#workshop heart healing

[ifwebefriends]

he really stuck out his gyat for the rizzler in this one

Inspired by A Not So Miserable Holiday by JammiesDodger on AO3 (it’s a wonderful fic please read it)

@jammiesdodger @dodgerjammies

[gazelessmenagerie]

divinityunleashed When a huge pec biceps double minigun wielding beast of a man has a better charge than a fucking armoured behemoth German man :( I'm crying as a Rein main.

( makes as much sense as a really fat australian man having more health than a armoured behemoth german man. )

[poetryorchard]

Growing up, Studio Ghibli films were my greatest comfort and inspiration. If you are pondering how to appreciate small moments and romanticize life, it is my belief that Ghibli holds the answers! - Blossom 🍒

Sign up here!

[taratarotgreene]

March 17, Ultra Rare Sun Neptune Cazimi, Dream On

On March 17 there is a VERY rare NEPTUNE SUN CAZIMI This is a very HUGE spiritual blessing as the planet of spirituality, dreams compassion, oneness and faith sits in the very heart of the SUN in PISCSES, Neptune is the Modern ruler of Pisces and has been travelling through the last sign since 2011 and remains there until 2025/2026. It begins at 4:16 am PDT, 7:15 am EDT, 12:16 pm GMT at 27…

[rbdilley]

Don't Miss this October 14, Labyrinth Walk in Sun City Arizona

Sign up now for this amazing opportunity to take your next step! Fall Flyer – Labyrinth Walk with Dr. Robin Dilley.pdfDownload In the story of the Wizard of Oz, there are many lessons, and the Tin Man has a few of them to teach us. We discover him living alone in a dark and ominous forest. He sentenced himself to the forest, believing he would never be able to love because he had no…

[mcuamerica]

Hi could I request flustered Azriel? Idc what i just wanna see him and his shadows blushin a little bit :) thank you!!! and feel free to ignore <3

Of course! Flustered Az is one of my favorites! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: One of Madja's apprentices catches Azriel's eye...

Warnings: not proofread, pure fluff, flustered Az, mention of wounds from battle (let me know if I missed anything)

The first time he saw you, you were working on tonics in Madja's workshop. And you stopped him dead in his tracks. He completely forgot what he was going to say. Or even what he was here to retrieve.

He didn't even have the courage to ask for your name when Madja finally snapped him back to reality. She gave him a sidelong glace as she pushed him out of the workshop with the tonics for the Court, and all but slammed the door in his face. She would not let him simper for her ward.

After that day, Azriel made excuse after excuse to visit the workshop, but he never saw you again. He was worried that he made you up, dreamed you. The way parts of your hair fell from your braid into your face. How your hands, which looked so soft in the fae light, worked with the delicate jars around you. And even how your eyes light up at the sound of liquid pouring into glass. The glance at you was all but 10 seconds, and yet, it was enough for Azriel to ride on for the next 3 months.

Then he saw you the night they defeated Koschei. Madja had gone to tend Lucien and Elain, and you were there to help Azriel. His injuries were somewhat normal, aside from the large gash in his calf he hadn't been able to repair. You nervously sat in front of him, hands steady although he could smell your nerves. Or were those his own?

His shadows even danced around you, fluttering at every movement you made. You didn't even say anything as you dabbed a clean cloth into water, settling in front of him on a small stool. "Hi." You whispered, finally looking to meet hie eyes.

He stuttered. Azriel, spymaster and shadowsinger of the Night Court, couldn't get out two words. His eyes only widened at your gentle tone, your eyes glowing in the fae light. "I'm (Y/N)... I just need to clean this wound and then I'll work on repairing it. It might sting. Let me know if you need me to stop."

He wanted you to keep talking, but all he could do was stare. Stare at the beautiful woman in front of him. His shadows circled around his back, hiding behind him as if they too were afraid of saying the wrong thing.

His leg jerked as you poured a cleansing tonic on it, his hand coming up to grip the side of the chair. You flinched at the movement, your body tensing for a moment before relaxing and continuing to clean. Azriel noticed, and decided to keep it in his head for later.

"This shouldn't hurt, but if it does, let me know." You said as you dabbed a warm cloth to the not clotted wound. You then knelt down in front of him to get a better look at the wound. His heart almost burst from his chest seeing you on your knees.

You laid your hands on his leg, just over the wound, and began to let magic flow from them to bind and heal it.

Your hands were so soft. Nothing like his worn, scarred, and callused ones. Nonetheless, he still had to restrain himself from talking one of your hands in his. Just to thank you. Thank you for even taking time to speak or look at him.

Once you were done, you stood up, wiping your hands on a wet towel. "Madja will check in on the wound, but you should be set to resume your normal activities tomorrow morning." You said, gave a small bow of your head, and moved to walk away.

But he grabbed your wrist. A gentle grab that had you worried you missed a wound in your initial assessment, but when you looked him over, you found nothing else wrong with him. Other than the shadows that were swirling around his back, as if nervous.

"I'm Azriel." He said, finally finding his tongue. Gods, that was the most he could come up with?

His eyes widened at the giggle you let out of your lips, letting go of your wrist. You covered your mouth for a moment as another string of giggled fell out. "I know who you are, Shadowsinger." You said, your smile the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

A blush crept up his cheeks, making his shadows swirl around his face in order to hide it from you. Hide his mortification. Of course you knew who he was.

"Uh.. Is there anything else I can get for you, my lord?" You asked, seemingly realizing that you were in the presence of a deadly warrior and you had just laughed at him.

"N- Yes- No." He stuttered again. Lucien, on the other side of the room, glanced over to the spymaster. Did Azriel ever stutter?

"No?" You asked, tentatively.

"No.. I'm.. fine." He said. "Thank you." He said, thanking his shadows as they hid his face even more. If it wouldn't horrify him even more, he would bury his head in his hands. And that's exactly what he did when you walked away, telling Madja you'd be going home before disappearing out the door.

-

You saw Azriel the next day at the workshop. Madja was still tending to Elain, who was resting at the River House with Lucien. So, you took charge as all of the other apprentices were somehow on holiday.

He walked into the shop, pausing as he saw you at the front desk, scribbling something in a notebook. "(Y/N)?" He tentatively said.

Your head perked up from the book, eyes widening of your own. His voice was so gentle. Gods, he took up half the lobby with his large wings. It was your turn to blush, realizing you'd been staring at him. "Hi, Lord-"

"Azriel.. Just call me Azriel." He said, the heat on his neck slowly creeping to his cheeks.

"Azriel.. Hi. Did you need something?" You asked, standing up. The top of your head barely even reached his shoulder as he walked up to the counter.

"My leg is bothering me today.. Did you have a pain tonic in stock?" He asked.

A deep frown formed on your lips as you peered over the counter to see his leg, which was covered by his loose slacks. "Did it reopen? I'm sure I-"

"It's nothing you did." He interrupted, cursing himself for blaming the pain on his leg. You had mended it perfectly. It didn't even bother him. His hands though... "Did I say leg? I meant my hands." He said, flexing them with a wince. He easily become self-conscious as you peered at them, taking in the scars. He hide them behind his back.

"I can't give away pain tonic without Madja's okay... but she may have a note." You said and turned around. Azriel could hear your heart beating a million miles a minute. Was he being too intimidating? Were you scared of him?

"Last night... you flinched at me when I raised my hand." He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He was never like this. He always thought through what he would say. What was it about him that made him stumble over his words? That made the normal leash he had on them go slack?

You paused as you opened a drawer and looked up at him, your hands shaking every so slightly. "I've tended to males who are not kind when they feel pain... It's a habit I am getting over now that I am working for Madja." You said, voice wavering, and found a note about how Azriel could receive pain tonic for his hands. You worked your way to the case in the back, unlocking it and finding the right dose to give him.

As you turned back around, the look he gave you was only one of a gentle male. One who understood what you had been through and wanted to make sure you never went through it again. It wasn't anger.. but hope. That he would be there to stop it one day.

You noticed his shadows still dancing around his back again, as if hiding from you. As you handed the tonic over to Azriel, your hands brushed. He nearly dropped the glass at the shock that went through him.

"Would you like to eat?" He asked.

You peered up at him, eyebrows furrowed at the question. However, the side of your mouth ticked up as you realized what he was asking.

His cheeks heated once more. He was pretty sure his entire face was the shade of Cassian's siphon. "I mean with me. Would you like to eat with me? Not right now. Or ever if you don't want to-"

"I would love to." You cut him off, releasing your grip on the tonic in his hand. "I close the shop at 5." You told him.

He cleared his throat, nodding to himself as he tucked his hands behind his back again. His shadows rushed to you at your answer. And there was that giggle as they floated through your hair. They certainly gave away that their master was happy in your response.

"I will be here at 5." He said.

"I can't wait." You replied, again that beautiful smile coming to your lips.

As he walked out, he was pretty sure he was going to die of mortification. But he wouldn't. Because now he had a meal to plan with the most beautiful female in Prythian.

A/N: Aww hope you liked this! Feel free to submit any other requests (I don't know if I'll have time to respond to them this week, but I will try!)

[reasonsforhope]

Early mornings are chilly in Los Romero, a village high up in the mountains of western Guatemala. As in other predominantly Mam villages – Indigenous Maya people who have lived here since pre-Columbian times – households come quietly to life before dawn. Isabel Romero, a grandmother with long black hair, used to feel somewhat trapped in hers.

“I was afraid of speaking because I was cooped up at home. I didn’t go out,” she says, explaining that like many Mam women, her days were dedicated to the hard work of running a household with little money, and she rarely spoke with other women. “I worried a lot and had headaches.”

Residents of Los Romero live mainly from subsistence farming, growing maize, beans and squash, or grazing livestock. Almost 50% of the population is Indigenous in Guatemala, Central America’s biggest economy, but they do not share in its prosperity. Indigenous women in particular are discriminated against and dispossessed, with a life expectancy 13 years lower, and a maternal mortality rate two times higher, than the national average, according to the World Bank.

In Romero’s village and throughout the region, a community-based collective of women’s circles has been quietly improving Indigenous women’s lives, empowering them to find voices that have been suppressed through centuries of marginalisation.

It was a long process, but Romero’s headaches and fear are now a thing of the past. These days she gets out to workshops, meetings and women’s circles. She shares her knowledge of weaving traditional textiles on a backstrap loom and has a leadership role in the women’s group she co- founded: Buena Semilla (Good Seed).

The initiative emerged from Maya Mam women’s experiences, when French physician Anne Marie Chomat brought them together for interviews for her doctoral fieldwork in 2010- 2012. The simple act of gathering with others and sharing their experiences had a profound impact on the women, many of whom are still dealing with the traumatic legacy of Guatemala’s civil war.

During the 1960-1996 armed conflict between leftist guerrilla groups and the military, more than 200,000 people were killed, overwhelmingly Indigenous Maya civilians killed by the army. Another 45,000 were ‘disappeared’. A truth commission concluded that the state committed acts of genocide...

“There’s so much chronic stress and other issues that are not being addressed,” says Chomat, Buena Semilla’s international coordinator, who now lives in Canada. “So much healing happened in that space of women connecting with other women, getting out of their houses, realising: ‘I’m not alone’.”

Once Chomat’s fieldwork was finalised, several participants decided they wanted to continue meeting and with Chomat came up with the idea of women’s circles. With the help of a grant, the project got going in 2013 and now more than 300 women in two municipalities participate every week or two in circles, each comprising roughly 10 to 25 women.

Wearing traditional embroidered huipil blouses and hand-loomed skirts, the women gather, arriving on foot via the dirt roads that weave through the villages. They meet in a home or community building, or outside when they can for the connection with nature. The circle opens with a welcome and a prayer and then the group engages in breathing and movement exercises. Next up is discussion of the nahual, the day’s name and energy according to one of the interlocking ancient Mayan calendars, traditionally used for ceremonial practices. “Here in Santiago Atitlán it is only maybe 20% of people who speak about [knowledge of nahuals], so we are reviving it,” says Quiejú.

Then it’s time for the sharing circle. “More than anything, it is speaking what they have in their hearts,” says Quiejú. But every time and each circle is different, even though the leaders all work from the same guide, she says.

Sometimes circles will have a guided meditation. Sometimes they’ll have a workshop to learn weaving, or another skill that can help them earn money. Sometimes they eat together. Sometimes they cry. Often they laugh. No matter what, they generally end with a group embrace...

Only 1% of Guatemala’s national health budget is designated for mental health, and nearly all of that goes to the country’s one psychiatric hospital. Most mental health professionals are concentrated in the capital, offering psychotherapy and prescribing medications. For those in rural areas, there is little discussion of mental health or access to services.

“There is nothing for the preventative side, to work with families, to work with communities,” says Garavito. However, he emphasised that the concept of buen vivir (good living) among many Indigenous peoples in Latin America, which includes the traditional festivities, ceremonies and community of everyday village life, inherently incorporates good mental health. “Mental health is a fundamentally social concept and that has been a historical and common practice among Indigenous peoples, without them calling it that.”

...Financial constraints also pose challenges. Since 2020, Buena Semilla’s budget has been funded through crowdfunding and small grants. Staff and leaders all work part-time and many volunteer unpaid, but most circles now meet bi-weekly due to a squeeze on funds...

