#i'll leave it up to you to figure out who is who | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grotesquevi · 18 hours ago

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‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ a sudden desire, especially one that is unexplained.

cw # eighteenpluzz+ as it contains smut at some point i'm a slut i'm sorry, 2XKO!vi + sub!vi, she's a hot mechanic, this is some sort of strangers-to-connected-lovers?, fingering (wash your hands before and enjoy fiction), oral sex, as usual expect my classic filth since i have zero filters it seems lmao, dirty talk, spit, porn with slight plot? i'm a simple girl sometimes. wc: 5.6k, masterlists.

mechanic!vi who loves the sound of the rain late at night, when no one's around to piss her off in the shop and she gets to work on a car that's four times her age in pure silence, only interrupted by the sudden sound of metal every once in a while. she likes to fuck up her sleeping schedules until three or four in the morning until her eyes close on their own, and it's a need more than want, when biology begs for a little mercy and she has to drag herself back to bed.

mechanic!vi who leaves the door half open cause she likes to feel the wind that sweeps in every once in a while inside the shop, the reminder of a city that's asleep. there's tranquility even in the chaos that surrounds her, and covered in grease and oil like a second skin, she cannot be more pleased even when she struggles with the engine she's working on and has to do extra-effort in understanding it for the first time, finally face-to-face with a speed six which translates to a literal relic.

it would be vi's perfect type of night before you came in like thunder breaking down the sky. sudden, lights up the entire place and it makes her precision falter for a moment, prevent any further annoyance as she can't seem to go past the flywheel and it's causing her to get cranky already — instead, she turns to look at the soaked stranger who stands awkwardly at the door, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a dirty rag before her voice sounds intimidating as ever.

"we're closed, come back tomorrow."

mechanic!vi who thinks you're a thief at first, cause who else would be roaming in the streets of zaun so late at night? a weird surprise when she stumbles upon a piltie soaked to the bone, rambling when you try to explain how your luxury sedan died in the middle of the road with smoke coming out of the hood and the thunderstorm making everything more complicated.

"listen, sweetheart…"

"i'll pay you double" her brows furrow at the desperation and vi gets it for a moment, it's what? three in the morning? there's not any mechanic around that late at night, much less for someone who reeks money as a piltovian that's far from home. "please."

mechanic!vi who has no heart to tell you to go. maybe it's her need to help people, or the fact that even under the lackluster streets of her side of the town, she still finds you strangely captivating. soaked by the rain outside, your clothes stick to your figure, and suddenly she's making up excuses in her mind: what's better anyway? help the pretty girl or get a migraine with speed six?

with a sigh, vi surrenders easily — "ah fine. go on rich girl. take me to your expensive car."

so she walks down the rain with you in a thin white tank top that's not enough to cover her physique when the water gives her the same treatment it gave you to, sticking to her body as she follows you in silence vi can see you're shaking in the cold as you guide her down the street, only so she can see the car contaminating the air still as black smoke comes out of the hood.

it's stupid to pretend she's searching for the problem when she already knows your radiator's fried, leaking the coolant that makes it keep it's normal temperature. it needs a replacement, and it's too late for all the hard work required, a piece too crucial and expensive to get out of nowhere: can she tell you that with the face you give her barely seeing something illuminated by her lantern? no. she can't say shit cause you're in an awful position already and she likes to think she has some decency left, touch.

who's going to help you but violet vanderson?

"the radiator's dead," vi explains without giving further detail, shouting at this point since the rain's pouring too hard against the metal of the car, "we need to take it inside the shop- i need your help."

mechanic!vi who cannot help but stare at your ass while pushing the car from the back. you're making hell of an effort in trying to drive while also using your force to help somehow, and violet has nothing to whine about when you give her the perfect view to stare at as you're bending to the waist so you can reach the wheel easier, hand in the opened door, the inside's of the car get immediately soaked much like your jeans already wet and doubling their weight — got the mechanic shamelessly looking cause how will you realize? under all the mist that's now settling, how will you notice she's eyeing you since she saw how your shirt was riding up in your stomach? impossible.

mechanic!vi who curses under the lights of the workshop now that she gets to see you better than she did before, pay more attention to your features and know who the fuck she's talking to. your hair sticks to your face as you try to wipe the excess water from your hair, but it does nothing when you're drenched; she knew you were pretty from before but now? the white lights do no good in showing her your well-composed chaos, the way everything glues to the important places of your body.

you look so much like trouble it's like a premonition of hell, a weird silence that settles when you notice her too, the vibrant hair, the two balls of metal pierced on each side of her lower lip that only gives her a sharper look, inviting at the same time. stitched in her top, she got a tag with her name on it that you have to read at least twice to get it wrapped around your head.

vi.

"i can have it for tomorrow afternoon, i need some parts that i'll be able to get in the morning." if she didn't knew the correct people? you'd be in so much trouble, even in a piltie workshop — damned by the insane amount of money they'll be charging you. "you can come back tomorrow."

mechanic!vi who can feel the tension in the air when saying it cause it's clear you're not from around, and where would you stay at three in the morning? she does know a few places you can crash in, some nasty rooms a couple of blocks away that will charge you triple just for the look on your face, that watch in your wrist that screams you're from the other side of the town; so vi doesn't think about it for too long, i mean, not when you're paying double, not when you look that nice.

"let me guess," she smiles, already knowing what's troubling you. "you little troublemaker have nowhere to go tonight."

well fucking yikes.

why is she always getting in trouble so easily?

mechanic!vi who's a sucker for girls and it shows, cause, why would she take a car at three in the morning if it's not from a pretty girl in trouble? why would she get soaking wet and risk getting a flu if not because the most beautiful girl that has ever come to the shop needs her help? — why would she offer you to take a damn shower there in the bathroom of her office if it wasn't because of shit-- you're nice to look at?

"are you sure? i don't want to impose too much" you say already ashamed, she has done so much you're kind of embarrassed already of having to rely so much on a person you just happen to know. "taking the car at such a late hour is something that would not happen normally and i'm already grateful for it, vi."

"you're paying me double, peach" she states with simplicity, as if her mind doesn't have any problem understanding the fact that you called her by the name with a tone that entirely blew her brain off. "v.i.p clients get the special treatment here."

mechanic!vi who lets her fingers loiter against your skin when lending you dry clothes cause that's also in the v.i.p package, isn't it? let you borrow her belongings like it isn't the most strange occasion she's ever been involved in, a loose short you can wear beneath so you won't die of the massive cold you're definitely getting tomorrow, a hoodie to keep you warm on a cold night. shit. shit. shit. shit.

mechanic!vi who cannot stop thinking about you even when she has to phone claggor for backup, making him promise he'll move enough strings to get her a fine radiator on her door tomorrow morning.

"why so much effort huh?" he asks on the other side of the line, still half deep in his sleep, "does the car have a nice owner attached to the keys?"

"fuck off and get me the piece."

it's embarrassing to say it as he's totally right in every single word. would she do the same for a dude appearing out of nowhere? probably not (even though she would since she has a golden heart and it doesn't matter how much vi tries to deny it), probably yes, but it's clear here she's biased by the inevitable, biased when she can see your nipples straining hard and cold under your shirt, how your hair sticks to the sides of your face, against your chest — it's lame when she pays too much attention on the way you breathe, how your pulse point jumps at plain sight, skin that glistens with the rain who clings to your skin and makes everything so hot all of sudden-

mechanic!vi who has to distract herself, desperately needs some time to cool off just like a radiator would, to the point she forces herself to start working in your car so when you get out of the shower (in her fucking clothes and smelling like she does) the horny mechanic has enough temple to look you in the eye and not fucking roam from your very feet to the the tip of your head: too much exposed skin, too many of her possessions in your power to have her thinking somehow a glimpse of rational thought.

a stranger. she needs to remind herself, you're a very nice stranger.

"that shower was something else," your praise doesn't go unnoticed as vi's cheeks acquire the most subtle shade of pink, you're oblivious it seems to everything you've already been doing to her as you stare at the spread pieces that now laid on the ground and must belong to your car. "can i help you out with anything?"

"you do remember you're paying me to do this, right?" she shakes her head for a second, trying to understand why a piltie would get her hands dirty when it was designed to be a zaunite's job. "fine then. don't give me that look, pass me the alligator wrench over there."

"huh?"

"the one that looks like it got some kind of scissor attached to it, sweetheart. keep up."

mechanic!vi who surprisingly works good with you. explains to you the function of the parts she's working on and thinks, for a moment, you'd be a great trainee as you seem to be a good listener, learning fast, you even remember the names she randomly tosses in hopes to see your nose scrunching while thinking what-the-fuck she's talking about. cute.

mechanic!vi who stares at your thighs when you take off the hoodie she gave you, a bit more sweaty now that you've been warming up with all the hard work she put you up to, who stops to look almost for too long in the way her shirt drapes against your shoulder cause the fabric's old and used now, a garment she uses to sleep at her wrecked state but in you, gives the most breathtaking sight, needs to remember and backup cause you're a client and she's not in a lesbian bar.

who is this damn piltie who shows up at three in the morning and makes her mouth water as easily as breathing? who is this damn stranger who got her feeling so attracted to? must have a scientific explanation.

mechanic!vi who tries to distract herself working until late with you — the initial problem. get so tired she won't even think about dumb shit when going to bed, something hard to do when you seem invested in flirting, in dragging her to this haze of confusion as you're tossing words so smoothly she would consider it a talent.

"you're sure this is okay with you?" you ask when she's taking you to her place in the back, the very same place that's off-limits even for her sister but somehow you managed to get into with no problem—. "this is your last chance to change your mind and kick me out to the streets. i'll do my best to survive and pay what i owe you tomorrow."

"your back won't be very happy with me tomorrow morning," she tries to explain, some lame excuse to make you feel better since you're starting to get under her skin — "it's okay piltie, the couch's not a big deal."

"hm-- dunno m'aam. you've been saving me the entire night already so i wouldn't bet on it."

mechanic!vi who refrains from cleaning that black stain of grease on your cheek that's left from working in the car, it would be intimate- awkward. she gives you at least a couple of thick blankets and a comfortable pillow to hug — does a nice job letting you know where the kitchen is in case you need water or anything: friendly, approachable, kind, no other intentions laying low, not at first sight anyway.

that's how it would be if she were a professional. however she listens to too much weezer lately to be even considered intelligent, somehow destined to fuck it up at some point.

she's kind enough to help you out with the cushions, tossing them aside before spreading the warm blankets on top of the leather in an improvised bed. with the pillow she brought from her bed it seems more inviting than expected, even when the rain pours down the windows and the cold seems to get inside by the creeks of the house, there's something nice even attached to it.

