your tongue against your upper teeth. 

He scoffs tiredly, allowing you to work your way over his lap. While your naked core sits on his legs, you unbutton the jean prison, eager to discover his sex for the very first time. 

Exactly like you imagined, you can see it is perfectly trimmed, clean, pale with a hint of purple… your toes curl to the imagery, causing that man to blush at the feral look on your face. 

“(Name), I must warn you… should you do anything, I won’t be able to stop myself” Uryu claims, worried for your safety. 

“Are you telling me you won’t be able to control yourself once you are inside me, Uryu? Is that what you mean?” you answer back, already crawling on top of his lap, grabbing his shaft to guide it inside of you. 

You let your body fall, devouring his whole sex with your core. No protection, completely raw and risky, something you knew you shouldn’t do but did anyway. 

Uryu takes his hands to his face; he wasn’t lying when he said he won’t be able to stop… his hands then land on each side of your ass, locking you in place, unable to move away from his dick. His upper body stands up from the bed, moving a little to the side so he is able to move you easier. If you thought you were the one riding, you were wrong. 

You can feel the throb, the twitch of his warm rock surrounded by your walls. His lips reach yours; his gaze turns serious, almost demonic. 

“I told you I won’t be able to stop myself” he lets you know, with his lips grazing yours and his hips starting to drill into you. No humping nor jumping can surpass this man’s thrusts, as he fucks you mercilessly raw. 

Some minutes into it, Uryu feels he must need to change positions. “Turn around” he commands, helping you to lay on the bed. 

You do, allowing him to top you, surrounding his waist with your legs the moment he slides back inside. The hip work goes back at full speed, as his lips traps once again yours. 

Deep kisses, as deep as his ramming. The sound of skin slapping against skin, tinted with wet little splashes… the grunts and whines, the “fucks” and “love yous” mixed. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this…” Uryu lets it slide out of his thoughts.

“me… too… keep going… please” you beg, carving your nails on his back, feeling the muscles move underneath your fingertips. 

Uryu keeps going, just as you asked for, decides to turn his common sense off as much as he can. That includes allowing his body to do everything to make you full of his seed… 

“I told you… I won’t be able to stop… you understand?” he asks, or maybe simply informs you.

“Then don’t stop…” you bite your lower lip. “Don’t stop, and make me very, very full… Dr. Ishida” you whisper in his ear.

Uryu can’t help but laugh, almost like finally accepting you have become a deadly addiction for him. “You want it deep, babe?” he asks, feeling the spasming, milking motion of your climaxing walls.

“Very, very deep inside Uryu…”

Your sweaty bodies tangled into each other rest still attached, kissing sloppily each other’s shoulders. The time passes, letting you both know this night is about to end. Ah, to sleep on each other’s arms, to rest and perhaps start again a couple of times… 

Or so you thought until your doorbell rang, unexpectedly. 

“Did you order something?” Uryu asks, putting back his glasses on. 

“No…” you reply, confused. “I must take a look, though” you continue, kissing his forehead before you surround your body with your bathrobe. 

Your naked feet walk through the cold floor of your apartment, noticing a familiar silhouette through the frosted glass of your door standing outside. 

“(Name), it’s me. I’m sorry I came in this late, I wanted to talk with you for a moment” “What…?” 

Uryu, unaware, gets his pants on quickly. He still tries to button them as he walks semi naked to join you. He fixes his glasses when he sees the man standing right by the door, holding a very modest flower bouquet in his hands. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” “Son… I” 

[to be continued]

[thyras]

→ of great blessings

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 8.5k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → visions, pregnancy, lots of angst, dad!sauron

SUMMARY → your visions and premonitions since wearing nenya have never been wrong, and what you see now frightens you to your core.

AUTHORS NOTE → alright this chapter has been the bane of my exsistance and i am washing my hands of it. writers block took over so much for this that i kinda will not be surprised if y'all don't like this chapter. i'm drained after this one. we are going to start steam rolling to the end now. the timeline is gonna shift a little as pregnancy for elves take for fucking ever, so yeah. 

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

The warmth of the sun kissed your cheeks as the soft bristles of pale purple blossoms trailed across your skin. A youthful giggle filled the air, mingling with the golden light. Your eyes turned toward the toddling infant as she struggled through her first steps among the blossoms. Her red hair gleamed in the sun’s glow, a striking inheritance from her father.

“There you go,” Mairon encouraged, pride lacing his voice. “Just a few more, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finally landed on your husband, his arms stretched wide, ready to catch her should she stumble. His eyes sparkled with a fatherly love that warmed your heart. You leaned back on your hands as the infant tumbled into her father’s arms, a fit of giggles bubbling from her lips as he scooped her up and pressed a gentle kiss to her small head.

Watching him with her sent a warm, steady thrum through your chest, a love so deep it left you breathless. This was all you had ever wanted to give him—the peace and harmony he had spent a lifetime searching for, the same solace he had once found in you in those elder days. Yet, there had always been something missing, a fragment of your fëar left unhealed, a wound time alone could not mend. It had always been your desire to share in this great joy, as was the way of all Elves—a love that endured beyond the confines of time, woven into the very fabric of Arda.

You had longed to be like Thingol and Melian, bound in a love so profound that it transcended the ages. To love as one, to bring forth a fëa as pure and radiant as Lúthien herself—a child who was a reflection of both your souls, a harmony of light and strength. And now, as you watched your husband cradle your daughter, her laughter ringing like the sweetest song, you knew that dream had finally come to life.

But something twisted deep within you, and suddenly, your eyes burned with unshed tears as the scene before you shifted. The sunlit meadow and the laughter of your child faded into darkness, replaced by the acrid scent of smoke and the searing heat of fire. The riverbank lay scorched and marred by the devastation of war, its once-tranquil waters reflecting only ruin.

Behind you, Eregion burned—just as Laureandor had, long ago. Panic seized your chest, your heart hammering as your frantic gaze swept through the chaos, desperate to find the fiery hair of your daughter.

And then you saw her.

Hand in hand with her father.

His golden hair gleamed like molten gold amidst the flames, his striking presence unchanged—except for the smile that curved his lips. A smile not of warmth, but of something darker. Something cruel. His icy eyes, once filled with love, now glowed with a devilish light as he looked down upon the fragile, childlike frame beside him.

Your breath hitched. The world around you trembled.

No.

Your body jolted upright, the sudden movement nearly sending Annatar tumbling from the bed. Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each sharp intake searing your lungs. The dream clung to you like smoke, vivid and raw, its horror so tangible that you struggled to separate illusion from reality. It had felt so real—too real—so consuming that for a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure if you had truly escaped it.

“Mori?” His voice was laced with concern.

You turned to him, your wide eyes locking onto his face. Fear curled in your chest, rising like a tide, for in his gaze—those piercing blue eyes, that familiar smile—you saw the echoes of your nightmare. A cruel reflection of what could be.

Everything you had dreaded.

The pain of a child born into his shadows.

The inevitable weight of his past, now intertwined with yours.

As the haze of the dream slowly receded, his eyes—no longer filled with the malice of that nightmare—softened with quiet concern. The piercing chill you had seen within the dreamscape had vanished, replaced by the worried tenderness you had come to know so well.

Gently, he reached out, brushing a few strands of damp hair from your sweat-slicked brow before his fingers trailed down to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, an anchor pulling you back from the lingering edges of fear. You exhaled shakily, leaning into his palm, finding solace in the familiar heat of his skin, the scent of him—real and unwavering.

A small, fragile smile ghosted your lips as you closed your eyes.

“It was only a dream,” you whispered against his palm, as much to reassure yourself as to ease the worry in his gaze.

Annatar's brow furrowed, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your cheek. "What did you see?" he asked softly, his voice laced with quiet concern, yet tinged with something else—something unreadable.

You hesitated, the weight of your dream still pressing upon your chest. How could you put into words the beauty you had witnessed, only to watch it twist into something dark and terrible? How could you explain the unbearable fear that had gripped you when you saw him, standing amidst the flames, leading your child away?

"I…" Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "I saw us. And… a child."

His hand stilled against your skin, his sharp blue eyes flickering with emotion—too fleeting, too complex for you to decipher.

"A child?" he echoed, his tone carefully measured.

You nodded, swallowing hard. "She was beautiful, Mairon," you murmured, your voice trembling. "She had your fiery hair and green eyes. We were on the riverbank, surrounded by sage blossoms. You were teaching her to walk, and she was laughing…"

For a brief moment, the warmth of the dream returned, the golden light, the sound of her laughter—but it was fleeting. The memory of what followed crashed over you like a wave, drowning it in fire and shadow.

Annatar’s fingers tightened slightly against your cheek, his gaze searching yours.

"But?" he pressed gently, sensing the fracture in your voice.

You inhaled shakily, trying to steady yourself, but the words still came out fractured. "But then… everything changed. The meadow was burning. Eregion was in ruins. And you—" You stopped, the image of him in the flames seared into your mind. "You were different. Your eyes were cold… cruel. You were leading her away into the fire."

A heavy silence settled between you, thick with unspoken fears.

Annatar’s hand dropped from your face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, laden with unspoken fears and painful truths. Annatar’s hand slipped away from your face, his expression unreadable, carefully composed as he processed your words. Yet you saw it—the flicker of something beneath his guarded exterior.

You watched him, your heart aching at the distance that seemed to widen with each passing moment. The warmth of his touch had already begun to fade, replaced by a cold uncertainty that settled deep in your chest.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “It was just a dream, Mori. Nothing more.”

But you heard the strain beneath the calm, saw the tension in the rigid line of his shoulders. This wasn’t just about a nightmare—it was about something deeper. The unspoken fears that had lingered between you since the beginning. The shadows neither of you dared name.

"Was it?" you whispered, the words fragile, hesitant. "Or was it a glimpse of what could be?"

His eyes snapped to yours, something sharp and unguarded flashing through them—pain? Anger? Fear? For the briefest of moments, his mask slipped, revealing a piece of his carefully shrouded thoughts.

Annatar’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the smooth expanse of his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, carefully controlled—but the tension within it was unmistakable.

"You doubt me still."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, weighted with something raw—hurt, resignation, the quiet ache of an old wound reopened.

Your heart clenched at the distance in his tone, the way he withdrew not in body, but in spirit. Desperate to bridge the widening space between you, you reached for him, your fingers brushing tentatively against his arm.

“No, Mairon," you murmured, your voice soft, pleading. "I don’t doubt you. I doubt…” You faltered, struggling to give shape to the gnawing fear in your heart. How could you explain the unease that lurked in the edges of your love? The whisper of doubt that no matter how fiercely he fought against it, no matter how much he tried to change, the darkness within him might one day rise again—might consume you both?

Annatar’s eyes—brilliant, piercing—locked onto yours, holding you there, unraveling you. His hand hovered for a moment before settling over yours, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You doubt what?" he pressed, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. His gaze burned, searching you for something—an answer, a reassurance, a truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

A shiver ran down your spine.

Because you knew that whatever you said next would change everything.

You took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that your next words could shift something irrevocably between you. The weight of centuries—of love, pain, betrayal, and forgiveness—hung thick in the air, pressing down on your chest.

"I don’t doubt you, Mairon," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying the weight of your heart. "I doubt… the darkness that still lingers within you. The part of you that you’ve fought so hard to control, to change."

Annatar’s expression remained carefully composed, but you caught it—the flicker of something in his eyes, brief yet unmistakable. Pain.

His grip on your hand tightened, so slightly it might have gone unnoticed, but you felt it. A silent plea. A warning.

"I know you’ve changed," you continued, your voice steadier now, gaining strength. "I’ve seen it, felt it. The love you show me, the tenderness… it’s real. I don’t question that. But I also know the darkness hasn’t disappeared. It’s still there, buried deep, waiting."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to speak the fear that had haunted you since the dream.

"And I fear…"

The words trembled on your lips, but you could not stop now.

"I fear that one day, it will call to you again. And I fear that when it does… you will answer."

A heavy silence settled between you, deeper than before. Annatar did not move, did not speak, yet something in the air shifted, charged with an emotion you could not yet name.

And for the first time, you did not know what he would say.

Annatar’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence between you stretching wide, a chasm neither of you dared to cross. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.

“You’re right,” he admitted, the words falling heavy between you. “The darkness is still there. It will always be a part of me, just as the light is a part of you.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “But you’re wrong if you think I would ever willingly choose that darkness over you. Over us.”

His hand tightened around yours, almost painfully so. “Do you think I don’t fear the same things?” he asked, a rare, desperate edge creeping into his voice. “That I don’t lie awake at night, terrified that I might one day lose control and hurt you? That I might become the monster I once was?”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. The carefully constructed walls he had built, even with you, seemed to crack, revealing the turmoil that lay beneath.

“But I fight it,” he continued, his voice fierce now. “Every day, every moment, I fight against that darkness. For you. For us. For the life we’re building together.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, moved by the passion, the pain in his words. You reached up with your free hand, cupping his cheek, your fingers brushing against skin that had known both cruelty and tenderness.

“I know you do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “And I see that struggle, Mairon. I do. But the dream…”

“Was just a dream,” he interrupted, though his tone was gentler now. “A manifestation of your fears.”

But you knew it was not.

You had seen too much, felt too much. In the time since you had been chosen to bear Nenya, visions had come to you—fragments of what was to come, glimpses of futures that others could not see. And every one of them, in its own way, had come true.

And now, here he was.

He had persuaded Celebrimbor to forge the Rings, using your gentle guidance to shape their purpose. He had earned the trust of the people of Eregion, weaving himself seamlessly into their world. And now, he stood before you, offering what he knew you most desired.

A future. A child. A life beyond war and shadow.

But at what cost?

Your fingers trembled against his skin, your heart caught between love and doubt, between the man you cherished and the darkness you feared.

And deep within, you knew—this was not just a dream. It was a warning.

You took a slow, steady breath, steeling yourself for what you needed to say.

“Mairon,” you murmured, voice gentle but unwavering. “I know you believe it was just a dream. But… it wasn’t. Not entirely.”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering through his features, shadowed by something deeper—an unease he did not yet understand.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the weight of your words pressing heavily upon you. How could you explain? How could you make him see what you had seen? The visions that had plagued you since you accepted Nenya, the fleeting glimpses of futures unfurling at the edges of your consciousness—both breathtaking and terrible?

