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utterlyazriel · 3 months

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whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: chapter twoooo i hope you guys enjoy!! and i take this as pure reason to knuckle down and finish chapter three tehe <3 let me know what u think!! a million mwahs to @strangerstilinski for being my beta too, even tho i yelled at u sorry :/

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

— CHAPTER TWO :: ALLIES

The storm had calmed come morning. The Mother's Kiss slowed, quietened to only a whisper between the trees.

With it, the ache in your forearm too. The torn skin knitted up in the night, the heat from the fire like a balm on the wound.

But right now, the ache was threatening to make a reappearance.

You glare across the clearing at Azriel from your place in the mud, where he's just knocked you down. Your lungs burn. Your chest heaves as you try to catch you breath. The last hour has been spent on the same infuriating exercise.

The sludgy dirt, still sloppy from the melted snow of last night, drips off your arms as you scramble to get to your feet. Your wings shudder, flicking off the cold dirt with a shake.

"Try again." Azriel says, his voice calm.

He has no weapons on him today with the exception of one knife, strapped high on his thigh. Its obsidian hilt glimmers under the winter sun, rays catching the decorative jewel on the end. The rest of his weapons won't be far you're willing to bet. No Illyrian warrior lets themself be so unprepared.

Or perhaps he truly only needs one blade to hold his own in a fight.

A flicker of envy. You suppose you should feel little more gratuitous of his offer to train, especially considering he's such a mighty warrior.

But between the built-in wariness that comes with having a secret such as yours and the way he keeps throwing you in the mud... it's hard to dredge up some gratitude. You must have been at this for hours now.

Besides, a little part of you can't help but be skeptical of his offer. What exactly did he stand to gain from helping you?

"Why are you helping me again?"

You're panting lightly, bent over with your hands on your knees. Your bound chest twinges in pain. You weren't out of shape by any means — you were an Illyrian warrior after all. But getting knocked down endlessly was beginning to wear you down.

"And," You huff, waving a hand behind at the mud pile he keeps dumping you in. "How does this help?"

Azriel crosses his arms across his broad chest. In the daylight, his shadows shimmer and wisp about. You had been unsurprised to find he's even more devastatingly handsome in the light of daytime.

After his final words the evening before, Azriel had disappeared out into the storm without further explanation, his shadows swirling around him like falling snow.

Come morning, you rose before the sun and stepped outside, prepared to head to training—and there he was. Posed up against a tree, the obsidian-hilt blade his hands, sharpening it in long, precise strokes.

"Lord Mylind has been spoken to regarding your training." Azriel had said, in place of a greeting. "He knows of your expected absence whilst you train under me."

You hadn't said anything; half convinced there had been something coated on Brudam's knife that made you hallucinate the whole thing.

"Though," The male before you continued, finally sheathing his dagger away into the holster on his thigh with casual precision. "He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected."

He raises his eyebrows slightly.

"Why do you think they hate me so much?" You asked, a bitter edge to your voice. It's a non-answer.

"Because you neglect your duties as a warrior?"

"Ha. Did Lord Mylind use that word?"

"It's true, one is not considered a warrior until one passes The Blood Rite." Azriel commented, his head tilting to the side just an inch. "You're a warrior-in-training. Provided you go to training, that is."

The combined mention of The Blood Rite and your missing time during training had you tensing up. Azriel had noticed, his eyes shifting to your stiff posture. He hadn’t commented — just stalked off into the snow, wings held high and proud, not checking to see if you bothered to follow.

Now, muscles aching and skin coated in mud-slick, you briefly wonder if you were regretting following him.

"You're smaller than usual Illyrians.” Azriel says. “They rely on brute strength but someone your size is better to rely on your agility— a skill they've been neglecting. No doubt to try to discourage you."

A flush of nervousness rushes through your system at his comment on your size. There's a good reason you don't size up against Illyrian males—being that you aren't one at all.

For good measure, you wipe your face haphazardly with a muddy hand. Any pesky scents that might give you away get smothered beneath it.

"And I believe in what you're doing," Azriel continues, his hazel eyes watching you closely. "It's honourable, no matter what Brudam and his brood say."

Something akin to pride blooms deep in your chest at his approval, at his belief in your mission. Having fought on your own for so many years had taken its toll— one you weren't aware of until it eased. Just a touch.

"Could've sworn you just enjoyed knocking me on my ass."

That glimmer of amusement is back in his hazel eyes. You swear his lips twitch as if holding back a smile.

"Try again." He says, in lieu of an answer. Not a denial.

He gestures to his neck again. Tan skin that hides beneath dark, scaly armor. This has been your task for the last hour — get your hand on his throat, through hand-to-hand combat.

Considering how you'd managed to stick him with a fork just yesterday, you had assumed it was easy territory.

You had been sorely, sorely wrong.

Straightening yourself up properly, you roll your shoulders back and flare your wings out a bit. Your boots sink into the mud an inch. You assess the distance between you and Azriel, eyes narrowed, and try to put together each piece of advice he's given you in the last hours.

Plant your feet when you're striking.

Stay on your toes if you're advancing.

Use your environment to your advantage.

Punch through, not just at.

Your height is as much an advantage as it is a disadvantage.

