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fauxyz · 9 months

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every time andrew and neil touch, in order

i wanted to make this list for a while to help me with fic writing, and then once i did, i figured i should share it in case anyone else found it interesting!

for each touch, i've included the book and chapter, a little bit of context, and the quote describing the touch. (a note because this is so long: when the quotes/scenes are long, i cut some pieces out to focus on just the moments where they touch, so these are not always complete quotes.)

first touch moment is below, and the rest are under a cut because this list got LONG. enjoy! :)

1. the foxhole court, chapter 2, when leaving wymack's office to head to the foxhole court for the first time:

"I don't need to be persuasive," Andrew said, putting a hand to Neil's chest as the elevator slowed to a stop. "You'll just learn to do what I say." The doors slid open behind Neil. As soon as they'd parted enough Andrew gave Neil a small push. Neil tripped backward into the lobby. Andrew shoved past him, bumping him from shoulder to hip, and headed for the door.

2. the foxhole court, chapter 3, when andrew sneaks up on neil while neil is looking at the single-stall showers in the locker room:

Lashing out was instinctive, but Andrew caught the elbow Neil would have slammed into his ribs. Andrew laughed and retreated a couple steps.

3. the foxhole court, chapter 7, before leaving for eden's twilight, when andrew sees neil without his contacts:

Neil couldn't leave with Andrew in the way, so he stopped as close to Andrew as he dared and waited for Andrew to move. Andrew did, but only to reach out for Neil with one hand. Neil tensed as Andrew's fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, but Andrew only wanted to pull Neil's head down. Neil focused on Andrew's cheekbone so as not to go cross-eyed and let Andrew study his eyes.

4. the foxhole court, chapter 7, on the way to columbia, when aaron wakes andrew in the backseat:

Andrew's elbow slammed into his diaphragm hard enough to double Neil up over his knees. Aaron, completely unsympathetic, snapped his fingers over Neil's head at Andrew. "Exit," he said. Andrew braced himself on Neil's back and leveraged himself between the front seats.

5. the foxhole court, chapter 7, when neil realizes his drinks were drugged:

Neil lurched to his feet, but Andrew grabbed him by his hair and slammed him back into his seat. A cruel twist pulled his head back at a dangerous angle, and Andrew slammed Neil's hand flat against the tabletop. Neil lifted his other hand to pry Andrew's fingers off, but Nicky caught his wrist. [...] Neil wrenched his hand out from under Andrew's, but Andrew gave his head a warning yank. A bolt of heat went down Neil's neck. Neil hissed in pain and went still. Andrew slid out of his chair and leaned against Neil, letting Neil take his weight while he checked Neil's eyes.

6. the foxhole court, chapter 7, when neil is wandering through the crowd at eden's twilight:

A hand came up against the small of his back and shoved. The push got him free of the crowd and sent him crashing into the back wall.

7. the foxhole court, chapter 8, when neil told andrew the first bit of truth about being nothing and wanting what kevin has:

Andrew reached up and forcibly uncurled Neil's fingers from his mouth. He pushed Neil's hand out of the way and stared Neil down with nothing between them.

8. the foxhole court, chapter 13, after neil protected kevin from riko on kathy's show:

"It's fine, Coach," Andrew said, catching up to them. He touched Neil's back on his way by, fingers light enough to give Neil goose bumps, but didn't slow on his way to Kevin's side.

9. the foxhole court, chapter 13, when talking to andrew after andrew punched the window in his down, and when neil wanted to run after realizing riko was coming after him:

Neil turned away, but Andrew was faster. He rocked forward and grabbed Neil's collar, dragging him to a halt before he could leave. He left sticky blood on the back of Neil's neck from his messy fingers. Neil reached back and tried to pry him off, but Andrew refused to let go.

10. the foxhole court, chapter 14, when neil decided not to run and to come with andrew to eden's instead:

He pressed two fingers to Neil's throat, checking his pulse. When Neil tried to bat him away, Andrew caught his wrist with his free hand. His smile was small and fierce as he leaned forward into Neil's space. "Remember this feeling. This is the moment you stop being the rabbit." Neil was too startled to answer, but Andrew didn't wait. He slid past Neil, using the weight of his body and his grip on Neil's wrist to pull Neil with him out of the way of the door. He let go in the middle of the hallway and slipped his hands in his pockets to wait.

11. the foxhole court, chapter 14, at eden's twilight that night:

A group of people shouldered their way up to the bar counter at Neil's back, pushing him into Andrew. Andrew didn't budge beneath his weight. He was something solid to lean against, something violent and fierce and unmoving.

12. the foxhole court, chapter 14, after finding out about seth's death, when neil asks andrew if he drinks so he doesn't have to feel anything for a while:

Andrew turned to face him. Neil wasn't expecting it and almost ran into him. Andrew dug his fingertip into the hollow of Neil's throat in warning.

13. the foxhole court, chapter 14, when neil says he won't bargain with the foxes' lives against riko, and andrew says he'll handle it:

Neil said nothing. Andrew hooked his fingers in the collar of Neil's shirt and tugged just enough for Neil to feel it. [...] Andrew didn't let go until Neil nodded, and then he reached for Neil's hand. He took his cigarette back, put it between his lips, and pressed a warm key into Neil's empty palm.

14. the raven king, chapter 5, when andrew calls neil's phone and convinces him to keep it:

"I don't care if you use this phone tomorrow. I don't care if you never use it again. But you are going to keep it on you because one day you might need it." Andrew put a finger to the underside of Neil's chin and forced Neil's head up until they were looking at each other.

15. the raven king, chapter 9, when neil asks if the other foxes can come with them on halloween and andrew tells neil to ask matt what happened the previous year:

When Neil started to argue, Andrew hooked a finger under his chin and forced his mouth closed again with an easy jerk of his hand.

16. the raven king, chapter 10, when neil asks andrew to come with nicky to see his parents, and andrew tells neil about cass:

Andrew rocked onto the balls of his feet and reached for Neil. It was all Neil could do to not tense up when Andrew's hands wrapped around his neck. Andrew didn't hold tight enough to cut off his air but tapped his thumbs against Neil's throat in time to Neil's pulse. [...] Andrew tapped his fingers a little faster, an agitated rhythm completely at odds with the mocking smile on his lips. [...] Finally Andrew reached for him again. This time he hooked his fingers in Neil's shirt collar instead of going for his throat.

17. the raven king, chapter 11, when andrew takes off his wristbands and neil sees his scars for the first time:

Neil grabbed hold of Andrew's wrist. He started to turn Andrew's arm over, sure he'd imagined things, but Andrew clamped his free hand down on Neil's forearm. [...] The iron in his grip was at complete odds with the drugged smile on his face. Andrew wasn't bluffing. If Neil didn't let go fast enough Andrew would break his arm. Neil loosened his grip but spread his fingers as he did so. He felt the slight dip and bump of destroyed skin beneath his fingertips and felt his stomach drop. Andrew wrenched Neil's hand off his arm, but he did it in a way that kept his bared forearm turned toward himself.

18. the raven king, chapter 12, when neil and andrew speak on the porch of nicky's house, and neil tries to get an emotional response from him:

Andrew laughed and pulled a hand free of his pocket. He wrapped his fingers around Neil's throat, not tight enough to cut off Neil's air but snug enough to be a warning. [...] Neil reached up and took hold of Andrew's wrist. He couldn't feel the scars through the cotton sleeve but he didn't need to. He knew they were there. [...] Andrew's fingers slowly tightened until Neil couldn't breathe anymore. He refused to shake Andrew off. The tightness in his chest started as simple discomfort but spread until it felt like every bone in his chest would break beneath the pressure. Neil's control started to crumble, no matter how fiercely he clung to it, and he'd just shifted to throw Andrew back when Andrew finally loosened his grip. Instead of letting go, Andrew slid his hand around back of Neil's neck and pulled him in close. He put his mouth at Neil's ear and lowered his voice, but Neil didn't have to see his face to know Andrew was still smiling.

19. the raven king, chapter 13, when neil says he'll watch kevin while andrew is in the hospital:

Andrew took a couple quick steps his direction and shoved Neil as hard as he could. Neil knew it was coming and tried to brace for it, but he still stumbled back a couple steps. [...] When Andrew pushed him again Neil caught hold of his arms and pulled Andrew with him. [...] He laughed, curled his fingers tight around Neil's chin.

20. the raven king, chapter 13, when neil lets andrew feel his scars as part of his truth on credit to earn andrew's trust:

Neil waited, but Andrew didn't let go. With so many people watching them Neil couldn't lift his shirt. He did the next best thing and dragged one of Andrew's hands under the hem. He pressed Andrew's palm to the ugly scarring across his abdomen. Andrew's eyes dropped to Neil's shirt like he could see Neil's marred skin through the dark cotton. [...] Andrew's fingers twitched against Neil's skin.

21. the king's men, chapter 1, when they get back to psu after picking andrew up from easthaven:

Neil was the first out and he caught Andrew's door before Andrew could close it. Andrew didn't move, but there was just enough room for Neil to lean in and get his binder. He straightened and turned to find Andrew had shifted closer. There was nowhere for Neil to stand except up against Andrew, but somehow Neil didn't mind.

22. the king's men, chapter 1, when neil gave his armbands back:

His gaze dropped immediately to the dark cloth in Neil's outstretched hand and he took them without a word.

23. the king's men, chapter 1, when andrew found out neil went to the ravens over the winter break and realized about the tattoo:

He scratched up a corner of the tape and ripped the bandage off like he wanted to take Neil's face with it.

24. the king's men, chapter 1, when neil said he went to the ravens to protect andrew:

Andrew clapped a hand over his mouth, smothering the rest of his words, and Neil knew he'd failed.

25. the king's men, chapter 2, when andrew goes to get neil from the library:

Fingers digging into the back of his skull startled him awake. He grabbed for a gun, for a knife, for anything close enough to buy him room to flee, and sent the computer mouse skidding across the table. Neil stared blankly at it, then at the screen in front of him. Fingers clenched into a fist in his hair and Neil didn't resist as Andrew forcibly tilted his head back.

26. the king's men, chapter 2, when neil got between matt and andrew when andrew went after matt for hitting kevin:

He used his body and momentum to shove Andrew back. He expected Andrew to hold his ground, but Andrew let himself get pushed and flicked Neil an unconcerned look.

27. the king's men, chapter 2, when neil protested that he could still walk when wymack says he doesn't want neil to move too much because of his injuries:

Andrew dug a fingernail into the hollow of Neil's throat until he had Neil's undivided attention. "Sit down and be still." Neil batted Andrew's hand away and turned back to the couch.

28. the king's men, chapter 2, when neil protested that wymack was benching him because of his injuries:

Neil forgot the rest of his argument when Andrew pinched his wrist. A bolt of fire popped through his fingers and he snatched his hand away as fast as he could.

29. the king's men, chapter 3, when andrew sees neil's scars for the first time (lots of touches here):

He got his shirt over his head and to his elbows before Andrew got tired of watching him struggle and tugged the shirt loose. [...] Andrew reached for the bandages on Neil's wrists, and Neil let him rip tape and gauze off. [...] On Neil's right shoulder was a burn scar, courtesy of getting smacked by a hot iron. Andrew put his left hand to it, fingertips lining up perfectly with the raised bumps the iron's holes had left behind. His right thumb found the puckered flesh from a bullet. [...] "This," Andrew dug his fingers harder into the iron mark, "is not from a life on the run." [...] Andrew was quiet a long time, then dropped his hand to the slashes across Neil's gut.

30. the king's men, chapter 9, when they talk on the roof and andrew gives neil a key to his new car:

Andrew dug a finger in Neil's cheek and forcibly turned his head away. "Don't look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren't mine."

31. the king's men, chapter 9, when andrew kisses him for the first time:

With that, Andrew caught Neil's face in his hands and leaned in. [...] Andrew kissed him like this was a fight with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil's mouth. Neil's heart stuttered to a stop at the first hard press of lips against his and he reached up without thinking. His hand made it as far as Andrew's jaw before he remembered Andrew didn't like to be touched. Neil caught hold of Andrew's coat sleeve instead and knotted his fingers in the heavy wool. The touch was a trigger. Andrew leaned back just enough to say, "Tell me no."

32. the king's men, chapter 9, when neil doesn't say no to the kiss:

He practically shoved Neil's arm away from him and leaned back out of Neil's space.

33. the king's men, chapter 10, when they kiss back in the dorm (cut some of the end of this scene for length):

Neil took the pint from Andrew's unresisting fingers, stacked it on top of his, and leaned in. He stopped shy of actually kissing Andrew, not daring to touch him until Andrew gave him a green light. Andrew's expression didn't change but there was a subtle shift in his body's tension that told Neil he'd gotten Andrew's attention. Neil lifted a hand but stopped it a safe difference from Andrew's face. Andrew caught hold of his wrist and squeezed in warning. [...] For a second Neil thought Andrew would push him away and be done with this. Andrew did push, but he followed Neil down. The short carpet was rough against Neil's knuckles where Andrew pinned his hand over his head. Neil couldn't complain when Andrew was an unyielding weight on top of him. He started to reach for Andrew again but stopped himself halfway there. Andrew snagged that hand too and held it down out of the way. "Stay," Andrew said, and leaned down to kiss him.

34. the king's men, chapter 10, when neil asks andrew to let something in after the foxes win and move onto round three of finals:

Andrew pushed Neil out of the way and slid off the car.

35. the king's men, chapter 11, when neil and andrew are alone in the dorm again, after andrew talks about how he hasn't figured out which neil is the lesser of two evils:

His fingers were cold from the can when he curled them around Neil's chin. [...] Andrew waited until he'd gone still before kissing him. [...] He was cotton-headed and unsteady by the time Andrew pressed his other hand flat against Neil's abdomen. Every nerve ending from his chest down seemed to twitch in response. Neil clenched his hands into fists like that would keep them where they were and let Andrew back him into the wall.

36. the king's men, chapter 11, after neil's phone goes off with his countdown text while they're kissing:

Neil kissed his neck, hoping to distract him, and was rewarded with a startled jolt. That was enough reason to do it again. Andrew pushed his face away, but they were standing too close together for Neil to miss the way he shivered. Andrew kissed him before Neil could say anything about it. Andrew pushed him harder into the wall, mapping him out through his shirt from shoulders to waist and back again. He'd had his hands on Neil's bare skin just a couple weeks ago when he saw Neil's scars, but this felt completely different. This was Andrew learning every inch and edge of him. His hands had never felt this heavy or hot before. Every press and demanding slide of his fingers sent heat curling through Neil's veins.