"anything else i can get for you?"

"no-" you say now as you curl under the blankets, relishing the heat with a smile on your face that's far from awkward. vi should be giving you more space, privacy but she cannot move from where she stands as you add— "you know, most of the mechanics i know wouldn't doubt a second to squeeze every single golden hex i got in my power so thank you."

mechanic!vi who lives by a personal set of rules, a code that dictates the way she acts around people — treat them fairly, be fucking honest with prices and not shit on other's people's life. it was rare in that part of the city however she takes pride in it, on you picking up on her way of acting too. damn, she likes you more than she probably should, especially considering she just met you and she's already trapped in that tangled web you patiently knit around her, similar to a silent snow storm that left her inside the house for days.

"nite rich girl," it's not that she's being rude, quite the contrary she needs to diffuse the sudden tension that settled between you and her, it strips her away from her usual bravado. she's polite yes, knows about manners, knows that after a rough day you must be tired after so much effort, that you need to rest alone. that's why she forces herself to give you that, rest.

maybe she's just desperate to get away from you.

mechanic!vi who cannot sleep the rest of the night, affected by that rush of affection that formed in her chest at the sight of you tucked in her uncomfortable couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion, there in her space; it's inevitable when it sends a shiver down her spine. you belong there, as strange as it is.

she dares to imagine how she'd invite you under the sheets of her much more comfortable bed, drag you closer to her only to feel that warmth radiating from your body, hide from a cold night in the crooks who would fit perfectly against her own, curves, planes, meat and pulse. vi tosses and turns, too hot under the blankets for the first ten minutes, shivering cold the next ten more.

reign it in. fucking behave.

mechanic!vi who walks barefoot in the dark, loving the feeling of the cold floor beneath her feet. she does not need to see where she's going as she gets to the kitchen, not noticing you're there at first until you make an unexpected noise that makes her flinch in scare, she thought for a moment you'd be already in your third dream or something when she notices you sipping on your glass of water.

it's nearly five in the morning.

"you can just act like a ghost like that- what the fuck?" it makes you chuckle, comfortably seated on the kitchen counter as you notice her figure in the dark — "what are you doing up, weirdo? thought you were going to be snoring or something."

"can't sleep."

it makes vi's poor brain work too much for the late hour that it is. at this point, there are only three or two hours left before dawn, and suddenly she wishes the night would last forever, that the moon would manage to keep its dark mantle in the sky for more hours before she's forced to get up again. can't sleep. you can't sleep like it happens with her, and she curses herself cause vi shouldn't be reading too much between the lines, forcing a connection you may not feel.

"is the sofa too uncomfortable?"

"no" you reply, and she can see you shaking your head profusely even in the dark. "the sofa's perfect- it's been a long day."

she gets it, of course she does, she's overly aware of you even in the lack of light in the kitchen, the aching in her chest vi's not able to name yet — "not every day your radiator dies in the middle of zaun huh?"

"not really no," you admit as she's sitting next to you, taking a long sip from her glass of water as a way of drowning her own thoughts. what's she fucking doing? she didn't expect your words after that, the way you kept your body language closed to yourself when admitting something so intense in a sudden blurt. "it's almost like destiny knew you were going to be in the shop-- like fate already decided you would help me out without any possibility of saying no."

there you go. you said it.

mechanic!vi who feels the shift in the air in mere seconds, liquid fire that's injected into her veins as her lips part slightly, almost as an invitation when her body leans slightly closer to yours, as the words leave her lips in a melody ready to take over your brain.

"so you feel that too?" she asks curiously as ever, "we just met, however, it's like i knew you from before."

"maybe we were lovers in a past life," you try to ease out the tension, however it makes nothing when her knee brushes against your thigh in almost an innocent touch, as if she could not feel the softness of your skin against her own like that — "we've met before and our bones recognize each other, our flesh greets like old friends would do."

"yeah, piltie? you really believe in that romantic stuff?" she cannot help but be cocky for a moment, her brow arching in superiority. "you think we are connected somehow? kinda thought you rich people were more rational about things with so much knowledge lying around."

"how would you explain it then?"

mechanic!vi who's already absent in her thoughts, in the way you lick your lips like an invitation she can see perfectly well, how your eyes dart to the piercings on her mouth, traveling from one metal ball to the other. even in the dark, her eyes seem to grow accustomed to the shadow, now discerning much more than before.

"i don’t know what it is. there’s no rational explanation to me other than the need to have you near."

mechanic!vi who takes her time in kissing you, at least ten minutes to fully make out with you. her tongue tangles with yours and it becomes sloppy after a while, full of saliva, teeth and a palpable need you can taste. as if your mouth already knows its way around — makes the sensation indescribable, familiar yet new and addictive, something that's missing and you don't notice you lack of until you experience it first hand.

vi kisses you care, a softness she forgets about when she's biting your lower lip, sucking it so it's swollen, sensitive as a plan to have you moaning as the metal of her lips crashes against your mouth.

"tell me that i'm just fixing your car," she begs as the palm of her hand settles flat on your chest, right over your collarbones and against your pulse point it runs wild under her touch. "tell me that we just know each other. that it's not normal and we were strangers hours ago, unaware of our existence."

you don't answer to her prayers, instead you lean to kiss her again and it's one of the most erotic things she's ever experienced when you're the one that's cornering her against the counter, how your figure manages to keep her seated as your hands grip her thighs and squeeze the flesh that burns with unseen marks you leave behind.

"don't go to sleep yet" you simply say against her lips, nothing more than a plea that makes the kitchen feel too small for vi's liking — "come back to the sofa with me."

mechanic!vi who lets you drag her back to the living room, dazed already as she holds a shameful moan in, embarrassed by how aroused she is, how you turned her on so effortlessly between kisses. vi knows it's a lost battle when she stares at your eyes to be a witness of the darkness consuming the edges, now under the weak light of the lamp close to the sofa she's trapped in a sea of desire that's able to steal her rational part.

it makes vi shiver as your lips trail the nicest kisses along her jaw, follow an invisible and already designated path down to her neck, relishing her throat. overwrought nerve endings that prevent her from even trying to gain some of the control you claim as yours, a strangled sound that escapes from her chest in a mix between a moan, a whimper and pure, unadulterated need.

"dare to say you're not connected to me," you reply, the words repeat on her head to the point vi's fingers clench around your hips, yanking you closer to her — "that you haven't been eyeing me this entire time, that you don't want me like this."

mechanic!vi who sits on the sofa in her slutty sports bra and now allows, like a fucking treat, to look at you like she wanted to do all that time ago. hand resting against the side of your body at first, she gathers the courage to let her fingers dip inside the fabric of her shirt and hell, did you purposefully forget about the shorts she gave you? are you wearing just panties because you know somehow? about her weakness?

between her legs, you get goosebumps when her hand kneads your breast with an ease that makes you gasp. there's so much silence around even when the rain keeps crushing against the window, the thunder you can hear at the distance in the rage of nature.

she's about to reach your underwear until you're dropping to your knees. unexpectedly, vi's mouth goes dry at the sight, the torment she's put under the most simple whisper of a touch. you don't ask for permission when your lips leave wet kisses on her stomach, following the happy trail from her belly down to her underwear as you mark her down using your teeth, never stopping until there's red on her stomach, purple forming around her sensitive skin.

mechanic!vi who's moans fill the air erratic and loud, soaked already cause it's crazy but shit-- you understand what she needs without having to say it out loud, you know her body without a second thought even if it's something new. her head throws back and it's an attack when your fingers find their way to her underwear, clean boxer she swore she had for a second until it's reduced to a mess.

fuck, did she just fucking sob?

your hand's cold between her legs. when you dare to tease her with something as simple as your digits to see how wet she is, a boost of ego as you haven't even touched her properly yet vi's a sucker already for a few kisses on her kitchen counter, a simple touch now that she admitted the inevitable.

vi doesn't care if it's lame anymore, her body reactions to you are sincere, explosive like a volcano under declared activity and she forgets about shame when her hips roll against your digits in a lazy back and forth — she's tired now after working all day, muscles aching and already sore after a whole day of efforts, lazy, but with enough endeavor on her veins to have her moaning, enough to make you take care of her aching needs and help her rub her clothed folds against your hand better, arousal already visible and tentative having it so close.

mechanic!vi who's body is consumed by onslaught pleasure as you finally decide to take her underwear away, a simple pat on the hip to have her helping you remove them for a second, hips raising in the air as you pull them away from her legs, that welcome sound she makes as your touch becomes direct, delirious, downright obscene.

"oh fuck that's so hot," vi's chest heaved with each ragged breathe, you're soaking up your fingers with saliva before sinking them in the heath of her cunt, warm, a whole different temperature it's greedy, vi barely finds the words to express how much she's loving it, random praising that you overhear tossed to the air—. "what the fucking hell, piltie-"

the pink hair's in her cunt’s now slick with her arousal and the unnecessary saliva thats there to please you. sinful when vi's back arches off from the leather sofa, desperate to grind against your fingers, draw them deeper and let them sink in until she can feel your knuckles, downright shake as you curl them to rub on her walls.

is it the smell that drags you in? the sound of her fuckhole stretched and filled like she says — deranged, she loves to feel? it's filthy when vi's leaking against the blankets she gave you, the plush feeling against her ass, your lips leaving a fucking trace of kisses in her inner thigh as you spread her legs further apart.

space, let her make fucking space.

mechanic!vi who's a victim of your lust-drunk eyes, of every flick, every suck and bite that comes with your tongue as a present. you eat her like it's holy terrain and you're a catholic who's sent to fight over with sword and brute force, drag the flat of your wet muscle against her labia, take your time in sucking, in knowing her taste, the thickness of her arousal coating your lips as if it was lipgloss, her fluids being part of your system.

your fingers work in pair along your mouth and it's overwhelming; how you never seemed to get tired even when the sweat's already dampening vi's skin, how you already got her lost in the molten heat as you're drooling against her damn clit, soothing licks that only seem to doom her way back to hell, a tattoo on her ribs with your initials that burns from the insides.

"please-" she tries to be coherent for a second, get your attention for a moment as the words die on her tongue.