[Note: If you'd like to help, you can find out more and support Buena Semilla here, at their website.]

Despite the challenges, interest keeps growing. Elsa Cortez joined a circle earlier this year, motivated by her sister’s positive experience with Buena Semilla. In her mid-20s, she lives with her parents and as well as helping to run the household, she weaves belts, drawing from a basket full of spools of brightly coloured thread. She did not go out much before.

“There was a mentality that women were only supposed to be in the home or should only do certain things. That’s how we were raised,” she says. “My family was like that too.”

Thanks to Buena Semilla, those dynamics have started to shift in some families, including her own, says Cortez. Now she is exploring the idea of starting a circle specifically for girls, to help build their self-worth and self-esteem.

“It used to be difficult for me to socialise or chat, but now I am starting to socialise more easily,” says Cortez. “In the group I feel like it is psychological therapy every time we meet.”

-via Positive.News, December 8, 2023

[ctheathy]

Hello, I hope you have a nice day! , I would like to request a headcanons of yandere nine x reader being kidnapped by doctor eggman

Yandere Nine w/ Darling who got kidnapped by Robotnik

Nine x Reader

Yandere Headcanons

Short Concept

Author's note: You, my dear reader, are all out for the drama and I'm here for it~!

Nine/Reader [Romantic Tendencies]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Possessiveness • Nine is so traumatized omfg- • Eventual PTSD • Age regression • Overprotective behaviour • Poor mental state • Paranoia • Emotional dependency • Trust Issues • Insomnia • Violence

Pfft. If Nine wasn't already considered severely unhinged before, he most certainly will be right now. Oh how much terror the fox would feel in the pits of his stomach, the horror in his eyes, the helplessness in his heart. He most certainly would have never allowed this to even remotely come forward if he were the one to be in your presence. But... he wasn't. The whole team would have felt this immense sense of hesitance and dread to even tell him about it, having noticed his attachment and emotional bond towards you... and when the words slip from Sonic's mouth, not ready to test the nine-tailed foxes’ impatience, he cracks. And not just any regular burst of anger, he has a complete mental breakdown.

Nine will be nothing less than a ball of angst and fright at this point, something which he desperately tried to cover up with an infuriated facade, despite his evident worries from your abduction. But none of that would matter in the end, because he'd behave completely berserk one way or another. He doesn't dare rest or waste time for that matter until he can hold you in his arms again. Likely as soon as they reach The Chaos Council to try and bring you back... Nine would not hold himself back, still taken over by his violent meltdown. Instead of trying to avoid the Council's eyes and enemies that are in the way, maintaining a low profile as he'd say, he releases all of that pent up malice.

Though he'd leave many of the his robotic opponents onto the grounds ...torn to scraps by the fierce abilities of his mechanical tails, Nine would be surprisingly merciful to any living mobian for the sake of getting answers on where you're being held hostage. Because remember; although venting out some of his frustrations during the fight was equal to his hostility towards those who just so happened to be in his way, this mission is not and never will be about assassinating every enemy he comes across for the sake of just hurting them. It's all just to release you from The Chaos Council's grasp, take you back to his workshop where you rightfully belong ...bring you back to him. An objective and promise he will never allow himself to forget ever again after seeing your frightened face and body.

Even after he does get you back to the team, and he will no matter the costs or sacrifices he has to offer. But although you're back home, safe.... His paranoia will continue to linger and remain at its highest. Though the wounds you obtained through your abduction will eventually heal, his trauma of your kidnapping won't for a very long time. The side affects seemingly starts off small through your perspective, and you probably wouldn't even know how much it deep down affected him. Especially as the amber fox just seems to want to stick closeby you, seeking for comforting reassurance and some guidance to get himself back on the right track, which you more than understand and accept with open arms.

But what if I told you that he just got much, ...much more insane and delusional than you may think after you got taken away like that. It was like a newborn kitten being taken away from its mother right after birth, one whom he'd desperately cry out to and crawl after. To Nine, it wasn't just the idea of losing that happiness of having somebody to care about, but this also re-activated his defense mechanism to his past trauma.

Kill or be killed.

Nine's whole mentality practically returns to that of his younger self, almost similar to an age regression... You'd probably also notice the changes in demeanor, how he's practically almost behaving like a juvenile again. Decisions are made more so out of instinct rather than rational, logical thoughts. Which, to you, is something completely foreign and out of character for Nine.

His overprotective impulses would kick in at full force and he'd be quicker to lash out, along with his pessimistic mentality and stress being multiplied in the process, which is something his already poor mental state is absolutely not emotionally capable of handling. Even with you just not being in his eyesight can leave Nine with severe anxiety. His emotions are quicker to flow over, resulting in either anger outbursts or crying... And he practically treats you as if you were actively dying from a disease, constantly thinking of and mentioning the “what ifs”.

There would be many restless nights where he wakes up in the middle of the night, teary-eyed after a dream vision or isn't even capable of drifting off into a slumber at all. The simple thought of you ending up hurt and scarred while he wasn't there to protect you keeps his nerves excessive and senses on constant high alert. Even just the consideration in itself can leave him in a condition of hysteria for the next half hour, unable to calm himself down. These sudden exchanges of panic making you realise just how inconsistent it is, as Nine was usually known as collected, self-assured... in control of the situation. Something you'd consider the other side of the coin of how he was operating at this very moment. A complete and sudden reverse swap in his very identity.

Making you pray... that this was a crutch you could hopefully help him grow out of

[hamsterclaw]

Drift Kings

You and your brother Seokjin live completely separate lives, until one day when your worlds collide.

Pairing: Jimin x f! reader, Yoongi x f! reader

Genre: Drifting, street racing AU, smut

Word count: 9.5k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, mentions of drugs, cigarette smoking, illegal street racing

You know from the first time you lay eyes on Park Jimin that he doesn’t belong in your world.

He’s physically blessed, that much is obvious to anyone with eyes, but he’s all wrong.

His suit is beautifully tailored, but the material’s wrong. His shoes are expensive but in that modern, stylish way that screams new money.

You doubt any of the jewelry he has on is inherited.

He catches you staring, assumes it’s because of his good looks rather than that you’re finding him lacking.

He has the audacity to give you a once over of his own, like he has the right to judge you like you judged him.

You stay perfectly still, let him look.

You’re a Kim, and you’re used to people staring at you.

His lips curl in a smile that looks closer to a sneer.

‘You should wipe that sour look off your face, princess, before the wind changes.’

You’re too surprised to snap back at him, and a moment later, he turns away, like he’s the one dismissing you. 

You’re still staring at his back when Seokjin, your brother, arrives with Yoongi.

‘Were you waiting long?’ Seokjin asks politely, gesturing for you to go ahead of him into the private room he’s reserved for dinner.

‘Not long,’ you say, still thinking about the very beautiful man who’s just cut you down.

***

Seokjin, is as unmarked as he ever was, at least from what you can see whilst he’s dressed in a three-piece suit.

You’re glad.

Your brother’s always loved cars. When you were growing up, he spent every spare moment in Yoongi’s family’s auto workshop, similar to how you spent every moment in your father’s office, learning the ropes of your family business.

There was a Kim needed to take over the company, and thankfully, your family didn’t have any qualms about which Kim sibling it was.

A life in business would have killed your brother, totally unlike a life spent drag racing on Mount Samo, you think, uncomfortable with the irony.

If your parents were still alive, they’d probably have things to say about Seokjin’s lifestyle.

At least he’s always with Yoongi.

Min Yoongi.

You sneak a glance at him over your plate as you eat.

Around you and Seokjin, his normally serious face relaxes into a smile, perfect teeth flashing often, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Your brother’s closest friend, you spent most of your teenage years swinging between a desperate crush on him and a desperate need not to be perceived by his intense, penetrating gaze.

Now that you’re older, the heat of your crush has settled into a burning ember he occasionally stokes by turning up when you meet Seokjin, all dark eyes and deep voice and the odd flattering comment that has the power to set your heart aflutter.

Apart from all that though, you know enough about Min Yoongi to know he’s got the heart of a hustler, and fierce loyalty to your brother. If your brother ever went down, Yoongi would be right there with him fighting to the bitter end. 

‘You look tired, sis,’ Seokjin says, dropping a dumpling onto your plate.

‘I’m just closing on a three year contract with the Moiwa group,’ you say, not denying it. You’ve been working on a lucrative partnership with the tech company for months, and you’re finally on the home stretch.

You’re not sure how much Seokjin knows about the family business, he rarely attends board meetings, like you’ve never seen him race.

Seokjin loosens his tie, wincing slightly as he does so.

‘How’s your collarbone?’ you ask.

Four weeks ago Seokjin had broken his collarbone and three ribs on Mount Samo. He hadn’t told you about it, but as you are each other’s next of kin, you’d found out anyway.

‘Healing,’ Seokjin says, making up for his brevity with a brilliant smile.

You know what they call your brother on the circuit. 

Chaebol. Often said with a sneer, despite the fact that he can put together an Evolution IX blindfolded and drive it in a way that credits all the tuneups he can afford to pay for.

‘I hurt my shoulder,’ Yoongi tells you, teeth flashing in the half-smile-half-snarl that makes you feel lightheaded when it’s directed at you.

‘I’m sure you have plenty of people to take care of it for you,’ you say, straightfaced.

Yoongi blinks, and his lip curls again. ‘Don’t you want to?’

You laugh. ‘Are you trying to be cute? It doesn’t suit you, Yoongi.’

‘Stop flirting with my sister, Yoongi,’ Seokjin interjects, distracting you from Yoongi’s pout.

He turns back to you. ‘Are you free this weekend? I was planning to visit Daejeon.’

‘I’m free,’ you agree.

Your parents’ graves are in Daejeon. You and Seokjin go a couple of times a year.

Your phone rings. It’s your PA, Daeun.

‘I should go,’ you say, apologetic. ‘It’s hectic right now at work.’

‘At least finish your food,’ Seokjin urges.

‘I’ll pick up something before I get home,’ you reply.

Seokjin frowns. ‘I’ll drop food off at your place.’

You smile. ‘I’ll see you this weekend, ok? Keep my brother out of trouble, Yoongi.’

‘And you stay out of trouble too,’ you add.

Yoongi throws you another grin. ‘For you,’ he promises.

‘This weekend,’ Seokjin says. 

Both men rise as you leave the room.

***

Seokjin wanted to drop by Yoongi’s workshop on your way to Daejeon, and you have to admit, it’s been a while since you’ve seen his crew.

Jung Hoseok, the angel-faced mechanic turned racer who has a smile and personality that can light up a room and drives like he’s halfway to heaven.

Jeon Jungkook, the youngest, a baby brother to all who of recent years seems to be trying his hardest to hide the facts of his pretty face and endearingly cute little shit personality, by getting tatted and pierced and wearing exclusively black.

There’s an unfamiliar person though, and as he turns to greet Seokjin upon your arrival, you realise it’s the beautiful man who sneered at you in the restaurant.

‘Y/N, this is Park Jimin,’ says Seokjin.

Park Jimin gives you a smile that makes you long to slap him.

‘We’ve met. Turns out, I wasn’t far off when I called you a princess.’

His comment makes your hackles rise.

‘I wish I could say it’s a pleasure,’ you say coolly. 

‘How did you meet?’ Seokjin asks.

‘It was at the restaurant that night,’ you tell Seokjin, trying to shut down the line of questioning.

You turn to Yoongi, who’s leaning against a workbench, watching the whole exchange with a bemused look on his face.

‘I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Y/N,’ Hoseok remarks, kindly. ‘It must be your fault, Jimin.’

You laugh. ‘I’m sure I have a lot of enemies, Hobi.’

If Seokjin’s the chaebol racer, and Yoongi’s the drifting king, you’re the ice princess of Cheongdam-dong. 

You’re well aware that your family’s laissez-faire attitude to succession isn’t necessarily shared by all. You’ve grown so weary of the misogyny in your society that it barely even registers to you, now. You learned long ago to apologise for daring to carry on your family business lineage. 

You completely miss the look that passes between Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘I’ll be back by nine,’ Seokjin says to Yoongi.

That gets your attention. ‘A race?’

‘We’ll look after him,’ Jungkook assures you sweetly.

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Who’s going to look after the rest of you?’

***

Seokjin parks the car, cuts the engine. 

You unbuckle your belt, and you both walk around to the trunk to get the flowers you brought.

Seokjin asks, casually, as you walk down the path to your parents’ graves, ‘How’s work going?’

‘Still busy,’ you say, shading your eyes against the brightness of the afternoon sun.

‘The deal came through,’ you tell him. ‘I spent most of last night celebrating with my team.’

‘Congratulations,’ says Seokjin. He’s had the foresight to put on sunglasses, you can’t see most of his face.

‘Thanks,’ you reply. ‘How’s the Supra coming along?’

Seokjin and Yoongi are working on tuning up a fourth generation Supra for a client from Hong Kong.

‘It’s coming along,’ Seokjin says. He smiles wryly. ‘Jungkook keeps asking if he can ‘road-test’ it.’