Some of it was nothing more than a reiteration of your training in camp. And yet, when delivered from Azriel, under his focused gaze, it seems easier to absorb. It holds a different meaning.

This time as you survey your approach a thousand other details whisper in your ear.

The rustle of the trees, the whirl of the wind, the stance he sinks into like second nature.

If you can't overpower him, how can you get a hand on his neck?

Your boots sink deeper into the mud and you tense, your wings held taut and high behind you as you ready yourself to pounce.

The wind picks up, a whistle in the air, and you can see, even from afar, how the swirling of his shadows perk up — as if listening for any whispers in it.

Time to strike.

You burst forward and stay low this time, letting your knees take the brunt of your weight. Instead of trying to get past him, you need to bring his neck down to your level. A half-baked plan scrambles together.

Feigning moves against a proficient warrior like him is nearly laughable and his thick forearm moves to parry your punch as quickly as you form it. Good. It's what you're relying on.

You pivot your energy and focus it on kicking out his bent knee— and you catch him enough by surprise that he stumbles back a step. He doesn’t fall though.

You grit your teeth and know you have about half a second before he’s going to have you dodging punches and landing back in the mud. You keep pressing forward.

Skin meets leather as you land a sharp snap against his shoulder, your knuckles stinging deliciously but he deftly blocks your next blow. And the next, and the next.

Then you’re hitting more of his hands than you are anywhere else.

Frustrated, you snarl, increasing your speed and letting him focus on your incoming punches so he doesn’t see it when you send a kick into his groin.

His defense drops razor fast— both his scarred hands wrapping around your calf and capturing it between his legs, stopping it 2 inches from making contact.

Your eyes dart up to his face, nearly grinning at the incredulous look he gives you.

It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for — and something gleeful in you sings when you shoot your hand up faster than both his can move. The palm of your hand connects with the skin of his neck.

“Aha!” You shout, unable to help yourself.

You’re panting, out of breath from the fast combat and yet, still savouring the victory. A foreign glimmer of admiration and approval flashes deep in your chest. It's gone as quick as it appears.

Azriel doesn’t waste a second to sweep your feet out from beneath you.

Unprepared, you crumple and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A groan rumbles in your chest. Mud squishes up against your cheek, sullying it.

For a moment, you just lay there and groan in pain.

You're pretty sure every single muscle in your body aches as you gather your strength and push yourself up from the mud, elbows quivering. If you thought regular training was rigorous, this has been brutal.

True, there's less hitting you while you're down which you were more than accustomed to — only once have you thought Azriel might give you a kick while you were defenseless and too tired to cover your face.

But instead, he had surprised you and offered a hand. You had hesitated before taking it.

And as you're finding out, when you're spending less time worrying about Illyrians unfairly targeting you due to your size, you're a hell of a lot better fighter.

With a much better opponent though.

You win some, you lose some.

"Anyone ever call you a prick before?" You seethe quietly; because you had done the task he wanted you to do and he'd still sent you back on your ass. You spit into the mud and wipe your mouth.

"Definitely." Azriel answers. Again, there's that hint of amusement in his voice.

You huff and push up to rest back on your heels, planting your hands on your knees and glaring up at him. The muck on your wings makes you shiver, sludgy trails of mud sliding off them unpleasantly. You're well used to the cold.

"Good." You huff. "Prick."

Azriel smiles at that, not bothering to hide it. You find yourself smiling back at him, an out-of-breath laugh making your shoulders shake and your head bow. The muscles in your stomach hurt as they move.

When you look back up at him, he's offering his hand again.

You take it, this time without hesitation.

—

The day is for training. Azriel, the mentor. You, the student.

The night is for learning. You're both students here.

The second part of his offer that you clearly hadn't expected, given your wide-eyed look when he turned up at your door on that first evening, bringing all manners of plants needed to make healing tonics. Things you hadn't been able to find or afford on your own.

It had been then, he thinks, that you realised how serious he was about helping you. That his offer extended beyond training you physically.

"Is there really a difference between cutting and slicing?" Azriel asks as he peers down at the table beneath him.

In his marred hands is a root vegetable, something that flowered prettily— nice purple skin with a golden centre. He frowns down at it, his gaze shifting slowly from the vegetable to the knife in his hand.

It’s strange, he thinks. Strange to hold a knife and have it not be for violence.

"There is a difference," Your reply floats across from the other side of the room.

Nearly a week he's been here. Azriel had been pushing you more each day he was here, brutal one-on-one training to hone your skills.

It’s working; already he can see the certainty of your stance, your increased agility, the hunter's glint in your eyes. The clumsiness of the first day of training has already been worn away. Beneath it, the Illyrian warrior emerges.

He's exhausting you, he knows. Working you twice as hard to try to fill every gap in your training that seems to be missed. Finding every weak point left by the Lords of this camp, to disadvantage you no doubt, and training it up.

But if you’re tired from it, you don’t complain.

Azriel lifts his head to look at you properly, his eyes watching your hands as you strip leaves off one of the plants he had brought with him today.

Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males, that work diligently at your task. Your focus remains strong, even as you talk over your shoulder.

"Well, slicing is cutting but a more precise form." You shift your wing back, tucking it in, as you finally turn your head back to look at him.

You're a very peculiar male.