"please what?" you ask curiously, and it's even worse when she can see the physical traces left of her in your cheeks as you look up to meet her gaze, smeared across your lips, all over your mouth. "c'mon keep begging, what do you need from me?"

mechanic!vi who slides her fingers between yours unable to get a decent answer out — soaked, her digits easily get wet enough to slide and fuck herself along your hand, combined fingers that had vi gasping for a moment. the oxygen from her lungs is stolen at your kiss, filthy, she tastes her own arousal more than your saliva when you're pushing the same skilled tongue that circled around her g-spot now against her buccal cavity.

warm, it seals your downfall when you're the one who's talking, who must be forbidden from ever saying something else as you state, similar to a vampire in plain feeding, what faintly crosses your mind — "wanna know how you taste?"

fuck yes. let her experience the entirety of a little death, let her forget about the hour and all the stress on her shoulders as she follows your fingers on each thrust, knuckles deep your hand seems to mold to hers perfectly, guiding her into indulge her own oblivion as she opens her mouth wide open: pliant, ready to always comply and never say no.

the spit gathers on your mouth before it drips perfectly between her parted lips — filthy white, it's a mix that's all her and the saliva you cannot help to gather in your mouth at such a delicious taste. it's a lot, and vi swallows as she trembles against your fingers, her hand, your mix and her own.

mechanic!vi who cums loud. gush sticking her hand against your own as she forces you to keep fucking her, stroking her inner walls and letting her muscles grip you tightly. her hips rock against the sofa and she kisses you not to muffle her moans, but because she wants to taste herself in you, the remains of her in you. sloppy, too much saliva and teeth, you bite the piercings of her lips and enjoy that whimper that comes out from her mouth at the pain, the taste of the metal as she shakes trapped against your body.

mechanic!vi who's weak under your kisses, your care when kissing her aching skin, those spots on fire that now settled under your touch. the room smells like sex but she does not protest when you're the one who's cleaning the drool from her swollen lips.

"come here you rich demon," it's easy to trap you in her arms, use her force so you won't have much control now as she presses you against her chest, when your breathing competes with hers and finds the way to fit together — "it's cold. get under the covers."

the sofa's never been more inviting than that night, the small space turns into an excuse for having you closer, pulling you into her embrace now that's not much space as she covers you with the blankets: you're tired, she is tired, there's what? minutes before dawn? it doesn't matter if it's fifteen or twenty but its a silent arrangement. kisses, soft massages and that contact of skin-against-skin that's now unnegotiable.

"you made a mess," you say lazy, tired as you place a soft kiss against her neck, vi can feel it too, the clear evidence of what they've been doing on the sofa — "pretty gross to sleep like this-"

"i'm afraid i don't have enough energy to do something about it piltie," she admits, experiencing the lingering ache in her muscles as if to prove her own words. "guess you really did fuck me up good, huh?"

mechanic!vi who barely survives the next morning (after the two hours of sleep she managed to get) tangled in your arms, the ache in her muscles only grows as she gets up and sips on her cup of coffee watching you stretch out still half asleep.

"you don't have to wake up yet. rest. i'll deal with the radiator."

you take the invitation to the heart cause you're cuddling back in between the sheets with a warm smile and fuck's sake: she loves how you take up her space, how you already made the couch yours, how it will only remind her of you now.

mechanic!vi who doesn't charge you a single golden cog, who listens to you give a long list of why you're going to give her the money she deserves after sticking to her word, keep her promises — she doesn't want your money anyway.

no. what violet vanderson really wants is a date with you.

the piltie that's connected to her from a past life or such, i mean: she's tired of fighting fate lately.

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moonlitstoriess · 3 days ago

Text

Crafted by Flame- Initial Azriel, eventual Eris x fem!reader (2/2)

Summary: Y/N is a quiet but skilled healer in Velaris, known for tending wounds both physical and emotional. When Azriel shows up bloodied and silent after a mission, their connection begins in the soft hush of her clinic, built on shared pain, slow trust, and unspoken longing. But as she gives more of herself to him, his silence becomes a wall she can't break through, until love turns to ache and she's forced to walk away before it destroys her.

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, happy end

Part 1 here

See masterlist

Y/N blinked.

Her shop door was wide open, sunlight cutting over polished boots and layered crimson. The not-so-stranger stood with one arm cradled at his side, his hair a tousled halo of flame, flanked by three towering guards in Autumn Court armour.

She'd seen High Fae before. Quiet travelers. Couriers. The high lord and lady themselves.

But this?

This felt...wrong.

Wrong, because her body reacted before her mind could. Her pulse was already stuttering. Her hands already damp.

"What- " she said, trying to force the steadiness into her voice. "What is this?"

The guards stepped forward slightly, too slightly, like they were trained to do it without threatening. But it still felt like a threat. Her shop was tiny, intimate. The scent of herbs and and lavender now had to share the air with the scent of ash and command.

Eris tilted his head. "Oh, that. Apologies."

Y/N's eyes dropped instinctively to his left forearm. His sleeve was soaked through. But worse than the blood was the smell--rot, infection. Whatever had caused the wound had been left unchecked for too long.

"Tell them to leave," she said, voice low.

Eris studied her, really studied her, then gave a lazy flick of his fingers over his shoulder.

"Out."

One word. That's all it took. The guards, without a whisper, turned and stepped out the door.

He waited until they were gone to speak again.

"You're shaking," he said, not unkindly. "Didn't peg you for the nervous type."

She clenched her jaw. "You show up bleeding in my shop, with armed guards, call yourself a prince and expect me not to be- "

"Worried for me?" he said with a grin.

"Worried for me," she snapped.

That seemed to surprise him. His brows lifted slightly--amused, almost impressed. She took a deep breath, wiping her palms on her apron, then pointed to the bench near the window.

"Sit," she muttered. "Let me see your injury."

He obeyed without a word, which was somehow more unsettling than if he'd protested. She crouched before him, untied the laces at his forearm and peeled back the soaked linen.

She hissed through her teeth.

The wound wasn't just bad. It was angry--red, hot with dark veins spidering out beneath the skin. It seems like the thin line of dried blood he showed earlier was just the part that wasn't under his tunic.

"A simple salve won't fix this," she muttered.

"I figured," he replied, eyes never leaving her face.

"I'll need to clean it. Then you will need something stronger. Maybe something from the Spring traders."

"Is that a recommendation or a warning?"

She looked up sharply. "Both."

He smiled again, slower this time. "I like you,"

"Don't." she said flatly.

He actually laughed.

She ignored him, standing to retrieve a bowl of water and a herbal poultice. As she worked, dabbing the infected skin with a gentler mixture, her curiosity finally got the better of her.

"I'm sorry," she said, not looking up at him. "But who exactly are you? You don't look or sound like you're from around here. And you also just called yourself a prince...?"

He didn't answer right away.

When he finally did, it was with a low, rich laugh that filled her clinic and made something tighten in her stomach--not fear but something.

"Oh, The Mother above," he said, placing a hand over his heart theatrically. "You really don't know."

"Why would I?"

He reached into his pocket, dropped a few gold coins on her counter with a quiet clink, then flexed his fingers as she finished bandaging him.

"I'm Eris," he said simply, rising to his full height. "Of the Autumn Court."

She stared.

"Son of High Lord Beron. Heir to the throne. That prince."

He stepped towards the door, already grinning again.

"And I must say," he added, "if the rest of the commoners are as interesting as you--well, these next three days are going to be quite the fun."

He had the audacity to wink at her.

But just before the door closed behind him, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Oh- and if Rhysand gets twitchy about me walking around his little city, it's his fault for inviting me. You know," he added, smirking. "diplomacy."

Her heart stopped.

Rhysand.

That name, spoken so casually--and from the lips of someone who looked like he might burn the world down just to warm his hands.

She stepped forward, lips parting in shock, but the door had already shut behind him.

Silence fell.

All she could hear now was the blood in her ears.

The moon was already climbing by the time she snuffed out the candle in her window.

Her shop was quiet now, unlike the chaos that unfurled in the morning. She moved through the closing routine without thinking: straightening vials, checking the latch on the back door, draping her apron over its usual hook.

And then, the bell over the front door chimed again.

"We're closed- "

Her body jolted at the sound--sharp and sudden in the stillness. She turned quickly, heart skipping. The closed sign still hung in the window.

A figure stepped in, not in armour this time, but the face was unmistakable. One of the males from earlier. The one who had ordered the other two guards to clear the room and pretended like she didn't even exist.

"You've got to be kidding me," Y/N muttered under her breath, already feeling her pulse pick up. "We're closed."

The male closed the door behind him with quiet precision, and this time, didn't loom or reach for a weapon. He kept his hands visible, eyes scanning the room before settling on her.

"The prince is in pain," he said without preamble.

Her mouth parted.

The guard's voice was low, urgent. "The injury's worsening. It's affecting his fever. He won't admit it but, he is burning up. He meets with High Lord Rhysand tomorrow--he cannot to appear week."

Y/N froze.

"You- he's- wait." She pressed a palm to her temple. "Your prince is meeting Rhysand? That Rhysand?"

The male didn't answer. Just waited.

The healer instincts kicked in like second nature. Shoving confusion and irritation to the back of her mind. There would be time for questions later.

She gave a clipped nod. "Give me a moment."

Moving quickly, she pulled a satchel from under her worktable and began filling it with what she’d need: stronger salves, sterile wraps, pain balm, two sealed vials of fever draught. She added a few extra tinctures, just in case the infection had spread deeper than she thought.

She threw her cloak over her shoulders as she turned to him. "Let's go."

The male didn’t hesitate. They left out the back alley, shadows from the rising moon following close behind. No words passed between them as they made their way through Velaris--him striding ahead with silent purpose, her following just behind, fingers clenched around the strap of her bag, heart thudding with something that wasn’t quite fear anymore.

Curiosity. Dread. Something in between.

They passed through quieter streets, away from the markets and and riverside cafés. Eventually, he led her toward a gated estate she had never noticed before, tucked discreetly behind high ivy-covered walls. Hidden in plain sight.

Two guards flanked the entrance. More stood along the inner courtyard, their expression grim and silent. Everything was just sleek and silent.

She was led through a wide atrium, the stone beneath her feet veined with red and gold, until they reached a curving staircase. The guard glanced back only once before ascending, motioning for her to follow.

They stopped at a set of ornate double doors.

The guard knocked once, then pushed them open.

And there he was.

Eris.

Stretched on a couch near a glowing hearth, his shirt discarded, a sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. His amber eyes were narrowed with pain, teeth clenched as he gripped his left forearm--the same one she’d treated earlier. The cloth wrap was half-peeled, stained dark with something she didn’t like the look of.

"Finally," he muttered through gritted teeth, barely sparing the guard a glance before locking his gaze on her.

But the arrogance was dimmed now, dulled by fever and exhaustion.

Y/N moved forward instinctively, dropping her bag by his side and rolling up her sleeves.

"I told you," she said, her voice low as she began unwrapping the wound. "a simple salve won't fix this."