37. the king's men, chapter 11, when andrew moves neil's hands to touch him while they're kissing:

He hadn't said that aloud, but as if on cue Andrew followed Neil's arms down to his wrists and poked his fingers into Neil's pockets. He was making sure Neil's hands were still there, Neil guessed, so Neil twisted his hands deeper in response. Andrew caught hold of his wrists and squeezed to stop him. After a moment's consideration he pulled Neil's hands free and held them up by his head. He kissed Neil like he wanted to bruise his lips and leaned back to fix Neil with an intense stare. "Just here." "Okay," Neil said, and dug his fingers into Andrew's hair as soon as Andrew's grip went slack. [...] All that mattered now was how easy it was to pull Andrew in for another kiss. Andrew slowly let go of his wrists and placed a hand flat on Neil's chest. They stood like that an age, Andrew testing Neil's control and Neil content to kiss their mouths numb.

38. the king's men, chapter 11, andrew getting neil off for the first time (some of this quote is cut because this scene was too long):

Andrew's hand between his legs was an unexpected weight. Neil didn't realize how tight he twisted his fingers in Andrew's hair until Andrew bit his lower lip in warning. Neil grumbled something incoherent and forcibly loosened his death grip. He thought he tasted blood, but it was a fleeting tang quickly forgotten as Andrew got his button and zipper undone. Andrew wasn't gentle, but Neil didn't want him to be. [...] They stood cheek-to-cheek a minute, an hour, a day, Neil's heart pounding in his temples and overloaded nerves shuddering. Coherent thought came back in lazy, fractured pieces and the first thing Neil was really aware of was how tight Andrew's fingers were digging into his chest. Neil tried to look down, but Andrew gave him a short shove in response. [...] Neil flexed his fingers in Andrew's hair, fixing his grip so he could tug Andrew into a short kiss. Andrew tolerated it for only a moment before leaning back. He wiped his hand on Neil's shirt before tugging at Neil's wrists. Neil obediently let go of him and didn't miss the way Andrew watched him lower his hands.

39. the king's men, chapter 11, when they start kissing more often:

Andrew pinned him against chilly concrete and worked hot hands under his shirt.

40. the king's men, chapter 11, when they're chatting on the roof and neil takes andrew's cigarette:

Andrew pinched his wrist and took the stick back.

41. the king's men, chapter 11, after neil shuts andrew up by saying he is nothing and andrew wants nothing:

"Stop talking," Andrew said, and kissed him.

42. the king's men, chapter 12, on the bus alone before the game on his last countdown day when neil says he still doesn't swing because all he wants is andrew:

He buried his hands in Andrew's hair and tugged him in for a kiss. It was easy to forget this endless ride and tonight's game with Andrew's hand on his thigh and teeth on his lip.

43. the king's men, chapter 14, in the hotel meeting for the first time after neil was taken:

The weight of a hand on the back of his neck said he'd bought Andrew enough time to reach him. Nathaniel didn't remember closing his eyes, but he forced them open again. He tried straightening, but Andrew caught his shoulder and shoved him to his knees.

44. the king's men, chapter 14, andrew kneeling in front of neil to look at him in the hotel:

Andrew's expression was deceptively calm, but there was iron in his grip when he seized Nathaniel's chin.

45. the king's men, chapter 14, andrew looking over neil's injuries:

Andrew let go of him so he could tug Nathaniel's hood out of the way. He dragged a finger along the lines of tape keeping the myriad of bandages in place as if looking for the best place to start. He tore the gauze off Nathaniel's right cheek first, exposing the striped lines left by Lola's knife. He favored the stitches with a cursory glance before moving on. The tape on Nathaniel's other cheek hurt like hell coming off, since it pulled the skin around his burns, and Andrew froze with his hand a few scant inches from Nathaniel's face.

46. the king's men, chapter 14, andrew looking at the burns and injuries on neil's face:

Andrew pressed two fingers to the underside of Nathaniel's chin to turn his head. Nathaniel let himself be guided and said nothing while Andrew looked his fill. When Andrew dropped his hand and clenched it in Nathaniel's hoodie, Nathaniel risked looking back at him. There was violence in Andrew's eyes, but at least he hadn't shoved Nathaniel away yet.

47. the king's men, chapter 14, when neil tells andrew why he didn't say anything about his father's men to protect the foxes and that he didn't know they'd already planned a riot:

Nathaniel still had his hands up by Andrew's face, so he lightly tapped a thumb against the bruise at Andrew's eye.

48. the king's men, chapter 14, when abby tries to approach when she sees neil's face:

He caught hold of Nathaniel to turn his face forward again and shot Abby a look so vicious she stopped in her tracks.

49. the king's men, chapter 14, when neil tries to get andrew to focus on him and not abby:

Nathaniel gave Andrew's hair a cautious tug. Andrew resisted the first two attempts but finally let Nathaniel drag his attention back where it needed to be.

50. the king's men, chapter 14, when abby backs off:

He didn't hear her step back but he knew she did by the way Andrew's death grip on his skull relaxed. Nathaniel kept one hand buried in Andrew's hair but finally lowered the other.

51. the king's men, chapter 14, when neil tells andrew what happened to his father:

He crossed a precarious line and pressed two fingers to Andrew's chest over his heart.

52. the king's men, chapter 14, when neil says he'll leave if andrew doesn't want him:

Andrew hooked his fingers in the collar of Nathaniel's sweatshirt and tugged just enough for him to feel it.

53. the king's men, chapter 14, when browning keeps interrupting their time with neil:

Andrew tugged Nathaniel's hoodie and said in German, "Get rid of them before I kill them."

54. the king's men, chapter 14, on the car ride back from the interrogation:

Neil sat in the backseat with Andrew and toyed with the bandages on his face. Andrew popped the back of his head when he realized what Neil was doing and ignored Neil's scowl.

55. the king's men, chapter 14, when neil starts panicking when he sees his injuries when abby changes his bandages:

Neil didn't know what sound he made but Andrew's fingers were a sudden and unforgiving weight on the back of his neck. Andrew pushed him forward and held him down. Neil tried to breathe but his chest was as tight as a rubber band ready to snap.

56. the king's men, chapter 14, after andrew gets neil to calm down:

He went limp and let Andrew pull him back upright.

57. the king's men, chapter 15, when andrew is trying to get neil ready for a shower while matt is still in the room:

Andrew waited until he was seated before lifting the bottom edge of Neil's hoodie. He raised it an inch or two, then checked another spot, and finally poked his hand up under the edge.

58. the king's men, chapter 15, when neil struggles getting undressed for a shower:

Andrew gave him only a second before peeling the sleeves off his arms one at a time.

59. the king's men, chapter 15, andrew putting the bags over his bandages and injuries:

Andrew pulled a garbage bag over each arm, tore the excess edges off, and taped the jagged ends to Neil's biceps. He tugged at both bags to check for any give and added another layer of tape to be sure. When Neil's arms were good, Andrew started on his face. He picked up one of the plastic ends he'd torn off, folded it over and over in on itself, and taped it over one of Neil's cheeks like a shiny black bandage. Neil was pretty sure Andrew put more tape than plastic on Neil's face, but Neil wasn't going to complain. Andrew finished his other cheek and inspected his handiwork. Neil guessed he was satisfied with the end result because Andrew tossed the scissors and roll of tape off to one side.

60. the king's men, chapter 15, when neil tries to secure the blanket around his shoulders but can't because of the bags on his hands:

Andrew watched him try twice, then pushed his hands aside and did it for him.

61. the king's men, chapter 15, when getting into the shower:

Andrew studied his chest with a bored look, but the fingers he pressed to Neil's scars were a heavy and lingering weight.

62. the king's men, chapter 15, in the bathroom before the shower:

Neil leaned in to kiss him, needing to know if Andrew would lean away or push him back. Instead Andrew opened his mouth to Neil without hesitation and slid his hand up Neil's chest to his throat. Kissing hurt his injured cheeks but Neil fought to ignore that twinging pain. It'd only been a couple days since those kisses on the bus but right now it felt like forever.

63. the king's men, chapter 15, after kissing, before showering:

"You are a mess," Andrew said against Neil's lips.

64. the king's men, chapter 15, getting in the shower:

Neil stepped on the hems of his pants to get them started in coming off, but Andrew did most of the work stripping him. It was awkward being naked in front of someone else, his scars and bruises on full display, but the uncomfortable curl in Neil's gut was eased somewhat by the detached way Andrew handled him.

65. the king's men, chapter 15, hair washing:

A hand in his hair jarred him from his thoughts and he cracked his eyes open to see Andrew standing in front of him. Andrew hadn't bothered to get undressed aside from stripping his bands and shoes off. Water plastered his black shirt to him, and small streams raced down his temples and over his cheeks to drip off his chin. Neil reached for his face, remembered the bags just in time, and frowned a bit in annoyance. Andrew pushed his hand aside and yanked the shower curtain closed.

66. the king's men, chapter 15, not washing anymore (ended this quote early but we all know what happens next):

Andrew got Neil's hair washed efficiently, if not gently, but by the time he moved on to Neil's body there was more kissing than cleaning. Andrew made the mistake of turning his face away at one point, so Neil chased water down the side of Andrew's neck. Andrew's fingers clenched convulsively on Neil's sides as a shudder wracked Andrew's frame. [...]

67. the king's men, chapter 15, after the shower:

Andrew scrubbed him dry, careful around his injuries and too-vigorous everywhere else, and peeled the dripping bags from Neil's arms and face. Andrew ran a considering finger along the bandages on Neil's left arm before helping Neil into the loosest clothes he owned.

68. the king's men, chapter 15, first night on vacation with the foxes:

Andrew wasn't far behind him, and together they got Neil changed out for bed. [...] Despite his reservations, there was something painfully familiar about the weight of another body in his bed. Less familiar was the way it felt being pushed deeper into the mattress, Andrew's hands on his shoulders and tongue in his mouth, but that was something Neil could definitely get used to. [...] He buried his unease and confusion deep and worked bandaged fingers into Andrew's hair. He didn't care how much it hurt so long as he could pull Andrew's elbow. Andrew wrenched out of his grip but stopped moving.

69. the king's men, chapter 15 (the second one), after andrew confronts katelyn in the library:

Neil let him get to the railing overlooking the campus pond before catching hold of Andrew's elbow. Andrew wrenched out of his grip but stopped moving.

70. the king's men, chapter 15 (the second one), after asking how andrew can stand to be with neil after everything he'd been through:

Then Andrew was back, as calm and uncaring as always, and he caught Neil's wrist to push his hand to his side. He dug his fingers in before letting go, not quite hard enough to hurt, and said, "That's why."

71. the king's men, chapter 15 (the second one), when they're alone after winning a game and the rest of the team celebrated:

Andrew was ready when Neil turned back to him, and he caught Neil's collar to pull him down. Neil planted one hand against the rough carpet to keep himself leveraged off Andrew's body. The other he buried in the beanbag near Andrew's head. Andrew dragged a hand down Neil's arm from his shoulder to his wrist.

72. the king's men, chapter 15 (the second one), when neil told andrew he's not a pipe-dream:

Neil ignored that dismissal because Andrew was already pulling him down again. They kissed until Neil felt dizzy, until he wasn't sure he could hold himself up anymore, and then Andrew pulled Neil's hand off the beanbag chair. He held it up away from them for an eternity, then slowly pressed it flat against his chest and let go. Andrew tensed up underneath Neil's hand but relaxed before Neil could pull away.

73. the king's men, chapter 16, at eden's twilight:

The club was too loud for Neil to hear Andrew's approach, but suddenly Andrew was pressed into his side by the crowd.

74. the king's men, epilogue, when neil realizes he has everything he wants:

Now he couldn't help but smile and pull Andrew in.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #i might have missed some things but #wow lol looking at this list #i cant believe i made this whole thing #anyway i hope this is helpful or at least cool to look at for other people #i'm just the kind of guy who likes to make spreadsheets about everything so of course i have spreadsheets crossreferencing so much in aftg #aftg #all for the game #UGH had to edit this because tumblr didnt save one of my earlier edits and I didn't realize until now

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

Ghoul if you don’t write Ghost absolutely falling apart ugly crying when he discovers what Gooses scar is about and how he possibly could have never met the love of his life Elmo is gonna SUE

Make. That. Man. Cry!!!

He doesn’t even bother knocking when he opens your door. You clutch your shirt to your chest, glaring over your shoulder at Simon. Rude. He just raises a brow and shuts the door tight behind him.

“Got a minute?” He asks, moving close, and you know you’re not going to tell him no. Not when his hand cups your face and he lets you tug his mask down to kiss him, your shirt forgotten on the floor.

He must’ve just come in. His skin is still warm from the sun where you touch him, and there’s the last taste of tobacco on his tongue. His hand slides over your chest as he kisses you, giving your breast an appreciative squeeze before dragging towards your fly. You make a quiet noise against his lips when it slips over your scar, his touch stilling against the slightly raised edges of it.

Simon's fingers feel over the scar, rough calloused pads dragging along the sensitive delicate skin. The ugly line of it where it cuts across your stomach. He drags his fingers along the whole thing, from your waist to where it stops just below your belly button. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You've had years to grow out of being self conscious, but that didn't mean it didn't still rear its ugly head. Especially when it was a man you-

Simon probably doesn't even care, his torso is littered with scars. You're sure he doesn't even remember how he got half of them.

"How'd you get this beauty?" He asks, so quiet you almost don't hear him.

"Sort of a blur," you tell him. He nods like he understands, you think he does.

"Tell me." Simon hums, dropping to his knees and pressing his lips to the top of the scar on your waist. You do your best not to wince, remembering the way the bull's horn had torn into you.

"Was helping the Lucas'," You start, "their bull is tipped now but back then they were all about-" Simon kisses you again, lower down the scar, your breath hitches, "-natural, uh, natural horns. I must've spooked it or something because it-" you let out a pained hum when he presses his lips lower still, tracing the line of the scar with his mouth, "-it caught me with its horn and ripped me clean open." You finish in a rush, Simon freezes.

"It what?" You hate when his voice goes even like that. When you can't hear his breathing anymore.

"Gutted, tore, nearly eviscerated," you give him the words the doctors used, that your dad used when he was upset. Your stomach jumps when Simon kisses it again, clean flesh this time, and presses his forehead against your diaphragm. "If Soap hadn't been there I probably wouldn't have made it," that's what the doctors had told him at least, "you know how long it takes EMS to get anywhere out here," Simon's fingers tighten on your hips, "he kept pressure the whole time, made sure all my guts stayed put."