Azriel can't say he's ever met a warrior, or even an Illyrian, like yourself before. You're small. It's the first thing he had noticed when he had slipped into your tiny home those nights ago, a sturdy shelter against the harsh wind of the mountains.

You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you.

The armor you wear looks old. It's been worn down, softened against your body but even still, it sits a little too low on your hips. The shoulders hang out an extra inch.

You're small and you're hardened at every edge.

It's the way anyone who grows up here has to be. And for you to have made the cut to become a warrior, even with the impairment of your height... Azriel knows you're made of tougher stuff than most.

Within that, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to you.

Azriel hates the Illyrian mountains. Loathes the culture he comes from that festers here, their swift brutality and preferred cruelty against even their own. Invisible standards that made one Fae better than another.

The lives they taught him to take so easily.

So the last thing he had expected to find coming back here, to a place haunted with wretched memories, was... an ally.

But staring across the space to you, he can't think of any other word to describe the stirring in his chest. The drag on his heart, as if it's lurching forward.

"Look, let me show you."

You drop what's in your hands and take a couple steps to cross the space. The shelter is like you, small, just shy of cramped. The ceiling could stand to gain a few inches and the inside is as bare as Azriel would expect of a home in a war-camp.

One rickety table. A bed tucked into a corner. A fireplace with slanted, mismatched soot-covered bricks. There's the general rustle about the place that indicates someone sleeps here. Things hang off nails, bedded into the wall.

Hovering beside the table, you gesture for the knife in Azriel's hand. There's tenseness in your shoulders. You're still wary of him— or perhaps so used to your own company. He wonders which it is as he hands over the knife wordlessly.

"You just gotta—" The vegetable gets re-positioned on the board and when you bring down the knife, it's with an elegance that Azriel had been severely lacking.

You slice a long strip off, lengths-wise, and then pause, looking up at him to make sure he understands. "Slice?"

Azriel smiles despite himself.

That's the other thing.

You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful Fae he's ever seen in his life— not to mention, by far the most beautiful male he’s ever laid his eyes on.

It had taken him by surprise initially, even his shadows rearing back in shock when you had turned and sprung at him, cutlery in hand. Azriel had fumbled one of his blocks and it led to you sinking the fork into his shoulder— all because his mind had been whispering beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

It's the reason you had managed to land a hit at all— or Azriel tells himself that. Because otherwise, he had a serious reason to brush up on his own training.

He also tells himself it had nothing to do with his offer.

It hadn't swayed his reasoning in the slightest; not the way he can't take his eyes off you for some peculiar, unbidden reason. Training you and learning how to make tonics alongside you was entirely due to his belief in your mission.

Liar, one of his shadows seems to whisper in response.

Azriel was over five hundred years old — tangling with a male was not entirely foreign to him. And yet, Azriel had found it was not as to his taste as females were.

Another glance at you has him, once again, second-guessing that.

As quickly as it enters his mind, he snuffs it, his wings giving a minuscule twitch, right as you offer him back the knife.

He opts for a question instead. "How did you come to live here?"

It's one of the other unusual parts of your intriguing survival out here. Not only did you make the cut to train to become a warrior against the odds, but you also live alone. Azriel lets himself survey the shelter once more.

It's far better than some of the conditions he's been subjected to before and yet... it's not quite homey. As though you've never relaxed here, even when it's just you.

"I built it."

Azriel blinks. Then he turns his head down to look at you, perplexed.

"You...?"

You've walked back to the plant you were handling, starting to strip off the leaves again. You hum in response to his words, sparing a glance up at the ceiling.

That certainly explained why it was on the smaller side, made to your stature. Azriel can't fathom how you managed it in the blizzardly conditions of the mountains, entirely on your own.

"As I'm sure you're familiar, bastards don't get anything in these camps."

Your voice tightens with the pain of an unhealed wound.

Azriel doesn't say anything, just presses his lips together thinly. He nods.

"It was already a ruin, the fireplace and floorboards were about the only thing left." This time as you tug the leaves off the plant in your hand, it's a little meaner. "It took me years to properly finish it because the males in camp kept coming by to see if they could knock it back down."

Something roars in Azriel's ears, a familiar icy fury at the injustice that roamed so freely in these mountains. A plague amongst these people. So many Fae, so eager to kick those who are already down.

Looking up from your hands, your motions slow, and a distant look dawns on your face as though you've been whisked away into an old memory. A cold smile graces your mouth.

"So eventually when one of them came around, I showed them why they shouldn't fuck with my stuff. Or with me."

How you gained your solitary fortress out here.

It had piqued his interest on the very first evening, the sole shelter out from the cluster of cabins in the camp. That even though the drunken warriors were first to point it out when Azriel came asking who was causing trouble, none of them would go near it.

He can guess a multitude of things you did to protect it and yourself. Something akin to admiration blooms in his chest. Something heavier, deeper, lurks beneath it.

As your hands go back to work, Azriel can't help but watch you silently for a moment. His shadows pour over his shoulders, seeping down his arms the longer he looks; as though they, too, want to figure out the enigma in front of them.

You're a very peculiar male, Azriel thinks for the second time that evening.

The runt of the litter and a bastard just as him.