His eyes flickered to her face. "You didn't say it would rot my arm off, either."

She didn't raise to the bait. Not this time. She peeled back last of the cloth, hissing quietly under her breath at the sight beneath.

Red. Angry. Swollen and streaked with dark lines that curled like veins towads his wrist.

Infected. Badly.

“I need hot water, clean towels, and light,” she said to the nearest guard, already uncorking a vial of antiseptic. “Now.”

As the room shifted into motion, she glanced back down at him. His breathing was shallow. But he still met her gaze with a familiar spark of pride.

She stared at him for a beat longer before murmuring, "What did you even do to this?"

Eris smirked weakly. "I made a poor judgment during the hunt. One of those barbed forest traps. Nasty bit of iron."

She muttered something unkind under her breath, then reached for her salve. “And of course, you thought arrogance would heal you faster than medicine.”

"It usually does," he drawled.

She cleaned the wound carefully, working with fast hands, doing her best to avoid his eyes--but it wasn’t easy. Even fevered, his stare held weight. And when he winced, just once, she knew the pain was real.

She began to wrap his arm again, layering clean gauze with care.

But when she looked up, he was already watching her.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He held her gaze a moment longer. Then, as she tied off the final knot on his bandage, he reached into his coat, pulled out a pouch, and dropped a few gold coins into her palm with casual flair.

“Excellent work, healer,” he said, rising--albeit with a grimace--and fastening the top buttons of his shirt. “I’ll try not to let my arm fall off before tomorrow’s tedious diplomatic pleasantries.”

The room was too damn bright.

Golden morning light filtered through the arched windows of Velaris' council chambers, casting soft shadows over polished obsidian floors. And yet all Eris could think about was the heat blooming behind his left eye, and the slow, dull throb beneath his bandaged forearm.

He stood at one end of the long table, posture perfectly poised despite the roaring pain eating through his body like wildfire.

Opposite him, seated in effortless, unbothered power, was Rhysand--dressed in his signature black, lazily twirling a pen between two fingers as though he had nothing better to do than listen to a political rival present his case.

To Rhysand’s right sat his High Lady, Feyre Archeron--quiet, keen-eyed, taking in every movement, every breath.

To his left: Cassian and Azriel. The dog and the puppet.

And behind them, various Night Court officials with their crisp notes and cooler-than-thou stares, none of whom Eris bothered to remember by name.

“Well, if you’d just stop assigning half your border patrols to hover three miles off our riverlands, perhaps we’d stop mistaking it for a provocation,” Eris was saying, voice smooth as aged brandy. “Unless, of course, you like having my scouts file daily reports about your Illyrians flexing their wings over Autumn airspace.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but Rhysand beat him to it.

"Last I checked," he said lazily, "your scouts have a habit of getting 'lost' near our trade routes."

Eris gave him a slow, poisonous smile. "We can't all have shadows to fetch our intel for us."

A twitch in Azriel's jaw. Good.

Feyre cleared her throat, the diplomat in her rising. "We agreed to transparency, not accusations. Let's get back to the proposed trade clause- "

But Eris wasn't listening anymore.

Because just then, the pain surged.

It was as if his forearm had been caught in a vice, squeezed so tightly the bones might crack. Fire licked up the tendons, seared its way to his shoulder, and then--The Mother above--into the left side of his skull.

He did not move.

Did not wince.

He merely shifted his weight slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of the polished table.

He heard Rhys speaking again, something about tariffs and seasonal levies, but the words were muffled now, like they were being filtered through thick wool. The pain was carving through him, leaving behind tremors only his spine could feel.

Not here. Not in front of them.

He swallowed tightly, let his eyelids fall for half a second.

When he opened them again, he was moving.

“Well,” Eris said, interrupting the conversation mid-sentence. His voice was calm, fluid. Not a note out of place. “If we’re done here, I’d like to take my leave.”

Every head turned.

Rhysands gaze sharpened. "I didn't say the meeting is over."

Eris gave him the thinnest curve of a smirk.

“And yet your people seem to have already said everything twice. I’ve no interest in watching you circle the same points for another hour just to feel superior.”

A sharp inhale from someone in the council.

Cassian leaned forward slightly, always spoiling for a fight.

But Eris was already turning, arm going limp as he made for the door. Just before he reached it, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you tonight at the summit. Don’t worry--I’ll try not to outshine you.”

And with that, he swept out.

The moment the doors closed behind him, his smirk dropped like a blade.

He spotted the same guard from yesterday--Daren, or Davin, he couldn’t remember--and stalked toward him with calculated grace, hiding the limp now crawling into his step.

"You," he said through clenched teeth. "Get me to the healer. Now."

The guard stiffened, already falling into step beside him.

Eris didn't look back.

He couldn't afford to--not when it felt like his own flesh was boiling from the inside out.

She had been to rich homes before. Lavish estates. Velvet-draped parlors and crystal chandeliers. But nothing about this place felt remotely like those.

No, this estate--that she is already coming in for the second time in a row--had a quiet kind of opulence. The stonework gleamed as if enchanted to always look freshly polished. The walls were guarded, but not with visible force, it was the subtle power humming through the corridors that told her this wasn’t just any visiting diplomat’s lodging.

And judging by how the guards immediately parted when she entered, they all knew why she was here.

Again.

“You know the way,” the same guard from earlier grunted, opening the staircase doors.

Y/N didn't respond. She just adjusted her satchel on her shoulder and hurried up.

At the top floor, the double doors were already ajar. Inside, she spotted him, sprawled across a chaise like some fallen prince from a tragic tale, his red-gold hair disheveled, chest rising and falling sharply beneath a half-undone tunic. One arm pressed tightly to his side.

The moment he saw her, he muttered something she didn’t catch. Likely not kind.

"You look like death," she said flatly while closing the door behind her.

“And yet, still more handsome than most males at their peak,” Eris rasped, lifting his head only slightly. “Charming, isn't it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Take off your shirt."

He blinked. "So direct. I like that."

"Don't flatter yourself. I need to see the injury."

Eris grinned but obeyed, teeth clenched as he peeled the fabric away from his forearm. The moment the bandages were off, she inhaled sharply.

The infection had spread. Ugly red streaks crept up his veins, angry and hot to the touch. She didn’t even need to touch it to know the fever had worsened.

"Gods," she muttered, already reaching into her satchel. "It's still not going away."

“You try sitting through hours of diplomacy while your flesh feels like it’s melting,” he said, his tone almost too casual.

"Don't tempt me. I'll handle it better."

She applied the salve first--the cooling one she'd only used once before--and watched as his body went still. The tension began to bleed out of his jaw, and for a moment, he closed his eyes.

"You're good at this," he murmured.

"I am a healer," she replied. "Though, you might've figured that out with me healing you."

A huff of amusement. “Touché.”

She finished applying the mixture, bandaged it in fresh gauze, and was just reaching for the tincture when he opened his eyes again. Staring straight at her.

"I'm taking you back home with me."

Y/N froze. "Excuse me?!"

"You heard me."

She blinked. Then straightened. “I- what- no. No, you don’t just- You can’t just say things like that!”

He didn’t flinch. Just watched her with that smirking, arrogant calm that somehow made her want to slap him.

“I get that you’re a prince or whatever- ” she continued, voice rising now, “but who do you actually think you are? You think you can just tell people to move like pawns on a board?”

He looked wholly unbothered. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched higher.

“I have a job here. I have patients. Clients. A shop. A life.” She gestured wildly, the words tumbling out now. “You think I’m just going to drop all of that because you snapped your fingers? Absolutely not. Do you know how long it took me to build- ”

“Relax,” he drawled, finally cutting in. “You’re only coming with me for a little while. Just until my arm is fully healed. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you in a cage. Unless you're into that.”

She stopped mid-rant, blinking.

He arched a brow at her, clearly pleased.

Y/N groaned and flopped into the chair beside him, rubbing her temples. “Are there no healers in the Autumn Court?”

“There are,” he said. “But since you started this particular treatment, it seems you’d be the only one to understand how to finish it.”

"That sounds like a convenient excuse."

He shrugged. “Besides... our healers tend to prefer methods that involve cauterization. Burning away infection. Sometimes without numbing agents.”

Her face scrunched. "That's barbaric."

"It's Autumn," he said with a half-smile. "We're not really know for our gentleness."

She sighed. "Of course you're not."

A beat passed. Then:

"You're serious abot this? she asked quietly, staring at him.

"I don't ask twice, healer."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're an arrogant bastard."

"I'm also in pain and I'd prefer not to be."

Silence.

Then, she said, "Fine. But if I'm going, I'm bringing my own herbs. And my salves. And I’m not sleeping in some cold drafty court hall with nothing but dying pine trees and angry men yelling about honor.”

Eris chuckled softly. "You have no idea what you're walking into."

Her lips twitched.

"I never do," she said. "And yet, I keep walking."

He was surprised to admit it--but for once, he wasn't miserable.

The Night Court had its flaws--a few too many stars, too much idealism in the air--but the estate wine was excellent, the fires warm, and his pain had, blessedly, lessened.

Thank the Cauldron for that healer. Well, not the gods. Her.

Eris adjusted the cuff of his tunic, flexing his bandaged arm beneath the fine fabric. Still tender, but the searing pain was gone. Whatever she’d laced into those salves, it was working better than any remedy he’d received in Autumn in years.

Now, if only the summit discussions weren’t so dreadfully boring.

Rhysand stood at the head of the great hall, flanked by his High Lady and that surly Illyrian brute, Cassian. To the right of him stood Azriel, all shadows and silence, glancing around like the walls themselves might betray him.

Eris sipped his wine and leaned against a pillar, letting the room’s low murmur fill the gaps in his thoughts. Court emissaries chattered over hors d’oeuvres, maps were unrolled and then forgotten, and no one seemed particularly eager to return to the debating table just yet.

He supposed now was as good a time as any.

He wandered over lazily to where Rhysand and Azriel stood in a quieter alcove, deep in murmured conversation. Feyre was elsewhere now, no doubt trying to keep the rest of the political flock from descending into chaos.

“Rhysand,” Eris drawled smoothly, swirling his wine, “before I forget--when I leave tomorrow, I’ll be taking one of your healers with me.”

Both Rhysand and Azriel stopped talking.

Eris took another sip, savoring their expressions. “Temporarily, of course. No need for alarm. She already agreed.”

Rhysand's brows arched. "Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm taking one of your healers."

Rhysands voice dropped a note. "Why?"

Eris gave a slow, lazy shrug. “Well, I’ve recently discovered that our court’s preferred healing methods are…barbaric. And this one’s already familiar with a small injury I have. Nothing that serious, really. Besides--she volunteered.”