"Since I began wearing Nenya," you said slowly, carefully choosing each word, "I’ve had… visions. Fragments of what is to come. And in their own way, every single one of them has come to pass."

Annatar stilled.

For the first time in this conversation, you saw something shift in his eyes—not just surprise, but something colder. Sharper. A flicker of wariness, of understanding.

You knew what he was thinking.

If your visions had always been true, then what you had seen in your dream—the fire, the ruin, the cruelty in his gaze—was more than fear. It was prophecy.

And that, more than anything, was what unsettled him.

He held your gaze, his expression unreadable. But you could feel it—the quiet storm brewing behind his eyes, the unspoken thoughts racing through his mind.

“And what is it you saw?” he asked at last, his voice deceptively calm.

You swallowed hard, but you would not falter.

“I saw you,” you whispered. “I saw our child.”

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to continue.

"And I saw fire. I saw Eregion burning. And you..." Your voice wavered, but you pushed forward. "You were leading her away. And you weren’t the man sitting before me now. You weren’t the man I love."

The silence between you grew heavier, denser, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of what had been spoken.

Annatar did not move. Did not speak.

And you feared, deep down, that in this moment, your vision was already beginning to come true.

Annatar’s expression hardened, his eyes turning cold and distant. A wall rose between you, thick and impenetrable, the warmth in his gaze vanishing like embers smothered by ash.

For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between you, vast and unyielding. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, but the tension thrumming beneath it was impossible to miss.

“So this is what you truly think of me,” he said, his words sharp, each syllable cutting deep. “After everything we’ve been through, after all I’ve done to change, you still see me as a monster waiting to emerge.”

Your heart clenched at the pain woven into his anger.

“No, Mairon, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” he cut you off, his eyes flashing like cold steel. “You’ve just told me you’ve seen a future where I betray you, where I lead our child into darkness. How am I supposed to interpret that?”

Desperation surged through you as you reached for him, but he pulled away, rising swiftly from the bed. The loss of his warmth was instant, leaving you cold, bereft.

“Mairon, please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking beneath the weight of your emotions. “I’m not saying this is what will happen. I’m saying it’s a possibility we need to be aware of.”

He turned to face you, his jaw taut, his expression a careful mask of control—but you could see the fury and the hurt roiling beneath the surface.

“A possibility?” he scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. “One that you seem all too ready to believe in.”

You flinched, as if struck. His words, so sharp, so heavy with pain, tore into you.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, the ache in your chest unbearable. “I love you, Mairon. I believe in you. But I can’t ignore what I’ve seen.”

Annatar’s gaze darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what would you have me do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Abandon our plans? Our future? Everything we’ve worked for?”

You shook your head, tears burning at the edges of your vision. “No, of course not. I just… I need you to understand. To be aware of the danger.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, devoid of anything but frustration. “Aware?” he repeated bitterly. “Mori, I am always aware. Every moment of every day, I fight against the darkness within me. For you. For us. And yet, it seems it will never be enough.”

His words shattered something inside you.

You rose from the bed, closing the distance between you once more. This time, when you reached for him, he did not pull away. But he remained rigid beneath your touch, his body taut with unspoken emotion.

“Mairon, please,” you whispered, your voice thick with sorrow. “I’m not asking you to abandon our future. I’m asking you to be cautious. To be vigilant. To remember what truly matters.”

His eyes bore into yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths.

“And what is truly important, Mori?” he asked, his voice low, intense. “Tell me.”

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, reaching for the truth that lay at the heart of everything.

“Us,” you said, your voice firm despite the tremor in your chest. “Our love. The life we’re building together. The life that was torn from us. That’s what matters most.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, only searching your face as if trying to decipher something hidden within you.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his body eased.

And for the first time since your dream, you felt a sliver of hope. 

As if your vision had been nothing more than the manifestation of your own fears—born from the weight of what he was trying to accomplish here, from the precarious balance he walked between light and shadow.

Annatar’s eyes softened, the sharp edges of his anger beginning to crumble. Slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours where it rested against his cheek.

“Us,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word, testing its weight. “Our love.”

You nodded, feeling the first stirrings of hope pierce through the fear that had settled so deeply in your chest.

“Yes,” you whispered. “That’s what matters most. That’s what we need to protect, above all else.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze searching yours with a depth that sent a shiver down your spine. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Do you truly believe I would ever willingly choose darkness over you?” he asked. “Over the life we’re building?”

Your breath hitched.

He had before.

He had chosen to run from you rather than face the curse at your side, rather than fight for you, for himself. He had believed, then, that his only choice was to protect you by abandoning you. And if that choice had been easy for him once—what would stop him now?

You hesitated, the weight of history pressing heavily between you. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“I want to believe you wouldn’t,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But, Mairon… you’ve chosen darkness before. You ran from me, from us, when the curse first took hold.”

Pain flickered across his features, old wounds laid bare in the space between you.

“That was different,” he argued, but the fire had faded from his voice. “I was trying to protect you then.”

You shook your head, your hand slipping from his cheek to press against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“And in doing so, you nearly destroyed us both,” you reminded him gently. “Your intentions may have been good, but the outcome…”

You trailed off, overwhelmed by the memories of those dark years. The weight of his absence. The devastation of believing he had chosen power over love. The aching, unrelenting certainty that he had abandoned you because he had feared himself more than he had loved you.

Annatar’s expression softened further, sorrow and regret etching deep lines around his eyes. He covered your hand with his own, his fingers twining between yours, grounding you.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, rough with something raw. “I made the wrong choice then. But I’ve learned from that mistake, Mori. I won’t repeat it.”

You wanted to believe him.

Oh, how desperately you wanted to believe that the love you shared, the bond you had fought so hard to rebuild, would be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But the vision lingered, a shadow curling at the edges of your mind, whispering that love alone had never been enough to save him before.

“I want to believe that,” you murmured, the tremor in your voice betraying the doubt you couldn’t silence. “But the future I saw…”

“Is not set in stone,” he interrupted firmly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and grounding.

His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, as if he could soothe away your fears with touch alone.

“We shape our own fates, Mori,” he murmured. “No vision—no prophecy—can take that from us.”

It came as no surprise when the first stirrings of new life graced you just days after your vision. The power of the ring upon your finger had known—had always known—that you would be granted what you desired most.

But it did not quell the fear.

A fear born of that very ring.

There were days you longed to slip it from your finger, to cast it aside and free yourself from the weight of its premonitions. To unshackle yourself from the knowledge of what was to come. Other days, you wished to turn a blind eye, to live out your immortal life in blissful ignorance—unburdened by foresight, untouched by the shadows of possibility.

And yet, deep within, you understood the truth. Futures could change. Paths, ever winding, could shift toward another destination.

But Morgoth’s curse remained.

It kept the ring upon your hand, bound you to its whispers, to the knowledge you could not unlearn. And despite everything, despite the fear curling like smoke in your chest, the need to be in his arms—to be enveloped in his aura—surpassed it all.

You trusted him, of course you did.

But doubt had crept in, insidious and unrelenting.

He could reassure you a thousand times, but you knew him. Truly knew him. And just as surely, you knew what this darker version of him was capable of.

Your fingers ghosted across the fabric of your gown as you sat at the table in Celebrimbor’s study. Excitement stirred within you, a quiet thrill at the thought of the new life you would grow, shape, and mold in your image. Yet beneath that joy lurked the deeper, unspoken truth—you knew what they could inherit. And you knew what that would mean to him.

Turning slightly, your gaze drifted down into the forge below, where Celebrimbor and Annatar stood, engrossed in pleasant conversation with Durin as they handed over the newly fashioned rings. The soft glow of the dwindling fire illuminated their forms, flickering off Annatar’s golden hair as he gestured fluidly, speaking in that smooth, measured cadence that had once soothed you beyond words.

Your thoughts drifted, lingering upon your husband.

Would they inherit this form’s features—the golden radiance of Annatar? Or, by some chance, would they be marked by Mairon’s truer essence?

You hoped for the latter.

Fiery red hair as bright as the sun itself and soft sea foam green eyes that would shine like emeralds in certain lights. Would they have those delicate, reddish freckles across the bridge of their nose?

But in truth, you did not know. How could you?

You understood little of how Maiar conception worked, nor did you care to unravel its mysteries.

All that mattered was this—you were finally having what you had dreamed of for Ages.

Your nurturing nature finally felt satisfied—whole—as your fingers idly traced the silken fabric of your gown. You would raise them in the light, in the beauty of all living things, ensuring they would never feel the touch of shadow.

"Everything okay, my lady?"

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Immediately, your hands slipped away from your stomach as you looked up to meet his gaze. His brow was raised, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

"Yes," you answered quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. "How do they like the rings?"

Celebrimbor stepped closer, settling into the chair across from you.

"They are satisfied with them," he replied, his tone measured, thoughtful. "They will let us know if any problems arise."

You nodded, a small smile touching your lips as you glanced down at the papers spread before you.

A beat of silence passed.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Celebrimbor’s voice softened, his perceptive gaze studying you carefully. "You look pale."

"I am fine."

It was a lie, but a necessary one.

Celebrimbor seemed satisfied with the answer, though the weight of his questioning gaze lingered, unwilling to fully retreat.

You seized the opportunity to shift the conversation. "What was this I heard about a gift?" you asked, picking up your quill and turning your attention back to the designs before you.

Celebrimbor’s expression softened into a smile. "I wish to gift the Dwarves with something—to honor the great friendship we have built."

You glanced up at him again. "What do you have in mind?"

He exhaled, thoughtful, but before answering, his gaze flickered over you once more.

"I have ideas," he admitted, but then his tone shifted, firm yet kind. "But after all this hard work, Thilwen, I think you should rest. I'll handle this myself with the other smiths, and you—" he gestured toward you, his brows knitting slightly, "you take a break for a few days. You look like you need it."

"I can—"

Celebrimbor held up a hand, stopping you before you could argue further.

"Please," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Do it for me. You have worked night and day since we began forging the rings, and I will not have you running yourself into the ground on my account."

You exhaled softly, offering him a half-smile. Before you could say more, he reached across the table, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance. His thumb brushed absently over the top of your hand—a small, familiar gesture of comfort.

"I will finish up here today," you conceded, squeezing his hand lightly, "and then I will do as you ask."

Celebrimbor smiled, warmth flickering in his eyes as he gave your hand a final, reassuring squeeze.

"Good," he said. "Besides, I know Erynwen has been upset that you haven’t had time for her."

You giggled, already picturing the little girl’s excitement. She was probably chomping at the bit to spend an afternoon at the riverbank, eager to hear more of your husband's stories. You had been so consumed with your work that, in the past few weeks, she had been the furthest thing from your mind.

And that thought—more than anything else—made you realize just how much you truly needed the rest.

Erynwen sat beside you amidst the soft grasses and blooming flowers, both of you gazing up at the vast expanse of blue sky. Wisps of white clouds drifted lazily across it, shifting and reshaping as they danced upon the wind.

Every so often, Erynwen would point out a pattern—a creature, a ship, a story waiting to be told. Her wondrous imagination had always captivated you, a gift as pure as the light itself. You had only ever wished to nurture it, to encourage her to see the world with the same boundless wonder she so effortlessly carried.

Erynwen’s small hand slipped into yours, her fingers warm and trusting as she turned to face you, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Thilwen," she began, her voice soft but eager, "will you tell me another story about him?"

A smile touched your lips, warmth blooming in your chest at her request. Erynwen had become enamored with the stories of your husband, her young mind filled with visions of the great smith who had captured your heart so long ago.

Since opening this part of your life—since allowing yourself to speak of him more openly—it had become second nature to share his story, to weave the tale of who he was now.

It felt only right.

To tell of his light.

"Of course," you replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "What would you like to hear about today?"

Erynwen's brow furrowed in thought, her lips pursing as she pondered the question. A long moment passed before her expression brightened, her grin spreading wide as excitement sparked in her gaze.

"Tell me about when you first met him," she said, bouncing slightly where she sat. "What was he like when you first saw him?"

A wistful smile tugged at your lips as your mind drifted back to that golden day so long ago. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the sweet scent of of the forest carried on the breeze, and that first glimpse of him, standing tall and radiant against that tree.

"He was unlike anyone I had ever seen," you began, your voice soft with reminiscence. "His hair was like molten copper, shimmering in the sunlight. And his eyes... they were the most vibrant shade of green, like the first tender leaves of spring."

Erynwen’s eyes widened, her imagination already painting the image in her mind. "Was he handsome?"

You laughed softly, giving her hand a playful squeeze. "Oh yes, very handsome. But it was more than that. There was something about him—a presence, a radiance that seemed to emanate from within. It was as if he carried the very essence of creation, a spark of the divine."

Erynwen sighed dreamily, resting her chin in her free hand. "That sounds so romantic."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at her innocent wonder. If only life could remain so simple, so untouched by the shadows that inevitably crept in.

"In many ways, it was," you agreed, your thumb absently brushing over the back of her small hand. "I had never felt the need to bind myself to another, but something deep in my fëa told me that his song matched mine in ways no other could."

You paused, the memory wrapping around you like the embrace of a long-lost friend. That time had been simpler, effortless. To love Mairon had been to love divinity itself, and back then, he had been just that.

A wider smile touched your lips as his words echoed in your mind—the image of him standing before you, a book clutched tightly to his chest, lingering just for a few more stolen moments in your presence.

Then, Erynwen’s voice pulled you back to the present.

"You love him still? Even though you are with Lord Annatar now?"

Your breath caught slightly as her icy-blue eyes searched yours, unblinking and filled with childlike curiosity. She did not know. She could not know.

Your fingers moved to gently cup her cheek, and you offered her a reassuring smile.

"I do. More than anything." You paused, your thumb brushing tenderly across her soft skin. "But in a way, Lord Annatar reminds me of him."

You would never tell Erynwen the truth—that he and Annatar were one and the same. It was a secret you could never risk sharing. For if the darkness that still clung to him ever returned, you would not let it taint her innocent image of him.

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the distant hum of nature filling the space. Then, her voice came again, softer this time—uncertain, vulnerable.

"Are we going to stop reading once you have your baby?"

Her fingers tightened slightly around yours, and when you looked at her, you saw something fragile in her expression—a fear she had not voiced before.