You thread your fingers through Simon's hair, scratching and pulling affectionately, "It's funny I don't even remember what we'd gone over to help with, but I remember how blue the sky was while I was laying in the grass waiting."

Simon has gone very quiet. He's completely still, save for his thumbs rubbing small circles against your hips. You're not sure who he's soothing. It happens quickly, his arms wrap around your hips and lift you so fast you have to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling fan. Curling over his head before he drops you on your bed.

You let out a noise of surprise, opening your arms for him as Simon climbs on top of you and lays down. His head settled against your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, he doesn't say a word and you- you don't either. You let him have his silence. You let him lay on you, listen to the beat of your heart, the way your lungs fill when you take a breath, the rush of blood, the sounds of life. A life he almost missed.

He's never been more thankful for one Sergeant MacTavish in his life. Never been more thankful for you, and all the little ways life had to go just right for him to meet you. Your fingers scratch the base of his skull, and you’re humming some quiet lilting tune he doesn’t know, but he wants to. He wants to know every thought that goes through your head, every kindness you’ll ever afford him. Every way he could show you he loves you.

“You cryin’ baby?” You ask him gently, there’s no judgement in your voice, just the question.

“No.” He lies, feeling you hum your acceptance.

“S’okay,” You tell him, “I don’t mind.”

And you don’t. So he does.

Big heaving silent sobs that shake his whole body, fat tears that you brush away with every gentleness. You don’t think Ghost has ever cried, but you think Simon has needed to for a while. And he’s crying for you, over a loss that didn’t happen, over the pain you went through. Over the lonely days waiting for your body to be whole again, and the fact that neither of you will ever be lonely again. Maybe you’ll be hurt, but never lonely. You’ll make sure of it. He’ll make sure of it.

"Johnny burn down the Lucas' house?" Simon asks, looking up from where he'd buried his face in your chest with watery eyes.

"Just their barn," you cup his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb. Simon gives you a little hiccuping sob around his frown and angry eyebrows.

"Should've killed 'em." It's a little hard to take him seriously when his voice wobbles like that. When his lip trembles and tears start falling again. You shush him, and let him press his face against you again.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #oc: Goose #cowboy!Ghost #I don't think Simon ugly cries #I think he's very quiet about it #he doesn't want to burden others(or himself) with his emotions #good thing Goose wants him to be a burden on her #they lay together for a long time after this just being together #I think Simon falls asleep on her after he cries himself out #and then Goose is just stuck there #i feel like we get a little ooc with the crying but its part of his healing journey

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moonpetrichors-blog · 1 year

Note

can i request for enemies to lovers for neteyam ?? love ur work sm !!

First Impressions

Tags: Neteyam x Metkayina!Reader, Heacanons, Enemies To Lovers, Female!Reader, Anguished Declarations of Love, Reader is Kinda Mean, Forced Proximity

Warnings: None

You are another daughter of Ronal and Tonowari. When the Sully family shows up on your shores, you immediately dislike their eldest son; Neteyam.

Tysm ♥♥ Lucky for you, this was already in a list of things I wanted to write!! Great minds think alike fr 🤝🙄

* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [26/12/22] ❞

He was like no one else you had seen before.

He was a boy from the Omaticaya clan, a foreign stranger who had no business to be seeking refuge on your beaches.

After all, he was clearly suited for swinging in trees, not swimming.

You had heard of the fabled Jake Sully; the Toruk Makto, and as of right now, referred to as a great warrior by none other than Neytiri.

They had travelled a far distance to seek shelter with your people, so that their clan could be safe.

You were against allowing him and his family to hide within the Awa'atlu village. Danger would follow them, and they did not fit in with your people nor the environment.

Alas, you had no power to defy the orders of your father, Tonowari, as he was the Olo'eyktan.

Imagine your surprise when your father, not only simply allowing them to stay, also expected you and your siblings to teach them your ways.

You groaned at the thought, not wanting to spend time with these people or their children.

After their initial introduction, their eldest son Neteyam attempted to get to know you.

However, his kind demeanor towards you quickly turned sour when you made it transparently clear you wanted nothing to do with him.

‘The hell is wrong with you?’ is what Neteyam would think.

You both would want to avoid each other, but unfortunately, that’s not really possible.

He does try to be civil when he can, though. Neteyam has a backbone and won’t let anyone walk all over him, but he’s not like Lo’ak where he’ll freely start fights.

His father warned not to cause problems, and he doesn’t want him to be disappointed in him.

Your sister Tsireya had taken a liking to the younger son, Lo’ak, which meant you were stuck with teaching Neteyam.

So here you were with Tsireya, teaching the two brothers breathing exercises.

You were getting frustrated with Neteyam. His breathing wasn’t on par with your expectations, and time and time again you would smack him (lightly, of course) if he wasn’t doing it right.

“Here, do it like this!” frustrated, you placed your hands on his chest and abdomen. “Breathe like this!”

You took deep breaths through the diaphragm, then gestured your head for Neteyam to do it next.

Well, he wasn’t breathing through his chest anymore, but his heart was definitely going a mile a minute with you being so hands-on with him.

Just when you thought he was finally getting the hang of it, he smacked your hands off of him and said he can do it himself.

You tsked, and decided that if he wants to drown, he can. “Whatever, asshole.”

The next thing you tried to teach him about was riding the ilu and performing tsaheylu with it.

You honestly weren’t expecting much from him, you knew that it would take awhile before he could actually do so.

And you were right. The moment he started gliding underwater, he was thrown off the ilu’s back.

You remained in place treading the water, bursting into laughter at his falling form. This guy really doesn’t know what he’s doing 💀

When Neteyam meets with you again, his face is red with embarrassment. You can’t contain your laughter, and he has to remind himself to stay calm and not yell in a fit of rage.

A few days pass, and Tsireya and Aonung decide to go swimming with Kiri, Lo’ak, and Neteyam.

Tsireya urged for you to come along, and you agreed, because how could you say no to your sister?

As you are swimming, you have to slow down for Neteyam. You were quite irate with the fact that he couldn’t keep up, trading looks with Aonung occasionally.

As you kept swimming, Neteyam was in awe with the underwater scenery.

The schools of fish, bright coral, and the way the light refracted in the ocean made him amazed. He couldn’t believe that he had never seen something so beautiful before.

And then, he looked at you.

The scenery really tied everything together; being surrounded by a vast, blue world, you were like the centerpiece of an artfully woven painting.

It was in this moment that Neteyam really took in your beauty. He thought you were pretty since the first time he laid eyes on you.

But of course, you didn’t like him, so he quickly picked up the memo and forgot all about those thoughts of you.

Almost.

Neteyam was so distracted from daydreaming about you, that he forgot his breathing exercises instead.

You turn around to see him flailing in the water, and start panicking because he’s literally about to drown.

You quickly swam over, wrapped your arms around his waist, and hauled him up to the surface.

You start slapping his face, shaking him by the shoulders to breathe.

He’s coughing and sputtering now, muttering a thank you.

His near-drowning experience is swiftly forgotten when he processes the fact that you basically saved him.

At this point he’s making fun of you because you came to his rescue, and Tsireya and Aonung are not too far behind him either.

Angrily, you shove his head underwater, and swim away.

Later on, when it is well over eclipse, you push a stick through the sand to make stupid drawings.

Neteyam creeps up behind you, and you almost whack him with your stick when he sits down besides you.

“The hell do you want?”

He recoils at your attitude. Neteyam wanted to properly thank you for your help earlier that day, but it seemed now that all hint of gratitude left his body.

“What’s wrong with you?” is what he ends up saying.

You promptly begin to argue. Honestly, you didn’t really have a good reason for being so mean to him all the time.

In all honesty, you did find him kind of cute at first, but worrying about the safety of your clan overpowered that more than anything.

You would never admit this though. Instead, you scoop up a handful of sand, and throw it at him.

Neteyam’s patience completely snaps. He has tried to be cordial with you in the past, but that was it.

He tackles you to the ground, and fighting between the two of you ensued.

“You’re so rude for no reason!”

“What’s it to you?”

You’re both practically yelling at this point as you wrestle on the sand.

Out of sheer anger, Neteyam did something he’s never done before. Make an impulsive decision.

In response to you, he blurted out that he likes you, but you’re such a massive asshole to him that it makes him furious!

You aren’t any smarter than him, and reply with the exact same confession.

You both paused.

Neteyam was leaning over you, hands by either side of your head. All his anger had disappeared. Was this guy smiling??

Your face flushed with embarrassment that you had actually admitted that to him. You wanted the sand beneath you to swallow you whole.

You tried to back up, but found yourself trapped between Neteyam and, well... the sand.

Your about to start yelling again when he places a featherlight kiss against your lips, and that’s when your face erupts into a violent blush.

You can’t hide your face from him, which makes him all the more amused.

“Okay, fine. I guess you’re kind of cute...” you trailed off.

He let out a toothy grin, sharp canines on display. “I always thought you were.”

Okay, now you really wanted to be six feet underground.

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

Sapsorrow - Chapter 5

Masterlist here, Series Masterlist here.

@i-am-vita, thank you for the beautiful banner

Word Count: 8,910

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow "Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail

(FanaticSnail Note: I did not get every element I wanted to into this chapter, but I didn't want it to go for too long. Much more to come!)

Song Suggestion: Nocturnal Waltz

The air was siphoned from your lungs at the firm tug of satin ribbon at your back. You hung your head low, eyes closing as you braced yourself against your bedframe with your palms and forearms. A small giggle rose from the woman behind you, continuing her incessant tugging and cinching with all her might.

“Not quite so tight, Perona,” you winced, focussing on stabilizing your voice as you firmly directed her. A small whined groan of disapproval was called from her throat as she began to lessen her firm grip.

“But you have such a pretty waist, my lady,” she complimented you while weaving the dual strands into each other, “Of all the times to show it off, now would be the time to display exactly what Mihawk signed up for.” She concluded her knot tying, ballooning the satin out into a delicately knotted bow and tucked it within the laced corset to hide it from view.

Huffing out a final breath of exasperation, you placed your right palm beneath your breasts to rest atop your diaphragm and elevated to a formal posture. The gown felt spectacular to wear; the material feeling lighter than air while giving you the comfort and security of having the object melt into your figure. The dress was black, an option you did not choose for yourself. In fact, none of this dress was what you would have chosen for yourself.

The black material clung to your chest, a single triangular sash attached to your left shoulder that was pinned to the middle of your back and waterfalling down your frame to pool behind you at your feet. Your bust was an interesting choice. The material was bunched in a fashion to mimic feathers, stitched above a heart-shaped cup to carry your breasts within it. The deep cut in the middle of the gown accentuated your cleavage and stopped just below where you would deem it tasteful to halt its descent.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped over to your vanity, looking at the assortment of jewelry you were tasked with placing atop your body. The dress flowed as effortlessly as the veiled tailfin of a betta fish; imprisoned within the pool of its owners’ design. You had never felt more like a fish on display, the glass sheet of clarity distancing you from the expectant audience.

“Are you okay, my lady?” Perona’s voice uncomfortably close to your right hand side caused you to jolt at her squeaked question. You snapped your head over to greet her wide and innocent eyes, staring unblinkingly at you. Her lips were elevated into a smile, although concern was written on her brows.

“I am perfectly well, Perona,” you stated automatically, turning once again to fixing your collection of ear and hairpieces atop your head. All emeralds, golds and platinums sparkling with an assortment of topaz stones in their deep amber hue. You elected to ignore how close Perona drew herself against you, her face now perpendicular to your cheek as she continued to gaze her unblinking eyes directly into your face.

You growled beneath your breath at her proximity, finally clasping your right earring to your lobe. You reached down to open your vanity draw, raking your fingertips over an assortment of glass vials of fragrances. You halted your hand over your usual scent, rising it from its space in the drawer and beginning to uncork its steel top from its glass canister.

“Are you really going to wear that one?” she whined at you, her hands floating down to the wooden drawer and brushing her hands along the variety of bottles, “what about that one that you wore when we walked in the garden? The one that smelt like bitter honey, and it had that intoxicating woodiness. The one that screams: ‘I’m a sultry mistress, take me by the hips and guide me firmly onto your-.”

“-Perona! Halt your vulgarity!” Your disciplinary voice cut through her train of thought, prompting her eyes to upturn into a mischievous twinkle.

“...I was going to say ‘dancefloor’, Governess,” she giggled, raising a bottle of her suggested fragrance and thrusting it into your hands while simultaneously removing the one you had opened prior. You inhaled deeply, rolling your narrowed eyes at her before apprehensively uncorking the vial and spraying the fragrance on your wrists. You circled the vial around yourself, placing the scent on the sides of your neck, the point between your shoulder blades and began to place the glass bottle back into the cabinet.

Perona snatched the bottle from your hands, quickly sprayed the lowest point of your cleavage and laughed as she dropped it back into the vanity draw. Hastily, she floated her ghostly body away from you and made her way towards the door - as far away as she could be with a feigned surprise expression; reveling in how cross she had made you. Your jaw hung open at her audaciousness, eyes wide in fury only briefly before you sighed out a laugh at your ward.

You glanced at yourself one final time in your mirror, checking to see if there was a single manicured curl out of place before you nodded to your reflection and turned to exit your chambers. As you opened the door, you were greeted by Zoro with his arm elevated in front of him. His fist was balled, his knuckles about to begin their descent to alert you of his presence beyond the wooden barrier.

His hazelnut eyes met yours, his breath halting in his throat as he took in your formal attire. You smiled at him, dancing your eyes over his attire before your brows furrowed at the stretched satin vest firmly clenching his wide torso. In the light of the black material, accents of green were patterned within the embroidered material. The relinquishment of a pale shirt beneath it being a final firm act of defiance at squeezing himself into the mold of the upper classes, but remaining incredibly attractive to the eye regardless.

“Woah,” Zoro sighed, using his surprise to examine your attire while you continued to take him in. You met his eyes once more before your eyes darted up to a single sprig of his moss-coloured hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, immediately bringing your bangled and jeweled hand upwards and claiming the lock into your fingertips and tucked it backwards into his combed hair.

“You look very handsome, Zoro,” you praised him, slowly drawing back your hand as you searched for more out of place elements of his outfit to correct his frame with. You noticed a small amount of fray of satin on his left pectoral, prompting your fingers to delicately pick at the material to remove its strand.