“That doesn’t answer why you need her,” Rhys said coolly.

“You’re not known for your courtesies,” Azriel said quietly.

Eris turned his gaze on the shadowsinger, tilting his head. “Oh? The puppet speaks?”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw flexed ever so slightly.

Eris smirked. “And here I thought you were just Rhysand’s ominous little ornament.”

“I asked which healer it is.”

Eris blinked innocently. “Oh? Why so curious? Has she been patching up your emotional wounds, perhaps?”

Azriel’s fists curled at his sides, just a hair too tightly.

Rhysand stepped forward. “If she’s a citizen of Velaris, we have a right to know who you’re taking.”

Eris looked between them now--the High Lord and his silent blade. Interesting.

The way Azriel’s jaw ticked. The way his shadows were pooling tighter, sharper. The way his dark eyes flickered, not with confusion, but something else entirely.

Oh.

Eris blinked once. Then, in a moment of rare honesty, laughed.

“Would you believe me if I told you…I actually don’t know her name?”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed slightly. Azriel’s didn’t move.

“Well,” Eris said lightly, turning away, “I’ll fix that when I see her again.”

He glanced back once more with that same maddening grin, and added, “No need for the dramatics, boys. You’ve got thousands of healers. One leaving for a while won’t make a drastic difference.”

And with that, he strolled away, wine in hand, cloak trailing like flame behind him--already calculating just how much more interesting this healer had become.

Y/N didn't move.

She stood just inside the room, arms crossed, cloak still wrapped tightly around her as if it could shield her from what she's about to say.

"I can't go with you," she said, voice quiet but firm.

Eris blinked, where he lounged back on the chaise. "Pardon?"

"I said no." She set her satchel on the table and straightened, chin lifting. "I'm not going to the Autumn Court."

His brow arched slowly, like he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. "You already agreed."

"I didn't say yes," she snapped. "You made some arrogant declaration and I didn't have time to respond before you vanished like a smog fox in the wind."

He smirked. "So poetic. But you still came."

"To treat your festering arm," she snapped, walking over to check the bandage. "Not to pack my life into a travel trunk and run off into the leaves with you."

Eris hissed as her fingers brushed a sore spot. "Gods, you're dramatic."

"No," she said, voice steel. "I'm practical. I have a clinic. Patients. Responsibilities. And a High Lord who will probably send someone knocking if I vanish without a word."

Eris leaned back, eyes narrowing. "So what do you have me do, then?"

"I don't know," she said, exasperated. "Prolong your stay. Heal here."

He sat up, scoffing. "Prolong?!"

"You heard me."

Eris laughed--short, sharp, disbelieving. "Do you think I want to spend another day playing polite in Rhysand's cheerful little trap of a city?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to keep your arm?"

He glared. "That is beside the point."

"No," she said, crossing her arms again. "It's exactly the point. If you leave now, your fevere will spike again, and you'll be lucky if you don't collapse halfway home. Unless you want to let the Autumn Court healers to roast the infection out of you."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Growled softly under his breath.

Then, finally:

"Very well," Eris muttered, like it tasted bitter. "I'll stay."

She blinked. "Really?"

He stood, walking past her toward the hearth, the long line of his back tense beneath the fine shirt. "Until you've healed me completely. Not a moment longer."

Y/N raised a brow. "How generous of you."

"I know," he said dryly. "I'm practically a saint."

She rolled her eyes.

He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, and though his face was unreadable, something in his voice softened--just a fraction.

"But when I leave," he said, "you're going to miss me."

Y/N snorted. "Doubtful."

He smirked again, but it didn't quiet reach his eyes this time. "We'll see."

And from then on, began the strange arrangement: the arrogant prince and the healer who refused to indulge his pride.

It wasn't a one big moment thing really. Not at all.

It was more like a collection of small moments that began slowly but surely affecting them both.

It started that very evening, when he woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and swearing like a soldier.

Y/N was already there, seated on the edge of the chaise, a damp cloth in hand.

"You were muttering," she said, voice hushed. "Thrashing."

"I don't thrash."

"You almost kicked me."

Eris blinked at her, brow furrowed. "You're...still here."

She gave him a flat look. "You're still burning up. Try not to die before sunrise."

He grinned faintly, delirious. "It'd be worth it, if I take some of your stubbornness with me."

She pressed the cloth to his brow harder than necessary.

Or this other time where:

"You made tea?" he asked, surprised.

She didn't look up from her notes. "You like bergamot, don't you?"

A beat passed. Then two.

"Dangerous thing, guessing what I like."

She smirked. "Relax. If it was poison, I wouldn't waste it on tea."

They didn't talk that night.

She read. He drank.

The fire crackled between them, casting soft light on his jaw, her lashes.

At one point, his fever came back, just a flicker of discomfort across his brow, and she reached across to feel his forehead without a word.

He didn't flinch.

When their eyes met, something unspoken flickered in the space between them.

She looked away first.

Or that silly time when:

"Is this...black silk?"

Y/N stared at the tunic laid out for Eris on the bed.

He lounged nearby, massaging his arm slowly. "I was told to blend in. Apparently Night Court style means drowning in silk and regret."

Y/N snorted. "You're going to trip over that hem."

"I've tripped over less graceful things than fashion."

She paused. "Like what?"

His eyes glittered. "You, for example."

She threw a roll of bandage at his head.

“I don’t like Velaris,” he said one evening, quietly, eyes on the stars beyond the window.

She didn’t respond right away.

“Too soft?” she asked eventually.

“Too honest,” he murmured.

Y/N turned to him.

He didn’t look away.

“I’m not like you fae,” Eris said. “I wasn’t raised in warmth.”

“No,” she said, just as quiet. “But you still deserve to be kept warm.”

That was the first night he didn’t argue.

And yes, she had moved in with him.

Yes, it was because she needed to be close to him at all times in order to easily help him.

But…

There were now two teacups on the side table every morning.

A second cloak hung on the hook near the door.

And when the fever came again in the middle of the night--sharp, fast, like it was waiting until he dropped his guard--she was already there, pressing a vial to his lips before he could mutter a word of complaint.

“You’re pacing.”

It was nearly midnight. She found him standing in front of the window, half-dressed, the moonlight gilding the faint sheen of sweat along his brow.

He didn’t turn around. “Thinking.”

She crossed the room slowly, arms folded over the worn cardigan she always wore when the air dipped cooler.

“You do that often?”

“Not when people are watching.”

She stepped beside him, looked out over the lights of Velaris. “Well, now you’ll have to try something new.”

He exhaled a short breath, then glanced at her. “You always show up when I’m least tolerable.”

“Lucky for you, I have no tolerance left to spare.”

Something flickered behind his amber eyes. Not a smirk this time. Just the faintest crease of something real.

“You could’ve stayed at your shop,” he murmured. “Sent someone else. I know you don’t like this.”

“This?” she asked.

“Being near me.”

He said it like it should be obvious. Inevitable.

She looked at him for a long, quiet moment.

Then, softly, “It’s not as simple as that.”

He turned away before she could see what that did to him.

The Mornings Got Quieter.

Once, he would rise before dawn just to be difficult.

Now, he let her sleep in the chair beside the fireplace when she drifted off after late-night treatments. He draped a blanket over her without waking her.

She found it in the morning and didn’t ask.

He didn’t mention the soft smile that tugged at his mouth when she noticed.

“You snore.”

He blinked. “I what?”

“You snore,” she repeated, spooning honey into his tea like it was a personal attack. “Like a wounded bear.”

“I don’t snore,” he said, affronted. “That’s slander.”

“I have earplugs now. Made them myself.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You shouldn’t. Because I lied. I just suffer through it in silence.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

A pause.

His voice was quieter this time. “Not if you leave.”

She stilled.

Their eyes met.

Neither looked away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

One Morning, She Wasn’t There.

Just once.

He woke up with his arm aching and the hearth cold and the chair empty.

His whole chest clenched.

He pulled on his boots, half-buttoned his tunic, stormed into the hallway, ready to tear into whatever idiot guard had let her wander off alone when--

“There you are,” she said casually, walking in from the back garden, basket full of herbs in her arms. “I needed fresh white willow bark. We ran out.”

He stared at her. Said nothing.

She paused. “What?”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

She blinked.

Then her expression softened. “Eris…”

“No one knew where you were.”

“I was gone fifteen minutes.”

“That’s long enough.”

She stepped closer.

He didn’t move.

“You’re not used to people coming back,” she said softly.

He didn’t confirm it.

He didn’t have to.

She reached out, very carefully, and placed her hand on his arm--not the injured one. The other.

He relaxed, just slightly.

She Started Sitting Beside Him.

Not across the room. Not in the other chair.

Beside him.

Sometimes their shoulders touched. Sometimes they didn’t.

He never commented.

Except once.

“Careful,” he murmured, not looking away from the fire. “I might start thinking you enjoy my company.”

She didn’t respond for a moment.

Then, “I do.”

He turned his head.

She added, “When you’re not talking.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course.”

But something in him settled.

Like a knot loosening in his chest.

One Evening, He Let Something Slip.

They were seated by the fire again--he drinking something dark and bitter, her scribbling healing notes in her little worn ledger.

“There’s a reason I didn’t let Autumn Court healers touch me,” he said suddenly, unprompted.

She looked up.

“They don’t ask questions. Don’t listen. They’re efficient, brutal, and only loyal to the title, not the person beneath it.”

Y/N didn’t speak.

So he added, “You asked. You saw. That makes you dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she echoed.

“To me.”

He didn’t explain.

She didn’t ask.

But Then One Night, It Was Too Quiet.

He lay on the chaise, his arm freshly wrapped, the fire burning low.

She was curled in the chair again, legs tucked under her, book resting on her chest as she dozed off.

He watched her for a long time.

The scar above her brow.

The tiny freckle near her collarbone.

The way her breath deepened when she fell asleep.

He didn’t know when it had happened. When her presence became comforting. When her silence began to feel sacred. When his days began revolving not around politics or power--but her.

He stood quietly, moved to the chair beside her.

Just to be closer.

Just to stay.

Just for a little while.

It had already been a week.

Seven days of Eris staying in Velaris.

Seven days of morning poultices and carefully measured tinctures, of whispered curses when the salve stung too much and smug smirks when it didn’t. Seven days of shared firelight and sarcastic retorts, of slowly lowering walls and cautious trust. Seven days, and Eris had made substantial progress.

The angry redness had faded. The swelling had gone down. His fever no longer lingered in his voice or eyes.

And yet, oddly, he hadn’t made arrangements to return to the Autumn Court just yet.