Surprise flickered across your face. Surely, no one had a clue yet. But then again, Erynwen’s curiosity surpassed all others. She had always known more than she let on.

Your heart softened at her innocent question, and you wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her close against your side. She nestled into you, her head resting against your chest as you stroked her silky hair.

"Of course not, dear one," you assured her, your voice gentle but firm. "Having a baby will change some things, but it will never change how much I care for you. Our reading time is special, and that won’t go away just because I become a mother."

Erynwen looked up at you, her icy blue eyes wide and hopeful. "Promise?"

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I promise. You are like a daughter to me, Erynwen. And that bond is unbreakable, no matter what changes life may bring."

Relief washed over her delicate features, and she hugged you tightly, her small arms wrapping around you. You held her close, your heart swelling with love for this precious child who had become such an integral part of your life.

As you sat there, embracing Erynwen amidst the swaying grasses and wildflowers, a gentle breeze caressed your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of the blossoms. The moment felt suspended in time, a brief respite from the worries that had plagued you since your vision. Here, with Erynwen's innocent trust and unwavering affection, the shadows felt distant, less threatening.

But even as you savored this peaceful interlude, you knew it could not last forever. The weight of your secret, of the life growing within you, pressed against your consciousness. You would have to tell Annatar soon—and you knew that conversation would not be easy. Though he had reassured you after your vision, promising that your love would be enough to keep the darkness at bay, the fear still lingered. How would he react to the news that your dream was already becoming reality?

As if sensing your unease, Erynwen hugged you tighter, her small hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. You focused on the warmth of her embrace, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, allowing her presence to ground you in the moment.

You knew you could not hide from the truth forever. But for now, in this peaceful glade with Erynwen in your arms, you let yourself believe that everything would be all right. That the love you shared with Annatar, the life you were building together, would be strong enough to weather any storm.

You closed your eyes, resting your cheek against the top of Erynwen's head as you held her close. The gentle breeze continued to whisper through the grass, carrying with it the distant chirping of birdsong. For a few precious moments, you allowed yourself to simply be present in the tranquility of the scene, your fears and uncertainties temporarily held at bay by the warmth of Erynwen's embrace and the serenity of the meadow around you.

After a time, Erynwen stirred, lifting her head to gaze up at you with those perceptive icy-blue eyes. "Thilwen," she began softly, her voice tinged with a wisdom beyond her years, "it's okay to be afraid sometimes. My aunt says that's how we know something really matters to us."

A lump formed in your throat at her words as you blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, moved by Erynwen's innocent yet profound wisdom. You gently cupped her cheek, offering a watery smile. "Your aunt is a wise woman," you murmured.

Erynwen beamed up at you, leaning into your touch. "I just want you to be happy, Thilwen. You and the baby. And Lord Annatar too."

Your heart clenched at the mention of your husband. If only it were that simple—to ensure happiness for all of you. But life was rarely so straightforward, especially when it came to Annatar and the complex tapestry of your shared history.

"I want that too, little one," you said softly. "More than anything."

Erynwen studied your face for a moment, her young features etched with a thoughtfulness beyond her years. "Sometimes the things we want most are the scariest to reach for," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a truth you had long known but struggled to embrace. How many times had you allowed fear to hold you back, to keep you from fully surrendering to the love you shared with Annatar? Even now, with the miracle of new life growing inside you, doubt still shadowed the edges of your joy.

You drew in a deep breath, letting Erynwen's wisdom settle over you like a balm. "You're right," you murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Fear is a heavy burden to carry.”

Erynwen's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Yes,”

You couldn't help but return her smile, marveling at the purity and wisdom of her young heart.

Erynwen nodded sagely, her expression so earnest it made your heart swell. She settled back against you, resting her head on your chest once more as you both gazed out over the sun-dappled riverbank. For a while, you simply sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle whisper of the breeze and the distant trilling of birdsong.

As you held Erynwen close, her words of wisdom echoing in your mind, a sense of calm determination settled over you. Love had always been the most powerful force of all, and it was time you trusted in the strength of the bond you shared with Annatar. The fear of what the future may hold had haunted you for too long, casting shadows over the joy and wonder of the new life growing within you. But no more.

You would not let the ghosts of possible futures rob you of the happiness of the present. Annatar deserved to know the truth, to share in this miracle with you. And together, fortified by your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead. United as one, just as you had always been meant to be.

You stood on the balcony, gazing out over the starlit expanse beyond Eregion. The crisp night air was a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside. The gathering had grown overwhelming—too many eyes, too many whispers. They all thought they were discreet, but you could feel their curiosity, their speculation.

You had not yet found the strength to tell him the truth, and in your avoidance, you had begun evading his presence altogether. Even in the same halls, you had ensured that your paths did not cross, retreating into your work or your chambers whenever he entered a room. Not even allowing him to lie with you anymore.

But he noticed.

Of course, he did.

And yet, he did not push.

For all his persistence in other matters, he had given you space. He had honored your silence, though you knew it was not without effort. He remained close, always lingering just at the edge of your awareness, watching, waiting—never pressing, but never straying far.

So it was no surprise when you felt his presence behind you now.

"Needing some air?" he asked softly as he stepped beside you, his voice gentle, careful.

You turned to him, forcing a pleasant smile, though you did not answer his question.

His icy gaze studied you in the dim light, flickering with something unreadable. "Mori," he breathed, his concern slipping through the carefully controlled cadence of his voice. "Is it something I said that night—"

You shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.

"No," you said quickly, but the way his face twisted in suspicion told you he did not believe you.

He knew. He always knew.

He could sense when you were hiding something, could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you. And now, as he studied you, his icy eyes darkened with quiet resolve.

You knew he would not let this go. Not this time.

Not until you told him the truth.

Annatar stepped closer, his hand rising to gently cup your cheek. His touch was warm, familiar—a tether in the storm of your thoughts. For a moment, you leaned into it, craving the comfort only he could provide. But then, the fear came rushing back—cold and sharp, curling around your heart like an iron vice.

You pulled away.

"Mori, please," he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something rare—desperation. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. The words were there, lodged in your throat, desperate to be spoken. But how could you tell him? How could you burden him with this knowledge, with this responsibility, when the shadows of your vision still lingered at the edges of your mind?

And yet—when you met his gaze, saw the love and concern shining in those icy depths, you knew.

He deserved to know.

He had the right to share in this moment, to experience the joy and wonder of this new life growing within you. This was not just yours to carry.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you reached for his hand, your fingers twining with his.

"Mairon," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "There's something I need to tell you."

His fingers tightened around yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

"Whatever it is, divine, I'm here. Always."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your heart swelling at the depth of his devotion. Drawing strength from his touch, from the unwavering love in his gaze, you found the courage to speak the words that would change everything.

"I'm with child," you whispered, the words hanging between you, heavy with meaning.

For a long moment, Annatar was silent. His expression was unreadable, though you felt the slight tightening of his fingers around yours, heard the almost imperceptible hitch in his breath.

Then, slowly—as if realization was unfurling within him in waves—his eyes widened. Shock. Wonder. And something deeper—fear, perhaps—flickered across his features.

His free hand drifted toward your stomach, hovering just above the fabric of your gown, not quite touching.

"You're certain?" he breathed, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of the gathering inside.

You nodded, a watery smile touching your lips despite the anxiety still curling in your chest. "Yes. I've felt the stirrings of new life for a few weeks now."

Annatar exhaled slowly, his eyes closing briefly as he absorbed the magnitude of your revelation. When he opened them again, they shone with something raw, something unguarded. Love. Awe. And the barest flicker of uncertainty.

"A child," he murmured, almost to himself, as if testing the weight of the words on his tongue. 

His hand finally settled over your stomach, his touch gentle, reverent. You placed your own hand over his, your heart fluttering at the intimate contact. For a moment, everything else faded away—the distant chatter of the gathering, the cool night breeze, even the fear that had plagued you for weeks.

There was only this.

The warmth of his touch. The love shining in his eyes. The miracle of new life blossoming within you.

Without another word, Annatar pulled you into his embrace, his arms encircling you, his face burying into the crook of your neck. You could feel it—the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, betraying the depth of his emotion.

He held you tightly, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

"Mori," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "This is… I never thought—"

He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

You understood.

The idea of creating life, bringing a child into the world—one who was part of both of you—was overwhelming in its magnitude. It was a responsibility, a blessing, and a vulnerability all at once.

Gently, Annatar pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. His eyes searched yours, filled with a tenderness so deep it made your breath catch.

"Mori," he breathed again, his hands trembling slightly as they held you.

His gaze, filled with wonder and reverence, washed away the last remnants of your fear.

This was right. This was how it was meant to be.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was at once tender and consuming, fierce and full of devotion. He poured everything into it—his love, his devotion, the quiet awe that radiated from him in waves.

And you melted into him, your hands slipping into his golden hair, holding him close. For this moment, there was no past, no future. Only now. Only him.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar rested his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he whispered fervently. "Both of you. More than anything in this world or beyond."

Tears of joy trickled down your cheeks as you smiled up at him, your heart so full it felt fit to burst.

"And we love you, Mairon. Always and forever."

A quiet chuckle left him—almost disbelieving—before he slowly knelt before you.

His hands settled over your still-flat stomach, awe flickering in his gaze.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, sensing your hesitation. "We will appear as if we are merely speaking."

You glanced toward the gathering beyond the balcony, ensuring no one was watching, before looking back down at him.

Reverently, almost as if in silent worship, Annatar caressed your stomach, his hands warm against you. "My sweet child," he murmured, his voice soft, filled with tenderness. "You will be as radiant as your mother, and I will love you with all my being, just as I do with her."

Your heart swelled at the sight before you—this powerful being, the one whom others feared, kneeling in devotion before the life you had created together.

Your fingers combed through his golden hair, marveling at the strength of your bond, the depth of this love.

Slowly, Annatar pressed a gentle kiss just below your navel before rising to his feet.

He gathered you into his arms again, holding you as though you were the most precious treasure in all of Arda.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nestled closer, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"No, my love," you murmured, "thank you—for giving us what I have always desired for us to share in."

Annatar tightened his hold around you, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his love chase away the last remnants of fear.

The future was uncertain. But in this moment, you knew—together, you would face whatever came.

For a long while, you simply stood there, entwined in each other’s embrace, the world beyond fading into insignificance.

Until—

A quiet throat cleared behind you.

You both turned just as Celebrimbor stepped into view.

Before the illusion fell away, you and Annatar slowly, reluctantly, separated.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Celebrimbor said quietly, his voice careful, measured.

You shook your head, gathering the folds of your gown as you took a step away from Annatar, placing distance between you before the illusion of normalcy could break.

"No, not at all," you replied smoothly, forcing a composed smile. "I was just about to rejoin the gathering."

You stepped past Celebrimbor, pausing only briefly before glancing back at your husband.

Annatar stood where you had left him, his golden gaze steady upon you. A small, knowing smile graced his lips—a silent promise, an unspoken bond only the two of you shared.

And in his eyes, that glint of something more.

The love you now bore together, for the tiny life growing within you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet joy that only he could truly understand.

With the slightest inclination of his head, Annatar acknowledged you—not as the godly being he was, but as a man who loved you, who had just learned he would soon love another.

And with that, you turned back toward the gathering, slipping once more into the world that did not yet know the truth of the miracle that now lived within you.

[sleepynoons]

kyoraku x afab!f!reader, sfw, not beta read

cw: manga spoilers

notes: ok, i lied. i am going to post another thing of writing even though i literally have to meet a hard project deadline for work. anyway, i read one (1) blurb on kyoraku by @/sirendancerx like two weeks ago, and my brain has just been thinking about this dude non-stop. this is a mini char study on kyoraku being vulnerable, so angst w/ comfort.

IT'S SUMMER in soul society. you’re sleeping soundly, back turned to him and naked shoulders reflecting the moonlight streaming into the room. somehow, the cherry blossom tree right outside is still blooming, and stray petals have managed to flit in, most likely because you’ve left the shoji wide open. very rarely do you leave the sliding door unclosed, always a little wary of potential danger and unwanted stares, but it seems he’s rubbing off on you as you’ve become more relaxed with each passing day.

you’re clutching onto one of his arms, both of your hands wrapped around his much larger one and holding it right over your heart. it’s adorable, really, how you curl in on yourself and grasp onto him. but he’s also aware that, even in your sleep, you’re worried that he’ll leave, disappear by the morning light and abandon the life the two of you’ve shared, as if it was all just a lucid, transient dream. you’ll make yourself so small so you don’t inconvenience him in any way, so there’s no reason for him to throw you away.

shunsui knows he’s a coward.

he can rationalize all he wants. how it’s absurd that you’re still scared when the two of you’ve been together for years, how there’s no need to be worried because soul society is entering an era of peace, how you’re both adults and should act like it.

but then he’d be a total hypocrite, wouldn’t he?

because he’s the one not acting his age. all these years, and he hasn’t grown up.

in truth, he’d do anything to quell your fears. he’d marry you, retire, devote his entire life to ensuring your happiness. but he can’t bring himself to because there’s always the slightest chance that you’d wind up unhappy with him.

realistically, he can’t relinquish his title and responsibility as the commander of the gotei 13. if there’s anything he’s learned from these long years of battling, it’s that the divisions were too complacent and missed several opportunities to address danger early on. but that means he’d still have to fight, and he wouldn’t want to leave you a widow if he were to die.

but that’s not exactly it. really, his most deep-seated fear is the possibility that you’d fall out of love with him.

how ironic.

you’ve given him so much love, kindness, and care – but you’re no giving tree. and he won’t allow himself to forget that.

if anything, he pities himself. he’s checkmated himself, deadlocked between his own fear of abandonment and his unwillingness to do something about it. at his core, he’s no different from his younger, irresponsible self.

but something nanao told him during their battle against lille barro jolts him out of his wallowing.

is that truly for my sake? she had said to him after he confessed he had withheld her zanpakuto to prevent her from falling victim to the ise household’s curse.

as with you… is it truly for your sake?

he sighs, one of relief, determination, and fondness. he’ll have to treat his niece to a good meal.

he places a chaste kiss on your temple, and you stir.

“shun…,” you mumble, tone drowsy and exhausted.

“it’s still early,” he coos. 

you whine, stretching a little, before turning over so your face is now buried in his chest. 