As you were distracted by searching over Zoro’s frame for more irregularities in his attire, Perona shot Zoro a teasing look; her lips curling upwards into a broad smile. Zoro’s frown deepened as his blush continued to dust his nose, ears and cheeks. His top lip sucked into his mouth, his bottom lip curling into a deep pout in embarrassment as he continued to ignore his elevated heartbeat as you praised him.

“What a gentleman,” you purred at him, Perona laughing gleefully behind him at his tense stature. As her taunting giggle, you spun to chastise her. Her dark eyes were complimented in the accents of black in her tulle and taffeta skirt, her own corset accented with a pink so deep it almost seemed red in the candlelight.

“That’s enough mischief out of you, young lady,” you reprimanded her, her giggle halting with a gasp. She bowed her head to you, eyes closing and pouting with her lips. Shaking your head, you drew your hand away from Zoro and claimed her chin beneath your fingertips.

“You look beautiful, Perona,” you praised her, meeting her large doe-eyes as her eyelashes parted. Her pout softened into a smile as she reached forward to interlace her hands into your own. You crinkle your nose at her, an action reciprocated with the pink-haired debutant, allowing a moment of playfulness to fall between you and your ward before you turn back to the young gentleman.

“Are you ready to go?” Zoro asked you, his brow arching up in question. You inhaled as deep as your corset would allow you, before nodding along with your slow exhale.

“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re okay?” Perona asked, eyes holding concern while searching your face. You lulled your neck back, looking up into the ornate ceiling and taking a moment to notice all of the intricate carvings drilled into its mastery. Placing your hands up to cradle the back of your neck, you allowed your professionalism to slip in front of your wards for the first time; speaking to them as you would friends, rather than pupils.

“I usually have no qualms in attending formal galas,” you admitted, not yet bringing your head back down to meet with your wards, “but this-... this is not just a formal gala. This is a ball thrown to announce the intentions of unifying myself and a lord. I-...” you trailed off, finally meeting the patient eyes of your wards. Perona’s expression was full of empathy at your confession, brows creasing at the center while Zoro’s face remained unmoving and firm. You allowed your lips to twitch up into a small smile, nodding briefly and slowly blinking your eyes at them.

“-I am ready,” you ushered them with your hands in front of you, shooing them with your fingers. Perona was the first to turn from you, interweaving her hand within the crook of Zoro’s elbow and tugging him away. He continued peering at you over his muscular shoulder, shooting you a pointed look to wordlessly ask you if you were truly comfortable with them leaving you to make your entrance. You warmly smiled at him, eyes soft and delicately reassuring him. He finally turned away, revealing the dark satin knotted pattern vertically cinching his waist and straining under the pressure of his broad chest.

Zoro was wearing a corseted waistcoat. Someone had to cinch in his corseted waistcoat. You narrowed your eyes at them, watching how proud Perona looked as she raked her eyes over his assembly of attire. You allowed a silent laugh to fall from your lips as you drew the conclusion: Perona cinched Zoro into his corseted waistcoat.

As your pupils disappeared from your sights down the hall, you began your own trail down the halls towards the uproar of lively strings in jovial melody. Knowing the protocall, you waited by the partially closed doors for your formal announcement. You peered through the crack of the door, noticing how extravagantly the ballroom was decorated through this small window into your future.

Dracule Mihawk had spared no expense in adorning the walls and halls with an intricate display of his vast wealth. The walls had ropes of golden cast vines dripping from the ceiling, leading down their intricate spirals in spirals towards the guests with bushels of crystalline rose-shaped flowers. The assortment of guests were freshly decorated in clusters of frills, furs and feathers; their pearls and gems glistening under the candlelight.

That is where Mihawk caught you, breathless as he took in his beautiful intended bride to be. You were a sight to behold: wonderment dancing without restraint behind your eyes as you took in the celebration occurring beyond the door. He stuttered in his movement, opting to remain in the shadows just a moment longer as he continued looking over your body firmly secured within the material of his own design. If you got to choose three outfits for yourself to adorn on your wedding day, he wanted just one to suit his own interests. And within that singular choice he made, you were pure perfection incarnate.

He straightened his shoulders, rotating them within his pale sleeves below his own cinched vest to rid himself of any final nerves as he approached you.

“My Betrothed,” Mihawk’s purred voice broke you away from your stooped position; your body responded immediately by fixing your hunched posture upright. You turned, eyes meeting with the amber hued orbs shrouded in shadows.

“Betrothed,” you responded, dipping low into a deep curtsey with your head bowed. The small dip of your head bounced your curls and jangled the intricate headpieces within your manicured locks. Mihawk clicked his tongue, stepping away from the shroud of darkness to finally grace you with his presence.

Mihawk’s signature hat was no longer attached to his head; his hair displaying their natural curl and wave beneath a dark, embroidered tricorne. The usual white of his feather was replaced with a blackened ostrich feather, ombre with a deep crimson accentuating the tips. He paid extra attention to his grooming, ensuring not a single sprig of his facial hair was out of place. A pale shirt with ballooning sleeves was tucked beneath a tight black vest. The boning running down his torso catching your attention and forcing his built chest to display; the way it tightened him was sinful and made his shoulders look that much broader.

As you continued to shamelessly rake your eyes over his slowly approaching body, Mihawk’s yellow eyes were hyper focussed on the small gap in your plump lips as they parted. He couldn’t help the tingle that shot up his spine, knowing how you truly felt for him from your unwitting confession earlier. He relished in being an object of desire, not feeling this form of flattery for quite some time.

By the time your eyes met, you noticed a small twinge of a smile threatening to break through the honey-coloured irises. You tried as you might to remain professional and stoic, knowing within your heart that this match with him was never something to occur naturally between you. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself as you attempted to regain your composure. He was intoxicating, every ounce of the lord of Kuraigana was simply-.

“-So beautiful,” he spoke in a voice above a whisper, reaching down to adjust the darkened satin strap clinging to your shoulder by the pinch of his thumb and index finger. You looked down at your dress, noticing his eyes continued to linger on the satin sashes and interwoven pieces attached to your bodice.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled, watching the way his fingers danced atop the material to smooth over the dress. Mihawk’s eyes drew themselves quietly over your neckline, dancing at your jugular and slowly seeking residence on your lips. He watched as your breath rose and fell between the two rose-coloured borders framing your mouth, fixated on every crevice and divet atop them. He watched them begin to dance as you uttered to him in question.

“Am I everything you hoped I would be?” he heard your voice ask him, breaking him away from his thoughts and snapping his intense eyes upwards to gaze into your own.

“What was that, Betrothed?” he asked, desperately hoping for you to say those words once more.

“Is this everything you hoped it would be, my lord?” you restated your words, blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s mind fluctuating words and unspoken intentions between the lines of your question. You gestured to the dress and fixed your posture once more, waving over your diaphragm to rid the material of any gathered lines from your prior stoop.

He huffed out a small breath of exasperation briefly before gesturing with his right index finger in a circular motion, indicating his desire for you to twirl for him to view it in its entirety. You sighed out your own exasperated breath and skillfully stepped backwards and twirled the pooling skirts of the intricate dress. The slit on your right thigh split to reveal your sheer, black stockings beneath your sharp, pointed heeled shoes. He raked his eyes over your slow turn, looking to each of the elements he had chosen to include: the boned corset with the laced back, the embroidered satin with feathered details and the plunging neckline to mimic his own.

You were perfect. Everything, perfect.

As your twirl halted its crescendo, your skirts fluttered before falling back into their waterfall position by your feet. Looking up into his face, his stoic expression was completely unreadable. You had no idea what thoughts plagued the eyes of your betrothed, nor did you ever assume it would be your place to ever ask.

“We never did choose a title to address each other with, did we?” Mihawk’s left eyebrow elevated as the corner of his lips twitched in question, “Although I do remember stating that you lowering yourself into your subordinate default was no longer appropriate.”

“We initially discussed referring to each other as ‘betrothed’, my-,” He shot you a warning look, forbidding you to say a final utterance to the formal title. You rotated your neck to rid it of its agitation as the two of you began circling each other. Each step Mihawk took, you mirrored it with a step of your own, “But I suggested that was no longer appropriate and sounded too rigid.”

“And have you thought more of it?” Mihawk questioned, allowing his body to be danced with yours a few steps in front of the door where you were to make your grand entrance. He halted his rotation, opting to step forward and bring your bodies all the more closer to each other. You refused to allow him to intimidate you with his presence.

“Have you?” You quipped in return, stepping closer to him and almost pressing your torso against his. He almost cracked a small smile, the ghost of its presence whispering over his mustached lip as he continued to stare his unmoving gaze into your eyes.

“When I introduce you to our guests; I will refer to you as my bride,” he declared, choosing to press his right hand an inch above your hip; slowly dragging it to fall into the mid of your back, “But as you’ve plagued my thoughts of late, my heart calls to you by another name.”

His eyes held a firmness to them, desiring for you to understand your place as his intended, but also harboring more affection for you than you once realized. You were drawn back to your conversation earlier with the Farm-Hand of Kuraigana, your heart singing the praises of the eyes and the voice of the man in front of you. That voice now referring to you almost akin to the prospect of ‘beloved,’ both had you reveling at the notion of affection being possible between the two of you, but also frightening you with the aspect that this could all be due to the suspicious curse that haunts the ring on your unity finger.

“I am your bride,” you whispered, dancing your eyes between his briefly while placing your right palm atop his heart and pushing against it firmly, “and I am fine with being introduced as such, as I would introduce you to our guests as my beau.”

As your heart began to drum frantically, and anxiety nipped at your neck at your approaching confession; a loud fanfare began its call to introduce the lord and intended lady of Kuraigana to the guests below the marble staircase. The shock of the interruption broke you both from your trance, eyes snapping from one another and jolting to the awaiting audience below.

You felt the left arm of Dracule Mihawk reach forward and claim your right arm within the crook of his elbow. Stooping down, he gently voiced a small utterance, “We will talk more on this later. For now, know this,” He leant down to whisper a small secret within your ear, lips brushing gently with the outer shell as his breath danced over your skin, “I’m here by your side, and I will not drop you.”

Your mind immediately began swimming with circling thoughts of the dirt, twig, fur and feather-covered Farm-Hand who has spent his morning with you. He journeyed with you, educating you on interests throughout the land belonging to your betrothed you clutched with your arm. He carried you, allowed defenses to break down between you and confessed to his own romantic ailments.

You refused to let your displeasure be shown on your face by the knowledge that this man you called ‘friend’ had spilled your secrets to your intended beside you: opting to falsify a pleasant smile as Mihawk chaperoned you to the balcony. This would be a conversation to be explored between you the next the two of you should meet.

Applause erupted below as you stepped in tow with your fiance, his face stoic and unreadable as it was moments prior. He guided you down the steps, slowly making your descent below with the mable clicking pleasantly with yours and Mihawk’s formal shoes. As your feet concluded its journey down the steps, the room had once again sprung to life with the merriment of your guests and the uproar of melody drawn from the small orchestra at the corner of the room.

Perona and Zoro were off to the side, opting to stare at the amount of guests within the large ballroom while drinking wine together. You raked your eyes over to several members within the upper class you had trained from youth; a broad, warm smile drawing itself to your face as your eyes met with your former gentlemen and debutants. Each of them you locked gazes with, stooped to a low and perfect curtsey and bow. Your pride in their tutelage swelled your heart and greatly improved your prior disgruntled mood.

That was, until, you caught the whiff of the choking scent of a sour cigar. The nicotine-woven smoke spurred towards you, drawing over your hair and face and dancing with the perfume you had meticulously applied against your skin earlier. You snapped your head towards the position the intrusion was occurring, narrowing your eyes as they met with the purple irises of an incredibly tall and broad gentleman.

Your beau beside you was no short individual, his height far greater than yours. But this man in his broad stature eclipsed the two of you with his presence. His beady eyes held a dangerous, cold-blooded and reptilian stare as it met with your own. You refused to look away from his intimidation, choosing to feign your practiced kindness against your features.

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly addressed the man in front of you, “allow me to introduce my bride.” He carefully unwove your hand from within the crook of his elbow, prompting you to automatically step your body between Mihawk’s and this ‘Sir Crocodile’ to formally greet him. He had a cigar clutched between his teeth, his brows upturned in boredom but his eyes holding nothing but complete intrigue. He removed his bitten cigar from his lips by stabbing the tip of a golden hook attached to his left hand and moved to collect your right within his.

Stooping low, he drew up the back of your hand to press his lips against your knuckles with his eyes closing in respect. From this angle, you had the brief opportunity to study his face; noticing a large scar separating his eyes from the bottom half of its face that looked to be particularly painful in origin.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” His raspy voice rumbled at you, the air of danger being omnipresent in the air and surrounds, “I have heard many wondrous things about you.” He opened his eyes at you while his face remained close to your knuckles, looking up at you through his eyelashes with narrowed eyes. Opting to mimic his response and mirror it back to him, you responded in a similar likeness.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” you uttered in return, a smirk now pulling at your lips in lieu of your false smile, “And I truly wish I could say the same in return.” The rumble of his voice was now ignited with a small chuckle thrust from his lips as he ascended back to full height.

“The Hawk of Kuraigana has not spoken about me to his blushing bride?” Sir Crocodile quipped, his brow raising as his eyes snapped over to Mihawk’s, “My, my. And here I thought we were friends.” Mihawk attempted to contain his composure, not allowing the Crocodile’s suggestion get the better of him.

“I do not recall making much mention regarding my bride’s achievements to you either, Crocodile,” He uttered through a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You continued to hold your gaze firmly on the man in front of you, watching his nonchalant amusement dance over his eyes. His jaw continued to hold a bored and exasperated expression, even as he returned his cigar to his lips on the pointed tip of his golden hook.

“I did my own research on such a woman. A governess, Mihawk,” he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine-lace smoke and turned his jaw away from you to relinquish its presence in his mouth while his eyes remained on yours, “And a talented one at that.” You felt the tension between the men rushing between them like the rapids of a river of cloudy water.

“I am an exceptional governess, sir. May I confess to you a trade secret?” you smiled, stepping closer to the larger man and putting a greater distance between you and your fiance. You smirked as he stooped lower, using his pointed hook to smooth a stray hair from his forehead back.

“Please,” Sir Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and humor danced behind his darkened pupils.

You angled your chin upwards, looking down your nose at him through your elongated eyelashes and holding your face stern, “One of the greatest joys in my line of work is finding the stubborn ones,” you stepped closer into him, his smile creaking at the sides, “breaking them in,” your own smile continued to pull upwards, mirroring the playfulness now depicted between you, “and taming them.”