You laugh along with him. 

‘Yoongi says he’ll let him if he can rebuild it after,’ Seokjin continues.

You know Jungkook’s talented, but he’s not as skilled as either your brother or Yoongi.

‘You can come watch the race tonight, if you want,’ Seokjin offers. 

He’s never invited you before.

‘Sure,’ you say.

‘We’ll head off when we get back,’ Seokjin says. 

You’ve reached the graves.

Seokjin kneels down to lay the flowers on the ground. 

You wonder if it’ll ever get easier.

***

You’re sitting in a corner of Yoongi’s workshop, watching as Seokjin and his crew get ready.

The atmosphere’s crackling with anticipation, a wild energy that has adrenaline thrumming through your veins. 

Seokjin and Yoongi are hunched over the popped engine hood of Yoongi’s Nissan GT-R, talking quietly. 

Jungkook and Hoseok are roughhousing by the workbench. Jungkook’s dressed in black leather and motorcycle boots, a chain round his neck, and you wonder, again, when the maknae started to become such a menace.

Jimin’s sitting on the raised walkway over Yoongi’s workshop, arms on the railing, feet dangling off the edge.

He catches you looking at him, and the slow smirk that spreads over his face is, to your chagrin, equal parts infuriating and attractive.

You can’t deny it, he’s not your usual type but he’s so fucking attractive you almost can’t stand to look at him.

His blond hair is styled back, a stray lock falls across his brow as he stares at you, almost in his eyes. His full lips are curved, smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.

The way his jacket’s lifted, with his arms braced on the railing, shows off his flat stomach, the plain t-shirt he’s got on doing nothing to hide how cut his torso is.

Beside you, Seokjin clears his throat. 

‘You can ride with me,’ he says. He glances up at Jimin as he speaks, and you wonder how long Seokjin was watching before you noticed.

***

You’ve been in Seokjin’s Honda before, but never on a race day.

The interiors are black leather, he’s modified the sound system, of course, but most striking to you is the way the engine vibrates with power, even when he’s driving the speed limit en route to Mount Samo.

Up ahead, Yoongi’s leading the convoy. You’d glimpsed the flash of his grin as he’d cut Seokjin off at an intersection a couple miles back, and the barely leashed ferality of it had made you fantasise, for the umpteenth time, about sleeping with him.

Bringing up the rear are Jungkook, Hobi and Jimin, keeping tight on Seokjin’s tail.

You look around with interest at the cars idling at the summit when Seokjin slides smoothly into a spot next to Yoongi.

Seokjin cuts the engine, and you get out.

You’d expected Seokjin to get a reaction, your brother is striking even when he’s not driving a midnight black Honda, crimson racing stripes cutting the car in half lengthways, but to your surprise, there are an equal number of eyes on you.

Yoongi’s lit a cigarette, the glow of the lit end reflected in his dark eyes as he moves over to make a space for you next to where he’s leaning.

Smoke curls around your face as he asks, polite as ever, ‘Do you mind if I smoke around you?’

‘I don’t,’ you reassure him. 

Yoongi nods. ‘I usually just have the one.’ 

His lips curl. ‘Then another when I win.’

Seokjin says. ‘Jimin will drive you back down when he’s scouting. We’ll see you at the bottom.’

‘Scouting?’

‘For police,’ Seokjin explains. 

You look at him sharply.

‘If you want, Jimin can drive you home right now,’ Seokjin offers.

It occurs to you then, just how separate yours and Seokjin’s lives are.

Yours is a world of meetings, boardrooms, euphemisms for what one really means.

And Seokjin’s is this, nighttimes and headlamps so bright they light up the city, and a physical rawness you never see.

Your brother looks chaebol but inside? He’s this.

‘I’ll stay,’ you say. ‘Good luck.’

Seokjin’s gaze lingers on you, but he doesn’t say anything else.

When Jimin arrives Seokjin takes him aside. They have a conversation you can’t hear, they’re several feet away and Hobi’s trying to show you pictures of his new puppy.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, the deafening roar of engines, blinding lights as three new cars arrive.

One looks like it’s heading straight for your brother’s Honda. 

You tense as it approaches at full speed, screeching to a halt barely a foot from the front bumper.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, and beside him Yoongi straightens up, grinds the remnants of his cigarette to ash under his boot.

‘Who’s that, Hobi?’ you ask, as the driver gets out.

He’s tall, like your brother, good looking in a flashy way, and the way he stares at your brother as he approaches makes your skin crawl.

There’s a tattoo running up the side of his neck, next to a jagged scar.

You slip past Hoseok and go to stand next to Seokjin.

‘Hyunjin,’ Seokjin says, neutral.

Yoongi just stares back, lip curled in a sneer.

‘Seokjin,’ the man replies. ‘Ready to be driven off a mountain?’

You tense, and Hyunjin’s gaze shifts to you.

‘I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom,’ Seokjin replies, but Hyunjin barely reacts. 

He’s still staring at you.

‘Who’s this?’ he asks.

‘The person who’ll make you pay if you do anything to my brother,’ you snap.

He raises an eyebrow, gaze shifting between you and Seokjin thoughtfully.

‘You must be the ice princess. I didn’t think you’d be quite this pretty. I guess Seokjin keeps you hidden away for a reason.’

‘Shut up,’ Yoongi growls, as Seokjin shifts so he’s in front of you.

You realise Jungkook and Hoseok are behind you.

Hyunjin just laughs.

‘I’ll see you at the bottom, princess. If I beat your brother can I have a kiss?’

Seokjin says, voice low and even, ‘What about winner gets the loser’s ride?’

Your eyes widen. You know how many hours Seokjin put in on his car in Yoongi’s workshop.

Hyunjin scoffs. ‘I’m going to enjoy driving your car.’

He gives you another long look, and then he’s turning on his heel.

‘Go with Jimin,’ Seokjin says, glancing at you. ‘I’ll see you down there.’

You’re hesitant. ‘Seokjin —- that guy —-‘

‘Don’t worry,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’ll beat him.’

His expression softens.

‘It’s not my first race,’ he reminds you gently.

You realise Jimin’s got his car pulled up next to you, door open, waiting.

‘Good luck,’ you say, still uncertain.

Seokjin nods, waits until you get in the car, closes the door after you.

***

Jimin drives in silence, navigating the hairpin bends that make Mount Samo a drifter’s dream with a competence that makes you wonder why he’s not racing himself.

‘Is my brother going to be all right?’ you ask, plaintive in the quiet of the car.

Jimin doesn’t answer immediately, and you’re wondering if he heard you when you catch him looking at you in the rearview mirror.

‘Your brother will be fine,’ he says finally. ‘We’ll wait for him at the finish.’

You’re thinking about the way Hyunjin sneered at Seokjin.

‘Is it always like that?’ you ask.

Jimin takes his time answering this question too.

‘Seokjin and Hyunjin have a history,’ he tells you. He turns to you briefly.

‘You should ask Seokjin about it.’

‘Have you known Seokjin long?’ you ask.

Jimin glances at you again.

‘Not long. We started working together a few months ago.’

‘Do you race?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Are you any good?’ you ask. 

Jimin changes gears, slows to a stop. 

‘Never good enough for you, princess,’ he says, flicking his gaze at you. 

You feel chastened. It’s fair enough, you know that you can be a snob. It’s a learned behaviour, from your years trying to prove yourself as leader of the Kim conglomerate, but Jimin wouldn’t know that, and you doubt he’d care. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. 

Jimin parks the car, turns up the music. He glances at the clock on the dash. 

‘Your brother’ll be down in twenty minutes. We’ll have an extra car to drive back - which is why Hobi and Jungkook rode together on the way here.’ 

‘The wager,’ you say, a question. 

‘The wager,’ Jimin confirms. 

‘It was all planned then?’ 

Jimin laughs, short. ‘Hyunjin’s predictable.’ 

He glances in the rearview. ‘I’ve never seen anyone drift like your brother.’

You’re processing this when he says, referring to your apology, ‘It’s fine. I’ve been nothing but a dick to you since we met.’ 

‘Are you any good at your job?’ Jimin asks.

There’s the faintest hint of taunting in his voice. You can’t blame him in all honesty.

You decide to tell the truth.

‘I’m inexperienced but I have a good team.’

You look out the window.

‘I don’t have a problem carrying responsibility. Out of the both of us, I was the better choice. Corporate life would have killed Seokjin.’

You press a thumb to your temple, massaging the tension headache that’s threatening to come away.

The silence in the car is deafening. 

You glance at Jimin.

He’s staring at you, unreadable.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ you say. 

You push your door open and step out into the cool darkness of the night.

A light rain starts to fall.

Behind you, Jimin gets out of the car. A moment later he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric warm from his body heat.

All he says is, ‘They should be here soon.’

***

Your heart accelerates when the gleam of headlights cuts through the dark.

The rain’s stopped but the tarmac of the road still glistens with wet.

You can’t see who it is, blinded as you are.

The car comes to a smooth stop not six feet from where you and Jimin, and a handful of others, are waiting.

The door opens as your vision begins to adjust, and your brother steps out. 

He looks around, spots you and Jimin, lifts his hand in a wave like butter wouldn’t melt.

There’s a wave of cheering, drowned out by the roar of Yoongi’s Nissan as he cruises past, stops a little way past your brother’s car.

You don’t even notice when Hyunjin and the rest of the racers arrive, caught up as you are in the overwhelming wave of relief that your brother and Yoongi are all right.

You lose Jimin in the crowd that surges forward, eyes only on your brother as Hyunjin tosses keys on the ground at his feet, disgusted.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You check it distractedly as you head for Seokjin. 

It’s an unknown number. 

You’re swiping to answer when you collide with what feels like a brick wall.

You’d be off your feet if an arm hadn’t curled around you to steady you.

You look up into Hyunjin’s face.

‘Where’s my kiss, princess?’ he asks. His grip around your waist feels like steel.

You lean back. 

‘I don’t remember promising you one,’ you tell him, bringing your arms up against his chest, trying to put more distance between you.

He laughs, holds tighter, starts walking you backwards.

‘Get off me,’ you warn. 

‘Or what?’ he asks. ‘You gonna call your brother to come save you?’

‘She’s got more than one friend here, actually,’ comes a voice from behind you.

You turn to see Jimin, hands loose by his sides, expression hard.

‘She asked you to get off her,’ Jimin points out.

Hyunjin’s hand tightens painfully around your wrist for a heart stopping moment before he scoffs and drops it.

‘Maybe next time, princess,’ he says.

He leers at you as he steps away.

‘Are you ok?’ Jimin asks, nodding to your wrist.

‘I’m fine,’ you say automatically, despite the throbbing in your wrist. You’re used to showing no weakness. 

Seokjin and Yoongi have reached you. 

‘What happened?’ Seokjin asks, an edge to his voice.

‘We saw that fucker head straight for you,’ Yoongi says. The feral spark’s back in his eyes, he looks like he’s spoiling for a fight.

You tug the cuffs of Jimin’s jacket down over your wrists.

‘Nothing happened,’ you say.

Seokjin doesn’t believe you, you can tell, but you don’t want to talk about it.

Finally, he says, ‘I’ll drive you—‘

‘I can drive you home,’ Jimin says. ‘It’s on my way.’

***

You sit in the passenger seat of Jimin’s car, waiting as he grabs something from the trunk.

He gets in, tosses a heat pack into your lap.

‘He grabbed you pretty hard,’ he says. ‘You can use that if you feel sore.’

You look at it for a moment.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m sorry I lost you for a moment there in the crowd,’ Jimin says, shifting the car into gear as he pulls out onto the road.

‘I’m not a kid,’ you say.

The heat pack feels nice. 

‘You’re definitely not a kid,’ Jimin agrees.

His gaze flicks over you, so quick you wonder if you imagined it.

‘You don’t even know where I live,’ you say, with a flicker of amusement. 

‘I’ll drive you anywhere you want,’ Jimin replies. 

For the first time, he smiles at you, lips curving, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Where do you want to go, princess?’ 

***

Your back’s against the front door of your apartment, your head thrown back as Jimin presses heated kisses to your neck. 

He’s beautiful, dark eyes and gleaming skin, you keep wanting to watch him but he’s kissing you so well it’s hard to keep your eyes open. 

He’s got one hand under your top, smoothing circles over your skin, the other curled over your ass, squeezing your flesh. 

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, your hand braced on his shoulder, fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck.

‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, silvery voice making you tingle. ‘Touch me, if you want.’

You slide a hand over the hardness of his torso, feeling the ridges of his abs, the tautness of him. 

Skin over muscle over bone.

He’s hard all the places you’re soft.

You can’t stifle a moan as he rolls his hips against yours. 

‘Where’s your room,’ he grunts, pulling a whine from your lips as he lifts his own lips from your skin.

You point, and he knits his fingers with yours, tugging you with him as he heads for your bedroom.

The door closes behind you, and in front of you, Jimin shucks his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

His beauty stops you in your tracks.

Jimin grins. He tilts his chin at you, all golden skin and bright eyes.

‘Stop staring,’ he says, bold, ‘and take your clothes off.’

You can feel your skin heat as Jimin fixes his gaze on you, watching as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, undo the fastening on your jeans.