“why are you still awake?” you grumble. he already knows you’re falling back asleep, with the way you’re breathing deeply again, but he chuckles at your attempt to stay conscious regardless.

he simply runs his fingers over the back of your head, caressing and savoring the closeness of you to him.

one day, he’ll make you the happiest person in the world. and that day doesn’t seem too far off.

[harmonysanreads]

Hiiiii! I saw your reblog on my Yandere Phainon and reading the tags brought smile to my face, thank you and I’m happy my work hit the spot 💖

I just wanted to say, the idea of Phainon like this is just sooo… 😩 I feel like Phainon himself is not aware he’s that manipulative or cruel towards reader, that it’s more of an involuntary thing (though he’s not an idiot either and knows how to coerce reader into his request.) I had this idea he’d be so obsessed with reader he’d romanticise everything about them without realising that there’s more complexity to reader’s problems, and with that, the fact that his words of supposed acceptance and forced-facing-their insecurities would be painful and not uplifting…

As you say, some people would have taken his words as compliment since they’re more subtle, but someone as insecure as reader would always be sensitive to any word and end up having their spirit crushed just like Phainon has crushed theirs with treating their insecurities as something only acceptable, but not desirable…allegedly not on purpose.

I just cannot stop feeling like Phainon is such a creep-feeling character to me in the game, that yeah, he’s nice and chivalrous, but it’s as if he’s one stop away from losing it all and that he’d be love bombing type until you no longer want to be separated from him, so I had to write him this way. I don’t know the kevin lore but Phainon really feels psychotic to me, felt that way during the quest, as if he lost a big part of himself.

I’m glad this interpretation of him was well received! I’m really curious how is it you perceive him yourself, even just as a character in the game and off fanfic.

The fic mentioned is this one. Do check it out!

That's... interesting. I agree with everything you've said but the Phainon giving you the creeps part really surprised me. So, that made me wonder whether knowing Kevin's lore from HI3 really does make a difference or not because, I've never gotten that particular vibe from Phainon. There's a bit of a distinction here which I'll clarify shortly.

Phainon's turbulent inner world is something that we all can agree on by now, especially since both Aglaea and Tribbie have talked about his preference for shouldering way-more-than-he-should very clearly. I've also mentioned the matter of identity crises in particular in a previous post back when 3.0 was still fresh. In 3.1's story, he honestly gave very ‘smiling through the pain’ vibes throughout. So, I completely agree with the ‘one step away from losing it all’ and I keep it in mind myself for when I write for him.

Phainon has lost pretty much everything. Even though he gained a new identity after becoming a Chrysos Heir, it'd never compare to his peaceful life in Aedes Elysiae. And even then, he's slowly having to let go of his companions to the prophecy, he's becoming alone all over again. At the same time, he can't bring himself to burden others with his problem, isn't that the least he should be capable of as a ‘perfect vessel for divinity’? But deep down, maybe, he yearns for someone to understand without him having to speak up, without him having to convey.

To talk about Kevin without spoiling the story, I'll need to quote Welt from back during the Penacony arc — that man was never a failure. Even if the decisions he makes are questionable and shady, at his core his sense of duty is pure. Perhaps that is why, despite noticing all of these things about Phainon, I have trust in him. He's so familiar, in a way. Amphoreus's story is long and Phainon will no doubt go through many unpleasant things, but I have faith that his intentions will not stray. He is and will be a true hero. Which is why, even if I write for him in certain ways, I'll personally never see him as anything truly sinister.

I've read another one of your works for him and there I noticed a reflection of this observation of yours as well. I'm by no means criticizing or discouraging it by the way! Your interpretation is what makes your writing for him unique! I just find the distinction that's appeared as a result very interesting.

[actuallysaiyan]

She Keeps It Pumping Straight To My Heart(Vergil x Fem!Reader)

warnings: mentions of having a baby, Vergil is needy, smut, creampies, unprotected sex, mentions of breeding word count: 0.9k pairings: Post DMC5!Vergil x Fem!Reader a/n: This just kind of popped into my brain! Hope you enjoy!

He shouldn’t want this. Not at his age or with the way things have gone in his life. Even with the way things ended up with his first son, Vergil knows that having another child might be the wrong idea. This nagging sensation deep inside of him lately makes him think that you could be the right person to have this with.

Even Dante and Nero notice a change in Vergil. He’s less abrasive, less angry. They even see a smile on his face, which makes them both feel very much at ease. They know that Vergil needs to know real peace, and you are the one to bring it to him.

This all culminates one night into something so passionate and loving. With the two of you freshly showered and now lying in bed, in crisp fresh sheets, you are caressing one another. Sweet, loving kisses are shared.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” you ask, a smirk on your face.

Vergil chuckles, “Ah, so you’ve noticed it as well.”

He then maneuvers you both so that he’s on top of you, your legs spread for him. Still, his kisses are gentle and loving, but you can feel the heat growing in them. He grunts softly as he ruts against you, his cock becoming unbearably hard.

“We’ve been together for quite some time, yes?” he wonders out loud.

“Yeah, almost two years now.”

The words that come from your pretty lips both excite and warm his heart. He never knew he could have a love so pure and so tender for this long. Even at the beginning of your relationship, Vergil thought he’d fuck it up somehow and lose you forever. But you proved to be resilient and determined. You loved him for who he was and you weren’t just going to abandon him. Vergil meant everything to you, especially after he saved your life from a horde of evil devils.

Vergil breathes, “I think…I think I want another baby,”

You giggle nervously, “Another baby? But you only met your son when he was an—”

He interrupts you with another kiss, “You’ll give me a baby, won’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat. How are you supposed to deny such a request? You stutter out the word “yes”, but you nod as well to let him know you’re more than interested. With your arms around his neck, he moves you into a more comfortable position.

“Just the thought of carrying my seed must excite you,” Vergil comments as he uses the tip of his cock to smear your arousal all over your tight hole. “You’re already so wet,”

He continues his teasing for a while, making sure to tap the tip of his cock against your swollen clit. You never thought you’d get to this point in your life, but you cannot deny the fact that having a child with Vergil would be amazing. The thought of making a baby is exciting too.

He captures your lips in a kiss as he presses himself into you. You’re both panting and moaning as he bottoms out, leaving you both a little fucked out already. Vergil smirks when he realizes this is actually going to happen. You’re going to be carrying his child.

Your hands soothe up and down his back as he starts a slow pace, getting you both used to these sensations. Vergil finds it hard to not blow his load from the beginning, as he always gets so over excited to make love to you. He takes a deep breath before pressing your legs to your chest which places you in the perfect mating position.

“You will carry my seed in your womb,” Vergil says, his voice full of need and lust.

“Yes, yes! Please, Vergil!” You cry out, his cock bullying the sweet spot so deep inside of you.

His hand traces down your chest to your core, rubbing the swollen clit that’s just begging for attention. Your eyes screw shut as he begins pounding into you, making you feel that familiar tightening in your stomach. Your cries of love and ecstasy begin echoing off the walls.

“That’s it, sparrow,” he coos at you. “Milk my cock. Be a good girl and milk my cock,”

His words arouse you as much as they surprise you. He’s not usually one to talk filthy like this, and it’s just fueling your fire even more. It takes but only a few more thrusts to send you over the edge.

Tears slip down your cheeks at the intense pleasure. Your spongy walls squeeze and contract around his throbbing cock, milking him for his warm and thick seed. He’s grunting and growling, his voice sounding almost distorted. And with a passionate and hungry kiss, Vergil spills himself so deep inside your pulsing walls.

The two of you continue to grind against one another, riding out the remnants of what is the most intense orgasm you’ve both felt in forever. And when Vergil pulls away, you almost think he’s going to get up to get you something to drink. It’s just that the sight of his thick cum running out of your puffy cunt sends him into a frenzy.

You cry out as he slams himself back into you, clearly not done.

“I said I wanted to have another baby,” Vergil huffs as he fucks himself into you. “And we are going to have another baby.”

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 9 

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

warning; fight, mention of death, mention of blood, death.

notes; at the end ;)

here is the link for part 8 or part 10

---

The rest by the fire had been brief, a stolen moment of peace in the midst of a storm. With the morning light just beginning to filter through the trees, you and Azriel resumed your search, the urgency of the mission driving you forward. The forest was quiet, too quiet, and the weight of the unknown pressed down on you like a suffocating shroud.

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, more active than usual, their whispers almost audible as they communicated with him. He walked beside you, his posture tense, every sense on high alert. You could feel it too—the growing sense of unease, the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Azriel suddenly stopped, his hand gripping your arm as his shadows seemed to surge around him, coiling tightly as if in warning. “My shadows are picking up movement ahead. A group of people. We’re getting close.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and determination battling within you. You nodded, your grip tightening on your swords. “We need to be careful, Az. This feels… off.”

He looked at you, his expression dark and serious. “It does. Stay close to me. Whatever happens, we face it together.”

You nodded, but even as you said the words, a strange feeling began to creep over you—something deep inside, a cold dread that had nothing to do with the approaching danger. It was as if the very core of your being was reacting to what lay ahead, a warning from the power that you had kept hidden for so long.

As you moved forward, the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing ahead. The shadows darkened, and the air grew colder, the smell of damp earth and something else—something metallic—filling your senses.

And then you saw them.

A group of figures stood in the clearing, their faces hidden by dark hoods. But it was the man standing at the center who caught your attention—the same man who had come to your shop with the mysterious order, the man whose presence had set off a chain of events that now led you here.

He was waiting for you, his stance relaxed, almost casual, as if he had been expecting this moment all along. His gaze locked onto yours, a cold smile curving his lips.

“Welcome, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Azriel moved closer, his hand hovering protectively near his blade, his shadows swirling with anticipation. “What is this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The man tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “This, shadow singer, is the culmination of a plan that has been in motion for a very long time. You see, Y/N, this was always about you. The weapon… it was meant for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of his words. “What are you talking about?”

The man’s smile widened, a cruel edge to it now. “The power inside you, Y/N. The flames that you’ve kept hidden, the power that you’ve tried to suppress, the phoenix—it’s not meant for you alone. It was never meant to be kept by one person.”

Azriel’s grip on his blade tightened, his gaze narrowing. “You want to take her power?”

The man’s eyes gleamed with something dark, something hungry. “Yes. The weapon I requested was to extract it, to take that power and use it as it was intended—to control it, to harness it.”

The words hit you like a blow, the truth of them resonating deep within you. You had always known that your power was different, that it was something more than just a gift of healing. But you had never understood the full extent of what it was—or what it could become in the wrong hands.

“You can’t have it,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. “I won’t let you take it.”

The man’s smile turned mocking, his gaze flicking to the others around him. “You don’t have a choice, Y/N. You were never meant to have this power in the first place. It’s time to set things right.”

And with that, the fight began.

The attackers moved swiftly, their weapons drawn as they closed in on you and Azriel. But this time, you didn’t hold back. The fear, the anger, the desperation—they all surged within you, fueling the flames that burned deep in your core.

With a fierce cry, you unleashed your power, the blue flames roaring to life around you. They danced along your skin, leaping from your hands like living fire, consuming everything in their path. The attackers recoiled in shock, their weapons faltering as they were met with the full force of your power.

Azriel fought beside you, his blades cutting through the air with lethal precision, but even he seemed momentarily taken aback by the sheer intensity of the flames. You were a force of nature, your power a blazing inferno that threatened to consume everything in its wake.

The man at the center watched with a dark satisfaction, his eyes gleaming as if this was exactly what he had hoped for. “Yes… that’s it, Y/N. Embrace it. Feel its power.”

But you didn’t care about his words. All you cared about was ending this, about saving Alex and stopping these monsters from taking what was yours.

The fight was brutal, the clearing filled with the sounds of clashing steel and the roar of your flames. The attackers were skilled, but they were no match for you and Azriel. One by one, they fell, their bodies consumed by the fire that raged from your very soul.

But even as you fought, you could feel the strain of your power, the way it threatened to overwhelm you. The flames were wild, untamed, and with each passing moment, it became harder to control them.

Azriel noticed your struggle, his eyes flicking to you with concern even as he parried another strike. “Y/N, you need to be careful!”

But there was no time to be careful. The flames were a part of you, and they demanded to be unleashed.

With a final, desperate surge, you directed the flames toward the man who had started it all. He stood his ground, his eyes locked on yours, a twisted smile on his lips as the fire engulfed him.

But instead of being consumed, the flames seemed to pass through him, as if he were made of smoke and shadow. His laughter echoed through the clearing, cold and cruel.

“You can’t destroy me, Y/N. I’m a part of you, just as that power is. This isn’t over.”

And then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows like a wisp of smoke.

The clearing fell silent, the last of the attackers lying motionless on the ground. You stood there, your breath coming in ragged gasps, the flames slowly dying down as the reality of what had just happened began to sink in.

Azriel was at your side in an instant, his hands steady as he reached out to you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, but the truth was, you didn’t know. Everything you had just learned, everything you had just felt—it was too much, too overwhelming.

“He was trying to take my power,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He… he said it wasn’t meant for me. That it was supposed to be for something else.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his eyes fierce. “Whatever he’s after, we’ll stop him. But right now, we need to find Alex.”

You nodded, the urgency of the situation crashing back over you. There was no time to dwell on the darkness that had been revealed. Alex was still out there, and he needed you.

Together, you and Azriel began to move through the clearing, your steps determined as you pushed forward, deeper into the forest, toward whatever lay ahead.

But in the back of your mind, the man’s words echoed, a chilling reminder of the power that burned within you, and the shadowy forces that sought to claim it.

The clearing where you had fought was eerily silent now, the only sound the crackling of dying flames as they consumed the last remnants of your enemies. The bodies of those who had attacked you lay scattered across the ground, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the danger that still loomed over you. But there was no time to linger, no time to dwell on the bloodshed. Alex was still out there, somewhere in the darkness, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

Azriel’s shadows, which had been so fiercely active during the battle, now swirled around him with a newfound urgency, their tendrils reaching out as if searching for something—someone. His face was set in grim determination, his eyes scanning the area as the two of you moved deeper into the forest.

“We need to keep moving,” Azriel said, his voice tight with controlled emotion. “There’s a chance they’ve taken him further into the woods, or they could have hidden him somewhere nearby.”

You nodded, gripping the hilts of your swords tightly as you followed him, every muscle in your body tense and ready for another fight. The forest was dense, the trees towering above you like silent sentinels, their branches intertwining to form a dark, shadowy canopy that blocked out much of the light.