In an instant, Sir Crocodile’s eyes snapped over to meet the intense amber gaze of your beau behind you; an unreadable darkness contained within his purple hue. You witnessed the pointed gaze reflected in the irises of the crocodile, the deep amber hue of your betrothed honing in on the man in front of you; eyes narrow and jaw clenched tight as a steel vice.

“And what a fine job you will make of him yet, my lady,” the rumbled laughter of the crocodile ran through his chest, finally returning to his great height and releasing your hand from within his. He returned his eyes to meet yours, curtly nodded his head in a polite manner and uttered a simple, “Congratulations to the both of you,” before turning back to Mihawk.

“After you conclude with the pleasantries, you will both meet me in the foyer to view the item I have made for you,” he ordered, a smirk pulling at his lips as Mihawk’s frown deepened, “As we agreed, Mihawk. A hundred hands have sewn it.”

Your eyes widened only slightly at the thought, remembering the words Perona had uttered while in her trance; “a crocodile has the moon.” So this is how he is doing it. A wealthy man with the world at his beck and call, commanding those around him by the curt snap of his fingers. Sir Crocodile’s smirk broadened, nodding again and adding a simple; “Lord Dracule,” and a further utterance of, “my lady.”

Mihawk’s presence once again found itself by your shoulder, an elbow extended for you to weave your own through it. As you took his left arm, you found his dominant hand atop your right hand and held it firmly in place. You turned your head to gaze up at the man beside you, his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the retreating figure of the reptilian man from earlier.

“You managed him quite effortlessly,” he uttered in a voice only available to your registry, “But heed this warning,” Mihawk turned his head, his eyes meeting yours and depicting complete seriousness within his face, “Sir Crocodile is not a man you can trust, nor would I want you to ever be left alone with him.”

You nodded your head to him, your gaze fluttering down to focus on his lips moving so beautifully beneath his tailored mustache as he so eloquently spoke. Mihawk followed your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering as they continued to hold firm to his lips. He furrowed his brows, watching as your eyelashes fluttered up to meet your eyes against his amber orbs.

“Consider your warning received,” you uttered breathily, angling your chin up to look down your nose at him, “Are there any further guests I should be equally fearful of, or is it just the crocodile being cause for concern?” He hummed, beginning to chaperone you throughout the grandiose ballroom; all the while continuing to hold his dominant hand over yours within his arm.

As Mihawk opened his mouth to begin disclosing information about his other unruly guests, a loud commotion was occurring within the lounging area of the room. Muffled yelling, angry voices and clashes of wood slapping and scraping against marble echoed within the halls; the musicians electing to continue performing their serenade despite the interruption.

“Can’t you do anything right? No! Over here, here,” the scratchy and hoarse voice barked, prompting the steady shuffle of feet and another loud crash of plank on tile. Mihawk released your hand from within his, continuing to link his elbow with your arm as he hastily drew himself closer to the sound.

As guests parted, your eyes could not seem to form rhyme or reason as to what you were truly looking at. Your eyes were initially drawn to the train of thick, blue locks that veiled down the back of the brightly colored jester in front of you. Clasped firmly around his neck, an off-white ruff with a tight crinkle spiking off with its horizontal diameter incredibly large in size. You raked your eyes down his back, noticing a pale shirt ballooning out and tapering at the wrists beneath a gold, blue and red diamond-printed and patterned vest. Leather pants of the same pattern clung to his body like armor, accenting every muscle beneath it as he stomped his boot-clad feet against the marble floor.

“You idiots,” he growled, folding his arms over his chest briefly before flailing it out in front of him, “This is for Mihawk’s bride! Do you want to lose your heads? Because, so help me, if you drop that box one more time, I’m gonna-!” He turned away from the people in front of him, locking his teal eyes against yours.

All words fled from the mind of the blue-haired clown-captain as his teal eyes danced with your own irises. His lips opened and shut, nothing forming within his painted mouth as his throat struggled to produce coherence.

“Buggy,” Mihawk curtly snapped, bringing the clown’s attention over to meet Mihawk’s warning face, “May I introduce you to my bride to be?” Immediately Buggy’s entire body was fixated on taking you in. His arms gesturing out in front of him, his right heel extended and bending his left knee in a deep bow. He held unbreaking eye contact with you, taking in your every expression and response you gave to him: from the softness in your smile, the reprimanding presence in your eyes, to your manicured curls, to the way your breasts were perfectly displayed in the tight bodice of the-.

“-A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” your melodic introduction broke his attention away from staring at your bodice, drawing his eyes up to once again meet with your own.

“Believe me, Starlight. The pleasure is all mine,” Buggy’s voice rumbled, a small quiver detected in his throat. Mihawk’s sharp cough drew the clown’s eyes back to meet with the lord of Kuraigana with a winced grimace-like grin forming over his painted lips.

“Mihawk,” He elevated his voice in a loud greeting, leaning forward and clapping his left hand over his right shoulder, “I have the thing for you,” he cocked his head over to the large wooden chest, the smallest sliver of pale chiffon jammed within the iron brim of the frame. Your eyes darted over to the material, your legs carrying you far enough away to no longer hear a hushed conversation between your intended and the jester.

“Fuck me, Mihawk,” Buggy hushed out his breathy exclaim, choosing to fix his gaze on your stoop as you looked at the box with curiosity, “She’s spectacular. And you’re telling me you didn’t want her as soon as you laid eyes on her? If you still feel that way, by all means I’ll take her off your hands-.”

“-No.” That verbal warning was all it took to have the clown-captain sucking his lips into his mouth and eating his words. The two men continued to stare their unwavering eyes over your body as you rose from your stoop.

“Is this-,” you began, attempting to hide your unease at the notion that two of the three requirements were potentially presented to you in the same night, “-Is this one of the-?”

“-This is starlight for you, Doll,” Buggy chimed in, a broad grin decorating his painted face as he stepped closer to you, “If I may?” he asked, presenting his right hand out to collect your own. You danced your eyes briefly over to meet with Mihawks, an unreadable expression once again remaining stoic against his face.

You placed your left hand within Buggy’s, his grimace-grin softening with his eyes as he brandished your arm open to take in your whole appearance. He started with your feet, drawing his eyes up the slit of the full bodied, satin skirt and stopped his gaze at your waist. Holding it there a moment, he stepped closer to you and continued slowly looking over your figure, small hums exiting his large, red nose at each point he drew his attention to.

“You. Oh, you,” He exclaimed, stepping closer still to your body. He hovered his left hand in front of your waist, his right still claiming your left within its caress, “You are going to look so radiant in that dress. You’re going to want to kiss me, Mihawk. Your bride- you, Doll,” he hovered his hand over you, eyes watching yours as you held your attention fully on reading the flashy individual in front of you, “The stars are going to envy your radiance. Fuck, you’re gorgeous-.”

“-Enough, Clown,” Mihawk’s bored vocal warning hand Buggy’s embrace immediately flees from your arms and holds them up to display defenselessness. Mihawk made eye contact with one of the members of the household staff, wordlessly directing them with a small gesture to remove the wooden box and move it elsewhere, away from prying eyes.

You took that small moment to look over to where your former students were gathered, each taking to the dance floor with ease and gliding along the surface with practiced precision. Your heart swelled, the feeling of pride rising to adorn your cheeks with a content smile. Mihawk turned away from Buggy and the staff, his lips parting as he began to relay something no longer deemed important as he stood in awe. He wanted to commit the way your face lit up to memory: the upturn of your eyes, the shape of your lips as they rose in glee, the way your eyelashes partially shielded your twinkle in your irises.

“You danced with your bride yet, Hawkie?” Buggy quipped at Mihawk’s ear in a tone and pitch low enough to only be heard by the swordsman. Mihawk looked through the corner of his eye, narrowing his pointed gaze at the clown by his side.

“We are greeting our guests, Clown,” he spoke through his scowl, his voice warning the clown to desist with his incessant line of questioning and lewd comments regarding his intended spouse. Buggy’s eyes widened with an enthusiastic twinkle, his pearled teeth baring into a large smile.

“Well, hop to it, bird-boy,” Buggy jested at the broody lord, pressing his gloved hand down to clap over Mihawk’s left ass-cheek. If Mihawk were not indebted to the clown for creating a prominent piece to save his mortal soul, he would have had him drawn and quartered for such an action.

The curt sound of a slap drew you away from your students to seek out its source, only to find the clown with a triumphant smile plastered on his face while your betrothed bore his eyes into him with a burning hatred. Sensing a small amount of tension from the two, you nodded your head to the clown with a polite smile and wove your right hand within the crook of Mihaw’s left arm once more.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Buggy,” you meant every word spoken through your lips; your smile genuine for the flashy fool, “And I thank you for aiding my beau with his task in completing an impossible task. Truly, sir.” Buggy’s face beamed up at you, his body now crouched in a flamboyant bow to humble himself before your feet.

“My lady,” he uttered in a hushed whisper, rising once more to his full stature; his frilled collar bobbing beneath his lengthy blue hair, “I am just a clown. I aint worth all that-.” You shook your head, elevating your voice to cut off his train of thought.

“-And I am just a governess, sir,” you nodded your head, pursing your lips and smirking up at him, “We are worth far more than the titles that make us, do you not agree?” Mihawk continued to lay his face stoic, attempting to disguise his rise of adoration through clenching his jaw. He gave a short nod to the clown, dismissing him as he led you further within the crowd.

You stood silently at his side, nodding politely as he continued to guide you on to make the acquaintance of several more lords from nearby lands, and notorious pirate captains he felt obliged to extend a formal invitation. He could not fault your ability to navigate the room, carefully balancing and reflecting energies and intentions back without fault nor flaw.

That was, until, your eyes met with the intense and playful glint of a redheaded captain Mihawk truly thought would pose no threat. Standing amongst several close members of the Red-Hair pirates, all dressed in tailored suits with their weapons tucked in tasteful spaces amongst the belts and ribbons. As Mihawk began to form words to introduce you to his former rival, the Redhead immediately shot a wide and winning grin pulling at his lips, with surprise written in his chestnut eyes.

“Vile Exterminator!” Shanks exclaimed with glee, his eyes meeting yours with enthusiasm. Mihawk’s face paled, shock written all over his face at his introduction to you. He snapped his head over to meet with your face, meeting only with playfulness depicted within your eyes

“Red-Haired Rat!” you responded back with an equal amount of surprise. You unwove your arm from its place hooked within your betrothed as Shanks stepped forward and circled his one arm around your waist. He hoisted you off your feet, circling you around within the air as his eyes danced between yours.

“I thought that was you in the announcement,” Shanks uttered affectionately into your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss upon the skin, “Could recognise the disdain in your eyes anywhere, love.” He placed your feet back onto the floor, giving you an opportunity to place a gentle reprimanding slap against his chest.

“Charming as you ever were, Rat,” you uttered, stepping away from the redhead captain and politely bowing to the silver-haired first mate beside him, “Beckman, always a pleasure. Keeping the Rat away from the henhouse?”

“Always, Exterminator,” Beckman smiled, inhaling a deep breath from his cigarette and exhaling it away from your face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, watching the corner of his lips tick into a small smirk at the verbal reward you offered him. The lord of Kuraigana followed the exchange like a hawk examining a potential kill. He was not amused.

“It appears you have history with my bride, Red-Hair,” Mihawk stated with narrowed eyes, warning written in his unspoken expression. Shanks’ grin only seemed to grow further, if at all possible. Shanks danced his eyes between the two of you, taking in your appearance as you stood beside the broody former-warlord beside you.

“I have been known to bump into her from port to port,” Shanks confidently declared, shooting a winning wink from his tri-scarred eye. You rolled your eyes at the movement, returning back to your prior position beside Mihawk and interweaving your arm within his.

“One or two of my prior debutants had an affection for sailing men,” you spoke slowly, training your eyes on the pirates smirking with pride in front of you, “It was my job to chase them out.” Mihawk released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slow enough to not draw your attention away from your stare in front; but not subtle enough to escape Shanks’ knowing glace.

You turned to the man at your side, noticing the tension arising in his jaw as he continued to look at the redhead captain in front of you. Placing your palm firmly on his bicep while circling it, you gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze, drawing his attention back down to you. Your left brow quirked up at him, a small purse of your lips as your gaze drew down to his mouth.

“I have also been known to acquire passage aboard the Red Force if I am in dire need,” you commented, floating your eyes back up to hear the amber hue of your intended’s eyes. He stooped down, turning his head away from Shanks’ teasing expression. His breath tickled your neck, his scent intoxicating as he purred a gentle reprimand in the shell of your ear, “And you said you were a lady.”

The hue of a warm blush rose in your chest, flushing your cheeks with its radiant heat. You clenched your jaw tightly closed, your brows furrowed as Mihawk pulled away from your neck with his lips twitching up into a small smirk. Shanks raised his right arm out defensively, a huffed laugh exiting his mouth with a grimace-grin akin to one the clown presented earlier.

“I assure nothing untoward has ever occurred between myself, my crew, and your intended, Hawk-Eyes,” he laughed, prompting a rumbled chuckle to gather within the chest of the smoking first-mate beside him. You snapped your pointed gaze back to the red-head captain, narrowing your eyes at him and wordlessly chastising him to hold his tongue.

“Rat,” you nodded your head, dismissing yourself from this conversation while unlinking your arm from within Mihawk’s.

“Exterminator,” He nodded in return, training his eyes after you as you made your way unchaperoned within the ballroom. Mihawk stood in place, turning back to glare at the red-head in front of him. He again opened his mouth to begin a lengthy verbal battle with his former rival, only for Shanks to immediately speak over his words.

“I have almost completed your request: so close I could almost see the vision. Mihawk-...” Shanks paused, stepping closer to the swordsman and turning him away from his crew. Both mens eyes fell over your form as you smiled and conversed with your prior students; introducing them affectionately to both Perona and Zoro now at your sides. All smiles, all beautiful and lovely smiles capable of having the highest of highs stoop to the lowest they’d become under the majesty of your smile.

“-Mihawk,” Shanks again spoke breathily, “I hope you are truly aware of how much of a lucky bastard you are,” He wrapped his arms firmly over the lord’s shoulders, the feather atop Mihawk’s hat bobbing under the swift movement. Mihawk sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a rise of agitation forming as the redhead continued to keep his one remaining arm hooked over his shoulders.