A natural born fighter and an Illyrian warrior against all the odds.

A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Azriel picks up the knife and slices the vegetable as you had, slow and long. He steals one more glance at you — to find you're doing the same, chancing a split-second glimpse to look at him.

Azriel averts his eyes back to the table.

He feels the treacherous glow of his cheeks and is thankful you can't see his face clearly in the dim light. He slices again.

And as he mulls his thoughts, the pair of you working in tandem as the fire crackles loudly in the corner, Azriel makes a point to ignore the thundering feeling that seems to sing right out of his heart.

No matter if he's half-sure he knows just what word it's singing.

(Mate. Mate. Mate).

[next part]

—

tags below!

@janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka

(if i tagged u and u would like to opt out, no hard feelings! send me an ask and i’ll leave u off :D)

#ehehehehehehe #i need to finish chapter three STAT or everything will fall apart (no pressure tho)#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #please feel free to tell me what u think!

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secondus · 10 months

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Tumbling ain't the same as falling, eh👀 this was inspired by badacts' fic, which is sadly only available for registered users now, but they made me really attached to vixen neil🧡

Originally posted on my instagram on 8/5/2020

#also im not ao3 registered so i dont have a link to the fic but if anyone does feel free to link it here!#the foxhole court #aftg #andreil #tfc fanart #tfc #all for the game #does kaitlin have a last name??? cant be bothered to check lol #palmetto state vixens #neil josten #tumbling ain't the same as falling #my art

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gophergal · 5 months

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Honestly one of my favorite ship dynamics that I never see folks talk about is where they're just... Orbiting each other like satellites. A deep closeness, but not quite something explicitly romantic. Everyone around them has conflicting opinions on their relationship, but they never label it. Heartfelt declarations of trust, love, and friendship are non negotiable

#gopher rambles #ship dynamics #so many ships fit this imo #superbat #k/s #or if you'd rather call it #spirk #and i personally see #subscorp #that way. feel free to talk about your own faves like this #because its great. it always makes me feel so good. theres something about that deep affection and fondness #that trumps any regular 'falling in love' fics. more than friends but not in a romance centric way #they're best friends your honor. they are of one soul your honor. their love is deeper and more complex than you could understand your honor

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forjongseong · 1 year

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free fall // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: doctor!jay x agent!fem!reader

genre: secretagents!au, lovers to strangers(?), suggestive, slight angst // warning: mentions of gunshots, blood, violence // wc: ~1.3k

summary: you were tasked to eliminate a target, which should be just another day in your life, but what were you supposed to do when said target was your ex-husband whom you had left months ago?

author’s note: I don't know if I should call this a drabble or a one-shot, but for now let's call it a short one-shot...

I know I did a poll and that I should be releasing bodyguard!jay first but Lord help me this particular scene just played in my mind and if I didn't get it out of my system I would be haunted by it in my dreams... which would be exhausting.

anyways if you have watched Salt before then you might notice some similarities. except I do like to think this one has an implied happy ending.

no song for inspiration for this one! I just hope you like it.

taglist (please send an ask or DM if you want to be added or removed!): @end-hyphen @excusememissiloveyou @shinkenprincess-oh @nyanggk @yoursjaeyun @thots4hee @maggstar @bucketofhiros @dimplejaehyuncutie @mochimchimo @jongseonglogy

The sounds of gunshots and explosions were deafening to your ears, and the amount of dust and debris floating almost impaired your sight, but you pushed through, as you always do. You had one mission—to eliminate the target, so you slowly but steadily made your way up the crumbling apartment, hoping to locate your man soon.

You heard static in your ear, and you nudged the piece back in place, quickly putting your hand back on your gun. Your footsteps were silent, and the area soon quieted down too. You were slightly worried that the murmur of the radio would be noticeable, so you turned down the volume as you closed in.

With a slight tap, you pushed the front door slightly open, and you kept your movements to a minimum as you carefully entered the room. You heard the sound of clinking and rustling, like someone was in a rush to pack their stuff, so with a firm step you slammed the bedroom door open and pointed your gun to the source of the sound.

The man froze, letting go of his tools that were halfway on their way into his bag. At the sight of you, his hands fell to his side, and it bothered you how his face showed no fear. It was almost like he was glad to see you.

“Y/N,” he called you by your first name.

You frowned and strengthened the grip on your gun. He flinched slightly and raised his hands, only up to his chest. You did not know how long you both stared at each other until his eyes moved to your waist and widened at the sight.

“You’re bleeding,” he muttered.

You heard your handler’s voice calling for you through your earpiece, and you squinted your eyes at his demand. He was ordering you to retreat as soon as you killed the doctor in front of you, and you were seriously considering it for a second. But then you started to feel your blood seeping through your top, and you were getting a little lightheaded—maybe from your wound, from the intense running, or from running into your ex-husband.

“One second,” you whispered.

Jay wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or the earpiece. You shifted your aim only slightly to the right before firing your gun, missing Jay’s ear by several inches and hitting the wall behind him. Jay barely flinched, he only blinked as he felt the short gush of wind go past his face.

You collapsed to the floor as you pulled your earpiece off, kneeling on the ground and smashing the device with your fist to effectively destroy it. Your gun slid off your hands and at that exact moment, Jay rushed to his feet to catch you in his arms.