Y/N hadn’t asked why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Now, in the soft hush of late afternoon, she moved about her clinic in practiced ease. The last patient of the day had just left--a young fae male with a dislocated shoulder and an unhealthy addiction to dramatics. The scent of peppermint lingered in the air, the way it always did after a long day of work. She tied off the fresh cloth on the supply shelf, took a long breath, and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the quiet.

And then-

She felt it before she heard it.

The gentle shift in the air. The way the shadows bent. That quiet presence that didn’t make itself known so much as it made itself felt.

Her hand stilled on the shelf. Her heart dropped. And when she turned--

Azriel.

Standing just inside the doorway like he’d never left. Like he still belonged in her space. In her world. His hazel eyes soft and full of something she refused to name, wings tucked neatly behind him, shoulders tense but open.

Her mouth went dry.

The feelings hit her all at once--anger, ache, bitterness, longing. The confusion. The memory of sleepless nights, of whispering his name into her pillow, of wondering what she’d done wrong. The endless loop of silence that followed their last argument. The way he’d left things--cutting, unfinished.

All the pain she had learned to keep buried beneath her ribcage came clawing back.

Azriel took one step forward. “May we- may we talk?”

Her spine straightened.

“I think we’ve talked enough,” she said coolly. “Sir.”

His jaw flexed at the formality. He flinched, almost imperceptibly, but didn't retreat.

“I deserve that,” he said quietly.

She said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, stepping closer. “For everything. For not knowing how to stay. For not trusting what we had. For the silence. For the way I left.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “I don’t need your apologies.”

“I know,” he said. “But I need to give them.”

She looked away.

He kept going. “I tried to forget you. I swear to the Mother, I tried. I thought maybe if I threw myself into my work, maybe if I distracted myself long enough, the ache would fade. But it didn’t.”

Silence.

“I went to taverns,” he said, his voice rough now. “Met people. Tried to… find someone who could help me take my mind off of you. Someone who could make me forget your laugh. Your hands. Your voice. Your eyes.”

“But I failed,” he breathed. “Every. Single. Time.”

He took a shaky breath. “No one is you.”

“Az,” she said quietly, discomfort clawing into her chest, “please leave.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, to her horror, he dropped to his knees.

Her eyes widened.

He looked up at her like she was a star he could never quite reach. Like he was drowning.

“Please,” he whispered. “Just- tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything.”

Her back hit the cabinet behind her as she took a step back.

And then he reached forward.

Wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this realm. His face pressed into the fabric of her dress. She could feel the raggedness of his breathing. The way his entire body trembled.

It was too much.

“Azriel- stop,” she said sharply. “Get up. This isn’t- this isn’t fair.”

But he just clung tighter, and when she looked down, she saw the glassiness in his eyes. The way his lips parted, like another apology was already forming.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped. I’ve never- please, Y/N, I don’t know who I am without you- ”

The bell above the door chimed.

Y/N froze.

Azriel didn’t move.

And across the room, just stepping into the clinic, Eris stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes scanned the scene, Azriel on his knees, clinging to her waist. Her frozen form. The tension. The way her hands hovered, not touching, not returning the hold.

Eris's face shifted. From surprise--cold and sharp--to something else entirely.

Anger.

Quiet. Controlled. Dangerous.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at Azriel with a glint in his eyes that looked very, very close to flame.

Azriel still hadn’t noticed. He didn’t care. His face was still buried against her stomach, his voice barely above a breath.

“I don’t care who walks in. I’m not leaving. Not again.”

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest.

She didn’t know where to look. Didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to breathe.

And Eris... took one step forward.

Eris’s voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in ice.

“Get the fuck up, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger stilled.

Y/N felt his entire body tense against hers as his head slowly turned--at last--to acknowledge the male who now stood at the door, firelight dancing across his crimson leathers and amber eyes burning with quiet fury.

Azriel rose to his feet in a slow, deliberate motion. His jaw was tight. His face unreadable. “Why are you still in Velaris?”

Y/N quickly stepped forward, trying to dissolve the tension with practiced calm. “Eris was greatly injured. He chose to remain here so I could oversee his recovery. The High Lord is aware of the prolonged visit, Azriel, so there’s no need to get all- ”

Neither male acknowledged her.

Eris’s voice was low and cool. “Come here, Y/N.”

She blinked, stunned by the possessive edge in his tone. She had never seen him like this--this sharp, this protective.

Before she could even move, Azriel’s wing shifted--like a curtain of shadow--spreading protectively in front of her and blocking her from Eris’s view.

“She’s where she needs to be,” Az said darkly. “Behind me.”

Eris’s eyes gleamed, his smirk all cruel sharpness. “She shouldn’t be behind you. She shouldn’t be behind anyone.”

Azriel didn’t flinch. “So my Y/N was the healer you mentioned. The one tending to your wounds.”

“And what if she is?” Eris stepped further into the room, slow, measured. “Is there something wrong with her doing her job and healing me?”

Az’s voice dropped into something colder. “You always had a way of turning necessity into manipulation.”

“Funny,” Eris shot back, “I could say the same about you and affection.”

Y/N’s chest was tight, her hands clenched at her sides.

Azriel took another step. “She was never yours, Eris.”

“And yet,” Eris said, his smile dangerous, “I’m the one she wakes up to every morning now.”

Y/N made a soft noise of disbelief, but neither male looked at her.

“She’s uncomfortable,” Eris added, voice suddenly edged with anger. “Leave her alone.”

“She’s uncomfortable,” Azriel snapped, “because of you. Not her lover.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“You’re not my lover,” she said, voice sharp, shocked. “You don’t get to speak for me like that.”

Eris’s gaze flicked to hers briefly. Then, back to Azriel.

“You have five seconds,” he said, voice a deadly hush, “to step the fuck away from Y/N. Or I will make sure that not only you, but the entirety of this delicate, self-righteous city, regrets ever crossing me.”

Azriel didn’t budge.

He and Eris were toe to toe now, death in both of their stares.

The shadows in the room pulsed.

The temperature shifted.

Y/N snapped.

“Enough!”

Both males froze as she stepped between them, planting a hand firmly on each of their chests, shoving just enough to make them take a half step back.

Her breath came in ragged, furious bursts.

“This is my clinic,” she seethed, “and I will not allow either of you to destroy it because of your foolish egos.”

Her gaze turned to Azriel. Icy. Final.

“Shadowsinger,” she said, voice trembling with restrained rage, “please leave my clinic. And do not come here again.”

Azriel’s expression cracked for the first time. His lips parted, pain flickering in his eyes. “Y/N- ”

“Now.”

Silence.

Eris stared at him with blistering satisfaction.

Azriel’s shadows curled tightly around him like armor. But he said nothing more.

He turned.

And left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Y/N stood in the quiet, the weight of it all pressing down on her bones.

She didn’t turn around. Not immediately.

When she finally did, Eris was watching her carefully. Expectantly. But not smug.

“Go ahead,” he said softly. “I’m ready for whatever version of that story you want to tell.”

Y/N sighed, wearily rubbing her temple. “You might want to sit for this one.”

She exhaled again. “It’s a long story.”

“…and yeah,” Y/N exhaled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, “that’s how we eventually fell out.”

The words sat between them, raw and exposed.

She didn’t look at him right away--half-expecting a scoff, a sarcastic remark, maybe even a too-sharp smile. This wasEris Vanserra, after all. Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. Impossible.

But when she finally glanced his way-

He wasn’t mocking her.

Eris sat back in the chair by the examination table, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely. His expression was unreadable at first--but then softened by something quieter, something thoughtful.

“That,” he said slowly, “is… horrible.”

Y/N blinked.

He wasn’t joking. There was no amusement in his tone. No smirk twisting his lips. Just quiet sincerity.

“I thought you’d mock me,” she said plainly. “Or call me naive. Or say I should’ve known better.”

“I think,” Eris said, eyes flicking to hers, “you’ve heard more than enough of that already. Haven’t you?”

Something in her chest gave a little. She didn’t answer.

Eris leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the ceiling like he was sorting through his own thoughts. “You know, I used to think heartbreak was something you could outsmart,” he said lightly. “That if you were clever enough, detached enough, you could sidestep it. Avoid the mess. The… bleeding.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly. “That sounds very on brand for you.”

Eris gave her a dry look. “Yes, well. Turns out even I’m not immune to foolish choices and inconvenient feelings.”

Her brow lifted. “You’ve had your heart broken, Eris?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

But then he gave a slow, one-shouldered shrug. “Once. Maybe twice. Depends on how you define heartbreak.” His eyes met hers. “But betrayal? Yeah. That I’m well acquainted with.”

A quiet beat passed between them.

Y/N leaned against the edge of the counter, arms loosening just a little. “I didn’t think you’d be… kind about it.”

“I’m not kind,” he said, though his voice lacked any real sharpness. “I just don’t see the point in kicking someone when they’re already lying face-down in the mud.”

She huffed. “Romantic.”

Eris grinned faintly. “You’re the one who moved in with me, remember.”

“Out of medical necessity.”

“Sure.” He tipped his head, mock-thoughtful. “And yet, here we are. Talking like civilized people. After you just told me about your heartbreak. And I didn’t once make fun of you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “Should I be impressed?”

“I think you are impressed.”

Her face twitched, almost amused. “Maybe a little.”

He offered her the most sincere smile she’d ever seen from him. Small. Subtle. But real.

And for the first time in a while, the room didn’t feel full of shadow or heat or unresolved wounds.

Just... two fae. Sharing something sincere.

Quiet. And almost soft.

And that... that moment shifted everything.

It didn’t happen all at once. But something changed after that night.

He stopped snarking as much.

She stopped bracing for his next cruel remark.

They began to share silences that weren’t uncomfortable, and conversations that drifted beyond his injury or her clinic or duty. She still rolled her eyes when he complained about the tea in Velaris--too weak, too floral--but now she did it with a tug at the corner of her mouth that looked suspiciously like a smile.

And when he caught it, he smiled too.

It was late afternoon. Golden light spilled through the windows of the clinic’s upstairs sitting room. Y/N stood with her fingers brushing the spines of her bookshelf, searching for something to read, when a familiar voice drawled behind her.

“I always pictured you more as a tragic-poetry type. All heartbreak and metaphors and brooding. But you have an entire shelf of smut.”

Her eyes widened. “Eris!”

“What?” he said innocently, holding the small book he’d pulled from the shelf like it had personally offended him. “‘Lord of Lust: Volume II’? Really?”

She snatched it from his hands, cheeks heating. “That is none of your business.”

He grinned, clearly delighted. “I stand corrected. You're not a tragic-poetry type at all.”

She glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said smugly, “you haven’t thrown me out yet.”

And she hadn’t. She didn’t even want to.

There was one night, later that week, when the power flickered out in the clinic after a rare summer storm rolled through.

Eris lit a few candles without asking and sat across from her at the little kitchen table, his injured arm--still bound loosely--resting beside a cup of tea she’d made for him.

For once, there was no teasing. No smugness.

Just the soft light of flame flickering over his sharp features as he said, “I think I understand why you left him.”

Y/N looked up from her own cup, brows furrowed.

He continued, voice quieter than usual. “You needed to be something other than what he saw you as.”

She looked away, throat tightening.

He didn’t press.

But she nodded once, slowly. And when she eventually looked up, his eyes were waiting.

She caught him sleeping once.

It was in the treatment chair by the window, sunlight falling over his face, his red hair glowing gold at the edges. His long frame was curled, barely fitting, his head tilted slightly toward the arm that had almost completely healed.

She should’ve woken him. But she didn’t.

Instead, she watched him breathe slowly, lashes brushing high cheekbones, face unguarded in a way she’d never seen before.

Soft. Younger. Almost gentle.

He stirred at one point, murmuring her name--not in pain, but like he’d been dreaming about her. Just her name.

And she had to walk out of the room, heart racing too fast.

By the end of the second week, the healing was complete.

Y/N stood beside Eris, carefully unwrapping the last of the bandages around his arm. Her fingers moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as she peeled away the final layer.

The skin beneath was smooth. Healthy. Whole.

“It’s done,” she said quietly. “You’re fully healed.”

There was a silence.

He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulder, studying the movement. “Feels... strange. Like I shouldn’t be. Like I expected more time.”

Her hand lingered on his forearm just a second too long before she stepped back.

He watched her.

“I leave tomorrow,” he said, voice even.

Y/N nodded once. “Of course.”

But something pulled in her chest--unexpected, unwelcome. The strange ache of parting she hadn’t anticipated. Two weeks ago, she’d dreamed of getting him out of her clinic.

Now?

Now the thought of the space feeling that quiet again felt... wrong.

Eris tilted his head slightly, watching her too closely. “Are you glad?”

She blinked. “What?”

“That I’m leaving.”

“I... I’m glad your arm’s healed,” she said carefully.

“But not that I’m leaving,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer. Not out loud.

But the silence said enough.

And Eris didn’t push. Just nodded once, slowly.

“Right,” he said, his voice unreadable. “I’ll try not to make too much noise when I go.”

And with that, he turned and left the room.

Leaving her standing there, staring at the empty space he’d just been.

And wondering what, exactly, had just changed between them.

A pale morning glow stretched across the Harbor of Velaris. Salt-scented air mingled with the murmur of waves and creak of rigging.

Eris stood at the prow of the dock, gazing at his ship--gilded sails furled—waiting for its final preparations. His arm felt light, unbound at last, but his chest felt heavy with what was coming.

To his left, Rhysand paced quietly. To his right, Feyre and Azriel watched from a respectful distance. The tension between Eris and Azriel was taut--brooding glances, clipped silence, unspoken memories burned behind eyes. They acknowledged each other only when forced. And today, necessity reigned.

Eris’s gaze drifted over the familiar shapes of Night Court royalty. He felt something ache deep in his chest--like he should have stayed longer, talked more, argued less. These past two weeks, his emotions had been a strange tangle. He’d come expecting inconvenience and duty. Instead, he found himself drawn to Y/N in ways he never anticipated: waking in the night thinking of her laugh, seeking the warmth of her side in dreams, barely breathing when he felt her near.

He cast his eyes back to the ship--steady and certain.

And then came her voice.

“Eris!” floated across the hush.

Every head turned.

Y/N came running, boots thudding against wooden planks, hair tumbling and heart fluttering. In her hands were two large bags, swinging by her sides as she didn’t even glance at anyone--just him.

She reached the dock’s edge, dropped the bags with a thud, and without warning, wrapped herself around him, hugging him tight.

Eris froze--his chest expanding as he realized she was holding him.

She pulled back just enough to breathe. Her eyes glimmered with triumph and vulnerability.

“Yes,” she said softly, clearly meant for him.

He swallowed. “Yes to…?”

She leaned in, voice strong. “Yes. Eris- I’m coming with you.”

Silence.

Confusion and hope warred across his face.

He continued, eyes bright: “I hope you won’t be disappointed in your visit.”

She shook her head, smile growing. “Visit? Oh no. Eris. I’m coming with you. Forever.”

There was a gasp--Feyre’s soft intake of breath echoed in the still air.

It was then that they both realized: they were not alone.

Eris blinked at the Court behind them. Y/N, finally noticing, bowed quickly.

“I- apologies- High Lord Rhysand, High Lady Feyre- I didn’t fully see you there.”

Rhysand’s eyes softened. “Welcome. This is... unexpected.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered with something, something unreadable. Maybe regret. Maybe acceptance.

Feyre asked gently, cautious but kind: “Are you sure? Autumn is not an easy place to be.”

Y/N turned to Eris and smiled. “Yes. I am sure.” She looked back at Feyre. “I want to start over. I want to live a fresh life somewhere I’m not haunted by my past.”

She met Azriel’s eyes briefly. He looked hurt, but she didn’t look away.

When Feyre asked why, Y/N exhaled. “Because I have nothing and no one to hold on to in a city that only ever broke me. Because I want to live.”

There was a long pause. Then Rhysand nodded once. Azriel didn’t speak. Feyre simply studied Y/N with something like hope.

With gentle protectiveness, Eris placed his hand at her waist. At last he spoke, voice soft but clear: “Shall we board?”

Feyre offered a polite but warm smile. Azriel was silent and respectful as Eris took Y/N’s hand and led her toward the ship.

On deck, Eris turned to her. “Are you coming as a healer? A friend? Or may I- hope for something more?”

Y/N paused, a small, playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Let us move slowly for now, Vanserra. I need time before things get serious again.”

Eris’s eyes softened, golden and sincere. “I know. I may be a little too hot-headed on many things, but you are one of the most certain decisions I think I ever made.”

She slipped her fingers into his.

He smiled.

Azriel watched them ascend into their new world-Autumn light painting their silhouettes with promise.

Eris invited Y/N across the gangplank.

She looked back one last time at Velaris rising behind her, then turned fully to the ship and to him.

And together, under their Autumn-colored sails, they embarked toward whatever came next, heart in hand, hope in step, and a quiet promise of healing, love, and new beginnings.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag list: @onebadassunicorn @mystirica-18 @manicmanuscription @thestartitaness @moryss @windy-amaryllis @masbt1218 @songbirdpond @pandawritesthings210 @blessthepizzaman @clementine111002 @seasttarr

#acotar #fanfics #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #azriel #acotar angst #acotar fluff #azriel x reader #eris imagine #eris x reader #azriel angst #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader

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everlucivee · 3 days ago

Text

𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘

summary: smoke isn't able to go through with his promise to free her, which leaves annie to deal with the consequences.

content warning: lowercase, cursing.

chapter 1 & 2

chapter 3

"the fuck you mean that ain't my baby?" smoke asked, taking a step closer to annie. that amount of anger from smoke would've scared anybody else, but not her because she knew he'd never hurt her.

"you heard me, elijah," annie said back, turning to walk into her house, looking back to see if he had followed. he did.

"annie, tell me you're lying," smoke said, staring directly in front of her now.

"i can't do that. you came here for an answer and i gave you one and now you're mad?"

"and you standing here acting like you can't understand why i'm mad," smoke said.

"i can't. i can't understand it. you were gone for a long time, smoke. you think i was gon' save it for you?" annie asked, tilting her head up at him.

"hell yeah, woman," smoke stated, pulling his gun from its holster, "whose baby is it?"

"none of your business. now can you go?" annie said, turning her back towards him.

"i'm not going anywhere. not until you tell me who put a baby inside you while i was gone."

"then you'll be here all night. get out." annie said, "i'm serious."

smoke laughed, "ight. i'll figure out myself then don't even worry 'bout it,"

smoke walked towards the door, placing the gun back in its holster, but he stopped once he'd heard her voice ring out from behind him.

"it's your baby, elijah."

smoke turned back towards her, a small smile gracing his face.

"this doesn't change anything. i still don't want you around."

"i understand," smoke said, but he couldn't stop his smile from growing wider, which in all honesty just pissed annie off.

"now leave."

and he did.

—

as soon as smoke had gotten back to the juke joint, which had also been his home recently, he'd sat there staring only at the wall.

he didn't know how to feel. a part of him was so insanely happy, but another part of him felt... horrible.

smoke felt lonely. this was possibly the worst time for something like this to be happening. he had nothing, he had no one. him and annie were far from on good or even just decent terms and here they were bringing another baby into this world. this cold, cruel world. how would something like this even work? would the baby be a vampire? would the baby be like him? regular, human?

as much as he hated him right now, he needed stack. his needed his brother. he needed someone, anyone to talk to and there's not like he had a definite location for anyone other than annie so instead he continued sitting there.

just staring, not knowing what to do, know knowing hot to feel, not knowing whether to cry or smile or just find some way, any way to numb this pain.

smoke was getting a second at this. they were getting a second chance at this. a second chance at raising a child after the first chance had been so cruelly ripped away from them.

that only made smoke feel more terrible about not being fully happy about this. their first baby girl, their savannah, who they'd lost so suddenly and whose death tore them apart both individually as people and as a couple.

after they'd first lost her, annie would say that she'd still felt their baby girls presence often, but smoke had never had that feeling. he believed that once a person died, they were gone completely. no after life, no heaven, no hell. just nothing.

but for the first time ever, smoke wanted to believe that there was something more. he needed to believe that there was something more.

he sighed, lowering his head towards the ground, "sav," smoke whispered, wiping the forming tears before they even fell, "papa's going through a lot right now and i know it's all my fault," smoke paused, lifting his head towards the ceiling.

"your mama ain't my biggest fan at the moment and i get why, but it still hurts. she's all i have," smoke sighed, taking a moment to pull himself together.

right when he opened his mouth to continue, there was a knock on the side door, this time much louder, much harsher than the last couple of times.

smoke fixed himself as best as he could before making his way to the door. "fool, why you banging on the door like that?" smoke said, opening the door to who he thought would be his brother.

but it wasn't. it was annie. smoke furrowed his eyebrows, confusion setting across his features. "as much as i want to, i cant do this alone and i shouldn't have to." annie whispered, lowering her head to look at the ground.