As you pushed forward, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. The man’s words echoed in your mind, his cruel smile etched into your memory. He had known you would come, had been expecting you—and that realization gnawed at you like a persistent, unwelcome thought.

Your power, the blue flames that had always been a part of you, had never felt so dangerous, so out of control. The way they had surged during the fight, the way they had nearly overwhelmed you—it was as if they were responding to something deep within you, something that was tied to the very essence of who you were.

But there was no time to think about that now. Alex needed you, and you couldn’t afford to lose focus.

“Anything?” you asked, your voice strained as you glanced at Azriel.

He shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Nothing yet. But my shadows are restless. They’re picking up traces of something… I just can’t tell what it is.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to push back the rising tide of fear that threatened to consume you. The forest was vast, and the shadows seemed to stretch on forever, offering no clues, no signs of where Alex might be.

You moved silently through the underbrush, your steps light and careful as you searched for any trace of the boy who had become so dear to you. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a nightbird.

But then, as you rounded a bend in the forest, you felt it—a faint pulse, like a whisper in the back of your mind. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching as the feeling grew stronger, more insistent. It was the same sensation you had felt before, during the battle, when your power had surged uncontrollably. But now it was different—focused, directed.

“Azriel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I think… I think I can sense something.”

He turned to you, his expression sharpening as he caught the change in your demeanor. “What is it?”

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation, letting it guide you. It was like a thread, thin and fragile, leading you deeper into the forest. “This way,” you said, your voice steadier now as you began to move in the direction the feeling was pulling you.

Azriel fell into step beside you, his shadows flaring around him as if they, too, could sense what you were feeling. The air grew colder as you pushed forward, the trees growing thicker, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

And then you saw it—a faint glow, just ahead, barely visible through the dense foliage. It was faint, but unmistakable—a soft, bluish light that pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of the forest itself.

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, your heart pounding in your chest as you both moved closer. The glow grew brighter as you approached, and soon you found yourself standing at the edge of a small, hidden glade, the light emanating from a cluster of stones arranged in a rough circle.

But there was no sign of Alex.

Your heart sank, disappointment and fear washing over you in equal measure. The glow, while mysterious, offered no immediate answers, no indication of where he might be.

But you couldn’t give up, not now. Not when you were so close.

Azriel’s hand rested on your shoulder, his touch grounding you as he spoke. “This might be connected to your power. We need to figure out what this is—what it means.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped into the glade, the soft light bathing you in its eerie glow. The stones were ancient, their surfaces worn smooth by time, but the air around them buzzed with a faint energy, as if they were alive with the power they had absorbed over the centuries.

The feeling inside you grew stronger, more insistent, and as you reached out to touch one of the stones, the blue flames flickered to life along your fingertips, responding to the energy that pulsed within the earth.

And in that moment, you understood.

This place, this glade—it was a focal point, a convergence of power, tied to the very essence of the land. The energy here was connected to you, to the flames that had always been a part of you. It was as if the earth itself was calling to you, resonating with the power you carried within.

But there was more—something hidden, something buried deep within the stones, within the earth itself.

You closed your eyes, letting the flames guide you as you reached deeper, past the physical, into the very fabric of the world. And then, like a sudden flash of lightning, you saw it—a vision, fleeting but clear.

Alex, bound and unconscious, his small form huddled at the base of one of the stones. He was alive, but barely. The man from the clearing stood over him, his smile cruel as he whispered words of power, words that resonated with the energy of the glade.

And then the vision was gone, leaving you gasping, your hands trembling as you pulled back from the stone.

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice was urgent, filled with concern as he knelt beside you. “What did you see?”

You met his gaze, your voice shaking as you spoke. “They’re using this place… to drain him, to take what’s left of his life. We have to find him. We’re running out of time.”

Azriel’s expression hardened, his shadows flaring with a newfound intensity. “Then we’ll tear this forest apart if we have to. We won’t leave without him.”

With renewed determination, the two of you pressed on, the urgency of the situation propelling you forward. You knew now that this was all connected to the power within you, the power that the man had spoken of—the power that they sought to claim.

But you wouldn’t let them. You couldn’t.

And as the light of the glade faded behind you, you knew that the final confrontation was drawing near. The stakes had never been higher, and the cost of failure would be more than you could bear.

But you were ready to face it, ready to fight with everything you had.

For Alex.

For the power that was yours.

For the future that still lay ahead.

The forest seemed to close in around you as you and Azriel followed the trail of energy that pulsed through the earth, guiding you deeper into the shadows. Every step felt like a lifetime, the weight of the urgency pressing down on you with an unbearable intensity. The vision of Alex, bound and helpless, was burned into your mind, driving you forward with a desperation that bordered on madness.

You could feel the power growing stronger, the pulse of the glade’s energy resonating within you as you neared your destination. The trees thinned, the darkness deepening until it felt like the night itself was pressing against your skin. And then, through the tangled branches and dense underbrush, you saw it—a faint, flickering light, barely visible through the gloom.

Azriel’s shadows surged around him as he moved ahead, his blades drawn, ready for whatever awaited. You followed, your heart pounding in your chest as you pushed through the last of the trees and into a small, hidden clearing.

There, in the center of the clearing, was Alexander.

He was bound to one of the ancient stones, his small body slumped forward, his head hanging low as if he were unconscious. The soft, blue glow of the glade’s energy pulsed around him, a cruel mockery of the life that was slipping away from him with every passing second.

The man from the clearing stood over him, his cruel smile gone, replaced by a look of cold satisfaction. He didn’t even flinch as you and Azriel burst into the clearing, his eyes locking onto yours with a chilling certainty.

“You’re too late,” he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. “The ritual is nearly complete. The boy’s life force will feed the power that should have been yours.”

Rage unlike anything you had ever felt surged through you, the flames roaring to life around your hands, brighter and more intense than ever before. “Get away from him!” you screamed, the flames flaring outward, sending a wave of heat crashing through the clearing.

Azriel moved to attack, his shadows lashing out with deadly precision, but the man was ready. With a wave of his hand, a barrier of dark energy sprang up, deflecting the shadows and pushing you both back.

“No!” you cried, your voice breaking as you tried to push forward, tried to reach Alex. But the barrier held firm, the dark energy crackling with malevolent power.

The man’s smile returned, a twisted, mocking grin. “This power was never meant for you, Y/N. It’s too dangerous, too wild. But with the boy’s life force, it can be controlled, harnessed. And you will be free of it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic and desperation clawing at you as you tried to break through the barrier. The flames danced around you, wild and uncontrollable, but the barrier remained unyielding.

And then, in a moment of pure, blinding rage, you unleashed everything.

The flames surged, a torrent of blue fire that crashed against the barrier with a force that shook the earth. The energy crackled, the barrier faltering for a moment under the sheer intensity of your power.

But it was too late.

The ritual was complete.

The dark energy surrounding the stone flared, a final burst of power that shot through Alex’s small form like a bolt of lightning. His body jerked, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his eyes fluttered open, just for a moment.

Azriel had been fighting beside you, the darkness of the forest closing in around him as the battle raged. His blades had sung through the air, his shadows twisting and writhing like living entities, seeking out the enemies that surrounded you both. He had been prepared for anything—anything but this.

The moment he saw the clearing, his heart had dropped. The man who had haunted your recent days stood over Alex’s frail, bound form, and every instinct in Azriel screamed to rush forward, to tear the man apart and rescue the boy. But the barrier of dark energy that crackled to life between you and your enemies held him back, keeping him from reaching you.

Azriel’s shadows lashed out, trying to find a way through, but the barrier deflected them, pushing him back as if mocking his efforts. The anger, the helplessness, all swirled inside him, a storm of emotions that he could barely control. He could see you, your face twisted in fear and fury as you tried to break through the barrier with your flames, the blue fire roaring around you like a living force.

But it wasn’t enough.

He watched, heart pounding, as the ritual continued, the dark energy pulsing through Alex’s small body. Azriel could see the life force being drained from him, could see the way his fragile form shuddered under the weight of the power that was being ripped from him.

And then, with a final surge, you broke through. The barrier shattered under the force of your flames, and you were beside Alex in an instant, cradling his small body in your arms. Azriel moved to follow, but something in the air—something in the very essence of the forest—stopped him cold.

He stood there, on the edge of the clearing, his shadows swirling around him in agitation as he watched you hold Alex close. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way your hands trembled as you tried to summon the flames that had always been there for you, the flames that had always healed.

But they wouldn’t come.

Azriel’s heart twisted painfully as he realized what was happening. The ritual, whatever it was, had drained the power from the glade, from the very earth itself. The flames that had always been a part of you were gone, leaving you defenceless, helpless, as you held the boy you had sworn to protect.

“Y/N…” Azriel whispered, but his voice was lost in the wind, carried away by the darkness that surrounded you both.

And then Alex spoke, his voice weak, barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry… I won’t be there… for your wedding… with Azriel.”

The words hit Azriel like a physical blow, the weight of them crashing over him as he stood frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe. He could see the pain in your eyes, the way your tears fell onto Alex’s pale face as you tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him that he would be there, that everything would be alright.

But Azriel knew the truth.

The boy was dying.

And then it happened.

The bond snapped into place with a force that took Azriel’s breath away. It was like a thunderclap in his mind, a sudden, overwhelming rush of emotion and sensation that left him reeling. He felt it in every fiber of his being, a connection so deep, so profound, that it was as if the very fabric of his soul had been intertwined with yours.

The bond pulsed through him, raw and powerful, and with it came the crushing realisation that you were his mate. You were the one he was destined to be with, the one he had been searching for his entire life. And yet, in that moment, as he looked at you holding Alex’s lifeless body, he felt nothing but pain.

It was unbearable, the way the bond twisted inside him, demanding that he move, that he comfort you, that he do something—anything—to ease the agony he could see etched into every line of your face. But he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed, rooted to the spot by the shock of the bond, by the sight of you in your worst moment, a moment that he was powerless to stop.

He wanted to reach out, to take you into his arms, to tell you that it would be alright, that he was here, that he would always be here. But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in his throat, choked off by the crushing weight of the bond that had snapped into place far too late.

And you didn’t feel it. He could see that in the way your eyes were glazed with grief, in the way you held Alex close, as if by sheer will alone you could bring him back. The bond was there, burning through Azriel with a force that was almost unbearable, but you were too lost in your sorrow to recognize it, too overwhelmed by the loss of the boy you had loved like a brother, like a son.

Azriel could do nothing but watch, his heart breaking as he saw you in this state, the woman he was bound to, the woman who was his mate, cradling the dead body of a child who had been your world. It was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him, leaving him falling, spiraling into a darkness that he couldn’t escape.

He was supposed to protect you, supposed to be your partner, your equal, but in this moment, he felt like nothing more than a bystander, watching helplessly as the woman he loved was torn apart by grief.

The shadows around him flickered, faltered, as if reflecting the turmoil inside him. The bond pulsed again, demanding that he move, that he act, but he was frozen, unable to do anything but stand there, his heart shattering with every sob that wracked your body.

He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart, to bring Alexander back if only to see you smile again. But there was nothing he could do, nothing that would bring the light back into your eyes, nothing that could undo the damage that had been done.

And so he stood there, helpless, broken, as the bond that tied him to you pulsed through him with every beat of his heart—a cruel reminder of the love that had come too late.

---

notes: pretty hard chapter for me to write, but I feel like it was something that had to happen for the overall story. After writing the part 9, I was honestly heart broken... I still hope that you enjoy this part, we have 5 more (+ epilogue) to do until the end of the story. If you guys have any request don't hesitate ;) See you soon <3

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @lilah-asteria @fightmedraco

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER II - sponsalia

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, kidnapping, mentions of God, mention of drugs, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, sexual tension

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,7K

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, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER III

sponsalia (n.) engagement

The heavy rain casts a hazy veil over the world around her and the sound of them reminds her of the storm that rages within. The last memory is coming through the light once she opens her eyes and sees, now, familiar surroundings. Lost and trapped. She wishes this to be only a mere nightmare she will wake up from. Her voice sore and barely audible, she whispers into the quiet room illuminated by the fire from the fireplace, “Why did you let this happen, my lord?” Knowing deep down that her question will remain unanswered, she longs for just one response—

“A twist of fate, perhaps, my little dove.”

She does not dare to turn herself to the voice, never before feeling such overwhelming fear. Her heart aches with sadness and is reigned by fear and perhaps a tinge of disappointment at her inability to escape and flee the spars of this world.

“No courage now? You displayed enough when you injured one of my men,” he chuckles with a sly grin, thoroughly intrigued by the woman lying in his bed.

“Is he alright?” She rises from the bed, unaware that every word she utters draws him even deeper.

“Are you concerned for his well-being or worried that this sin will lead you to hell?” He arches an eyebrow, curiously expecting her answer.

Lowering her gaze to her trembling hands, she stammers, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just needed to get away.”

‘A pure soul,’ he contemplates silently. This very woman might just be his endgame. He is determined but wishes to interrogate more. Seizing the opportunity when her guard momentarily falters, he taunts.

“Get away from me? Or was there something else, darling?” He knows he knows it all and a lot more, yet he is so intrigued to hear it from her.

“Can I leave?”

“No, —” he said quickly “—I asked you a question.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Y/N asked again, more determined to get a real answer once she started to feel an epiphany about her situation.

“Why would you want to leave?” he counters.

And for once, she started to think strongly about what awaits her once she leaves. Apart from her oppressive home, where punishment or death looms, she has nowhere else to go. Y/N failed to get away.

“Are you from the Yakuza?” she mutters, finally realising he never disclosed his identity.

“Min Yoongi,” he simply uttered his name, knowing it will answer her question. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing gets shallow.

“Will you answer my question…. Y/N?”

Her heart races, desperately trying to regain control of her breath, but her mind remains scattered. Min. His name echoes in her mind. He stands before her, the man her father would never make peace with. It always comes down to two choices — either they strike a deal or engage in a bloody war, murdering each other’s men. Here he is, right in front of her. She has fallen into the arms of the enemy. Not only will her father punish her for running away, but now she also faces another punishment for being caught by an enemy.