You can’t meet his gaze when you’re in your bra and panties.

Jimin takes two steps forward, dropping his own jeans.

You’re still looking down, so the bottom half of him comes into view first.

The waistband of his boxer briefs, stretched over taut skin, the very obvious bulge just beneath. Thighs so muscled your own thighs tighten against each other.

He lifts your chin gently so you’ll look at him.

‘Why so shy, princess? Look how hard I am.’

He doesn’t wait for a reply, lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle.

He walks you backward onto the bed, takes a moment to look at you laid on your sheets. His hand strokes over his rigid cock once, then he’s lowering himself on top of you.

He’s gentle, but you can feel the coiled power in his muscles as he grinds himself into the softness between your legs.

‘You really are a princess,’ he murmurs into the dip between your breasts, so lightly you know he’s just teasing.

He kisses the round of your breast, tongue flicking around your areola tantalisingly until you’re soaked, your hips seeking friction against his hardness.

‘Jimin,’ you plead, maddened with arousal.

‘Don’t worry,’ he soothes. ‘I’ve got you. Panties off.’

You lift your hips to pull your panties down.

There’s a rip of foil, a barely suppressed groan from Jimin as he unrolls the condom onto himself. 

He positions himself above you, slides into you like he’s been doing it his whole life, and you moan, eyes squeezing shut at the stretch of him.

‘You like that?’ he asks, silvery voice deep now, breath hot against your skin.

‘Yeah,’ you cry.

He props himself on one arm, rolls his hips against yours.

‘Fuck,’ he groans.

He picks up the pace, eyes on you, flicking between your face and how he’s making your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts. 

He’s glistening with a sheen of sweat now, hair flopped over his face, damp. 

‘Look at you, princess,’ he murmurs, voice dropped low, breathless. ‘Look how well you take me.’

He flattens a hand over the curve of your lower belly, thumb flicking over your clit, purposeful, firm, making the pleasure build. 

Slows, lifts your hips so he can fuck you deeper. 

The curve of his cock hits so good you’re crying out with each rock of his hips against yours. 

You come with a gasp of his name, and Jimin drops down on you, grinding, hips working. 

‘Fuck,’ he groans, deep in his chest. ‘Take it, baby.’ 

You wind a hand around his neck, and his lips meet yours again, tongue licking into your mouth as he fills the condom. 

‘Shit,’ he groans, pulling out, knotting off the condom, tossing it carelessly. 

You’re breathless still, heart hammering in your chest, but you sit up, admire how he looks sprawled out on the covers of your bed, flushed and glowing. 

‘You were right, you know,’ Jimin says. 

He’d been looking up at the ceiling, but now he flicks his gaze at you. 

‘You’re too good for me.’ 

You scoff. ‘Shut up. I never said that.’ 

Jimin laughs. ‘I didn’t say it was going to stop me from pursuing you.’ 

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Pursuing me?’ 

‘I said what I said,’ Jimin says. 

He sits up, muscles flexing, hair pushed back. He drops a kiss on your exposed shoulder, teeth flashing as he follows it up with a playful nip. 

As you’re getting up, picking up your clothes, you notice a flash of gold half-out of the pocket of his jeans. 

You lift it out, curious. 

Jimin says nothing as you rub your thumb over the gold badge, turn it over to see his ID. 

‘You’re a cop,’ you say. It’s not a question, you have the proof in your hand, but it comes out querulous anyway. 

‘I’m a cop,’ Jimin replies. 

You’re trying to process. ‘Does my brother know?’ 

‘Seokjin knows,’ Jimin says. 

He gets up, starts getting dressed too. 

‘It’s illegal to race on Mount Samo,’ you say. 

‘I’m undercover,’ Jimin tells you. He reaches for his badge, and you let him take it out of your loose grip. 

‘What are you investigating?’ you ask. 

‘Currently, your ass,’ Jimin says. 

You crack a reluctant smile. ‘Could have told me you were a cop before we slept together.’ 

‘I usually wait for a second date before I get the handcuffs out,’ Jimin shoots back. 

You laugh, but your mind’s still racing, wondering why Jimin’s hanging around with your brother and Yoongi.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts it takes you a moment to realise Jimin’s watching you.

‘I should get to bed,’ you say, feigning a yawn. ‘I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

Jimin asks, quietly, ‘Is there anything you want to ask me?’

You’re troubled, but you force a smile. 

‘I’ll save my questions for when I’m less tired,’ you say.

Jimin’s got his jacket on, you’ve both moved out of the bedroom.

He says, ‘I’d like to see you again.’

Your smile becomes a little less forced. 

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Jimin looks like he wants to say more, but all he does is nod, flash you a smile before he leaves.

The click of the latch falling into place as he pulls the door to sounds oddly final. 

***

You’re tired.

You’ve been in and out of meetings all day. On top of that there’s been a problem with the city planning committee over the new property you’ve just acquired.

It was a hard fought battle but you’d managed to pip your competitor, Jungcorp, to the post. You’re not sure why Jungcorp had fought so hard for it, it’s an abandoned tower block in an unglamorous part of the city, but the land’s invaluable to you for development.

As far as you know Jungcorp’s got no vested interests in property development. 

You look up, exasperated, as there’s yet another knock on your door. 

It’s past 8pm, your feet are sore and all you want to do is go home and take your bra off, if you could only just finish reading and sign off on the city planning committee’s requirements.

Plus you thought you’d sent everyone from your executive team home. 

Your frown softens when you realise it’s Jimin.

You’ve been texting back and forth since you hooked up, he’s called you a few times, but you’ve been too busy to meet.

‘How’d you get in here?’ you ask, getting up to greet him.

‘I’m a cop, remember?’ Jimin says. He looks as pretty as ever, dressed all in black, silverware in his ears.

‘I have security,’ you point out.

‘Jaebeom?’ Jimin asks, feigning innocence. ‘We used to work together.

You roll your eyes.

‘I thought you wouldn’t mind me dropping by unannounced like this,’ Jimin says, ‘because I brought food.’

He brings his arms round from behind his back to reveal a bag of food that makes your stomach growl, loudly and ungracefully.

‘When did you last eat?’ Jimin asks.

‘I had a protein shake for lunch,’ you say, eyeing him as he sets out boxes of noodles. ‘They’re apparently a complete meal.’

It’s Jimin’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘Prawns or chicken?’ he asks, holding out chopsticks to you.

You reach out and grasp his hand instead.

‘I’ve missed you a little,’ you say, tugging.

Jimin lets you pull him closer. ‘Yeah? I’ve missed you a lot.’

He’s close now, head tilted to yours, face barely inches away.

‘A lot?’ you ask, staring at his lips.

‘Yeah.’ His voice is husky now, and he dips his head to yours.

You meet him more than halfway, lips already parted.

Jimin’s hand curls around the back of your head as he slants his own to kiss you deeper.

‘I lied,’ he murmurs, crowding you against the edge of your desk.

‘I didn’t just come to bring you food. I came because I knew you’d look fucking sexy in your work clothes.’

He kisses you again, hips pressed against yours, hand slipping down to cup your ass.

You slip your arm around him, sighing a little as he kisses you, lips warm and sweet.

‘Eat, before we get distracted,’ Jimin says, pulling away.

You whine, disgruntled, but he’s insistent.

The noodles are hot, tasty, satiating the hunger you’ve been suppressing all day.

‘Thanks,’ you say, as Jimin gets up to clear away the food.

You’d help, but it’s the longest break from work you’ve had all day, and now that you’ve sat down on the comfortable sofa you’re not sure you can muster the willpower to get up.

Jimin looks at you knowingly.

‘Want a ride home?’

‘I should probably get back to work,’ you say, regretfully.

Jimin says, ‘You look exhausted. Here, I’ll take you home.’

You find yourself picking up your things, letting Jimin help you on with your coat, following him to the lifts.

Jimin curls an arm around you, and you lean into him as you wait for the lift.

He smells good, but more than that, he feels good, solid, his shoulder corded with muscle under your cheek. 

‘You can lean on me,’ Jimin says. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but he holds you tighter when you try to pull away.

In the car, Jimin leans over to help you fasten your belt.

‘I can do it,’ you say, but he just smiles. 

‘I said you can lean on me,’ he tells you. He starts the engine, puts on soft music, a lo-fi beat. 

‘Sit back, princess. I’ve got you.’

You want to tell him to stop calling you princess but you’re so comfortable and warm the words won’t leave your lips.

You blink awake to find that Jimin’s parked outside your apartment building. 

‘Sorry,’ you mumble, trying to orientate yourself. ‘Did I sleep the whole way?’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Jimin tells you. 

Now you’re fully awake. 

‘What did I say?’

‘I didn’t know you liked my ass that much,’ Jimin says, thoughtfully. 

‘What?’

He laughs. ‘Go to bed, princess. Want me to walk you up?’

‘I’ll be all right,’ you tell him. You hesitate, hand on the door handle. 

‘Thanks, Jimin.’

‘Anytime, princess.’

He waits until you’re inside the doors before he drives away.

***

Yoongi rolls himself out from under the body of the Subaru he’s working on just as Seokjin approaches. 

He stares at the pictures Seokjin hands him, jaw tightening, anger sparking, hot and bright, within him.

‘Does she know?’

‘Jimin says she doesn’t seem to know,’ Seokjin says, voice low, furious.

Yoongi hands him back the pictures, lip curled in disgust. 

‘I think you’d better fucking tell her,’ he says. 

‘It’s not just that,’ Seokjin says. ‘I got this, too.’

Yoongi listens to the recording on Seokjin’s phone, swears.

‘Shit, that asshole’s asking to be fucked up.’

‘Call the guys,’ Seokjin says, voice hard. ‘We get her and then we show him what happens to people who fuck with us.’

***

You’re hurrying, running late. You’re meeting a client from Norway in the busiest part of the city at 7pm sharp.

You glance at your watch just as the light goes green at a multiway intersection, watch the numbers indicating how long you have to cross tick down as you walk briskly across the white stripes on the road.

There’s a thunderous roar, a wave of screams, and the throng of people crossing with you disperses rapidly as you look around to see where the noise is coming from.

The crowd’s clearing, but you stay where you are in the middle of the intersection because you recognise the midnight black Honda with the red racing stripes heading straight for you, the sleek silver Nissan keeping pace alongside it.

Your brother drives slightly past you and executes a 90 degree turn so his car’s across your path, lengthways, tyres screeching.

The acrid smell of burning rubber fills your nostrils, but you almost don’t notice it, because three other cars surround you in quick succession, boxing you in.

To your left, Yoongi, dark eyes scanning you as if to assure himself you’re unharmed.

To your right, Hobi, his face more serious than you’ve ever seen him.

Behind you, Jimin, a shadow behind his blinding headlights.

Seokjin leans across the passenger seat, pushes the door open.

‘Get in,’ he says.

***

You have questions, but Seokjin waits until you’re out of the busiest part of town, when the streets get a little wider, the lights less bright, before he starts talking.

You realise he’s taking you to his apartment.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask.

‘Hyunjin threatened you,’ Seokjin says, terse, jaw tense as he navigates the expensive neighbourhood his apartment’s in. 

‘He threatened me?’ you ask, sure you’ve heard wrong.

Seokjin glances at you. ‘The land you just purchased.’

You frown. ‘The square footage we fought Jungcorp over?’

‘Jungcorp is Hyunjin’s grandfather’s company,’ Seokjin says.

The puzzle pieces click into place.

You let out a low whistle. ‘Shit. And he calls you chaebol.’

‘The company’s in trouble,’ Seokjin says, ‘and they’re being investigated for running drugs out of Jamsil.’

He slides into a space in the underground car park, cuts the engine.

‘You know Jimin’s part of the narcotics squad.’

‘He didn’t say what he was investigating,’ you reply, sliding out the door, walking with Seokjin to the private lift.

Seokjin punches in the code, activates the lift, and a moment later you’re walking into his apartment.

There are pictures scattered across the coffee table in the lounge, and for once you don’t stop to admire the view of the city.

They’re all pictures of you. Full colour, high resolution.

Pictures of you in your office, walking into your apartment, at a client dinner. Even, to your horror, one of you in your bed, asleep.

‘Who took these?’ you ask. Your voice comes out tremulous, you barely recognise it.

‘Hyunjin had them sent to me,’ Seokjin replies.

You have to sit down. 

‘They want you to give up the Jamsil property and land,’ Seokjin tells you.

You’re struggling to take all this in.

‘Or what?’

Seokjin doesn’t want to give you the details of what Hyunjin threatened to do to you.

‘You should stay at mine until this settles down,’ is what he settles for.

You look up at him.

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Seokjin. It’s the biggest victory I’ve had since I took over the company.’

‘No victory is worth your life,’ Seokjin points out.

Logically, you know your brother is right, but you don’t know if he knows how hard you’ve fought since you took control of the reins of the Kim conglomerate.

The times you were challenged over decisions the board would have praised you for, if you were a man.

The tears you cried in secret when your spirit was battered and bruised from pretending you were immune to the snide comments, the demeaning remarks.

You know you’re stronger than the adversity you faced but it’s never been easy.