“Y/N…”

Your vision became blurry as you tried your best to muster the last words coming out of your mouth before you lost consciousness.

“Don’t call me that.”

---

You woke up in a room that was lit with a warm shade of light, its walls painted dark green and the furniture in it a complementary shade of copper. You moved your right arm and immediately winced, feeling a sharp sting on your waist. When you looked down, you found yourself bandaged and your top had changed into a loose shirt.

The door swung open and Jay entered, holding your sling but without your gun in it.

“I found this,” he said, showing you the tracker on the wider side of the strap. “What do you want me to do with it?”

You felt like he already knew what your answer would be, but you replied anyway.

“Get rid of it,” you breathed. Jay calmly ripped the tracker off and crushed it with the heaviest book on his shelf before chucking it in the trash.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

You frowned at the sudden question. You always knew that Jay was straightforward, but you didn’t expect him to directly ask you about your business, especially when you were clearly still in pain.

“That was what you came for, right?” Jay asked again. “I was the only doctor in the building. They want me gone. Am I wrong?”

“Stop,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to your temple. For some reason, you were starting to get a headache. “Not now.”

“Then when?” Jay stepped away from the desk, initially having his back towards you. He was now looking at you and standing by the side of the bed. The bed that you used to share.

“I just said not now,” you repeated yourself.

“It has to be now,” Jay continued. “Because if I wait until you get better, you will leave. Again.”

You were quick enough to turn your head away to not let Jay see the single tear trickling down your face. You took a deep breath and licked your lips before you spoke.

“It’s nothing personal, Jay. It’s just work.”

Jay scoffed and stepped away, walking towards the windows to make sure the blinds were closed. He had disabled your tracker long before you told him to destroy it, so he didn’t have to worry about being spotted by whoever was hiring you to do your job. Regardless, he had to ensure that nobody was around and that you were completely safe.

He wanted you to be. He couldn’t care less about his own safety.

“They told me not to fall in love.”

Jay turned his head towards you at the sound of your voice. “Pardon?”

“When they briefed me,” you continued. “I remember when they gave me your file. And when I reported back to them months later.”

Jay stood in silence as he listened to you.

“‘You were supposed to recruit him, not fall in love,’ they said,” you spoke in a hushed voice. You looked up at him and your eyes met.

“But how could I not?”

Your lips trembled as you tried to hold back your tears, and what Jay did next just made you fall apart.

He cradled your face in his chest, pulling your body only slightly towards him as he tried to comfort you. You grabbed his arm as you sobbed, tears staining his button-down. He gently placed his hand over your covered wound, making sure you weren’t putting unnecessary pressure on it, and it made you cry even more.

“It’s okay,” Jay muttered. “You’re safe here with me.”

You shook your head, still pressed towards his chest. “I might be, but you’re not.”

“Enough with the excuses, Y/N.” Jay pulled back, bringing one hand to cup your face. “I’ve told you I’ll go wherever you will go. Be it safe or not.”

“That’s a dumb decision,” you replied. Jay chuckled softly.

“People make dumb decisions when they’re in love,” Jay stated. He swiped his thumb across your cheek in an attempt to dry your tears.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said in between your sobs. “We will have to relocate every month. There has to be surveillance at all times.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I will be a burden to you, Jay.”

Jay shook his head, clasping his hands over yours and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed your knuckles before shaking his head again, tears also threatening to fall down his face.

“You were never a burden to me,” he spoke against your skin. “You never will be.”

You started sobbing again and Jay made shushing noises as he pressed his forehead against yours. He began stroking your hair steadily, alternating between caressing your face and your shoulders too, and once he noticed that your breathing had leveled, he placed a finger under your chin.

“I belong to you, no matter what,” he said before kissing your lips.

When you felt the heat rush against your lips, you were reminded of how it was easy to be with him, how passionate it was to make love to him, and how regretful you felt on the day you decided to leave him. For loving Jay was like flying through a free fall—thrilling, fast, and intoxicating—and you could only pray that you’ll land safely, hopefully in his arms.

-END-

!!! do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work to any other platform.

#writtenbynana #fic: free fall #enhypen #jay #enhypen jay #jay enhypen #enhypen jay x reader #jay x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen jay smut #jay smut #enhypen angst #enhypen jay angst #jay angst

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freelancearsonist · 10 days

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a dieter bravo x nonbinary!reader-insert!oc series

This is it: your big break. Your first real role as a serious actor. It's a huge deal, a limited drama series produced by a major television and streaming network; it's slated to shoot you directly to stardom. All you have to do is not mess this up. Enter Dieter Bravo: your character's father, but your celebrity crush. Not messing this up just got considerably harder.

this reader insert character is: unnamed, afab and nonbinary (has female anatomy and uses they/them pronouns), neurodivergent, latinx, 21 years old, an actor playing a female character. I’m trying to keep them a physically blank slate but it is mentioned that they have longer hair (past shoulder-length) for the role and they wear a bikini for the role at one point as well. They are mentioned to be shorter than Dieter.

each chapter has its own rating and warnings. overall series rating is MA for eventual explicit content.

chapter one: this is what it looks like, right before you fall

You meet the cast and vow yourself to professionalism as filming starts, but one particular costar tests your willpower.

chapter two: haven’t seen the sun in a while but i heard that the sky's still blue

It's almost midnight, and there's bumping and groaning sounds coming from the hallway. You should probably investigate, right?

chapter three: why i gotta build something beautiful, just to go set it on fire?