“It seems there is a lot on your mind now, darling. Let me alleviate some of your burdens,” he says standing up from the low armchair by the fireplace, walking towards the bed. Her instincts urge her to retreat, her eyes welling up with tears of sorrow and fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me. If you play your cards right and obey, I promise nothing will happen to you, my love,” he murmurs, using a term of endearment that catches her attention.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe and calm down,” he whispers soothingly.

She locks eyes with him, drawn into their depths, a place where few dare to venture. Nobody dares to look directly into the leader’s eyes. She, even in this state, does so.

“Your father can’t punish you no more. You can find the freedom you seek by my side,” he says, his gaze fixed on her, memorizing every detail.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a newfound venom in her voice.

“You think I would allow your old man to marry you off to Yamamoto’s retarded excuse of a son and assure Tokyo’s alliance with Hong Kong?” He laughs.

“Heaven sent you to me, my love.” he continues, a sickly chuckle escaping his lips.

“And if you’re wondering how it benefits me to have you here, darling, I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

She realises that if she refuses to marry the yakuza boy, the alliance will crumble, and her father will lose leverage against Seoul and the Mins who reign here. Y/N didn’t plan to marry a Yakuza man nonetheless, but she for sure never planned to stay in the middle of the chess board.

“I must admit, I found it admirable that you’ve managed to run away from China, through Luen’s north side, to our territory in the south, very brave,” he points out, acknowledging her efforts. “—and get to Jeju, right to Chan-yeol—” he says.

“You made it so easy for me. Thank you for that.” There is a hint of pleasure in his voice when he continues to speak.

“I bet your Sire didn’t expect that at all,” he grins. “You have a fire in you, my dear, —” he focuses back on her, “—and I cannot wait to tame you,” his voice shifting from casual to intimidating.

“You will make a fine wife,” Yoongi states.

“I’ll be no one’s wife. You must think me a fool if you believe I’ll marry you or anyone else from your circus,” she spits out defiantly. He stares at her silently.

“Careful,” he finally warns, surprising her with his calm demeanour. To get or inherit the position of leader, one must possess the patience of steel and a wise, calculating mind. All this and more, is embodied in the young leader, Min.

“I have my ways to persuade you that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll realise that along the way,” he says, seemingly playing with her mind. ’Lord, please, you must have mistaken me for someone else,’ she silently prays.

“Care to elaborate?” she dares to ask.

“Your little cousin and her husband, and their little adorable son —” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t,” she quickly interrupts him.

“Oh, I would, darling. And even more. What about your sister, hmm? Isn’t she turning eighteen soon? My right-hand man is ready to take a wife...” he taunts.

“You cannot play with lives! Not with mine or others —” she snaps.

“Yes, I can, my little butterfly—” he says, gripping her chin forcefully and bringing her closer to his face, locking eyes with her.

“People follow me and worship me as if I were a god. My wife won’t be excluded. Or do you wish for bloodshed and potential homicide?” he mocks.

“Be grateful I saved you from that imbecile you were supposed to marry,” he adds, releasing her chin as she immediately rubs the numb spot with teary eyes.

“After all, you’ve just become a peace offering, my dear. God has a plan, and we shall obey the lord,” he asserts. She raises her eyes back to him, the tension between them palpable, amplified by the continuing rain outside, playing its role in the orchestra of her sorrow.

“You don’t have a choice, darling,” he declares, his words stinging her soul as they hang in the air.

“Either you stay under my protection, be a good girl, marry me, and obey, or I’ll deal with your clan brutally,” he states, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to negotiate the terms with your old man.”

“Get more rest.” He looked at her for the last time and closed the door behind him. A click of the lock follows. Only now, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

’You said that if I’ll help myself, lord will help me too.’ She cried, desperately. Run away from the oppressed life of a future mafia wife, just to get even closer to marriage and marital duties, autonomy out of reach.

The overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear of an uncertain future weighs heavily on her. Would it be easier to go back home, and get beaten up and punished? Or would it be easier to stay and accept she will never get away from this life?

There is something she sees in his eyes, but she cannot figure out what it is. She’s exhausted from the run, from all the thinking and future battles she will have to participate in. Her eyes are slowly closing, and her consciousness is failing her again.

“Good morning, Buin,” a voice called out, causing her to squint her eyes from the sudden stream of light entering the room. Grumbling, she pulled the blanket up higher to shield herself.

“Doctor Kim will pay you a visit today, Buin.” the voice continued, and her eyes snapped open. Reality set in, and she realized this wasn’t just a bad dream — she wasn’t home.

“A doctor?” She said, successfully ignoring how she called her the lady of the house.

“Sajangnim requested that we draw you a bath so you can relax and clean yourself,” the little lady replied with a big smile, clearly infatuated with her “Sajangnim”. Rolling her eyes at the maid’s innocence, she welcomed the suggestion of a bath. This westernised hanok must have a bathing room hidden somewhere in its wooden maze. Accepting the white hanfu offered to her, she eagerly anticipated the chance to have her long hair washed. It had become a tangled mess after days of neglect. Maybe she would finally be able to wear her hair down, something she had never been allowed to do before. Her scalp was always sore from the numerous hairpins and clips used to hold her hair in the complicated styles she despised. And perhaps, she could even cut her hair.

“We’re here, Buin,” the maid interrupted her thoughts, leading her to a wooden door that swung open. The sight of a bathroom in a house, a luxury reserved for urban dwellers, reflected the wealth of the syndicate.

She entered the room, and the maid closed the door from inside. The water was already in the large wooden bathtub, steaming hot, beckoning her to submerge herself. It was spacious enough for her to float on the surface if she wanted to. The maid prepared her soaps and other hygiene products. She will clean herself as she graciously declined her help.

“Sajangnim said that if you were to resist his hospitality and commands he gave us, he shall come and help you himself.” The girl said with no emotion in her voice. She memorised it by heart.

“You can tell Sajangnim to stay put,” she muttered in response.

“Buin—” the girl attempted again but Y/N waved her off. She didn’t want to treat the poor girl in this mean manner, but she desired an alone time.

“Please…just wait outside.” Y/N pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl obliged, but she was certain she would report back to her master in a heartbeat. Besides, Y/N had nowhere to escape within the confines of this room.

She shed the lightweight hanfu and slowly lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling her muscles gradually relax. At least for a moment, her mind started to ease the running thoughts, calming the storm down.

Until she heard his voice. Her body immediately tensed up. She strained to listen to the conversation — or rather, the series of commands directed at the poor gal.

“Doctor Kim has arrived, make sure she is ready in the master bedroom in fifteen minutes. Tell the staff to prepare lunch for us in the garden after.” His voice was gone after this, and a soft knock followed. 

“Buin—” the maid’s voice called softly, and by that time, Y/N was already hurriedly putting the hanfu back on.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

She stopped the servant girl once she wanted to put her hair up in a bun. Now back in the room, sitting in a closet the devil managed to obtain for her as if he knew she will come. It was full of beautiful qipao’s but also some Korean hanboks and even some traditional Chinese beizis if she wanted to get more comfortable presumably. Among them, she noticed some lingerie, which internally made her nauseous with anxiety. Her hair was longer than she remembered, as she rarely wore it down.

“I suggest you keep the hanfu while Doctor Kim is here and then we shall clothe you in a dress.” To say she was scared and nervous about what this Doctor Kim will want to see or do was understandable.

“Here she is!” A loud and cheery voice echoed in the bedroom. “You caused quite a commotion, sweetie. I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” said the handsome man who entered the room with a leather suitcase and white coat.

“Doctor Kim, I presume,” She assumed. He was undeniably attractive, much like his Kkangpae. But she wouldn’t admit that for some time.

“For you, sweetie, it’s Seokjin. We’re going to be family, after all,” he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. He couldn’t help but notice her guarded demeanour. She scoffed at his proclamation, as expected.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s talk about you and your health, darling,” he said while searching for an empty file with her name.

“I want you to know that I won’t tell him a damn thing unless it’s necessary, you can trust me,” he stated.

“Except whether or not I’m a virgin, right?” she retorted in a cocky voice, mocking the messed-up mafia system.

“If you want to start with that, you can lie down, and I’ll check,” he sassed back with a smirk. Something told her they would only be friends for a very brief moment as long as she remained in this place.

“So, are you?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What if I’m not?” she tilted her head to the side. He chuckled.

“I see your point, but that wouldn’t free you from the engagement. He would simply have the man who touched you slaughtered to show his power,” he explained. She straightened herself, taking a deep breath.

“And even though I have to check anyway, it’s not just about your chastity,” he said. She did know, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable spreading her legs for a stranger.

“Let’s leave that until the very end, shall we?” he smiled at her.

“Have you consumed any contaminated water while you were on the run?” he surprised her with the question.

“No, I don’t think so...” she stammered.

“Besides hurting Hoseok-ssi, did you fight with anyone else and get injured?” So that was the man’s name.

“Is he okay?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“He’s fine, but you should apologise once you meet him. He meant no harm,” he replied. Well, she hadn’t meant any harm either; she just wanted to escape the scene quickly. She nodded in agreement.

“When was the last time you were sick, honey.”

“Sometime last year.” He hummed in response.

“Do you have a family history of any medical conditions or diseases?” he continued with the examination.

“None that I’m aware of,” she shrugged.

“Any reproductive problems in your family?” he asked more seriously.

And here it comes—reducing her to merely a vessel, even before marriage. Just in time, the devil appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. “Not on my side,” he interjected.

She didn’t want to give him a glance, but her body failed her. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, a scar shining in its glory on his face. He smiled. And for a moment, she got lost in his eyes again. He’s having an impact on her, and he knows.

“Y/N?” Seokjin called her name to get her attention back to him.

“No, not in my lineage,” her gaze fell again as she listened to what he was asking her.

“Do you smoke?” He asked with curiosity in his voice.

“Uhm, no.” She answered honestly. Y/N had been around cigarettes a lot, but she had never smoked one herself.

“Very good, do not start. It’s not worth it,” he gave his younger brother from another mother a side-eye, and the younger one just rolled his eyes in response. It made her chuckle a little, hoping they wouldn’t hear it. He did but didn’t say a word. Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable around him.

“Alcohol?” he asked while jotting down her previous answers.

“Occasionally?” she questioned herself, as she couldn’t remember the last time, she had a drink.

“Hmm,” he hummed again and wrote it down.

“Do you have any problems with your monthly bleeding?” Seokjin looked into her eyes and glanced at his brother.

“No…” she said awkwardly, gulping down.

“When was the last time you ate?” He looked into her eyes, and she realised she couldn’t recall, nor did she feel hungry until now. Was it the adrenaline?

“I think it was the morning I left Shenyang, five days ago,” she replied.

“You went from Shenyang to Incheon in 5 days?!” He raised his voice which caused him a mean look from his leader.

“How are you not exhausted to death?!” He continued.

“I had some intense drugged sleep. Thank you for your concern, though,” she answered honestly.

“She needs to eat, but she has to do so carefully to avoid upsetting her stomach. Don’t let her overstuff herself,” he instructed his companion. She was starting to feel ravenous; she hadn’t eavesdropped on their conversation, but rather, she was lost in her thoughts, preparing for what would come next.

“Beautiful, I need you to lie down for Seokjin now,” he snapped her out of it.

“What?” with him inside the room?

“It’s not necessary. I can tell him what he needs to know without that,” she protested.

“It’s a rule we follow, dove. We don’t want you to—” she cut him off.

“You just want to know if someone have fucked me before or not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care,” she spat out. He seemed taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. This is the fire he wanted to desperately extinguish, at least towards him. Jin looked very much shocked but also amused when he glanced at his friend that was startled by this petite Chinese woman.

“I need to check for other reasons as well,” Seokjin said, clasping his hands together.

“Why can’t you just retrieve my medical file?”

“You have a medical file?” He asked, surprised. It was very rare for someone to have a medical file, especially at times after the war, apart from when a young one went to study. An entrance examination was always needed.

“Yes. Send a letter to my college.” She said, not realising she slipped a piece of valuable information out.

“College?” Yoongi asked, clearly shocked. Seokjin wasn’t looking much less surprised than him. She gave them questioning looks, knowing full well why they were so astonished.

“W-What did u study?” Jin stammered the question out. She wasn’t meant to inherit her father’s empire, but she was destined for an arranged marriage to another powerful family. Higher education wasn’t supposed to be part of her life. However, this would explain why she hadn’t been married off at eighteen. They had sent her away to study.

“Nursing.” She shrugged as if her words carried no weight.

“My, my,” said Jin, stroking his chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. As of now, a big no,” she looked at her abductor, confused.

“As of now is good with me!” he clapped his hands together.

“Now, please leave, brother. I don’t think she’ll ever comply if you’re here. I’ll bring her to the garden afterwards,” Yoongi wanted to object, but when he saw the pleading distress in her eyes, he nodded and left his bedroom.

The young leader was proud that she hadn’t tried to run away or throw a tantrum yet. He didn’t want to resort to violence or coercion.

Stone pathways meandered through the garden, inviting one to explore its every corner. She was absorbing her surroundings with a teacup in her small hands. The air was fragrant with the scent of autumn. The wind was a bit chilling as the end of October was nearing. Snow will fall soon. A small pavilion she found herself sitting in beside a koi fishpond that sparkled in the sunlight, felt too peaceful.

“You look absolutely stunning,” said he, his gaze fixed upon her petite figure draped in a flowery pink qipao, her hair elegantly tucked behind her ears. She radiated a natural beauty, untouched by face powders or lipsticks. He loved this vision, an embodiment of purity and innocence. Little did he know, beneath her facade of grace, lay a sharp tongue that defied even the will of God.

She sipped her tea; Y/N ate a little bit of rice and seaweed soup to drive off her hunger. As she admired the garden’s serenity, she found herself drawn not only to its peacefulness but also to the possibility of escape it presented. Perhaps she could run back to Incheon and board a ship that would carry her far away from this place.

“You should know that ‘pretty’ is just a word, and your compliments and pet names won’t win me over. Use my name,” she scoffed, challenging his attempts to woo her.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he was determined to break through her defences.

Y/N shot him a piercing stare, a skill she had acquired swiftly. She pondered the enigma of the man before her, wondering how in God’s name she could resist his charm.

“I appreciate that you haven’t attempted to escape yet,” he murmured, sipping his tea. Y/N was no fool; she knew that throwing a fit every second she was held captive would only lead to further confinement. For now, she decided to falsely embrace the last moments of autumn in this beautiful garden, she already scanned in her mind.