Seokjin studies your face, a look in his eyes that makes you wonder how much your older brother really knows.

‘Yoongi’ll take you home to get your things. I’ll fix us dinner for when you get back.’

***

Yoongi never really seems to expect anything from you when you’re together.

It’s a trait that you’ve come to appreciate more and more as the years go by.

He listened to your naive prattling about your friends on the odd occasion when he picked you up after school, never commenting except to ask if you wanted ice cream.

He picked you up sometimes when you were back from college, letting you choose the music you wanted to play, handing you snacks silently, sometimes smoking out the open window.

He drives quietly now, changing gears so seamlessly you barely notice even though you’re staring at his hands.

You remember once, a couple years ago, when you’d met by chance when you were walking to the metro after a disastrous blind date.

You’d been so stung by the experience the indignation had tumbled out of you, words jumbled, as he’d pulled up alongside you and offered you a lift.

Yoongi had listened all the way to your apartment, murmuring support in the lower range of his vocal register, a reassuring rumble if not any actual words.

As soon as he’d stopped the car you’d unbuckled your belt, intending to turn to him and thank him, and instead, you’d looked at him looking at you, his hair pulled back from his forehead in a tiny ponytail, eyes dark and unreadable, and you’d leaned forward and kissed him instead.

Yoongi had grunted a little, and you would have pulled away, if he hadn’t cupped the back of your head and sought your lips with a hunger that thrilled you all the way to your bones. 

Heat had pooled in your belly, down low, as he licked boldly into your mouth, slid his big hands around your hips to steady you.

You’d pulled away, breathless, more than a little aroused, and he’d quirked a brow at you.

A question.

You think that if you’d showed any uncertainty, Yoongi would have stopped, and so you didn’t.

You’d taken his hardness in your mouth with a confidence fueled by the reverent, affectionate way he said your name, had learned what he liked by the way his breathing quickened until it was laboured gasps, then a single uttered, emphatic ‘fuck’ as he spilled down your throat, hand clenched on the steering wheel.

He’d given you a feral smile, thumbed away a smear of his cum from the corner of your mouth and put his hand up your skirt like it belonged there.

You’d come crying his name, once with his tongue buried deep in your cunt and another time on his cock as he drilled you into your bed.

He’d left in the morning, a kiss on your forehead and a goodbye so sweet it’s never mattered to you that you’ve never talked about that night since.

You sometimes wonder if he still thinks of it. You’ve never asked.

You look out the window as Yoongi drives.

He reaches into the centre console, tosses a packet of chocolate fish into your lap.

‘I’m not a kid, you don’t have to bribe me with snacks,’ you grouse, but you open it anyway.

The chocolate reminds you that you haven’t eaten all day.

‘Stop being cute and I won’t buy you snacks,’ Yoongi says, reasonably.

‘I’m not cute.’

He just snorts.

‘Want one?’ you offer.

‘You look like you need them more than me,’ Yoongi says, but he accepts the fish you place in his palm. 

He walks you up to your building once he’s parked, waits in the living room as you pack a bag.

Once you’re back in his car you turn to him.

‘Did you see those pictures?’

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. ‘Yes.’

‘Seokjin’s worried,’ you say.

‘He’s your big brother,’ Yoongi says, neutral. ‘He worries about you like you worry about him.’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.

‘I’m not,’ Yoongi says. He glances in the rearview, signals to turn. ‘I’m angry.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘You’re always angry,’ you point out, gently.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. ‘No one comes for you, especially not some half assed wannabe racer like Hyunjin.’

You’re touched at his anger on your behalf.

Yoongi looks at you. ‘Seokjin and I will take care of it.’

‘I can’t give up the Jamsil land, Yoongi. I’ve finally clawed myself some credibility.’

‘Fuck that,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re not giving up jack shit for that asshole.’

His lip curls in a half snarl. ‘We’re not giving in even if I have to chain you to me to keep you safe.’

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow back. 

He stops in front of the private lift to Seokjin’s apartment. 

‘I think you’d like being chained to me,’ you say, unable to resist.

The smile he gives you is a mix of rueful and cocky. 

‘Of course I fucking would. I’d make you like it too.’

He unlocks the doors so you can get out, rolls down the window as you get into the lift. 

‘I think about that night all the fucking time,’ he tells you, voice low.

You look up at him in surprise, but don’t have time to reply before the lift doors shut between you.

***

Seokjin sets a plate in front of you.

‘Eat,’ he urges.

You pick up your chopsticks and dig in.

‘The responsible thing to do would be to tell you to give up the land,’ he says. ‘That’s what our parents would tell you to do.’

His words set off a pang of sadness that resonates in your chest.

‘If our parents were still here I wouldn’t be running the company,’ you reply.

‘I don’t want you to give up the land. I know how hard you fought for that victory.’

Seokjin takes another bite. 

‘I know how hard you’ve been fighting.’

‘Running the company was always what I wanted,’ you tell him. ‘It’s just that it was supposed to be with dad at the helm whilst I found my feet.’

It’s the first time you’ve ever come close to hinting that it hasn’t been easy.

There’s sadness in Seokjin’s eyes.

‘I can put in some time at the company. I’m a Kim, too.’

‘The company is what I want,’ you say, very gently, ‘but it’s not what you want.’

Seokjin sighs. ‘What I want is for you to be happy. I am.’

You snort. ‘You have three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.’

Seokjin smiles. ‘And you have no injuries. Let’s keep it that way.’

You clink your glasses in a toast.

‘So, Jimin, huh?’ Seokjin asks, sly.

You blink at him but don’t say anything.

Your brother manages to smirk at you anyway.

***

You’re in the gym in your brother’s building, running through your PT routine when there’s a flicker of reflection in the floor to ceiling window you’re facing.

Jimin.

‘Seokjin said you’d be down here,’ he says.

You look up at his reflection in the glass.

‘I’ve got a meeting with my board tomorrow,’ you say. ‘They’re going to want to congratulate me on the Jamsil acquisition.’

You get up from the mat, turn around, and realise he’s as sweaty as you are.

Jimin tilts his head, blond hair falling over one eye. He’s wearing a grey hoodie, unzipped, a white t-shirt underneath that’s moulded to his torso, sweatpants, hands shoved in his pockets. 

The gold pendant he wears glimmers in the low light of the gym. 

There’s a faint bruise on his jaw. 

Unthinking, you step forward and brush a thumb over it lightly. 

‘What happened?’ you ask. 

Jimin stays perfectly still as you touch him. 

‘Just some bangers down by the river,’ he says, vague. 

‘Hurt anywhere else?’ you ask. 

‘Check me over and see,’ he says, an invitation. 

He’s ready for the kiss you press on him, sliding his arms around you, hands warm on the gap between your top and leggings. 

You lose yourself in his kisses, only realising he’s walked you backward when your back hits the glass. 

The cool press of the window against your shoulder blades is a startling contrast to the warmth of him. 

Shit, why’s he so warm? 

Jimin’s more insistent than usual, you can feel his erection, already rock solid, nudging at your core even between your layers of clothing. 

He grunts, fingers tugging at the zipper down the front of your top, working your breasts free, hands cupping you possessively, pinching your nipples. 

You’re aware anyone could walk in but you’re struggling to care, at least whilst Jimin’s hot mouth is pressed against your skin and he’s murmuring filth to you as he touches you. 

You’re the one who ends up tugging your leggings down. They’re barely at mid thigh before Jimin’s surged forward, entering you to the hilt in one stroke. 

‘Shit, Jimin,’ you gasp. It’s tight like this, your legs pinned together. 

‘Turn,’ Jimin commands. 

He pulls out, turns you, one hand cupping your cheek so your face doesn’t hit the glass, the other pressed into the small of your back so your hips are angled perfectly for him to enter you again. 

He fucks you hard, drilling you into the glass, cock gliding in and out of you at a pace that makes stars form behind your eyelids. 

You’re not wet enough but the friction adds to the thrill. 

Your nipples tighten harder against the cold of the window. 

‘Look at you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, I’m gonna come so hard.’ 

His hand kneads the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you know he’s going to leave handprints. 

He groans again, long, drawn out, into the back of your neck as he spills. 

You’re stil recovering when he turns you around again, drops to his knees, pushes his head between your thighs. 

He looks up at you, flushed, breathless still from fucking you, eyes dark as he licks up into your cunt. 

He hooks his hands over your bared thighs, parts you with his thumbs, and laps at your clit. 

‘Jimin,’ you gasp. 

‘Yeah, fuck,’ he moans. He’s flicking at your clit with the tip of his tongue, slow circles, fingers sliding into you, curving, pressing. 

You can see his come leaking out of you, dripping down his hand as your cunt spasms around his fingers. 

He keeps up the pace, fingers moving in and out of you, lips suctioning at your clit, and your fingers tighten in his hair as you come. 

He moans like he loves the taste of you, licking at your arousal until your knees weaken. 

You get re-dressed in a hurry, Jimin helping you with most of it, shucking off his hoodie and pulling it tight around you.

‘Come on. I’ll put you to bed.’ 

You’re boneless from your orgasm, weary from the stress of the last few days. 

You lean on him as you head back up to Seokjin’s apartment. 

Jimin waits, seated on the edge of your bed as you take a shower, pulls back the covers so you can get in. 

You grasp his wrist as he gets up. 

‘Where are you going?’ you ask, sleepy. 

‘I’ve got more to do, princess.’ 

Jimin presses a kiss to your forehead. 

‘It’ll be over tomorrow, ok?’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

You’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open. 

‘Yeah. Promise.’ 

You want to ask more but you’re asleep before he leaves your room. 

***

You love the view from your office, in the nighttime but also on days like today, when the sun blazes bright, laying out the city before you.

In the distance, the silhouette of Mount Samo. 

It always reminds you of Seokjin.

Seokjin had asked you to back down from the deal on the Jamsil land, just until he could ‘take care of things’, but your board meeting’s been planned for months.

The success of the acquisition was meant to be the cherry on the top of the cake, the final step in proving your worth to the company.

You’d tried, at dinner last night, to articulate to Seokjin how much you needed this, but had found yourself too close to tears for comfort.

You think maybe at the end he’d understood.

You breathe in, slow, trying to get your head in the game before you face your board.

Your PA buzzes with a reminder.

You take one last look at Mount Samo in the distance and turn.

Time to go.

The walk to the meeting room’s never felt so short.

Everyone rises when you enter. 

You scan the sea of faces around the U-shaped table and are about to sit when the glass door swings open.

The murmur through the room makes you turn sharply.

Your brother, tall and broad and exquisitely coiffed, walks up to stand beside you at the head of the room.

All eyes are on you, but Seokjin doesn’t seem affected in the slightest.

He leans over, and says, simply, ‘I was wrong.’

You search his gaze, and realise how wrong you were to think Seokjin has no idea what you’re going through.

The realisation makes warmth course through you.

You compose yourself enough to say, ‘That’s why our parents left the company to me, brother.’

The laugh you share makes the tension ease in a way it hasn’t in days.

You turn back to your board. 

‘Let’s begin.’

***

The meeting is a success.

Maybe you’re just flying high off the reaction to your report, but you think you’ve made a significant step towards proving your abilities.

Seokjin, beside you, loosens his tie as he starts the car.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask.

‘You’ve done your bit,’ Seokjin says, glancing in the rearview as he pulls out of the space he’s parked in.

His jaw tightens. ‘It’s time to do mine.’

***

You’ve never really been on Mount Samo in the day before, and the hairpin bends that Seokjin’s manoeuvring with ease are making you a little queasy.

Seokjin glances at you in the rearview mirror, amusement on his face.

‘I could drive this blindfolded,’ he tells you.

‘That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,’ you mutter, trying to keep your eyes straight ahead instead of gaping over the sheer drop you’re inches away from.

‘What have you got planned?’ you ask.

‘We’ve actually already carried out the plan,’ Seokjin tells you. ‘I thought you’d like to be there for the final part.’

You’re curious, thinking back to the night before, when Jimin met you in the gym and then left because he had things to take care of. You’d never heard Seokjin come back, you’d assumed that you’d been asleep and that he’d been quiet.

For the first time, you notice the dark circles under Seokjin’s eyes, marring his normally perfect complexion.

It strikes you that although you’ve been bemoaning your brother’s lack of involvement in your work life, you know very little about what he gets up to.

‘What did you do, Seokjin?’ you ask.

‘Nothing Hyunjin didn’t have coming to him,’ Seokjin replies.

He shrugs.

‘I set him up to meet again today so he could have a chance to win back the car I won from him the other day. I gave Jimin all the pictures Hyunjin sent me, the threats he sent against you.’

Seokjin’s lips thin into a hard line. 

‘Hyunjin’s car’s been captured on CCTV in a notorious spot in Jamsil that the narcotics squad have been monitoring.’

You’re staring at your brother.

‘There are traces of narcotics in the trunk.’

Seokjin blinks. ‘Jimin knows I won the car, but he left with you that night so he hasn’t seen it driven by anyone other than Hyunjin.’

You see what your brother’s done.

You turn to him, realising only now, how carefully he’s been watching you this whole time.