Emotions have been running high lately, and it all comes to a head on set during a particularly tense scene.

chapter four: and that’s the problem with a closed door

No one really knows how to handle what happened on set last week, least of all you and Dieter. You each go about it in your own separate ways.

chapter five: if life is but a dream, then so are we

The end of shooting is quickly approaching, and you have a lot to sort out before picture wrap.

chapter six: i always shine, even when the light dim

Press interviews and red carpet events have your entire life turned upside down--but in a good way.

header and title: @beskarandblasters ; dividers: @saradika-graphics follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted!

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #reader insert oc #nonbinary reader #series: free falling love addict

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poison-into-positivity · 1 month

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Does anyone have any recommendations of some Blackbonnet hurt/comfort fics where Stede is the one being hurt and comforted?

Seems like most of the ones I read have him doing the comforting, which is lovely, but I’m in the mood to see Ed being the one to comfort Stede and would love it if some fics like that were sent my way <3

#also absolutely feel free to plug your own fics if they fall into this category!!!#blackbonnet #gentlebeard

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ginger-grimm · 2 years

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Joy, Jill, and Jinx Hargreeves spent their entire lives tormented by their father.

That was, of course, when they hadn't spent years of their lives in the past thanks to their brother Five.

After being sent back to the present, they're somehow the youngest.

After years of broken bonds, deceased loved ones, wrong paths taken, and an unlikely familiar love found for each other, the Three J's are ready to move on and leave their home behind for good.

That is until their father dies, and their brother returns from the future with a cryptic message.

The world is going to end - and these three siblings have no idea how to deal with it.

prologue

Number Eight, Nine, and Ten were considered the least valuable of the Academy so they were usually chosen last for any missions, if at all.

Their brother Number Five was allowed to experiment with his powers on them as they were mostly expendable, according to their father.

Reginald was ready to sacrifice them should anything go awry. And one day, that it did. The three of them were sent back in time and no one heard from them again for a whole year. This would be the first incident that threw the remaining Hargreeves siblings for a loop. A stark reminder that their powers did not, in fact, make them invincible. No matter how strong they were.

The second reminder came when, not long after Eight, Nine, and Ten, Five disappeared for eighteen years after a temper tantrum at the dinner table led him to try and prove to his father that his powers were fully developed enough to travel through time unscathed. They weren't.

READ HERE: WATTPAD

TAGGING: @waterloou @firsthorror @eddysocs @ocs-supporting-ocs @foxesandmagic @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @decennia @hiddenqveendom @arrthurpendragon @luucypevensie @richitozier @noratilney @jvstjewels @oneirataxia-girl

#ocappreciation #ocapp #the umbrella academy oc #the umbrella academy fanfiction #fic: free falling #oc: joy hargreeves #oc: jill hargreeves #oc: jinx hargreeves #oc: aiden calloway #chapter update #i really hope this works #there was a time when wattpad wouldn't actually show changes made to a chaptee #anyway pls enjoy #and thank you again to jemma for the banner!

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yoonia · 1 year

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oml falling jimin is coming baCK ?!?!?! I'm exciTEDDD

Yesss he's coming back :') I sort of "announce" it by releasing a moodboard for the series. You can see it here.

#pretty anonie #fic: free falling

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hagnoart · 13 days

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So. I’ve read the Breakaway series by @xiaq (E.L. Massey) and I am in love and I NEEDED to draw Sydney… so here she is. You can read the fic here. I can’t wait to read the book once it's released and I too would fall in love with Matts and I too would fall in love with Sydney. @xiaq please feel free to tell me I picture her wrong + i know i need to add the tattoos etc, but I wasn’t sure where/what exactly they are plus this was a 1h sketch to unwind and yeah.

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milkywaydrabbles · 8 months

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He Who was found in chains, set free. | V.

Cross posted on Ao3 here!

“I’m glad you enjoyed the dress.” Alucard spoke, almost sheepishly. Like he was embarrassed. He was. You smiled, focusing on washing the cookware from dinner. “It’s very pretty.” You mused, rinsing one off to give to Alucard, who was in charge of drying. “I can’t believe you managed to find something in my size.” He stayed quiet for a while. He wasn’t sure if it was...appropriate, bringing up. Given your circumstances. You didn’t mind the silence though. It beat any yelling that would have normally taken place back in Gresit.

“...My father used to bring home garments for my mother. From his travels. She used to tell him ‘it doesn’t matter if it’s my size or not, if it’s a beautiful fabric bring it, I'll adjust it’.” He chuckled, reminiscing on times past. “She had an extensive collection, I’m glad I guessed correctly.” You hummed, rinsing off another.

“Where are they now? Traveling?” You didn’t pay much attention to your own question, simply living in the docile moment. Being able to actually clean without someone telling you you’re pathetic, or useless, or to do something else.

He blinked, turning to you in shock. “Do you not know?” Word seemed to travel quickly, he was surprised.