“I won’t be very keen on you if you’ll try to,” he warned, his tone shifting unexpectedly. Did he seek to intimidate her, or was he afraid she would succeed in slipping away?

“You seem eager to ask me questions,” said she with cockiness in her voice. Acting tough would make it harder for him to break her will. Not like she counted on a prolonged stay.

“I do,” he hummed in agreement. “But are you willing to answer them, my sweet?” Her eyes rolled at the nickname, accompanied by a scoff. He sighed.

“I’ll answer anything you want, and you’ll answer mine. Deal?” he proposed, a smile playing on his lips.

“That’s quite the cliché, you know,” she declared, placing her cup down just as he eagerly reached to refill it.

“But if it gets you to talk to me, darling, I’ll graciously accept the cliché,” he replied smoothly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she interjected. He was curious about how she managed to study for years without being married off.

“My aunt was very dear to my father. She persuaded him,” she confessed, her words carrying a burden that still weighed on her mind.

“Naturally, my father had intended to marry me off instead of allowing me to pursue my studies. It was still on the table. However, the last war, as you surely recall, brought forth injured, disabled, and dead.”

“I had just turned eighteen. So, my aunt negotiated that I would study nursing in Shenyang instead and be useful to the clan this way. My father saw the merit in her argument and delayed my marriage to whatever his name is—” She explained, her nonchalant tone contrasting with the mention of the man she was meant to marry and the affection she held for her late aunt.

“But my aunt passed away recently and there was no reason for my father to let me stay in Shenyang after I ended my studies. I became more useful to him if I married that boy, as your clan sent a warning. He needed the allyship.” She sighed.

“So I ran the moment we buried my aunt and I was sent back to Shenyang to get my diploma and return.” He listened attentively, aware that her trust was not easily won, and that loyalty would be crucial in their future together. She was still cautious around him, and he wanted her to open up to him even more. It would be a lot easier for her to trust him. But he knew better than that. Trust is earned, and it goes both ways.

“You never met him?” he inquired, referring to her failed engagement.

“No. I don’t think I even remember his name. Father always called him Yamamoto, never by his first name,” she replied. He knew his name well, having encountered him during negotiations for a deal in the past. Officially, Korea remained under Japanese rule, but within the underworld, clans were locked in fierce conflict. Yoongi, longing for peace, knew that Wang’s treaty pact with the Yamamoto clan was a significant obstacle. However, with Y/N’s presence here, the plans could be easily altered. According to the plan.

The cold young leader is not only aiming for her father’s empire and making peace for his clan, he longed for a woman like her. It was about time the leader of the clan took a wife to secure the lineage. Although there was a male heir in her family, who could potentially pose an obstacle, he was still too young to step into the role. Y/N, as the eldest heir, a female, would become an integral part of Yoongi’s plans to secure the future of their clans.

“You crave the throne, don’t you?” she asked, cocking her head and chin defiantly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him.

“I want you too.” She chuckled at his response.

“I’m merely a convenient excuse, am I not?” Y/N smiled too sweetly.

“You’ll kill m—” he rose from his chair, not even letting her finish. Grabbing her by her shoulders in a steel grip with a penetrating gaze.

The fragile cup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered on the floor. A nearby maid prepared to clean up the shattered shards. “Leave us!” he barked at the startled girl; his voice filled with anger. Y/N’s eyes widened. He was even more aggressive and intimidating than before.

“I could—” his voice seething with fury, “— I could gather man and slaughter your entire clan, keeping you as a trophy, a symbol of my power.” The threat hung in the air, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Fear was coursing through her, yet she resisted letting it control her.

“Matter of fact—” he continued, his grip tightening on her shoulders, eliciting a whimper of pain from her, “—you will be a symbol of the magnitude my power has, no matter if your father and family remain alive. So, it’s on you. The fate of your kin rests in your hands. Their survival hinges on your decisions and how well you’ll cooperate.” He tightened his grip again, eliciting another whimper of pain from her.

“But I will never dispose of you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. Gathering her courage, she managed to speak again, her voice trembling but filled with resolve.

“You cannot manipulate me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for this fucked up scheme? I have spent my entire life under the orders of others, forbidden from making choices for myself! And you have the audacity to use my innocence thinking I will willingly crawl into your bed and love you like a devoted lover.” Venom in her voice and the desperate tone made him fall for her even more.

“I’ve only recently met you, so spare me your attempts to deceive me that you’re being my saviour.” Y/N has enough fire to still conquer and fight him back. “I refuse to be a passive participant in this game.” She shall not take it lying down.

“I’m giving you a choice—” he asserted, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone “—either you’ll walk down the aisle to me or there will be bloodshed. I won’t send you back to your father nor will I relinquish you easily.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she could see the darkness consuming his pupils when anger consumed him.

“Call it love, obsession, or whatever you please, but no matter what imbecile attempts you make to fight or flee, we will inevitably end up together nonetheless,” he declared with conviction. Was this the fate God had laid out for her? Her faith wavered, and if he didn’t assist soon, she shall forbid him altogether.

“You just want to fuck m—” he cut her off abruptly, his voice low and seductive.

“I can either fuck you hard or I can make love to you,” said he, whilst setting her left arm free and sliding his to her thigh, caressing it sweetly.

Breathing started to become harder for Y/N. Unfamiliar sensations welled up in her lower belly whilst his touch was sending shivers through her body. Was this attraction? Excitement? Mother told her this is how love is supposed to feel. Butterflies in her stomach. But she certainly wasn’t in love with her captor.

He sensed her confusion and distress, leaving her to fall back to the chair. Finally letting her breathe freely. Yoongi sat back in his chair, collecting himself and the three-piece suit he wears today.

“Loss of words, innit?” He chuckled.

He was filled with pride, an overwhelming sense of it, knowing the impact he had on her. She dusted her thighs and straightened her dress.

“Remember, it’s your call. Either you’ll go willingly or with coercion,” her gaze piercing through him for change.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from your father, but before we proceed, I need to go over some rules I expect you to follow before and after we’re wed,” he said, picking up his cup of tea again.

“I know the rules. Just because I went to study doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to be the wife of any higher-profile mafia member,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny, care to share?” She asked her sass back.

“Not those kinds of rules. I know you’re prepared for that. But entertain me, baby. What do you think I’ll ask of you?” he said, grinning mischievously, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ll hand me the household finances after, not like I already agreed, I see no ring yet —”

“—not interfere in business affairs, maintain a low profile to avoid unnecessary attention, and be nothing more than a pretty face, spread your legs and pop out heirs.” He listened to her, amused. She is vaccinated with these dynamics as her mother underwent the same and taught her to do so. However, to Yoongi’s unluckiness, she inherited her whim and flame too.

“You don’t need to manage the household; we have people for that. But if you wish to change anything in the budget, you of course can, sweetling,” he responded, surprising her with his contradictory words.

“I don’t want you to be just a pretty face because you have to. Your fire will be beneficial for me once in a while. If I ever tell you to sit still and look pretty, it would be a matter of life and death, a means to protect you, —”

“—See? I can be very good.” He said, sipping his cold tea, leaving it in his mouth to warm a little while he is thinking. He found great joy in evoking emotions from her.

“You can involve yourself in the business as much as you desire, but I doubt you’ll want to engage in those activities. For your safety, I would sleep better if you were always by my side once we’re engaged and married shortly after.” He stressed out the last word.

“Once we’ll be engaged and wed, your loyalty to your father will transfer to me, and me only” he emphasised his voice firm.

“I won’t force you to be intimate with me after the wedding night, although I’m sure you’ll come to desire it,” he said with a sickly grin, causing her stomach to churn. She needed a moment to process everything he told her by far.

“I saw how you reacted to me earlier. You will enjoy our time in the bedroom, surely.” He spoke as if it wasn’t taboo.

“I-” she stammered and hesitated. He stunned her. Broke down to her core, and he wanted to dig even further.

“I’m aware.” He replied to her unspoken utterance.

She leaned into her chair further, feeling so small suddenly, so inexperienced. Y/N remembers a boy with black hair and green eyes who she had a crush on. He kissed her one night under a cherry blossom tree in their garden. Her father got to know, and she never saw him since.

“All of this comes with one rule: obedience. You will obey as a good girl, and everyone will be happy,” he declared firmly.

“But disobedience won’t be tolerated,” he added, his tone unwavering.

“I want our marriage to be right, as it should be. I won’t force you to be intimate with me. I mean it,” he tried to assure her.

“—Apart from the wedding night, which speaking of, I still didn’t say, ’Yes, I will’.” He laughed and got up from his chair. Her choices and chances were limited. Even if she would manage to escape, he would go on a killing spree till he would get her back. Min Yoongi was very much interested and devoted to marrying this young female.

He knelt on one knee in front of her. A scenery one could perceive as a loving couple is ready to pursue a life journey together. She hadn’t expected him to propose before her father’s agreement, let alone in such a proper manner. Y/N knew better, she just wanted to tease him back.

This wasn’t how mafia members typically behaved, especially the Kkangpae, who never bowed or knelt to anyone. A sign of respect and reverence. Is she to be fooled again? Was he trying to earn her trust with this pretentious act or is he truly showing her respect? Countless questions stormed her mind, causing her inner turmoil. A thunder and lightning bolt within.

He pulled out a velvet little box from his inside pocket and slowly opened it before her shocked figure. The ring glistened in the light. She hates to admit it, but it was marvellous. The delicate band, crafted from shimmering gold, was embellished with intricate filigree that snaked its way around the band in a dance of beauty. Sapphire, shining atop the band surrounded by smaller diamonds, a starry night sky, each one a glimmering testament to the masterful skill of the jeweller. The ring must be older than she or him.

“Miss Wang—” said he, staring into her soul and making her look away from the ring. “—You would honour me if you shall decide to spend, thou life by my side. I promise to protect you and respect you if you have me.”

Confusion would be the correct term, as just moments ago, he held her in a punishing grip, issuing threats. She mustered the courage to ask him once more. “Why?”

He smiled at her so widely. This smile was different. “Please don’t give me any sweet bullshit or I swear—” he interrupted her.

“All you think is my reason — is my reason. I’m not going to lie to you. Just know…this is God’s will, and God presented you to me as a life companion. You can put your fear aside and stand up to me. You’re a challenge I’m determined to embrace, and God knows I’ll do my best to make you mine,” he explained, his tone serious and earnest.

Would God allow him to do anything to conquer her and this world? His words resonated deep within her soul, stirring something within her. Will Father punish her once he will arrive here if he is even coming here? He has to. She knows. If she will get engaged, he will have to come and give him his blessing.

Mother. She wanted to desperately hide in her mother’s arms. Is she ready to confine herself to someone else than her mother, sister, or aunt? Her poor aunt must be restless in her grave. She wanted only the best for her. A different life than the one of someone’s wife; at least that’s what she believed.

“So, what will it be? Shall I send my man to gear up or—” She didn’t let him finish. Y/N didn’t want anyone else to die or get hurt because she wanted her freedom so selfishly. She questioned her faith and wondered if this was truly the path that had been laid out for her.

Is this her path?

“I will.”

It must be.

He smiled brightly. He is one step closer to orchestrating in her heart. It’s her verdict whether it will be an easier or difficult and rocky path. He took the ring out of its box, reaching for her left hand. Sliding the ring on her finger.

Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her skin. He didn’t break eye contact the whole time, which made her uneasy. Y/N didn’t expect the leader to close the distance between them and lean to her, still holding her hand. Her breath picked its pace, and her lips parted a little; she gasped when he was getting too close. Y/N felt so stiff and frozen. Almost brushing his lips with hers—

“Sajangnim—?” A voice echoed. Unwillingly and frustrated, he turned his head to the staff member of the household. Y/N turned her head in the opposite direction, her chest heaving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.

“What?!” he barked; his anger evident.

“Mr Wang is on the telephone.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“How long will she be out?” Asked the leader, pacing front and back in his office. It had only been a few minutes since the son of his late father’s captain of the front force had brought her back to their territory. She appeared serene as he carried her into his room and gently laid her on the bed. Although he had a maid ready to change her clothes, he couldn’t resist the urge to do it himself.

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the evening and night,” Chan-yeol replied.

“I see,” answered the leader, trying to mask his concern. He realised how much he yearned for her presence.

“Everything will work out right, Kkangpae?” Chan-yeol asked, seeking reassurance.

“Of course. How is your wife, Chan-yeol?” Yoongi replied confidently. He vividly recalls her disparagement of this plan, as if her opinion mattered to him. She had shown a protective instinct towards her, much like her mother had. It stirred conflicting emotions within him.

“She won’t be a problem, I promise.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear. It was only natural to be afraid of someone like Yoongi.

The plan was for her to reach Jeju Island, and stumbling upon the warehouse was a mere coincidence—a twist of fate that strengthened Yoongi’s belief in their union. The way she looked into his eyes made him breathless.

His heart burned for her even more than ever before.

to be continued

author’s note: yall I have to say I didn't expect that much of love for my baby. Thank you all beautiful creatures! Feels very surreal. Thank you for all the love, reblogs and comments. I love you, I see you. I hope you enjoyed the first and second chapter and will look forward to the next one ♥ Stay tuned for the preview of chapter III soonish ♥

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥

Shout out to Bex the queen @chaoticpuff17 for beta reading this chapter and shout out to all her bombastically good fics!! ♥ ily♥

Love you!!!!

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

keep in mind - I'm not 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.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @chaoticpuff17 @honsoolgloss @jingerbreadoutofstock @moocow778 @janura26 @dinosolecito @yoongislatinagff @xyahrinx @ruhmoojeonjunkook-blog @hi12345567 @nochue @deltamoon666 @bbkissme99 @darkuni63 @nansasa @sazsazsaz @missmin @strxwbloody @royallyjjk @jaiuneamesolitaiire @shadowyjellyfishfest

©pennyellee. please do not repost

[giggly-squiggily]

things are kinda very hard rn and the dabble made my day infinitely better so if you don't mind i'll send in another one - "Aren't you tired of fighting?" with uzusane pretty please, but only if you wanna ofc ♡♡

{Puffs are now CLOSED!}

*sends all the hugs* Oh Rey- I'm sorry things are hard right now. I hope they get better soon! This one got a weeeee bit angsty (I can't resist with a beautiful prompt like that) but I hope you like it all the same! (If you want something fluffy please feel free to send another prompt-what who said that?)