“I am fully aware of how truly amazing she is, Red-Hair,” Mihawk began, clicking his neck in an attempt to rid himself of such agitation, “And I can admit to you, as my oldest rival, that I have begun to develop a fondness for her. I would never give in to such an emotion, but rather shield her from how much I adore her.” He turned to face the captain once again, baring his eyes fully into his with a blinding and furious intensity; remaining blissfully and shamefully ignorant to your slow approach behind him.

You heard the next words of their hushed conversation, each word twirling like a dagger to the heart; but no context of the prior words spoken between them.

“I would have never chosen such a woman for myself,” Mihawk confessed to his rival, “I never wanted to marry, to take a wife, and to open myself up to the prospect of love. I am hating every minute I have to continue leading this facade.”

Your face fell, hearing the swirl of those words echo within your mind falling from the lips of your betrothed to your oldest acquaintance. Your heart shattered, hearing the words formed with a man you had begun to harbor affection for - a man who you were set to marry as soon as the final demand was met. You bit back the rise of bitterness within your throat and opted to not respond or react to the hurtful words spoken from the lips of your betrothed, but rather clear your throat and stilling your expression by flipping back to your prior state of pure professionalism.

“I am glad we agree on our mutual displeasure at the prospect of joining together in matrimony,” you attempted to mask your heartache by allowing your rage to bubble to the surface, “Perhaps after we conclude with this sham, we could ask Red-Haired Shanks to process a speedy annulment? He is a captain, after all.” Mihawk snapped his face over to meet with your own, watching as your lips drew into a thin line and chin drew upwards into the air.

“Would you excuse us, Shanks,” Mihawk stated suddenly, immediately reaching his left hand forward and grasping your right within his palm. Rather than to react by pulling your hand out of his grip and stomping away like the young teenager within you screamed at you to do; you allowed him to lead you away from the soiree of guests and out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the moon-dusted garden.

You held your surliness prominently against your face, not speaking nor listening to the amassment of voices laughing merrily together within the ballroom. As soon as you both marched through the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk immediately shut the doors behind you to shroud you both in darkness. Without turning to face you, he uttered darkly with his voice dripping in unrestrained ferocity.

“Is that how you truly feel about me? About this?” Mihawk growled, balling his fist and placing it on the wall beside him. You remained expressionless, choosing to vocalize your answer. You compartmentalised your emotions, boxing them away as you had trained yourself through the years to do so.

“Answer me,” He whispered, turning to finally face you. His brow was deep, his lips parted and eyes brimming with fury.

“What good would gracing you with an answer do here?” you asked him, shaking your head at him. He stepped forwards, prompting you to dance away from his rapid approach. His footsteps stuttered, his arm halting its reach for you as you continued to hold your face stoic and expressionless.

“Was it all a lie?” Mihawk whispered accusingly, “Everything you told me: was it a lie? My eyes, my voice - all of it?”

You furrowed your brows into the middle of your forehead, attempting to recall a conversation you had with him regarding those aspects of your adoration for him. Your eyes held a seriousness to them, the private moment you shared with the Farm-Hand being the only time you had ever confessed to such a thing again dancing into the forefront of your mind.

“You were eavesdropping on me? Ensuring I was behaving as your intended should? Watching me with the Farm-Hand as a parent would hover over an undisciplined child?” Your fury began to rise and elevate your voice within your throat, “I can assure you, my lord,” that final title had another growl free itself from the throat of the lord of Kuraigana, “I have never behaved in a manner unbefitting a lady-.”

“-That does not answer my question, Governess,” his voice roared with passion, his hair being freed from its confinement beneath his hat as his right hand removed it and cast it to the side, “Was it all a lie?” You backed away from him, your fingertips finding the coarse cement of the marble barrier behind you. You sighed, huffing out your agitation and allowing the moment to suspend your rage as you glared at him.

“Was what a lie? Articulate your words, sir, and I may yet grace you with the answer you so desperately seek,” your passion flared, your correcting reprimand strict and firm in your voice and stature.

At that small challenge, Mihawk was on you in an instant; his hands seeking out your waist and pulling you flush against him as his lips bruised yours in a vicious caress. The intensity of the oscillation dizzied your head, swelled your heart and confused your mind with this degree of unrestrained affection.

He raked his hands over your ribcage, drawing them behind your back, his fingertips slowly raking up each of the divots of the corset behind you. He hooked his arms between your shoulder blades, as your hands found themselves entangling within his raven curls. The brush of his silken mustache grazed your gradually swelling lips as you returned the kiss with equating intensity. You felt his teeth take your bottom lip between them, biting with fury as he drew you closer within his firm embrace. You gasped into his mouth, feeling a groan siphon itself from his lips into your own.

He broke his lips away from yours and began to place open mouthed and heated kisses against your jaw, relishing in the way your skin felt beneath his lips with the cries of surprise propelling him onwards.

“You have ruined me,” he growled into your cheek, raking his teeth over your jaw and up to your ear, “Look at what you’ve made of me.” He drew his lips away from your earlobe and began trailing hot and desperate kisses down your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume Perona had so subtly sprayed on you earlier. You whimpered as he placed a kiss on your pulse, soothing over the rapid beat with his tongue as he felt your breath hitch.

“Mihawk, stop,” you whispered, his actions immediately halting as he snapped his head away from your neck to gaze up into your eyes. Wide and worried was the expression he was met with, his desperation seeping out of his eyes and weeping down onto his face. He sighed, pressing his forehead onto your own, his eyes closing as he felt your anxiety roll off of you and onto him.

“I would never hurt you. You are my bride, my belov-...” his words trailed off as his throat closed them painfully between his tonsils. Your eyes widened as his remained closed, watching the pain draw up onto his face at his unspoken confession. You closed your eyes, leaning into his affectionate touch and inhaling deeply.

“I would never allow myself the luxury of harboring affection for you should you desire severance,” you admitted with a soft smile, drawing your forehead away from his as his eyes reopened to meet with yours. He sighed, both removing your arms from one another while remaining a whisper away from each other.

“And I would never find myself willingly breaking away from you, my lady,” Mihawk quipped in return, his lips threatening to break into a curled smirk beneath his mustache. You were the first to smile, reaching up your right hand to caress his left cheek beneath your palm.

“Perhaps we should return to our event, my lord,” you uttered, dancing your eyes between his before reaching your thumb down to remove some of the lip paint that had passed onto his face from your own, “I may even provide you with the dance you asked me for those many years ago.”

A sound fell into the air that you didn’t realize your heart yearned to hear fall from the parted lips of the lord of Kuraigana. His lips broke upwards, eyes cracking gently at the corners and his heart poured from his mouth in a small uproar of hearty laughter. This laugh felt so familiar to you, yet the sight of his face depicting such a sound was the most beautiful thing to take into your sights. He sighed, leant into your palm and pressed a gentle kiss into your flesh with his eyes briefly closing.

“I would want nothing more, beloved.”

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nucifraga · 3 months

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just spent 6 hrs memorising the basic anatomy of the ribs - SO WHICH RIBS DID JON REMOVE?? [tw anatomy]

so some facts that we know; we know he's alive because of Beholding powers, right? and also that the ribs were "something [he] won't miss" and that the second rib was a "weird one".

there are two possible interpretations of this last fact; it was covered in eyes, it was a different type of rib to the last one, or both.

PART ONE: "the weird one"

let's take this second fact to be true. this means that jon removed two separate types of ribs!!

Quick run-through - There are 12 ribs, and they're all attached to individual parts of the spinal cord. Ribs can be categorised into:

typical/atypical

true/false

bonus: 'floating' (11 & 12 only).

Naturally, it's possible that Jared got one each from either the typical/atypical or true/false categories above, but I think his specific mention of a 'weird one' that he isn't sure that he likes implies it's a floating rib.

Floating ribs are weird. They're not attached to the sternum (big bone at the front) or the costal margin (which connects ribs 7-10 at the front). They're also smaller - by quite a bit! And they would probably classify as 'non-essential' by Jon standards, for ribs. So that's one of them!

Now, which of the 4 floating ribs do I think it is? The thing about the ribs is that they have a few purposes. Like protecting other organs.

The bottom left ribs protect the liver (very very important organ!! basically all the nutrients you ingest go here! it also has like, 500 other jobs - not an exaggeration btw), and the bottom right ribs protect the spleen. Except that usually, the bones that protect the spleen, a very soft organ, are ribs 9-11.

So anyway one of the ribs is definitely rib 12 on the left.

What about the other one?

PART TWO: "something [he] won't miss"

Well, it's not ribs 11-12. It's something different.

SO, a break-down of which ribs he 'might not miss'. I can't lie, pretty much all of them are important. They all protect nerves and blood vessels & attach to at least something. Rib 12 on the left is maybe the only 'unimportant' one I could think of, and even then it helps to protect the subcostal nerve.

Ribs 1-2 are pretty important. It's almost definitely not those two. Likewise, 3-6 are important as attachments for the upper limb muscles, and also for protecting the heart. Rib 7 is kinda needed as an attachment for the rest of the costal margin as well, so the only options are 8-10, really.

But here's an interesting thing about the lungs!! Between the lungs & the diaphragm (& hence the liver, which lies right below the diaphragm), is a gap of about 2 ribs wide. It's called the costodiaphragmatic recess, and it's for your lungs to expand into when you breathe in (and they fill with air).

Depending on how far along the rib you are, it lies between ribs 8-10, ribs 6-8, or ribs 10-12. Which makes it roughly between 8-10. Now, remember that ribs 9-11 protect the spleen on the left, so we're staying away from those.

But rib 8? Rib 8 should be safe. What about right or left? Could be either. But in the interest of balance, I think that rib 8 on the right is my headcanon for Bone That Sat In Jon's Drawer.

It also has the advantage of being a 'typical' rib [ribs 3-9], so for those familiar with anatomy, it looks like a standard rib (but it will still be unrecognisable to those unfamiliar, such as ep 140 Basira).

Mystery solved :D

thanks for reading my tedtalk <3 here are some useful diagrams

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bloodycassian · 2 months

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Divinity - threesome, Azriel x Reader x Cassian - smut with plot.

Angst and pining turns into tender smut - skip to +++++++++++ for just the smut.

warnings and themes below -

dirty talk, P in V, Oral, praise kink (slightly), mating bond, mentions of blood, mentions of death, stalker-ish behavior, suggested bondage, suggested BDSM/brattamer!Azriel, thoughts of suicide, jealousy and envy, alcoholism, mentions of painkillers

Cassian was a dog. He knew it but watched anyway. He didn’t know why it happened, why it had to be you, but he didn’t bother to deny the insatiable craving he had for you when he was this deep into his cups. He turned into an utter and complete animal for the sight of you before him. He was already drooling. He’d be on all fours in a second if it’d appease you. Entranced, he followed your every move, eyes lingering on all the perfect curves and dips of your body as you danced.

Then came the hands upon your hips, so similar to his own, in all but the scarring.

His own brother in bond didn’t know how Cassian lusted for you. How, in the darkest nights when he knew none would hear, he often pleasured himself to the mental image of you. He once feared Azriel has become aware of the way he felt about the shadowsinger’s mate, but there was never an attempt on Cassian’s life. Surely if Azriel had known, Casisan would be dead on the spot.

He his behind his pint, taking a long sip before banishing you from his mind.

He turned in his chair, facing the rest of the crowd that swayed to the band’s music. His stomach clenched and unclenched, as if not leering at the one he lusted for warred with his very being. He ached. His body, his mind, something deep inside his chest, in his diaphragm keened and pitched - gods he was drunk.

He slapped down a few gold marks and slid from his chair, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Sickness overwhelmed him exiting the bar. Patrons rustled in and out, several attractive fae that gave him looks as he strode out. None seemed quite right though. None were you.

He doubled over and vomited in the streets of Velaris.

He found solace only when you shared quiet evenings together at dinner, Azriel idly brushing lightly over your hand and serving you different foods. Envy gripped Cassian, a noose and a leash. His guide and his demise. He couldn’t look his brother in the eyes when you were around.

At least his body wasn’t aching.

He found more and more reasons to be around you. His headaches and nausea were growing worse by the week. He’d visited Madja at least three times in the last month, but nothing could be done about his condition. “Perhaps you should take a break from Ritas, General.” She’d scolded, eyeing the way his hands shook and his pallor.

He hadn’t admitted how the pain only subsided when you were around. If you were his solution, then he’d find another. Eventually. When he had the time.

But he was so consumed by the pain, he found himself merely enduring life when you weren’t around. Rhys had even begun to question him, commanding that Cassian go to the Illyrian healers and make sure that the more spiritual side of him was alright. He knew how skeptical Rhys was concerning the ‘mage’ centers there, therefore it was no comfort that he’d been so adamant about it.

Cassian drifted. He drank more. He wallowed around at the house of wind, just to be free of the hold the pain had on him. It seemed to be the only place he could find relent from the aching in his diaphragm. His hands shook in the mornings after he’d dreamed of you, just a few doors away. He wondered if you felt his heated presence when he was around, if you saw the way his eyes widened and how he seemed unable to breathe properly when looking into your eyes.

Then he’d glance over to where Azriel stood, strapping on his belt of weapons or leaping form the balcony, and the shame would shatter him. He’d hide from you for days at a time while Azriel was away, hoping to the Mother that his cock didn’t get him assassinated by his own brother.

He would leave - he should leave. But what the hel was he meant to do about the migraines, the stomach cramps that accompanied him departing your vicinity?

He could stay, and risk becoming a homewrecker, or he could leave and be hollowed out on the inside by some of the most intense internal pain he’d ever experienced.

He almost wished Azriel would end him.

The illyrian camps were the same as they’d always been. A part of him joyed in seeing the soldiers take up guard as he flew over. He was the Lord of Bloodshed here. A traitor, the male who’d killed an entire village of them for what they’d done to his mother. He would not be disrespected here.

He winced at the landing, the only thing keeping him flying being the pain management he’d bought from the back alley of a mage’s shop. One known for peddling above average doses.

He knew drinking himself stupid wouldn’t get him all the way to the Steppes. He also knew showing up to the mages caves would be somewhat dangerous, espically not knowing what’ they’d need to do to fix him. So he’d paid a hefty bag of coin for the shiny purple bottles, and it’d paid off. He would need to be sober for this interaction.

The front door was a ragged, sunbleached patchwork of driftwood from the beach down the mountain. The gaps between packed with mud and moss, carvings dotting every surface. Some were clearly from children, faded scrawled names and hearts and wings. The majority of the others were symbols, whorls and shapes that almost resembled letters.