“...Know what?” Oh no. You’ve asked a terrible question, haven’t you?

“...My father was Dracula.” Your stomach was in your throat. All of those paintings you saw around the house--all of the portraits of who you assumed to be Dracula. His father. And the beautiful woman you saw must have been his mother. Which means, all the paintings of a small babe in her arms must have been....

“Oh, oh Alucard, I’m--I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You sounded panicked, ceasing your washing. He shook his head quickly, not wanting to guilt you. “It’s quite alright.” He spoke so surely.

“No.” You whispered, looking down at your hands. “You had to--Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been so awful, no son should ever have to fight with his own father.”

Alucard wasn’t expecting that. You continued. “I know everyone feared him, I know he was practically the vampire king, but, he was your father. And you had a family. No one should have to go through such a tragedy.” You looked up at him with glassy eyes. You were crying.

Alucard had no idea how to respond to you. Everyone had always thanked him for killing off evil, always a good riddance. Even after knowing who he was in relation to Dracula, they didn’t bother for any kind words or condolences. The closest he ever got was a quick consolation from Sypha after burning the corpse of his dead father. The thought alone makes him shudder. And now he you are, a complete stranger, who had awful parents that cursed you and threw you out for some coin, just for being a witch. A stranger that gave him compassion, a stranger that wept on his behalf for his tragic tale.

God, that alone could have brought him to his knees in tears.

“...Thank you.” He cleared his throat, pushing back the strong wave of emotion he had been feeling. “That’s....very kind of you.”

Dinner was cleaned up fairly quickly and quietly after that conversation. You did your best not to overthink the interaction. Had you been too pushy? Maybe he felt uncomfortable. All these negative thoughts came flooding you, and even though you knew he would have said as much, you couldn’t feel like you did something wrong. You bid him a good night, and scurried off to the library. You weren’t done for the night, there was so much more reading to do.

You yawned for the umpteenth time within the hour, rubbing your eyes raw of sleep. You hadn’t a clue what time it was, but you were so sure it was well into the night. You had been perusing different books now, wanting to learn about different topics, you couldn’t even choose which one. You started a book of herbology, and marked it where you left off. Then you started a book about the human body, that one was so difficult. You marked off a page, wanting to get back to it. Maybe Alucard can teach me about this. You nodded to yourself, placing all the books you had been reading in a neat pile on the desk. You wished you had some paper to write down notes. It was difficult remembering everything, but you did your best anyway. After another yawn, you decided it was time for bed.

You went back to your room as quietly as you could, in fear you would wake him. Getting ready to retire for the night, you had decided that you would continue to pay his kindness back, starting bright and early in the morning.

Alucard has woken up the same as he always does, bathing and dressing for the day. He was going to train with his sword first, as he usually does. But, on the way to the ballroom he had been using for combat practice, he heard rustling in the kitchen. That’s odd, he mused, it’s barely light outside. Maybe you couldn’t sleep, or wanted a snack. That was the sensible part of his brain. Or maybe she’s plotting against you, ready to poison you, trying to get a knife to kill you, was the more...manic part of his brain. He steadied himself, trying his best not to think the worst of you, and continued on to the kitchen. What he saw honestly made his heart stop.

You had been back in your old clothes, except your hair was up, with a piece of torn off cloth from your skirt, eyes focused and brows scrunched over the stove. You had been slowly stirring some red sauce, placing the spoon down and cracking a few eggs in. Alucard looked around and saw some fruits from the market he had recently visited cut up, and smelled fresh bread in the oven. Had you...been making breakfast for him?

“Oh!” You startled, almost burning your hand on the iron pan over the fire, and turned around to look at him almost with shame. Had he said that out loud? “I’m sorry, Alucard, I just...thought it would be nice if you woke up to breakfast. I didn’t know you’d be up so early.” You yawned, sleep evident in your voice. Dark circles under your eyes indicated you hadn’t slept much. And he figured, when he past the library last night he saw a small light from the cracked door. What surprised him the most is that you were able to get up with such little sleep, let alone start cooking a meal.

“What are you making?” God, that was rude Alucard! He tried to track backwards but you answered him polite as always.

“It’s something I read in an old cookbook back in Gresit...He had to pretend to be a kind man to save face in front of everyone...So sometimes the elderly woman a few houses down would come get me and teach me to cook. This was a recipe in the book, from Africa I think...i’m sorry, I don’t remember the name.”

The name didn’t matter, not to him, not really. But the fact that you had memorized facts about the food and the recipe itself was astounding. You spoke again. “It’s almost ready, if you’d like to eat. I just have to set the table, and wait for the bread. A few more minutes, I think...” Alucard was already a few steps ahead of you, grabbing dishware and cutlery. “Don’t worry, I’ll set the table. You’ve cooked a meal, and I’m very grateful for that.” You could feel the heat rise from your neck, embarrassed from his words. You decided not to mind them very much.

After a few more minutes of finishing up, you had brought over the rather heavy pan onto the table, with cloth in between so as to not tarnish the wood. (Alucard asked if he could do it for you, and you stubbornly rejected it. It’s fine, not so heavy! Liar). Finally, the bread was brought out to the table with a delicious aroma. Alucard has always baked fresh bread, but something about the way you baked it made it smell more delicious than ever. You cleared your throat, feeling rather awkward, before cutting into the bread. “This, ah, is meant to be a family meal. Shared, in the pan, I’m sorry for assuming that was okay--”

“It is, okay. Don’t worry.”