Seokjin’s voice is carefully neutral. ‘This is the kind of thing your big brother gets up to.’

Seokjin doesn’t know about everything in your life, and you don’t know everything about his.

All you know is, he’s your brother, and you can stand up for him like he stood up for you.

You put your hand on his, where it’s loosely curled over the gear shaft.

‘Guess you’re a good big brother after all.’

Seokjin fixes his gaze on your joined hands, throat bobbing as he swallows.

‘I’m the best,’ he agrees, giving you a crooked smile.

***

When you make it to the summit, Yoongi’s already there, peering through binoculars.

‘Hey princess,’ he says, shifting over on the hood of his car to make room for you.

He hands you the binoculars, casual. ‘Check this out.’

You hold the binoculars up, and Yoongi gently pushes you in the right direction, fingers warm under your chin.

The scene’s a few hundred feet down from the summit, and for once you’re not distracted by the vertiginous drop.

There’s Hyunjin’s distinctive car flanked by a tactical team, all clad in distinctive blue and yellow jackets over bulletproof vests. 

Hyunjin, hands above his head.

A flash of blonde hair you’d know anywhere.

Jimin cuffing him and guiding him to an armoured van.

Beside you, there’s the clink of a lighter as Yoongi lights a cigarette.

You lower the binoculars. 

‘I guess that’s that.’

Seokjin lowers his own binoculars.

‘Guess so.’

‘Your boyfriend’s a good cop,’ Yoongi remarks.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you reply.

Yoongi’s dark eyes fix on you with interest, but all he does is hum, noncommittal.

It’s barely a quarter of an hour before a car pulls up to the summit, parks beside Seokjin’s.

Jimin steps out, still in his regs, a sight for sore eyes.

He looks tired, but he smiles when he sees you.

‘We’ve got him,’ he tells you.

‘We saw,’ you say.

‘I’ve got to go down to the precinct, then they’re sending me down to Gwangju.’

He hesitates. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be months.’

You reach out and give him a hug.

He smells faintly of sweat and gunmetal, and you think you like it.

‘I guess you should call me when you’re next in town then,’ you tell him, close so only he can hear.

Jimin turns his head, lets his lips brush your cheek.

‘Is that an invitation, princess?’

‘Take it however you want it,’ you reply.

Jimin laughs. ‘I will.’

He gives you a look so heated your skin warms. He nods at Seokjin and Yoongi, gets back in the car.

You all watch him drive off.

Yoongi finishes his cigarette, grinds it into the dirt at his feet.

‘Dinner?’ Seokjin suggests.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

Yoongi curls his lip at you, that familiar slow smirk that makes your heart skip a beat.

‘Wanna ride, princess?’

Seokjin rolls his eyes. ‘See you guys at the restaurant.’

You guess he really is the best brother ever.

©hamsterclaw 2023

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

.

.

.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit. 

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand. 

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

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[ivystoryweaver]

Still With You

A With You standalone sequel - can be read on its own

"Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink."

"...but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands."

based on this nonnie and this @purple-amaranthe request

Pairing: Marc, Steven, Jake x gn!reader || Word Count: 3.2k

Content: they're all trying hard ok, domestic life, self worth probs, mentions of alcoholism/drinking, angst-ish, domestic fluff, moon dads-to-be, romance, sensual content, but nothing explicit

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

MARC

10:58 A.M.

Florescent lights flickered out an annoying buzz in the otherwise silent waiting room.

Thumbing through an outdated parenting magazine, you intermittently pointed out cute toys or outfits to your husband, who would grant you a curt nod each time.

Realizing you likely weren't helping the situation, you set the magazine aside and covered his hand with your own, if only to stop his fidgeting. "Almost time."

Marc squeezed your hand, grateful for your grounding touch. "You're sure we're not late?"

"We're right on time. It's still not even 11:00."

"Okay," he huffed out, his knee bouncing of its own accord. The cheap vinyl of his chair squeaked as he shifted, attempting to externally calm and internal storm.

You smiled at him sympathetically, remembering how far he'd come to even get to this point.

Just yesterday, he paced the floor half the evening, pushing his hands tormentedly through his curls over and over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"They'll never approve me," he lamented. "I'm not...they'll think I'm not ready."

"Baby, we've taken all the classes. We've passed the home inspection." You nodded around at your new bedroom, eyes landing on the salvaged and restored night table he presented to you a while back.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc had taken on several projects since then, turning one bedroom of your new place into a workshop and the other into a nursery.

"Do you think she'll like girl colors?" He asked, flipping through paint swatches at the local hardware store.

"Uhh, what are 'girl colors'?" You smirked.

He swatted your nose with his finger. "I'm trying to pick out what color to paint that vintage toy chest I restored for Akeyla."

Your heart melted at the sound of your future daughter's name, not to mention the fact that Marc had put together nearly every piece in her nursery himself.

When he wasn't on a mission for Khonshu, he liked to keep his hands busy. Sometimes that meant his hands were all over you for "stress relief." Otherwise, he would drive around town in the old truck he bought, looking for unwanted and discarded furniture to fix up, repurpose for the house, or sell.

He still labeled himself unemployed, but he sold a few refurbished pieces a month, which more than paid for the hobby, his truck insurance and even left some spending money.

Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink.

"Maybe like...turquoise?" He prodded, tracing his fingers over a row of various blues and greens. When you neglected to answer what you assumed was a rhetorical question, he assumed it was a no.

"Or purple? Sweetheart?" The full intensity of the Marc Spector stare fell on you as he waited for the verdict.

"Sorry." You smiled at him, nodding toward the turquoise swatches. "Trust your instincts. You're always right." Leaning closer, you kissed him adoringly on the cheek.

"That's not what you said about the yellow bench," he chuckled, selecting a swatch labeled "Ebbtide".

"That's pretty, I like it."

Marc needed to hear your words. After a couple years of marriage, you knew this now more than ever. Whether telling him what you needed in bed, or giving your seal of approval for his newest restoration project, he valued your opinion more than anything and it meant so much to him to hear you voice it.

Akeyla's nursery had been ready for weeks. The vintage toy chest was the final touch. Marc found a rocking chair, a book case that Steven requested, and chest of drawers to restore. You drew the line at a creaky old toddler bed. Steven went with you to pick that out, brand new.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

It was finally here. Today was the day you would meet your little girl.

You weren't ready to take her home yet - that was longer process - but you would meet her and start visits. Very soon, she would enter your home through the foster system, and after a while, she would be yours forever, by adoption.

"What if they change their minds?" Marc urgently whispered, there in the waiting room, gripping your hand so tightly it hurt. "They'll want to put her somewhere without someone - "

"Marc," you reminded him, "they know all about us. It's okay."

"I know, but - what if they find out about Khon- "

"Hi, are you the Spectors?" a kindly voice interrupted Marc's fussing.

A smartly dressed young woman holding a tablet adjusted her glasses and smiled.

"Yes," you quickly answered, standing up and pulling Marc with you. "That's us. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook each of your hands. "Ready to meet her?"

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"What if I..." Marc whispered against your temple, holding you against him in bed the night before. "I want to be there to meet her, but if I'm not, it isn't because I..." He shifted restlessly, trying to explain.

"You know what I always say," you gently reminded him, raking one hand through the curls resting above his ear.

"It's our body," he repeated your words back to you. "Whoever's there is there. It's not a problem."

"Exactly," you remind him. "I know you want to meet Akeyla as much as Steven, Jake and I do. I know that."

"I do," he breathlessly repeated, and you realized it might be a long night, when he added, "I just don't want to scare her. What if she doesn't understand, you know, how we are?"

"Baby, come here," You pulled his head down to your chest, wrapping him up tightly, pressing soothing kisses along his hairline. He wasn't voicing any fears he hadn't already talked through a dozen times with you, his sponsor and his therapist, not to mention his alters.

"Sorry," he murmured against the smooth column of your neck. Shifting pleading eyes up to yours, he relaxed, as your soft smile soothed him. "I'm so nervous."

"I am too," you sympathized. "Believe me, Marc. I mean, we're meeting our daughter. I'm just as nervous as you are."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc tangled his fingers with yours as you shuffled down the hallway toward the room that would change your lives forever.

The woman in front of you, who had identified herself as Elsie, paused before opening the door. "Ready?"

You glanced at your husband.

Sometimes he was so adorably terrified you were certain he forgot it was actually his idea to adopt.

Granting you a nod, he swallowed thickly. "Ready."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

STEVEN

9:22 P.M.

"So tense, mon cœur," your husband breathed against your neck, trailing tempting kisses over your damp skin. Strong forearms flexed against your abdomen, pulling your back closer to the slick heat of his bare chest.

Thick thighs surrounded you as you rested in your garden tub together, soaking in a bubble bath. Your head dropped to his shoulder as he whispered sensual French words on your ear. Long fingers traced down the shape of your abdomen, naughtily slipping between your legs.

"Steven, this is supposed to be a relaxing bath. Oh shit - " You moaned as touched you right where you craved. His other hand gripped your jaw, turning your face to his for a wet, hungry kiss. You went boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy.

You should have known sweet Steven would seduce you during your "relaxing bath."

Later that evening, he sat beside you on the sofa, each of you working on a puzzle book from the "couch basket", enjoying a quiet evening in your new home.

“Got those pictures you wanted, love,” he commented. “The garden ones. Found another book too.”

You smiled adoringly at him, so excited to see them framed and hanging in Akeyla’s room. You had asked him to track down pictures of gardens from all over the world. Since Marc was in charge of furniture, Steven helped you pick out some unique decor.

He acquired a couple of first edition classic Children’s books as well. But you reminded him they would have to be stored way up high, away from the grabby hands of a toddler.

So he curated a brilliant little collection of toddler friendly board books for the lower shelves, as well as children’s books for her to grow into.

Steven had finished his bachelor's degree and was now working on a Masters of Anthropology. Already fluent in French, he was also studying Egyptian Arabic in an unofficial capacity, and toying with the idea of studying archaeology or linguistics as well. He just loved to learn and could never get enough.

After all was said and done, he'd probably end up teaching, which was a perfect idea because, in front of the right crowd, he was absolutely enthralling when he was passionate about something.

He still worked at the university library and thanked you almost daily for making most of the money for this little family, while he studied, and he, Jake and Marc worked part-time jobs.

You reminded Steven that their three part time jobs kind of added up to one job - plus as a student, you would give him a pass.

"Besides, you're going to be a sexy professor in another year or two, so I really see no downside," you'd tease him.

“Can’t wait to read to her every night,” Steven mused, pulling your mind back to the present.

Setting your puzzle book down, you snuggled up close to his side, wrapping your arms around his. “She’s always going to remember us reading to her. You’re going to be such a good dad, Steven.”

His throat bobbed. “You really think so?”

“I do. I know it.”

Gripping your hand almost as tightly as Marc had earlier in the afternoon, his head rested against yours. "Can't wait to meet her. Tell me again how she looked."

You warmly chuckled, nuzzling into his sleeve. "You've seen her picture a hundred times."

"I know, but...tell me again. What does her voice sound like?"

So you told Steven all about meeting your daughter for the first time, that afternoon, with Marc.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

JAKE

4:07 A.M.

The jangling of keys in the deadbolt dragged you from a foggy half slumber you'd managed in Steven's chair by the front door.

Jake had finally made it home after another night driving people around, and serving as Khonshu's fist of vengeance.

When he spotted you there, looking so adorably uncomfortable, he pulled his cap off his head and tossed it onto the entry way table with his keys.

Kneeling down in front of you, he smiled warmly. "What are you doing up, mi vida?"

"Mmm," you mumbled, relief surging through you at the sight of him. Leaning forward in the chair, you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. "Missed you."

"Missed you too." He held you for an indulgent moment before gently placing you back into the chair and standing to remove his jacket and gloves. Before you could whine out a protest, he helped you up just long enough to sit in the chair and pull you back down onto his lap.

Tucking you against his body, he reached for his jacket and draped it over you like a blanket. Jake knew you well enough. If he told you to go to bed, you would bristle and defy him, but if he held you like this, you would fall asleep in sixty seconds flat. Win win.

Your body settled against his and your breathing slowed, but you blinked up at him pleadingly. “Where have you been?”

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, underneath the jacket. “You know where, cariño.”

Looping your fingers around his tie, you coaxed his temping lips to yours for a lingering kiss. Jake shifted underneath you, sighing against your mouth as you held him there for an indulgent moment.

“I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I see you almost every night,” he volleyed back.

“You know what I mean.” Realizing you were tired and there was an edge in your tone, you touched your forehead to his. “I know you guys don’t exactly have a schedule. I just wanted to tell you about Akeyla.”

His eyes flickered away as his jaw clenched. You and Marc met your daughter yesterday. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For a while, Jake had to be asked or reminded to participate in regular, daily things. Sometimes, you would go a week, only seeing him in your room at night, so you would ask him to eat dinner with you or take you out somewhere.

You started late night dates with Jake, just to build memories with him, in his world. It was never really your scene before, but you'd been to bars, out dancing, to late movies and your favorite - midnight bowling.

In fact, you all adjusted your schedules to fit the boys' night owl tendencies. You moved to second shift and Steven didn't take any more morning classes. You all slept in as late as possible, ate brunch or lunch and then got started on your day.