CW: Angst, Demon Slayer post-ending spoilers

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” The comment came out of nowhere- rattling Sanemi down to his core. “Seriously- don’t you ever want to just sit down and breathe?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His shock shaped into anger, hands trembling into knuckle-white fists as he turned to glare. “You have no idea-”

“You’re blaming yourself.” Tengen’s words cut deep, the tone casual as if he were ordering tea at the shop. “You’re thinking “If I were just stronger. If I got there a second sooner. If I just did things differently, none of this would happen.” You’re wearing yourself down to the bone cause you don’t think you deserve anything less than punishment.” Tengen’s hard glare softened some, a weak smile pulling on his lips. “Am I wrong?”

Sanemi’s anger scattered to the wind, the words like a mirror reflection shoved in his face. He had no defense. Muzan was dead. The demons were gone. And yet..

“I don’t know how.” His strength left with his words, his knees hitting the dirt path beneath him. Was he crying or sweating? His voice sounded thick. “How do you know when it’s finally over?”

A beat of silence. Then a warm hand was on his back, the smell of tea and flash bombs touching his nose and making his eyes water. “You live on. You live and you keep living until the day comes where you find yourself at peace. You live on so those who couldn’t will have something to hear about when you come home to them.” Tengen reached up, wiping at his tears gently. “You live for them. And you live for yourself too.”

Sanemi let out a shaky breath, nodding. He closed his eyes, feeling himself be pulled into Tengen’s chest as let all the things he said sink in. This wasn’t going to be an easy journey- this whole living thing.

“Of course- if you need help from me, you’re always welcome at the Uzui estate! I could use a fourth wife.” Tengen grinned, brightening when he heard Sanemi snort. “What? I think you’d fit right in! I’ll get you a matching outfit- wait, no. The girls might be jealous of your tits.”

“Oh fuhuhck off!” Sanemi laughed, shoving at him as the older man cackled. His chest felt lighter at least.

He was glad to have Tengen in his life.

[itspeterkha]

"𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬"

From the moment you entered my life, it wasn’t love at first sight, but something entirely different—something I couldn’t quite name back then. There was no sudden rush, no overwhelming infatuation, but a quiet, lingering curiosity that settled deep in my chest. The very first time I laid my eyes on you, something in me stilled. It wasn’t just the way you stood, bold and fierce, or how the fire in your eyes commanded attention—it was something else, something that whispered to me that my life was about to change. In that instant, I knew you were going to mean more to me than I could comprehend. I was taken aback. Yet, even then, I was in awe.

I didn’t know what it was that drew me to you. It wasn’t just your confidence or your spirit; it was something deeper, something that spoke to me without words. I stood there, watching, and I knew that you were meant to be part of my life. Not just in passing, but in a way that would leave an imprint on me. I didn’t know how or why, but from that moment, my heart knew you were someone special.

When you asked, "What are your intentions?" I remember feeling a mix of nervousness and honesty that I hadn’t experienced before. I had no answers then—no plans, no path mapped out for where we might go—but I knew I wanted you in my life. Whether we were to remain friends or become something more, all of that felt secondary to the simple truth that I wanted to know you, to be around you. I didn’t need labels or expectations, just the space to be with you, to see where this connection would lead. And, for someone who had spent years building walls around my heart, that was a feeling both terrifying and exhilarating.

I took that leap, a shot in the dark, when I added you and reached out, and since then, our friendship has been nothing short of a wild, beautiful ride. There were moments in the beginning when we didn’t quite understand each other, where you probably thought I was a little too mysterious or odd.

I laugh now, thinking about how you jokingly accused me of being some kind of spy, always observing. But looking back, I was just trying to figure out how someone like you—a force of nature—could make me feel so at peace. It took me a while to understand what was happening inside of me. I’ve spent so much of my life thinking that love or deep affection had to come with a rush of adrenaline, a dizzying euphoria. But what I felt with you was different—so much more grounding, so much more real. Yes, you make me smile, you make me laugh, and I genuinely love being in your company, but it’s more than that. You make me feel safe, like I can let down my guard, like I don’t have to pretend or perform. For the first time, I feel like I can just be.

And that’s where I realise this is different from anything I’ve felt before. It’s not just the excitement of being with someone who lights up my world—it’s the calm you bring. It’s the way everything around me quiets when you’re near, the way all the noise and chaos fade away. When I’m with you, I don’t feel like I need to prove myself, because you see me. The real me. And somehow, that feels more intimate than any of the love stories I used to dream about.

You have this fire in you, this passion that burns so brightly, and it’s impossible not to be drawn to it. But it’s not just the fire—it’s the warmth you bring, the way your presence makes everything feel lighter, easier. You make me feel like no matter what I’m facing, it’s going to be okay, because when I look at you, I feel like I’ve found my home. That sounds cheesy, I know, but it’s the truth. In you, I’ve found not just excitement, but peace. Not just passion, but comfort.

There’s a depth to this, to what you’ve sparked in me, that I didn’t know was possible. You’ve somehow sunk beneath my skin, into the core of who I am, and nurtured something there—something I didn’t even know needed nurturing. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew about love. How could I have thought I’d loved before, when I hadn’t felt this? This steady, calm knowing that no matter what happens, we’ll figure it out together.

And that’s the most beautiful thing about this connection. You’ve made me realise that love isn’t just about the highs, the excitement, the butterflies. It’s about feeling completely safe in someone’s presence. It’s about the comfort of knowing that with you, I don’t have to be anything other than myself. You’ve nurtured this familiarity, this deep-seated bond that has grown into something so fierce and strong, it makes me wonder how I ever lived without it.

Being with you feels like being part of a symphony—a harmony I never knew I needed. Every glance, every word exchanged between us is like a note that fits perfectly into the melody of my life. The highs and lows are no longer jarring but part of a greater rhythm, and even in moments of silence, there’s music. With you, nothing feels forced or rushed; instead, everything flows together as though we’ve been playing this piece for years. You’ve brought balance to my chaos, and now I understand that love doesn’t have to be loud or overwhelming—it can be gentle, steady, and still so powerful.

So here I am, writing these words, tearing down the walls I’ve spent a lifetime building, finally showing you the parts of me that I’ve kept hidden for so long. It’s terrifying, but with you, it feels right. You make me want to be braver, to be more vulnerable, to let you in. And I don’t know where this journey will take us, but I do know that whatever happens, I’m grateful that our paths crossed. Because in you, I’ve found not just a companion, but a place where I can truly rest.

[yakool-foolio]

Eito is giving me HEAVY Ryoji vibes from Persona 3, Death imagery and all, the same way Hiruko reminds me of Mitsuru Kirijo, and Takemaru reminds me of Akihiko Sanada. And the first Commander reminds me of Nyarlathotep. And the stabbing themselves to transform like how in Persona 3 you shoot yourself— actually, you know what? A LOT of this game reminds me of Persona 3, now that I’m thinking about it more closely…

I know in that game, Mitsuru was fighting Shadows way before the rest of the group the same way Hiruko was fighting Invaders, and she was privy to secret information that the other students weren’t at first. They even look a bit similar! And Takemaru shares the same joy at having power that Sanada does, as well as their senses of justice and their white hair.

Maybe Ryoji himself as a character holds some clues on how to interpret Eito? I don’t know if you’re a Persona fan or not, but I found this really interesting to think about…

I can see why ya connect similarities between the two games! Lucky for you, I've watched a good chunk of Persona 3 Reload since one of my amigos was playing through it a few months ago (I wasn't able to stick around for the whole playthrough since there were some days I was too busy to watch n voice act with him). So I know a decent amount of Persona 3's storyline n themes to at least bounce some ideas around (without going too deep into spoilers except in regards to one specific character) and actually understand what you're talking about, heh. And yes, the ending made me sob.

Persona 3 is all about death. All kinds of death--the inevitable, the unexpected, the violent, the peaceful, the lonely, the accompanied. Hundred Line follows close behind, turning death into something helpful and nonchalant at first glance. It's seen as an advantage that holds no dire consequences over your head, at least not in line of sight. Both games talk of death in very different languages, yet a character representing the concept of death is what binds them.

While this strays far into speculative territory, you may be onto something with Eito reminding you of Ryoji. Eito could very well be Hundred Line's own embodiment of Death; literally or metaphorically is up for debate. Eito's very familiar with death, always balancing on a fine lifeline due to what is most likely a hemoglobin disease. For a bit of dark humor, there is a type of hemoglobin disease called 'sickle cell disease', which would be quite dramatically fitting for the guy wielding the scythe (along with the crescent shape of the deformed blood cells also sharing significance with his surname Aotsuki translating to 'blue moon'). The moon representing death seems to be a core symbol between Eito and Ryoji, too! Ironic in Eito's case considering he's never even seen the real moon until being transported to the academy. He's been cooped up in the hospital for who knows how long, but the residential complex is hardly any more comfortable. It's a cage within a cage.

Eito's life consists of staring at white walls and the visiting of nurses he can never get too acquainted with. Everything is so bland, yet fleeting. There is no thrill, no excitement. Just an uneasy life etched in internal pain. But at the academy, there's life. People of all hues around his age looking up to the unfiltered sky and seeing the world for what it could truly be. Beautiful, vibrant colors. No longer all in white. It's a terrifying prospect at first. He was torn away from normalcy and thrown into a war unprepared. But the students by his side ease his stuttering heartbeat like the lulling of nighttime waves. Not all may be friend, but they share a common foe. He wants nothing more in the world than to make the moments between battles last. He will cherish all the little victories before their inevitable or unexpected or violent or peaceful or lonely or accompanied demises. He cannot turn back time or slow it down, but he will make the good times count for all they are worth to his poor existence.

And sometimes, it means cutting down the obstacles in his way of happiness.

[nightmare-foundation]

You said few months ago to aks your thoughts: what exactly do you mean by "Ozpin has long since given up on his task"?

I agree but don't have any coherent thoughts, except I also kind of think Oscar might've returned a spark to him ("You saved us," Ozpin also fighting the merge in the V9 Epilogue storyboard.)

Honestly this is a bit hard to explain bc I haven't touched RWBY in months (I'm neck deep in a batfamily hyperfixation), so my thoughts on this are VERY scattered, but I'll do my best to explain. I might come back and add any additional thoughts I might have.

Essentially, Ozpin doesn't really act like he's actively working towards his God-given task. Even if he is, I think he's doing the absolute bare minimum required of it. He's clearly tried before- if The Infinite Man is a 100% true story- but he labels that attempt as a mistake several times over. On top of that, he hasn't done... anything with the Relics after The Great War. The world was described as being in a time of 'unprecedented peace'- but Ozpin didn't DO anything with that.

I also think it's safe to assume that doing Lights task probably requires- essentially a cult dedicated to him. This is seen in The Infinite Man, since the woman Oz talks to mentions a 'final judgement', and the antagonist towards the end says that Oz's mere existence makes him a target. So it's safe to assume that pretty much everyone knew about his task at this time, and people didn't like the idea of it. I'm pretty sure it's also stated that this is the closest he's gotten to completing it. But as Ozpin recounts this, he repeatedly says that this was a mistake, and clearly regrets his actions here. He had good intentions, but it didn't matter in the end; the Circle was a mistake and he's asking for forgiveness.

On top of that, he says "Some people worship God's, while others insist we must be our own salvation. But the world doesn't work in absolutes, so why can't it be both?" This coupled with The Gift of the Moon and The Man Who Stared at the Sun as well as The Two Brothers heavily imply Oz believes that Light, or both of the Gods but especially Light, is selfish, petty, and that appeasing him not only requires heavy sacrifice, but hurts everyone else, and that humanity can replace the Gods; they don't need them.

The Academies themselves imply this too- they're safe Havens, Beacons of hope, keeping the world raised to shield them from destruction and providing Shade from the unforgiving sun (Light). They're symbolic, representing Oz's core values/beliefs, and one of those is that humanity needs to be shielded from Light. He very much also supports individuality, if the Great War is anything to go by plus the creation of the Academies. Something that, honestly, I don't think Light very much appreciates.

Also, Oz's inner circle doesn't really seem like Light followers to me. They follow Oz, and they believed his story of "The Gods cursed me for failing to stop Salem"- something that doesn't exactly paint them in a good light. The Gods don't seem to matter at all to them, just that they... exist. They also weren't aware of Oz's task, just that Oz wanted to keep things peaceful; not necessarily united, but peaceful. I also wouldn't call Oz's circle a cult either, since imo they really don't fit the bill to me, and it wouldn't make sense if they fit the cult BITE model since it'd hinder more than help, though the group IS dysfunctional.

Also, Oz knows how impossible the task is, knows it's just not possible to appease Light.

I do think he USED to work towards the task, but likely hasn't in a long time. I believe he's trying to keep Salem from the Relics because he believes that a second rebellion would never go well, and Remnant is free enough as is, even if he's essentially still chained via his immortality. Salem sees the Relics as a sort of Sword of Damocles- a constant threat looming over the world. And they are- but I think Ozpin also sees them as tools that could help the world.

Basically I think Oz has come to the conclusion that the world is free enough as is, and that rebelling against the Gods again will end very badly (as it had for Salem), while Salem believes that the world is still in chains. Oz's fears definitely aren't unfounded- after all, the Gods pretty much played with him like a toy by repeatedly reviving and then killing him.

Oz has pretty much completely lost faith in the Gods, if he had much to begin with, and the only reason I believe he followed his task initially was likely due to fear and believing Salem hates him, rather than out of any real devotion.

Oh and, I almost forgot- the tale of the two brothers is widely regarded as a fairytale on Remnant, and the main characters had to be TOLD about them, so it's safe to assume they're not nearly as widely known anymore, and we haven't seen any evidence of anything religious surrounding them yet. So there likely isn't any widespread religion about the Brothers, and if there is a religion, it certainly isn't large. There's definitely no mention of any in-universe backlash of including a supposedly widespread religion in a book of fairytales (and I say this because I've seen people say that it's a widespread religion like Christianity, when there's nothing implying that it currently is. During the time of The Infinite Man? Yeah, but not in the modern day).

Soo, there's my analysis on Oz and if he's still working towards his task and what his thoughts on the Gods are.