You stuttered for a moment, before plating some bread on a side plate for Alucard. “It’s meant to be eaten almost like a dip, so the bread is a good way to have the flavors soak up. I hope you enjoy it.”

To say you were absolutely terrified of his reaction was the understatement of the century. You plated for yourself, trying to stall so you can look out of the corner of your eye as he dipped the fresh bread into the hot pan.

The taste of the breakfast was nothing he’s ever had before. The acidity of the tomatoes were so sharp, but it was wonderfully balanced out with the eggs that were cooked to perfection. The yolk was still runny, but the whites weren’t undercooked. He couldn’t believe the spices and seasonings came from his pantry. He’s never used them in such a way, but it worked so perfectly and balanced. It was a strong dish that can stand on its own, but didn’t overwhelm his senses. He could eat this for days. The bread alone was phenomenal. And it’s bread. But yours was...well it didn’t taste like it was made out of pure survival. It tasted homemade with love, and enjoyment from cooking.

Or maybe it was just because someone had cooked for him, for the first time in a while. He scratched that thought out, it was actually delicious.

“It’s not perfect,” you spoke. “It’s missing a big ingredient, difficult to find here in Europe, the elderly woman had a stash of it away in her house. Said she would travel in her youth.” You smiled at the reminiscence. “ But I hope you like it.” You bit your lip, dipping your own piece of bread into the dish.

Alucard went back in for another slice of bread to dip some more, trying his best to not make a mess of himself and the table even though he’s so sure he looks like a kid again with how animated he’s acting. He spoke your name, with a laugh.

“This is the most delicious breakfast I think I’ve ever had.”

You almost preened at the compliment, if you were a bird you’d ruffle your feathers. (And Alucard was so sure he could see it in his mind anyways).

“I’m so glad you like it.” You breathed out, and continued on with breakfast as normal.

The day went on, with you studying and asking Alucard for help, and then night came.

And then the next day came and went.

And then the rest of the week came and went.

You woke up on the seventh day, more sluggish than usual. You didn’t want to go. You had grown very fond of being in a safe shelter. Alucard had given you more dresses and skirts to wear each day, with a nightgown so you can comfortably rest (he apologized profusely after realizing that he never gave you pajamas). And now today was the day you had to leave. You wouldn’t take advantage of the kindness he has shown you.

You put your old clothes back on after one last bath (god you were going to miss that) and folded up the clothing he has lent you nicely. On the bed. You made your way down to the kitchen, Alucard immediately greeting you with a smile, and then he noticed what you were wearing.

And his smile dropped.

“You’re wearing your old clothes.”

You nodded, trying your best to smile.

“My only clothes. I have to leave today. I’m very grateful for the knowledge you have given me, and words can do no justice as to how I feel now that I can read better! You’ve been very kind to me, Alucard. And you’ll have my word, just as I said. If you don’t mind, I just ask for a loaf of bread so I can bring with me, then I’ll be on my way honest.”

Alucard couldn’t disguise his disappointment, though you thought he was just finally happy to be getting rid of you.

“Where will you go?” Why don’t you stay here instead?

You shrugged, looking around.

“How will you stay safe?” You’re safe here

Another shrug, picking at your nails again. Your bad habits coming back full force.

The silence was entirely too loud for your liking, deciding it was time to leave quickly.

“Thank you, I think it best if I leave while it’s still light outside.”

You turned around to leave, and in an instant he was in front of you, with an indistinguishable emotion behind his eyes. “You don’t have to go, you know.”

You furrowed your brows, confused. “Isn’t that what we discussed? One week’s time. It’s been seven days, I’m sure of it. I counted.”

“You can stay, it’s safer for you.”

“I can’t continue to be a bother to you, Alucard.”

“Please.” The emotion turned into pain, voice desperate. He whispered your name. “I don’t want you to go...please, won’t you stay here?”

You were taken back by his sentiment. You’ve never, not a day in your life ever had someone want you there. You’ve never had someone ask you, beg you to stay.

You’ve never had someone look at you like Alucard looks at you.

“Please.” He repeated, a hand taking a hold of yours, to stop yourself from picking. You gasped, but don’t pull away. You stayed quiet, the two of you simply staring at each other. You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“....If you’re sure...I would like to stay. I would like that very much, Alucard.”

“My name is Adrian.”

You blinked.

“I thought your name was--”

“The rumors call me Alucard. The...the legends call me ‘The’ Alucard, which is even more ridiculous.” His face scrunches for a moment. Then it softens. “But my mother...my mother called me Adrian. That is my given name. I haven’t...ah, used it, in quite some time. It’s easier to be known as a rumor.” But I think I would like it if you used it.

“...Adrian.” The way you spoke his name made butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“I would like to stay, Adrian.”

#adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #alucard (castlevania)#alucard tepes x reader #alucard x reader #castlevania (2017)#castlevania netflix #he who was found in chains set free #hwwficsf #alucard tepes #milk writes #I'm falling in love with this fic tbh #Hozier heavily influenced this one

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