So it was not unheard of for you to wait up for Jake, but sleeping in Steven's chair until 4 A.M. was a bit unusual.

"I was busy tonight," he cryptically remarked, which tended to indicate he was probably doing Khonshu's bidding. "I wasn't trying to stay away."

"I'm not mad," you sleepily assured him, laying your head down on his shoulder. "I can't wait for you to meet her. And with her coming home soon, everything could change.”

"Change how?"

"Well for starters, I doubt a toddler will let us sleep in as late as we do. She'll probably climb all over our heads at like 5:30."

Jake was uncharacteristically quiet and you were half asleep.

"I'm not mad," you drowsily repeated, curling into him, murmuring "missed you" as you drifted off.

He rocked you gently, his heart burning with how he'd possibly disappointed you. Now that you were finally asleep, he didn't dare wake you, so he laid his head on the back of the chair, hoping to join you in slumber.

Jake had seen the horrors of this world, and of worlds adjacent. Terrifying, supernatural threats had met the crunch of his fist, and his vengeance.

But the thought of caring for a little girl shook him to his core, and in a different way than it did Marc.

Marc was always worried about his alcoholism, his past, the fact that they were a system, but he wanted Akeyla so badly. The whole thing was his idea in the first place. Steven was ready to show this kid the world, both metaphorically and literally.

Jake loved you, and he would love his child. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do, or how to contribute. The urge to not take time away from Marc or Steven was so strong it almost felt like instinct.

You, Steven and Marc had lovingly and rather expertly crafted her a dream-worthy nursery, but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands.

Unwilling to disturb you, he pondered how he could prove to you he was still in this with you.

Reaching into his the pocket of his jacket, which still covered the top half of your body, he pulled out his phone. Opening up a picture of Akeyla, he smiled, studying her cute, chubby cheeks, dark, round eyes and her tightly wound curls.

Tracing the shape of her face with his thumb, he wondered what he could possibly give his sweet angel, besides protection.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Sleep came for a short while, but as the sun rose, so did you. Jake was asleep but his phone was playing a long playlist of videos. Hoping to not disturb him, you carefully removed the phone from his hand.

The video showed a young girl getting her hair styled. In fact the whole playlist was of dads styling their daughter's textured hair, including what products to try, and cute and useful clips, combs and the right brushes to help.

Chewing on you lip for a moment, you tapped on the search bar and saw that he had typed in, 'how to care for textured hair'.

Just the notion of Jake pulling off his gloves and styling your little girl's hair made your heart explode with love.

"Are these for Akeyla?" You whispered mainly to yourself, shifting your weight from one of his thighs to the other.

Jake groaned as circulation returned to that leg, making it tingle as he awakened from a very short nap.

"Sorry," you softly laughed. "I should let you get up, shouldn't I?"

The corner of Jake's mouth curled, but he nodded.

You helped him climb out of the chair and the two of you washed up. Jake slid into Steven's pajama pants and the two of you went to bed.

Already drifting back to sleep, Jake presented his small offering to you. Something to let you know he was all in.

"I think I could learn how to fix Akeyla's hair," he drowsily murmured, eyes already closed. "Watched a bunch of videos about it."

He couldn't build things and he wasn't book smart and he wasn't you. He wasn't even supposed to have a family. But you loved him so hard that he couldn't resist you and now he was about to gain everything he never knew he wanted.

Maybe the brutality of his hands could be used to do this tender thing for his daughter.

"I love you so much," you whispered, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispered.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

ONE WEEK LATER…

“What’s your favorite color, Akeyla?” Marc asked on your next visit to with your soon-to-be-daughter. He sat beside her, adorably hunched with her at a child-sized table, coloring and drawing.

“Do you like red?” He asked, holding up a few choices of crayon.

“Fav-wit color wed!” She agreed, reaching for a yellow.

“Ohhh, you like yellow.” He winked at you, thinking of the yellow bench at home. “I like it too.”

“Yeh-yow,” Akeyla repeated, scribbling determinedly. Swinging her legs back and forth she repeated, “Yeh-yow, yeh-yow.”

“That’s right. We have a big yellow bench at home that I painted. We can sit on it together, just you and me. Is that okay?”

Akeyla seemed to ignore him, reaching over his arm to scribble yellow on his coloring sheet. Once she had saturated the paper to her satisfaction, she laughed out, amused with herself. “Yeh-yow bench. Okay, Dad-eee.”

Her nose scrunched as she showed him a silly toddler grin. Your heart completely melted as you watched them together.

“This is a good drawing,” Marc complimented, pointing to his paper she drew on. “Can I have it?”

Reaching out with chubby fingers, Akeyla scrunched the paper in her tiny grip, presenting it to Marc. “Here go. You hab it.”

“I can keep it?” He nodded hopefully. “Can I have a hug?”

She threw her arms around his neck. Lifting her up from the table, Marc offered one arm out to you and invited you into to this little family embrace.

Akeyla touched her forehead to yours, already a signature move for the two of you. Then she scrunched her nose and showed off that silly grin again.

"Want me to take your picture?" You offered. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few selfies of you and Marc with Akeyla.

As soon as you were finished, she reached for your phone. "I watch Bluey."

And so it began.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration || Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

[pocketjoong]

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 2〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.5k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. Mentions of fire. Passing mention of injuries. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

By the time you finish tending to the injuries of those who had been sent to the infirmary, the sun is rising in the distance. A weariness settles over you as you dress the wounds of the last person you have to tend to, and you look forward to the two weeks of peace after a dragon attack.

You rinse the grime and blood from your hands in the basin tucked in the corner before rushing out of the building. Relief washes over you at the sight of familiar figures at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the port. Even though they’re merely silhouettes against the morning light, you know each of them well enough to recognise them by their shadows.

As you move closer, you note that Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi, the village blacksmith, look battle-ravaged and tired. But they are watching the sunrise with content smiles. You approach them with a smile of your own, but you can’t help but scan their figures for any injuries that might need healing.

Amusement dances in your brother’s eyes at your worried expression, “I'm fine. Mostly unharmed save for a few small bruises and the soot lining my clothes.”

When you turn your focus to the others, you find them grinning back at you. “And you guys?”

“No open stitches or any new injuries. I told you I’d be careful,” Wooyoung declares, his tone light-hearted.

Mingi ruffles your hair while he offers his own reassurance, “I’m fine as well. I stuck to my workshop until the very end, only leaving when Yunho and Wooyoung needed assistance with the ballista.”

“Let’s go back home and get some rest. Wooyoung and I have a meeting to attend at the hall in a few hours,” Yunho says, leading you towards your home with a guiding hand on your shoulder. Mingi trails behind silently, waving in farewell before taking the dusty path to reach his house, which also doubles as his workshop.

You, Yunho, and Wooyoung share the house overlooking the village. All three of you moved here after losing your families to a brutal attack years ago. Despite being only a few months older than Wooyoung and barely a year older than you, Yunho seamlessly assumed the role of guardian for both of you. The weight he shouldered at the tender age of twelve, stepping into the shoes of a village leader after the tragedy, often made you feel bad for him. His duties far exceeded what any child should bear, but he bore them with a grace beyond his years.

The dream claws at your consciousness, a relentless reminder of the incident that tore through your family. You can handle the sympathetic looks of your fellow villagers, but the nightmares are another story. You hate them, for they persist, leaving you exhausted and weary even after a full night’s sleep.

You unlock the door, ushering the two males inside. As the door creaks open, the comfort of the space envelops you like a familiar embrace, and you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You know you are dreaming, but the panic that grips your throat is a tangible force that twists your heart and leaves your hands shaking. It’s a suffocating reality that is too familiar, too hauntingly real.

Your surroundings are too hot, too bright, and suffused with smoke that blinds your vision. The orange flames dance menacingly in front of you, searing painfully against your skin. Your brain is screaming for you to do something, to move. But you are frozen in the face of danger and struggle to comprehend the unfolding nightmare.

There’s a presence beside you, but the ringing in your ears drowns their voice. Squinting through the smoke, urgency compels you to find an escape route. If you don’t move, you’ll be burnt to a crisp by the flames, and you won’t let a dragon be the reason you meet your end. 

There’s no time to waste, you realise when there’s a crash in the adjacent room. The sound is what finally jolts you into action, and without hesitation, you grab the person next to you and bolt towards safety.

The relief when you escape the fire all but vanishes as the sight in front of you changes, and you find Yunho trapped in the claws of a massive dragon. His desperate struggle mirrors the fear etched in his eyes. The image shakes you to your core. It’s new, and you know why you’re seeing this: every time Yunho is out fighting the dragons during an attack, you can’t help but worry about his safety.

There’s a beat of silence as if the world has stopped around you before you jump towards the creature holding him hostage. But you’re too late. You meet the ground with a crash while the dragon takes off, taking Yunho away from you.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard that you feel it wants to escape your chest. You’re covered in cold sweat, and you feel it trail down your back. You gasp for air, for the relief that comes with your lungs being filled with oxygen. Instinctively, you look down to check your hands, half-expecting to find the remnants of blood and soot on them.

Dazed and disoriented, you rise, stumbling towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you wince at your wide-eyed and tear-stained face. You’re breathing fast, too quick to be considered normal. Staring at your trembling hands, you run them beneath the water before splashing the cold substance on your face.

Feeling a presence next to you, you turn around to find your brother gazing at you worriedly. But before you can ease his worry, Wooyoung walks in through your bedroom door, which is now wide open courtesy of Yunho.

“Is everything okay?” Wooyoung breaks the silence, voice is still gravelly from sleep. You feel bad for waking them up and worrying them like this, but right now, all you can focus on is the raging panic inside of you. “I heard you screaming, Y/N.”

You blink; your throat definitely feels raw, but you can’t remember hearing yourself scream.

“I think it was a bad dream,” Yunho mutters softly, eyes still trained on you.

Dream?

It’s almost as if everything falls into place when you hear Yunho’s words. You had the nightmare once again, the same one you had had since you lost your family during an attack when you were ten years old. With clammy hands, you tightly grip the bedside table in a futile attempt to steady yourself. Stumbling, you crash onto the floor as you try to calm your furiously beating heart.

Yunho scrambles to kneel next to you, brows furrowed in worry. “Y/N, breathe with me, c’mon. ’S okay, you’re safe.” You let him tuck you into his chest, the touch becoming an anchor to help you ground yourself. You breathe deeply, timing your breaths in tandem with Yunho’s. You remind yourself over and over again that he’s safe and sound.

“Was it the same dream?” Wooyoung’s voice is closer now, and you open your eyes to see him in front of you. You shrug as an answer to Wooyoung’s question.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you whisper apologetically, but they quickly shush you.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Wooyoung murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if he already knows your answer, “Or would you like to help me with lunch?”

“Brunch,” you declare, carefully disentangling yourself from Yunho, who has fallen asleep. Little snores leave his mouth, and you suppress a giggle. You grab a pillow from your bed, gently supporting his neck to ensure he sleeps comfortably even if he’s on the floor.  Quietly, you follow Wooyoung into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” You question, standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung rummages through the cupboards.

“How do omelettes and buttered toast sound? Yunho bought bread from the village baker last evening, and I’m sure we haven’t run out of the jam we prepared,” he stops his hunt and starts gathering the things needed for the proposed meal.

“We also have some leftover meat pie,” you inform him, fishing out the pie from the pantry and setting it on the table. Grabbing a large bowl, you crack some eggs while Wooyoung chops the vegetables, the two of you falling into rhythm easily.

Wooyoung reaches over to add the chopped vegetables to the bowl, stirring them with the eggs as you place two pans on the stove. Soon, you have two omelettes sizzling in unison. Carefully, you add different spices and ingredients to each one based on your individual preferences. Spotting extra vegetables, you throw them in a pan to sauté them while Wooyoung handles the omelettes.

“Wow,” Yunho walks into the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of food. He peeks over your shoulders. “That’s a feast right there.”

Eventually, you and Wooyoung finish cooking and carry everything to the table with Yunho's assistance. The three of you happily devour the food, joking, teasing, and laughing between bites.

“I have to go into the forest to gather more herbs. It’s amazing how fast we burn through them after the attacks,” you sigh, already tired by the mere thought of having to haul a huge batch of herbs from the forest.

“Be careful,” Yunho warns you. “The forest is safe right now, but you can’t be careful enough.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a smile. “I’ve done this so many times.”

After bidding goodbye to the two males, you follow one of the trails behind your house that leads into the forest. You hum a small tune as you walk through the woods. Despite the village being attacked every fortnight, the forest is safe because the dragons avoid lingering for fear of getting captured. The chirping birds and the small animals frolicking around in the undergrowth lift your spirits. You take a deep breath, unable to stop yourself from breaking into a smile.

The sound of a nearby waterfall catches your attention, prompting you to change course towards the opening through the trees. However, you halt in your tracks when you spot broken trees and upturned earth, suggesting that something came barreling down from the sky.

The only thing that would crash down from the sky is a dragon.