He knocked lightly, then entered. The sun on his back disappeared, and his teeth chattered slightly, not entirely from the shade.

“A rare visit from a royal such as yourself” A female voice called, deep and soft and something he would have found sultry if he could think of any female but you. She appeared from behind a partition, holding a bowl with twigs and things rising from the edges.

He straightened as she breathed deeply. Her eyes flickered beneath her lids, scenting him. Taking stock of his recent history. He shuddered, and the pain lanced through him for a moment. His teeth ground together. He would not fear a female as small as her. But the power she held… it seemed to radiate from her, like the embrace of a fire.

“I am no royal. I just happen to have a convenient connection to some.” He quipped back, mood souring as his pain spiked and faded. The sawing knives in his gut had grown sharper and hotter with every wingbeat away from Velaris before he’d taken the potion a quarter of the way to the Steppes. Was it already wearing thin?

“What ails you then, Lord of Bloodshed?” She cocked her head to the side, daring him to dispute his battle earned title. She ran a finger over the lip of the bowl, her eyes tracking the movement of his hand to the center of his torso.

“Shouldn’t you know by now?” He couldn’t help the hand he used as support in that aching spot, just between his ribs. He wasn’t dying, he knew that at least. He’d been close enough to death before to know what it’d be like when it truly came for him.

“I sense pain, yes. But to truly know you’d have to allow me access to the afflicted area.”

Reluctantly, he followed her to the area behind the partition, which was beautifully adorned with dried herbs upon the wall, hanging upside down from several strings. The candlelight flickered over every surface, making shadows dance and radiate a warm glow over the bed upon the floor.

He removed his tunic. Her eyes darted over his body, every part of his sculpted muscle. Her tongue flicked over her lips. “If you want your coin, you’ll quit smiling like that.” He warned.

She hissed a laugh, but motioned for him to lay flat on the bed.

“You may find these methods strange, and different from how your healers in the courts handle things. But you must trust that I am going to help you.” She began, the words practiced and falling from her tongue so quickly he could hardly keep up with the pounding in his head.

“We will begin with a full body check.” She lit something that began smoldering on a shelf to her side. “I will be sensing your energy from your key points, finding the difficult areas and allowing that to guide me where I sense it is taking me.” Something wet smeared against his cheekbones, but he was beginning to ease into the process with much more willingness now as she explained.

“It may seem like your afflicted areas become hot or tense when we begin to heal them, but please refrain from moving. The flow of energy is determined by your positioning and your emotion.” She was prepping more things, her honey smooth voice lulling him into a trance. More cool sensations dotted his chest, his abdomen. “If you are running, your body sends more energy to your heart. When you are trying to think of things, more to your mind. Just as a plant cannot grow without enough sunlight, we may not grow without enough positive energy.

Her hand began at his head, kneading his greased hair and the ever present headache eased into a dull hum behind his eyelids. Her fringers traced over his skin, goosebumps breaking out every time they skimmed too lightly. His mind went blank at the warm pressure when he would push lightly on whatever key points she spoke of. Moving to his face, then his shoulders and chest.

She eased downwards, the moment she skipped over the center he was arching up, pain lancing through him like a hot spike. A firm hand on his shoulder held him down. His eyes flashed open and panic corrupted his mind.

“You must relax your body, Cassian.” A voice, not the woman’s languid tone but one that was much more intimately familiar to him. One that set his head spinning and stomach doing flips. One he’d imagined everything from fighting with to fucking with.

But there was no way you were here, this was a trick of the mind. He knew that. He knew it.

But it worked. And once he was able to relax his muscles again, the roaring pain in his muscles eased. It faded to little more than a dull ache. And for the first time in months, he went fully and completely unconscious.

“I’ve never experienced such a through sickness such as yours, General. What a grip that female holds on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You came here for answers, didnt you? You left your answer back in Velaris.” She pulled a rag from her makeshift sink and tossed it to him. “She is all you need. Your mate. Some scholars believe that-”

“What are you talking about?” He repeated again, his voice echoing through the cave.

She leveled him a look, one that had him straightening. “As I was saying - some scholars believe the refusal of the mating bond is powerful enough to kill. I suggest courting her, if you wish for the pain to ease more quickly.”

“I don't understand what you are saying. She has a mate. I-” He stammered for the words, unable to comprehend what this female was telling him. Was Rhys right, was all this a scam? A show of something desired for a quick pocket of coin? But that pain he’d experienced - it was eased now. As if temporarily fended off by her power.

“It is possible to have more than a single mate, Cassian. Especially if both parties of the mated pair are willing.”

“It is unheard of. Azriel wouldn’t allow it.” He attempted an angry tone, but everything seemed distant and far away.

Her eyes flashed with the glean of the information. But she kept her composure otherwise. It must have brought pity, from the way her face softened. “Perhaps you do not know all of the Shadowsinger’s secrets. He likely has more than you know.” She blew out the incense and a few of the candles. “But there is no denying that there is a tether in you. A mating bond, quite strong if you’ve been having effects this violent.”

He sat, head spinning. His stomach pitched, but for once it wasn’t because of the illness that infected him when you weren’t around.

“What do I do, how do I-” His lips were moving, but the words seemed spoken by someone else. He was far, far away from his body and his mind was numb with shock. The words died in his throat before he said them. There wasn’t a single right question to get the answers he needed, and it left him to an ocean of self pity to wallow in.

“Go to them. At the very least it will ease your suffering.”

But he was already striding out, leaving a sack of gold marks on the floor behind him. “Mother watch over you, lord of bloodshed.” Her voice echoed through his mind the entire journey home.

Azriel’s mind tricks were strictly forbidden during training, which meant the sight of Cassian approaching with nothing but his leathers on and nothing more than a dagger at his side was real. A rare sight of the General without a sword strapped at his back. His hair was also different, disheveled more than usual. As if he’d been running his hands through it for hours. He was pale, deep purple marks beneath his eyes, standing out even against his dark skin.

“Cas, what is it?” Azriel turned to the male, not bothering to take up a defensive stance even when Cassian approached him in the ring.

Something was wrong. Deeply, truly wrong then.

“I need to speak with both of you.” He said, his voice like gravel. Like he’d been screaming.

You approached, and they seemed to have a silent exchange. Something in Cassian’s eyes hardened when he looked to the shadowsinger, and there was the slightest nod as he handed Azriel the blade, hilt first.

Your mate took it uneasily. You’d never seen Azirel seem so uncomfortable with a weapon in hand. He held it loosely, as if it pained him.

“I can’t say this right. There is no way for me to be able to ever apologize for this. But I need to at least say it once. I am sorry for this. I am sorry for how this is about to fuck everytyhing up. Azriel I understand however you react, and I hope, if you decide to kill me, it is with that blade.” He nodded to the one he’d brought, the tip of it pointed to his stomach.

“Cassian what-” You began, but his eyes flashed with such pain, such torment and pleading, that it took your breath away. He held your gaze and steadied his mind. This was it then, the moment he’d always hoped for, in some sick way. A part of him joyed that he’d die and no longer have to live with the agonizing guilt.

“You’re my mate.” He said it, lip curling in disgust at himself. He said it, and seemed to deflate. Azriel was silent, your mouth agape as everything quieted. A beat, two, three. “I’m know it’s at least you. I’m not sure, Azriel if-” He began rambling, his cheeks flaring red beneath the bronze of his skin. The tips of his rounded ears turning a shade of pink.

Something aligned inside you. Something deep and powerful, shifting the world beneath your feet and settling you into a new reality that seemed wholly incomplete without Cassian. Your eyes went to Azriel for the smallest second, attempting to make sense of what had been said.

Your mate - your mate, the one you couldn’t imagine life without. The strongest male you’d ever met stood beside you, shaking.

His shoulders seemed to crumple inwards, his hands trembling fiercely.

The blade dropped the the ground, the shrill sound of it shocking you from your stupor. Azriel was moving before you could say anything. His hands went to Cassian’s shoulders, pushing him back, and back - stumbling backwards until they were both on the ground. “I asked for the blade-” Cassian ground out.

But Azriel was not choking Cassian, as you thought he may be. When you approached, Azriel was merely staring at him, his eyes locked on the other males in challenge, and in something like awe.

The same way he watched you, you realized. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Cassian’s eyes went wide with shock, then they went glassy. His brows pulled up in the middle, and he was breathing something - chanting something over and over. Through the roaring in your ears, his voice seemed to slip through. A tether, a bond slipping past your mental walls.

“She was right. She was right, she was right she was right-” It chanted over, and over.

You gripped Azriels shoulder, pulling him backwards off of Cassian. Both of them lay where they’d landed, victims to the reality that was your newly shared bond.

A tangle of emotion shot through you, forcing you to the ground with them. Pain welled in your mind, your stomach and Azriel groaned along with you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry-” You weren’t sure if the quivering words were coming from Cassian’s mouth or if they were his mental voice, but it cracked and splintered through your very soul.

The world seemed to be collapsing, turning inward and eating itself whole. Pain and joy, laced with the scent of sea air and warm woods invaded your mind. Light and fear and an all consuming love roared through every bone in your body along with that seaside forest. Your blood sang with it. You could practically taste it upon your tongue, it was so potent. Through a sea of despair and grief, relief flooded your lungs and refilled you with life again. Cassian. You couldn't’ breathe. Not when his mental self was so all consuming.

Cassian’s presence flowed through you on a bridge of broken, fired swords melded together with every step he took upon them. Every lick of his essence upon them firing them together, forging a bond of unbreakable steel.

Another angle of anger, a deep rage and pity appeared. Azriel. You’d know his darkness anywhere, it was a part of you. It was the part of you that was so essential, so ingrained into your life, that you couldn’t imagine living without him. His passion, his smile, his laugh, his eyes - mother above, you were nearly knocked breathless waking up to him every morning. You gripped on to the bond, familiar and comforting as he slid into your mind, meeting you halfway. He embraced you for only a moment, not lingering at your side. His presence flew to the new section of your shared mental space, erupting from the black space like an island from the ocean.

The bond quivered beneath his wrath, threatening to break that path of shadowy webs and ice. A glacier. that's what Azriel was in comparison. But with the heat of Cassian’s forged bridge, it was not unpleasant. You shied away from neither of them.

Something happened then, something that was so unexpected from the two of them that it had you questioning what you sensed. A truce of sorts seemed to unfold before you as their presence met in your mind.

Azriel’s northern drift of snow and ice faltered upon meeting Cassian’s wall of flame. They twined around each other, and a great column of wind flowed between the three of you. Emotion raged, jealousy, resentment, brutality and violence. It was dizzying. But then there was also an undeniable love. A tender, tentative love that shone through it all. Harmony, and heated desire. A shiver rolled through you, and their presence both seemed to turn towards yours for an instant, distracted. There, in that moment, an unbreakable bond of care radiated from both of them - at war with the violence that begged to be released.

Your mind was lost to it all, strewn wherever it took you. Indignation, then mouth watering need. Sorrow, then shame. You wished you could stop them, to throw yourself between them and endure the pain of it all alone. You would take it. The honesty of the realization shocked you. You’d easily take the burden of it all if it meant you could have them both, still, without the pain you were feeling second hand.

The same care washed through them. You could feel it, as real and palatable as the chilled wind that washed over your physical body.

Light flashed, blinding and warm, and it was over. The sky appeared before you, painted pink from the sunset that shone over Velaris.

The wind you’d felt had been Azriels shadows gathering, black as the deepest part of the oceans and just as cold. He was standing first, his teeth chattering as he helped you, then Cassian to a standing position.

“I always thought the bond between us was somehow different than how I felt with Rhys… Like there was an entire world more -” Azriel admitted, his cheeks flushing. Their presence in your mind rose and fell together like the sleeping breaths of a giant.

“I didn’t know. I am truly sorry Azriel-”

You were shocked yet again by Azriel’s next words. “Apologizing is a waste of time. We’ve been destined together, likely for longer than we have been.” He gripped your hand for a moment and squeezed. You weren’t offended. It was probably true, and they’d both been in denial of it for a long, long time. You’d only met Azriel a few hundred years ago, in a freak accident in the Hybern sea - and it had seemed too strange to be anything other than the Caludron mixing your lives together.

But why had fate - the mother - waited so long to pull the three of you together?

The questions were forced to wait.

++++++++++

Azriel pulled you both close, then he was winnowing you together into the house of wind, back to your room. The clothes strewn on the bed felt embarrassing now, but Cassian took in the details greedily. You blocked out the heat that flooded his bridge at the sight of the hook points on the bedposts. Azriel’s coolness fluttered with amusement. You smacked his arm, and he hid his grin while watching the other Illyrian.

It all seemed so natural, as if accepting Cassian as your mate was as easy as speaking to him. It fell so in line with how the male truly was. It wasn’t a stretch or any kind of adjustment to make at all, it was as if you’d turned your head and he’d been there all along. Waiting, hoping and hungering after you.

The weapons upon the wall, the shelf of odd books on the other side of the room, even the bedspread were not unfamiliar to Cassian. The books were ones Cassian knew well, from basics of different fighting styles to tomes on battle strategy from all areas of the world. He’d envied Azriel for several of the weapons mounted beside them, most of them won in battles.

Azriel noticed his admiration and smiled - the two had always had similar taste, after all. The General’s eyes shifted to the other pile of books and slips of paper upon the desk, full of different sketches and stories to be told and read. The empty glasses of water and scattered clothes left atop the bed.

His eyes settled upon you, his eyes taking on a new confidence, like he’d learned enough from the small observations in your room and he now felt equipped for what was undeniably coming next. He could feel it, roiling beneath his skin, a beast of lust and greed lurking inside him. It took all his strength not to allow it freedom. To battle it every second with you so heated and flushed before him, laid bare on that bond - opened wide to both you and Azriel’s raging desire to claim you..

“This is going to be delectable.” Azriel’s dark voice purred in your mind. Then, the vision of you and Cassian locked in a melting kiss appeared. It was something you’d seen more than a few times when you and Azriel envisioned bringing a third into the bedroom. Your heart sped, forcing blood to pump thickly through your throat.

“Kiss her.” Azriel suggested, his eyes skimming over Cassian’s body as if drinking him in. As if he were finally allowed to do such a thing.

“Az, I-” Ever the gentleman, Cassian had to enforce some kind of hesitation, for respect alone. He shivered at even the idea, his mind bending to the thought more than it did with a High Lord’s order.

“She likes it slow, at first.” Azriel described, and you could feel the heat flooding through the bond, swelling your desire further. The anticipation tingled upon your tongue. The green tinged nerves that flowed from Cassian made racing to his hand easier. He didn’t need much convincing to grip yours back, glancing between you and Az.

“Grip her ass, pull her in and it’ll set her off.” The shadowsinger smiled at your glare, and placed a hand on the small of Cassian’s back, leading him forward. You couldn’t deny the pure heat that coursed through your veins at the sight of your mate wanting another male to fuck you. “Once she’s earned it, I mean.” He ended with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, and raised your free hand to brush away strands of Cassian’s hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “I’m looking forward to not having to deal with him alone any longer.” You let a finger drag over Cassian’s jawline, and he shivered.

Flames rushed down those mental bridges, Azriel’s just as intense as Cassian’s despite fact that the Shadowsinger stood to the side. Shadows darkened the room around you, the anticipation from Azriel apparent through the outline of his trousers. He gave you a nod with those darkened eyes, making your stomach flip, and you stripped your clothes off quickly. Eagerly, you realized with a small part of your mind that was not entirely consumed with arousal.

Laid bare before them both, on the edge of the bed, just how Azriel’s eyes had suggested. Azriel knew just how to have you obey him. Just like how he knew to push the right buttons when he wanted you to give him attitude so he could punish you. It was a silent, wicked game you played together in private, but with Cassian here… Doubt crept in. A whisper of his thought floated to you. “Another time. He will not be punishing you until we go over rules first, darling.” Your gaze flicked from Cassian, then back to him. He’d somehow bypassed Cassian with his implanted thought. You could see his pride shimmering behind his eyes at his accomplishment.

He was cautious with his testing, you could feel it now, the way he cast shadows from your side of the conjoined bridges, to Cassian’s, then back. Attempting to find weak points, or ways to block out you and him. You would have glared at him, if it weren’t for the way he was also palming the hardness in his leathers. Your mouth popped open at the sight. Two males, both powerful and gorgeous and ready to fuck you.

More than that. They were ready to lay their lives down for you, if it were commanded of them. This was far, far more than just a threesome. You’d have time for those relevations later, though. You reached down, toying with yourself, reveling in the way both of their eyes tracked the movement and how they both swore.

“Dont be shy now, Cas.” Azriel encouraged, his hands going to gently guide the larger male. The feel of the other Azriel’s skin against his own was like kindling to his flame, and the lord of bloodshed would never admit to the way his eyes fluttered back, pulling on years of hard willed training to not devour you before him.

Here he was getting exactly what he’d envied Azriel for - Hel, being told to take you by Azriel.. And he was still cautious. He blamed his warrior mind. It was a trick, some way to test his loyalty, it had to be… but he coldn’t deny that connection in his mind that he now felt.

You gave a sinister smile, sensing just what your actions were doing to him, and winked. Upon the first touch of his hands - both of their hands - it was hard to hold back. Hard to keep from pulling them to you and fucking them both right there. It sent sparks to the base of your spine, heat to fuel your very bones. Cassian’s breath shuddered from him at the softness of your body, at the way Azriel was guiding him to touch you.

Thighs, rubbing - massaging really - heavy, petting strokes of his calloused hands everywhere that he’d desired to touch for so long. Everywhere but your glistening cunt, which he scented with every breath. His mouth watered, but even when Azriel stepped away to watch from the end of the bed, Cassian didn’t immediately go to the feast before him.

No, he wanted this to last. He wanted to savor every part of this experience. So he broke away for only a second to undo his belt, pull down his trousers and give himself a slight relief from the pressure building inside him.

His cock was a gorgeous thing to behold. He was thicker than Azriel, but a bit shorter, and the slickness of his head had you anticipating the moment you’d taste him. You sat up to do just that, but a rope of Azriel’s shadow whipped forward and guided you back to the bed. You were going to protest but Cassian was grinning at the other Illyrian.

“We can communicate openly or -” Cassian’s raspy mental voice lowered, and some part of you knew that the next words were just for you. “Privately. Just us, just for him or me or -” Cassian’s voice took on a more echoing tone next. “I can let you both know just how badly I want to bury my cock inside you.”

Your thighs clamped shut on his hands as he ended the thought with a soft thumbstroke over your clit. Azriel hissed, and you whimpered. The male atop you sucked the pad of his thumb between his lips and sighed. “Fucking delicious.” He muttered, his voice similar to his mental tone.

His wings flared out, and he knelt before you, finally getting a full taste of your arousal. The heat of him was immeasurable, all consuming and completely fucking wonderful. He groaned into it, looking up to watch you, his mouth atop your clit. He lapped at it slowly while you arched and reached for anything - wanting to have Azriel in your hand, your mouth - anywhere. But he only shook his head, the corner of his lip pulling up slightly as he watched.

“Please-” You whined, unable to stop the way your body rolled and ground harder onto Cassian’s mouth.

“Fuck-” Azriel panted, his hand steadying at the base of his cock. A bead of precome appeared at the tip, and he dabbed it with his finger. The next moment he was right at your side, shadows swirling from winnowing. His finger traced over your lips a moment before you sucked it into your mouth, reveling in the taste, the weight of it. It would have to suffice until he’d give you what you truly wanted.

Cassian’s tongue flicked greedily lower, soaking you further with his saliva. You rocked into it, needing more than just the teasing licks. Your core ached, need turning into something that was controlling your very action, no matter how depraved. His tongue dipped into your hole, fucking you there for a moment while your eyes rolled back. You squirmed, locking your legs behind his head and pulling him deeper, closer, angling for more. You need the stretch, the fullness of his cock inside you. the filthy exhilaration of his muffled moan had your legs quivering, weakening their hold enough for him to break away. Your insides quivered around the loss, and a wave of near orgasm pleasure washed through you, forcing your legs to shake.

Had that feeling been Azriel? You hadn’t been touched nearly long enough to be so close already. Was Cassian - no, Cassian’s length didn’t reveal the same amount of slickeness that Azriels did. You shuddered at the thought of how much this was doing for Azriel. He’d wanted something like this for so long, but had always been too territorial to allow someone else in. The mother seemed to have answered his wish, and Cassian’s in one go.

Cassian sat up on his knees, a wide, smug smile spreading across his soaked lips. The shine of your wetness on his chin and nose sent you into a frenzy, and you moved to sit up, to taste yourself upon him. before you could, Azriel was at his side, kissing him, lapping it from him. Your mouth fell open, dry from the moaning.

Watching them together was truly a gift. An extension of yourself felt exactly what they were experiencing, and that alone was so intense and heady you could barely focus on actually looking at the two. Cassian’s broad body was so different from Azriel’s lithe figure, so at odds with how many of your lovers in the past had been built. It made the need for his cock even more heightened.

Their hands coasted over the plains of each other’s chests, their muscled backs, caressing and being much more tender than you anticipated them to be. Then Cassian’s hand landed at the base of Azriel’s cock, and pumped once. Az’s eyes flashed open, wide and wild. His teeth bared, his shadows devoured him and he re appeared at your head, his cock dripping precome onto your cheek. A rope of shadow pulled your leg back, allowing Cassian easy access.

“Fuck her good Cass.” He growled, then sighed at the heat of your mouth around him. You moaned around it, taking him in deep and humming as Cassian’s blunt head pressed against your entrance.

He was fire, and he was all consuming, setting flame to every part of you he touched. Pure lava coursed through your veins once he entered you. The first few inches were bliss, and he kept going, and going, sinking into you until you were sure there was no space left to fill. There was nowhere for him to go but he kept pressing, pulling out and nudging back in, slickening his length more with your own juices so he could push in farther. Your mind buzzed with satisfaction.

“So fucking tight.” He breathed, sweat appearing at his brow. Azriel relieved your mouth and instead positioned himself to your side, summoning at pillow for your head so he no longer had to hold you in place. No, he had much more important things to do with his hands. He languished in his strokes, matching the easy pace that Cassian set. Whining, you reached for him but were denied.

A warning growl sounded in your mind, the desperation there palpable. He was on the brink, and just from watching. You cursed under your breath, but didn’t push him to give you what you wanted.

You watched Cassian break you apart, separating your lips and pushing deep until he bottomed out, a pinching sensation radiating through you, only to be drowned away by the exquisite pleasure of being so full.

He rested there for a moment, and Azriel pulled at his cock idly, keeping himself hard while he watched was not a problem, fuck he’d do better with a break so he wouldn’t finish before Cassian.. His balls had tightened to the point of pain, forcing him to choose cumming down your throat or calculating the distance between his bedroom and the shop he’d have to visit tomorrow to buy a contraceptive tea blend. That worked to cool him off.

He was not here for the destination, he reminded himself.. The journey of discovery was something that thankfully would take several, several tries. Over years. Centuries, he hoped.Centuries. His mind unraveled that. Getting to know Cassian on the level he’d always wanted to. Getting to have experiences like this for centuries. His chest filled with heat, a different kind than the one that fueled him to nearly cumming in his own hand.

It still nearly happened, watching Cassian lick his thumb and circle it over your clit while he pulled out, and gently pushed back into you. Blinding pleasure chased every rub, every thrust, and you pushed away his hand after a few more. “So close already?” He smirked, satisfied with his work.

He glanced to Azriel, and hissed under his breath at the perfection of the male. “I can feel her tightened up, nice and close for me.” Cassian said with a snap of his hips forward. You garbled some plea and tugged on the shadow bound leg that Azriel commanded. With your other hooked around Cassian’s back, you could almost force him deeper, to give you the angel that would have you coming undone around him.

“You like his cock, honey? You can tell me.” Azriel hummed.

Guilt did not burden you at this simple, animalistic pleasure. Not when there were two other sources of ecstacy contributing to your heady need. You nodded fervently, allowing them both to see how you’d truly become engulfed by the pleasure they provided.

“Good. That’s a good girl, taking him so well.” He bit his lower lip and groaned. “I can feel you, like a ghost. This bond will be the death of me.” Azriel’s cock wept heavily, coating him with slick precome that you wished he’d let you taste. But every time you feebly reached for him, he’d sway from your touch.

Cassian’s cock surged inside you, pressing up just as he thrust inward. Your body responded with a clench of your pussy around his girth, and gasps and moans echoed through the room, and there were no more games with either of them.

Azriel’s shadow melted away, and his cock was in your mouth at the same moment. Cassian sucked a mark onto your breast, and with both legs free you were able to latch around him and arch into his thrusts, meeting him with every one.

Salt tanged your tastebuds as Azriel fucked your mouth, his hand keeping you in time with Cassian’s pace. And gods with every one of Cassian’s long, delicious thrusts he ground down onto your clit, sending you barreling towards the edge you weren’t sure if you were ready to be thrown from yet.

You pulled Cassian forward slightly with your legs, angling him better and - gods. Your eyes rolled, and wetness seemed to burst from your pussy from the way the sound of Cassian’s cock sliding from you changed. Your toes curled, your mind went blank. There was nothing but the muffled, desperate moaning and ragged breaths as the pleasure tore through you. It was violent, and had you writhing on the sheets with the intensity of it.

Your walls spasmed, a hot and intense orgasm ripping through you and leaving you unable to move other than the rhythmic sway of your hips, silently bargaining for more once the intensity died down. Thankfully, Azriel had enough experience with your post orgasm needs that he continued fucking your mouth.

“Fu-u-uck-” Cassian drew the word out, and his eyes squeezed shut. Azriel’s hand tightened in your hair, then he held you there, his cock shoved deep in the back of your throat as he came and came, a breathy mess of loud moaning.

Cassian wasn’t more than a second behind, spilling into you with a roar that managed to rip through your post-orgasm bliss. The feel of him, of his cum filling you sent your body into a heated need for more. You pulled back from Azriel, his hands had been frozen in your hair even after he’d finished. You climbed to Cassian, fixing your hands upon his broad shoulders and pushing his cock even deeper as you climbed him.

He knew what you wanted. What you needed. He grinned, eyes wild. And though he still shook from his own orgasm, hauled you up and off the soaked bed with corded, trained muscles. He pushed you to a small section of undecorated wall, and pined you there with ease.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” He rumbled, pulling your thighs high up his hips and fucking you hard and fast. Gods this was for you, all of him, and Azriel both - for you and he was giving it his all- You could hardly think of how lucky you were with his cock nudging into that small place inside you with every brutal thrust.

He was muttering filthy things in your ear, getting you closer with every action. “Y’Just need to cum again, don’t even care how. Gods I can feel you-” He sighed, and his jaw ached with how badly he wished he could finish again, to have you quivering upon his cock as he came into you until you were both fully spent.

Azriel lay on the bed, watching and idly toying with himself, his cheeks flushed and shadows coasting over his thighs. His cock stood proudly, shining with your leftover saliva and his own pleasure.

Cassian was not forgiving. He pounded into you ruthlessly, rattling the swords and artwork upon the wall. You curled into him, meeting his every thrust with arched eagerness that had you building to another quick, exhilarating finish that left you panting, clawing at his back. The intensity of this one had you shuddering, crumpling in his grasp, and he rode you through it, fucking into you with the same harshness as he had been.

Only when your teeth let the skin of his chest free did he relent with slower, softer rolls of his hips until he was sure you didn’t want more. Until he was sure he couldn’t make you finish again. He wanted to make you like this every hour, every minute of the day now that he’d had a taste. IT would be hard to do anything but this for his foreseeable future. To have you so in his grasp, so tangible now… he still only half believed this was real, and not a dream.

He decided that before he woke, if this really were a dream, he’d treat you right. Both you and Azriel. He lay you down next to Azriel, and pulled his cock free from you. A wash of his cum followed, soaking the bedding further. He stood back a moment, marveling at both his mates.

He would have to make sure to give Azriel more time during their next round. He’d been so consumed with you it had been hard to focus on anything but you and the encouraging words and feelings from Azriel.

The sight before him was his future, and all that mattered in it. His reason, his divine destiny from the Mother. He blinked the tears away before they could pour over.

Cassian joined his mates, avoiding the large wet spots on the bedding. “I hope to the Mother that these sheets actually get washed and not Glamoured…” He grumbled, eyeing the room around him. The house deposited a stack of books upon the end table a moment later. Cassian picked one up.

“Mothering of the Fae and other Species of Prythian, by Lidia Knight.” He read the title aloud, then glared at the ceiling. Azriel looked over your blissful expression, to his new mate, and laughed.

#acotar fic #reader x cassian #reader x azriel #reader insert #cassian #lord of bloodshed #azriel #shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger #acotar

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