Unsheathing your shortsword, you slowly approach an outgrown rock where the wreckage seems the worst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before peeking to check if you’re right, only to hide behind the rock once again quickly. There, on the other side, is a dragon you’ve never seen before.

It doesn’t take a genius to identify it as a Night Fury, also known as ‘the offspring of lightning and death itself.’ The beast’s scales are pitch black, adorned with small horns that spike from above its eyes, down its neck, back, and tail, the tip of which fans out like that of a whale. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look as terrifying as its reputation suggests, resembling more of a feline than a vicious reptile. For being a dragon dreaded across the seven seas, the beast looks tamer than the ones you’ve come across over the course of your life.

Peeking from behind the rock again, you realise the dragon is tangled in rope. There are signs of struggle, showing that it tried but failed to free itself from the binds. As it seems to be asleep, you approach cautiously, awed by the sheer size of the creature. The dragon likely hears you because, even though it can’t move, one of its eyes opens, fixing a stare at you. It releases a warning growl when you move even closer, but you scoff, knowing fully well that it won’t be able to harm you.

“You know, you really look more like a cat than a dragon,” your tone is belittling as you tilt your head to meet the dragon’s gaze head-on.

The dragon emits what seems like a scoff, earning an eye-roll from you. “You should be nicer to me. After all, I could kill you, and then what would happen, huh?  Your little family would find it harder and harder to attack us, considering that you’re the one who makes it difficult for us to bring down the rest of your kind.”

It hits you that this would be your first dragon kill, and for some reason, it gives you a sense of satisfaction. Eliminating the Night Fury is a step closer towards your goal to avenge your family and the countless others who were destroyed by these beasts.

Raising your blade, you look down at the beast with a blank expression. The dragon gazes at you with big, pleading eyes, its pupils round and sparkly like that of a cat. Your grip on the weapon falters, and sensing your hesitation, it lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“You have some nerve, really,” you sigh, the urge to harm the creature gradually ebbs away the longer you look into its eyes. It’s a living, breathing creature, and it goes against all your ideals as a healer to kill a sentient being. “First, your kind kills my family, then you guys literally cause so much damage to my village every time you attack, and here I am, wanting to spare you? Why can’t you be as ugly as a Gronckle?”

The dragon blinks at you in confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that!” You scold it, only causing the dragon to huff, this time in amusement. Sensing that you’re not going to kill it, the beast lets out another whine and closes its eyes.

Sighing once again, you use your sword to cut through the ropes, loosening the bonds that bind the poor creature. That is your second mistake because the moment it is free, the dragon lunges at you, pinning you against the rock as you gasp in shock. It growls at you, keeping you restrained with its claws.

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” you mock the dragon. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you can’t stop taunting it. “I save your sorry life, and you thank me by pinning me to a rock? Quite the peculiar way to express gratitude, I must say… and quite kinky.”

The beast regards you with a look of sheer disbelief, scoffs dismissively, and turns around to fly further into the forest. Only when it crashes into an outcrop of rocks, do you notice the unsteadiness of its flight.

Is it injured?

Your brows furrow as a pang of worry pierces through your heart, but before you can act on it, the realisation of how late it it dawns upon you. You haven’t even started collecting the herbs you had ventured into the forest for. Deciding to return tomorrow to check on the dragon, should it still be around, you start the laborious task of gathering the herbs you need.

[taratarotgreene]

WEEKLY ASTROLOGY July 17-23 the biggest week of 2023

All content is copyright of Tara Greene, reposting must live link back to this blog and http://www.taratarot.com This week is tough i can’t sugarcoat it. North Node moves into fighting mad,go-it-alone,hot-headed Aries and South Node in Libra letting go of the Nice act, I care about what you think is out. Mars opposes Saturn on 20/21, Sun opposes Pluto on 21st. These are toxic heavy…

[auspicioustidings]

Just saw a tiktok with the premise of "mermaid falls in love with a free driver" sure just stick a knife in my heart why don't you.

Free driver Ghost. He's ex military but he never could quite get rid of that itch to put more good out into the world, that compulsion to pay off all the bad that has seemed to surround him. So he works voluntary positions for emergency services, does his best to come up with things like self defence workshops for vulnerable people or co-op farm plots for struggling communities.

He falls in love with the water when he helps out with the lifeboats. Learns all about spear fishing via free diving and finds himself with a hobby for the first time in his life.

He thought it was a colossal tuna when he saw the tail and jabbed his spear into it.

Soap has never seen a human before. He is fascinated entirely by this one. The scars on him almost seem luminescent here down in his domain and his eyes are ones he could get lost in. He stares at him in wonderment as he desperately tries to wrap his t-shirt around his tail to stop the bleeding even as it's apparent he's going to run out of air (he didn't need to bother, his kind heal far faster than humans so his tail is already knitting itself back together).

He's in love with this human so utterly and completely from just that.

[moonlits-ocean]

Long Way Home [Part I]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part I

My first glimpse of Azriel had been when he arrived at my doorstep, searching for the High Lord. 

My father was famous in Velaris as a healer, and Rhysand had crashed through the front door—heavily injured and seeking the services of him. Unfortunately for him, I was alone in the house as father had gone to the mountains outside Velaris for an errand. I was mainly a chemist, researching herbs, concocting potions and salves; but I had dragged the half unconscious Rhysand towards one of the beds reserved for the patients. 

His injuries were mainly on his wings, they were torn through with arrows. The said arrows seemed to be poisonous, because his skin was quickly losing its pallor. It was my first time treating someone without father by my side, but I had steadied my nerves and my hands enough to bandage the wounds appropriately. Then I made him drink a small cup of herbal antidote for the poison in his system and covered him with a blanket to rest.

As he rested, I cleared wooden splinters and pieces of the broken entrance door (Rhys had literally crashed through) and was erecting a temporary barrier of canvas when the commanders Cassian and Azriel appeared. 

Apparently Rhysand had sent them some sort of signal to indicate where he was before passing out. They were relieved to see him in a peaceful rest, and I told them that they could take him back after my father did a once over to make sure he would heal well. That meant one of them staying the night, and Azriel had volunteered to do so. 

I had noticed the royalties and members of the inner circle around the town, but it was my first encounter with any of them. Rhysand radiated an aura of pure, lethal power even when injured, and Cassian had the rough, fierce power of a wolf. 

And Azriel—well, he was the shadow incarnate, his power being in the way he observed and gathered every bit of information about anything that surrounded him. His intelligence shone through the depths of his dark eyes, drawing in anyone like a moth to candlelight. While we waited for Rhys to wake up, he carried in a new door from the carpenter's workshop and helped me affix it to the entrance. 

He was a fae of few words, politely murmuring thanks when I brought over blankets and pillows for him to sleep on the bed next to Rhysand's after dinner. He didn't lie down, instead just bundled himself against the cold with the blankets and kept a patient, quiet watch over his High Lord. 

My father returned with the first light of dawn, and Rhysand woke up a couple of hours later. After giving him a thorough check-up, father told him that he would heal perfectly without any scars. I had done everything right, and I was proud. 

This incident had led Rhysand into inviting me to the House of Wind and joining the inner circle. He was leaning heavily on Azriel's shoulder, but still had the poise of a powerful ruler as he painted a pretty picture if I accepted—having access to the limitless library, using its resources to gain knowledge in a field of interest and using it whenever needed. 

I was hesitant at first, since father would be left alone if I left, but he himself had urged me to accept the offer. In the end, I accepted it with all my heart, and moved in to the House of Wind later that week. 

When all the belongings I needed were shifted to my new quarters, I was warmly welcomed as a new member of Rhysand's household. Though I was very shy, none of them made me feel like an outsider and happily took me in, which I was grateful for. 

The library was paradise for me. Rhysand arranged for a branched off space in one of its floors to be my laboratory to experiment what I had learnt. Amren helped by bringing me the rarest or the most poisonous herbs, and she never told me how she procured them even after me begging on my knees. I began to be happier, but also more knowledgeable with new healing potions. I divided my week so I could spend at least two days with my dad and the rest in the House of the Wind. All day, I made myself useful by studying and experimenting, or assisting the royal physician in her activities. 

Dinner had to always be eaten with everybody, and it was filled with jokes (mostly Cassian), laughter (from everyone), eye rolls at the jokes (from Nesta) and quiet smiles (from Azriel). After the meal, I had to walk beside Azriel to my quarters, his being adjacent to mine. 

As days passed, I slinked out of my shell of shyness and mingled with everyone. All except Azriel, of course. I mean, he was of a quiet nature, but I felt like he disliked me. I could see smiles and chuckles and small conversations drawn out of him by everybody but me. He never himself started a conversation with me, and when I tried to do so on the way back to our quarters, he gave disinterested one-word replies. 

I told myself that it wasn't a big deal. I had other things to worry about. But when I saw him speaking with someone else in the way I wanted him to speak to me, my chest squeezed painfully. It was especially rough when I saw him catering to Elaine. 

I never showed this turmoil on my face, though. Rhysand and Feyre were mates, and her older sister Nesta was Cassian's. It made sense if Elaine was Azriel's mate. 

Why then, that just the thought of it made me sad and hopeless?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

Read Part II here.

[emyn-arnens]

I've put together a list of some new and old favorites of mine for @genworkjune. Please leave a kudo and comment if you enjoy these!

A Crown of Bones by @thescrapwitch (G, Celegorm & his brothers, Celegorm & Aredhel, 4.2k):

Maitimo and Makalaurë have been lost in the disastrous parlay with Morgoth, and the crown now falls to Tyelkormo. He is greedy and selfish and brash, everything that a Noldor king should not be. Many expect that he will not be up to the task. They are wrong.

A Missive in all Goodwill by @actual-bill-potts (G, Finrod & Galadriel, Finrod & Beren, Finrod & Thingol, 3.3k):

From beloved to bereft: a chronicle of Finrod Felagund's last days as the King of Nargothrond.

Clearer than Clear Water by StarSpray (G, Goldberry, 2.2k):

The world begins with starlight and clear water. The River-daughter opens her eyes to see the stars as shimmering streaks blurring together. It is such a delightful sight that she reaches for them, and gasps when her hand breaks out of the water into cool air. The River-daughter, from her awakening to the sun's first rising.

Hearth Fire by @dreamingthroughthenoise (G, Fëanor & Findis, 1.5k):

They will have a home to return to. Findis and Feanor speak before the Flight of the Noldor and share in their grief the best they can.

The Last Queen of Númenor by NevillesGran (G, Tar-Míriel & Eärendil, 2.1k, major character death):

The Mariner's Star hung low as Tar-Miriel walked out of Armenelos, lower and brighter than she had ever seen it. This was right: it was an omen of the death of kings. Miriel would meet her death on the Holy Mountain, Meneltarma. That was the last decision remaining to her. She was almost too tired to enjoy it, but she had made it nonetheless.

Mercy by @cuarthol (T, Celegorm & Finrod, 3k):

Celegorm has many lessons to teach, not all of them expected or wanted. Finrod has learned the lesson, but perhaps not the one Celegorm thought he was teaching.

More, More, More by @sallysavestheday (G, Aredhel & Fëanor, ~600 words):

Fëanor tolerates most of his brothers' children. Aredhel, however, he enjoys.

Mother Wolf by @hobbitwrangler (T, Aredhel, Eöl, and Maeglin, 2.1k, graphic depictions of violence):

Aredhel breaks free.

Phantasm by ncfan (G, Aredhel & Maeglin, 1k):

Her child never cries, and he always seems to know when she's coming.

plundered her and stripped what remained by @swanmaids (M, Aerin & OFC, 2.2k, rape/non-con):

When Brodda and his men took Aerin’s hall, they enslaved all of her household and Brodda took Aerin to wife. The morning before the wedding, Aerin’s handmaiden dresses her in her bridal garments.

The Spinner by @searchingforserendipity25 (G, Galadriel, Earwen, Finarfin, and Míriel, 1k):

Nerwen was very young, when first she asked her father to teach her how to work the spinning wheel.

Things Yet to Be by @polutrope (G, Finrod & Turgon, 1.4k):

Young Finrod reflects on memory, foresight, and storytelling as he recounts the experience of a vision he had as an infant.

Threads by @slightnettles (G, Finduilas & Edhellos & OFC, 1k):

A ficlet on foresight & Finduilas.

Thus our hearts burn, oh brother mine by @melestasflight @runawaymun (G, Fëanor & Fingolfin, 1k):

Remember no grievance, as if we were not made to grieve one another, to wound each other as no one else could. For I knew you as deeply as I knew my own self. And could anyone else hurt us better than we hurt ourselves? - Fëanor and Fingolfin reunite in Arda Healed.

your veins are empty of dust by @echo-bleu (G, Nerdanel & her sons, Nerdanel & Anairë, 1.7k):

Anairë finds her late one day in her workshop, surrounded by slabs of stone larger than her. Nerdanel is hammering forcefully at one of them, the barest hints of an elven shape already taking form in the marble. Bitter, stinging tears run down her cheeks and into her collar, and her arms ache with exhaustion. The body is only barely sketched, but the face is already chiselled, smooth curves and angular cheekbones. Fëanáro emerges out of the marble, looking like he’s about to take life. (Across the sea, her sons lead a funeral.)