"i'm gon' be there. for you for the baby, always."

annie scoffed, rolling her eyes. smoke knew she wanted to say more, he could tell, but she didn't. she stayed quiet, looking back up to smoke, almost daring him to say something else.

"can we talk?" smoke asked.

"we already talking," annie replied.

"annie."

"you gon' let me in?" annie asked, glaring past him, trying to avoid eye contact.

"come in," smoke whispered, stepping out of the way.

annie walked past him, directly towards the small room.

"thought you needed space," smoke said once he'd reached the room as well.

"you don't want me here?"

"you know i do. i just want to respect your wishes."

"ironic," annie replied. "i do need space, but this is so, so fucking hard. living this life alone. i don't know what to do." annie was sitting down on the small bed now.

"you don't have to do any of this alone. i'm always gon' be here," smoke sighed, kneeling before her, "for whatever you need."

"it ain't the same. you ain't with me twenty four hours a day. you don't understand just how miserable this all makes me."

smoke dropped his head onto annie's legs, tears falling from his eyes. he didn't know what to say. he couldn't say sorry again, he knew it wouldn't change anything and would probably would just make the situation worse because as annie kept saying, 'sorry doesn't change a thing' and she was right. it doesn't.

smoke looked back up. tears were falling from annie's eyes as well, "get off of me, elijah,"

"baby, if i could take this back i would," smoke stood up, "i ain't do this to hurt you. you gotta believe me."

"it don't matter what your intentions were," annie wiped her tears, pushing smoke completely off of her, "it did hurt me and you have to live with that."

"i know," smoke whispered, "whatever you can't do, i'll do for you. whatever you need."

"you think that's gon' fix everything?"

"no, but it's the least i can do. it's what i wanna do."

"we can't always have what we want."

smoke sighed, glancing down towards annie's stomach, still not showing but still wanted to touch it. he didn't because he knew he couldn't.

he looked away. there'd been a time where he'd been able to touch her whenever he liked. a time where she enjoyed being touched by him. not anymore.

"how'd you know i'd be here?" smoke asked instead, distracting himself from the forming thoughts.

annie stayed silent for a while. "followed you here."

smoke didn't respond. they sat in silence for a while before he reached over to grabbed the unrolled cigarette.

and he tried to roll it despite being embarrassed because of the trembling. he knew she was watching and that only made him shake harder with nerves.

he couldn't ask her to leave. he didn't want her to leave so he pushed through the embarrassment for as long as he could.

"give it to me."

he looked over towards annie, her hand reaching out towards him.

"nah, i got it."

"i ain't gon' beg you. you're sitting here struggling so stop being so damn stubborn," annie responded, leaving her hand out for a few more seconds. she scoffed, so close to pulling her hand away after seconds had passed and he still hadn't handed it to her.

he looked back towards her, mouth opening to say something, but he stopped himself, thinking better of it. this is the best they'd been in months, he wasn't going to say or do anything to ruin that.

they still weren't perfect, obviously, they were barely okay, but they were better, and smoke was gonna take anything he could get.

he passed it to her, watching as she expertly rolled up the cigarette, taking no more than thirty seconds.

she passed it back to him, his hand brushing hers as he pulled it away from her. he smiled softly, careful not to do anything that might piss her off or snap her out of this trance of not feeling so angry with him.

"thank you, annie," smoke said, grabbing his lighter off of the small table in front of them.

once he lit it, he quickly placed it into his mouth, breathing in a long slow drag from the cigarette.

after blowing the smoke from his mouth, he looked up at annie, "i know how to make this right."

"what, smoke? what could make this right?"

"i want you to turn me."

——————

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thevoicefromanotherworld · 3 days ago

Text

"I FUCKING HATE YOU, DOLL"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH BUCKY

I hope you like it! 🖤☝😊

Bucky swore under his breath when he saw you appear in tight black leather pants and a white T-shirt that emphasized your curves.

He knew you were teasing him, and you knew he knew it.

You'd been doing it since the night of Tony's birthday, when he assured you he wouldn't touch you with a stick.

You and Bucky didn't get along. Well, "badly" is too mild.

You got along VERY badly, terribly, to the point that Steve had to step between you during several of your arguments to keep the situation from getting out of hand.

All that tension was exacerbated on the night of the philanthropist's birthday, where you heard Thor comment on how beautiful you looked, and the man with the metal arm replied that he wouldn't touch you even if you were the last woman on Earth.

You clenched your teeth so hard you thought they might break, and instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you angry, you made a subtle but equally noticeable movement: you twisted your wrist, causing the glass he was holding in his hand to suddenly explode.

Bucky didn't say anything to you, but he knew full well it was you.

So from that moment on, it had been all provocations, sidelong glances, snide words and phrases, and those damn outfits you wore that made the soldier seriously question whether what he'd said at the party was still true or not.

He tried to clear his mind and think of something else.

He certainly wasn't going to let you think you'd won, because until proven otherwise, there was no winner, so he opted to watch you for a few moments indifferently before getting up and leaving the room where they were.

Once in his room, he figured that the two of you could play that game, and that you'd better prepare yourself for what was about to come.

The next day while you were having breakfast, your breath caught in your throat when you saw Bucky walking into the kitchen wearing simple gray slacks and a black tank top, a sight you weren't prepared for at such an early hour.

You'd seen him in t-shirts before, and you'd even seen him without one that time Vision insisted he wanted to go to the beach and dragged almost everyone with him, but it just wasn't the same.

Bucky's green eyes landed on yours, catching you red-handed, watching him.

A smile touched his lips, causing you to focus back on the cup in front of you.

"Good morning," he greeted pleasantly.

"Good morning to anyone," you replied grumpily, taking a sip of your morning coffee. "Why did you get up so early?"

"Haven't you heard that saying "that God helps everyone who got up early"?" He questioned, and you rolled your eyes.

"You don't believe in God, Barnes, and even if you did, I wouldn't buy that shitty answer," you blurted out, setting the cup aside to look at him again.

"Wow, looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed." He laughed, his raspy voice filling the kitchen, making all your hair stand on end. "What's up, doll? Didn't you sleep well?"

"Don't call me that" you said nervously, though you didn't give him the satisfaction of letting it be known it was his fault. "And yes, I've slept like a baby."

"It doesn't seem like it," he insisted. "Your thoughts aren't letting you sleep, it's logical. It happens to me all the time," he murmured. "Despite the years, the bad memories always come back, and sometimes I wake up sweating, disoriented, and thinking about everything and nothing at the same time," he admitted, shaking his head from side to side. "It sucks, but it is what it is."

"Yeah, I guess," you nodded, trying to change the subject. "Anyway, I'm done," you said suddenly, despite having plenty of coffee left. "I'll see you around."

"Wait," he said before you left. "We need to talk."

"I have nothing to talk to you about, Barnes, so I suggest you…"

"You can't provoke me like you've been doing all these days, and then act shy and hope I'll forget about it, because I'm not going to." "He blurted out. You turned to him. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"I… it's not what you think," you muttered, flustered.

"Oh no?" He insisted, taking several steps toward you. "Ever since I said I wouldn't touch you with a stick, it seems you've done everything possible to make me swallow my words," he reminded you. "And it may, and only MAY, have worked," he growled, cornering you against the counter. "So don't try to run away now when I know perfectly well that THIS is what you've been looking for all along," he explained. "Just say it, baby" he whispered. "Say it, and I'll make sure…"

You didn't give him time to finish.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him towards you and placed your lips on his.

He let out a groan against them and quickly lifted you by your hips to sit you on the counter.

A gasp escaped your lips as he pulled away to remove his shirt and yours, as well as both of your pants.

"I fucking hate you"

He said as he removed your underwear and pulled away to look at you. “This is a really bad idea.”

“Who the fuck cares?” you blurted, pulling his metal arm towards you. “Come here, soldier.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” he complained as he kissed you and you tangled your fingers in his hair. “What would other people think if they saw you like this, so desperate for me? Mhmm? Practically BEGGING me to fuck you.”

“I don’t know what other people would think, but I know what I’m thinking,” you murmured, looking into his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me, doll. I can see it in them,” he said, nodding toward yours. “I’m going to give you what you want, and you’re going to take it all like the good girl I know you are, right?” You nodded slowly, unable to believe that this was finally happening. “That's it,” he whispered, sliding inside you.

When you finished, you felt completely empty and, above all, tired, VERY tired. Bucky knew it, so he carried you to the bed and curled up next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“Bucky,” you whispered, getting his attention.

“Don't go, please,” you murmured. He shook his head.

“I wasn't going to move from here, doll” he smiled. “Not now that I have you right where I wanted you”

#byvoice #writters on tumblr #writterscommunity #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #my fic writing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes

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allwaswell16 · 2 days ago

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A fic rec of my favorite Tomlinshaw fics aka the pairing Louis Tomlinson/Nick Grimshaw as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

💜 I Had Rather (series) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 261k, canon) The first time Louis Tomlinson kisses him, Nick is three sheets to the wind, wearing a pirate hat, and so fucking tired of Louis being a complete and utter knobhead that he's spent the last ten minutes snapping at him. The kiss takes him rather by surprise, all things considered.

💜 love and kickin' by camiii

(E, 140k, football) the fic where Nick has no interest in football but is dragged to a football match, Louis is the Arsenal player that catches his attention, and maybe there are some redeeming qualities to the game after all.

💜 Little Lion Man by Writcraft / @writsgrimmyblog

(E, 123k, Potter Direction) As Louis tries to negotiate coming of age, sexuality, first times, homophobia in the wizarding world and his growing feelings for Nick, a new evil emerges which puts Louis and Nick in serious danger. Peace can only last for so long and Louis is about to learn exactly how brave he can be as he finds himself fighting for his life, his friends and everything he’s ever loved.

💜 Midnight Dancers��by hazmesentir

(E, 107k, choose your own ending but you should choose Tomlinshaw) Nearly a year after One Direction ends, Louis finds himself with a choice to make: go back and fix the mistakes of the past, or take a risk on something new? A tale of three men, two love stories...and two endings.

💜 Kissing in the Rain by Writcraft / @writsgrimmyblog

(E, 93k, canon) It starts at a party with shitty cocktails, a DJ that's definitely not as good as Nick and some 'that only happens in the movies' kissing in the rain.

💜 and i refuse to let this go by annemari

(T, 71k, amnesia) The one where Louis and Nick are in a secret relationship, Nick loses his memories, and Louis tries to not fall apart.

💜 You Don't Care About Me (One More Night) by @lululawrence

(NR, 60k, fwb) the one where Louis pines for Harry and Nick helps ease his way into figuring himself out through a friends with benefits sort of arrangement. Things quickly turn complicated.

💜 We Used To Wait by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 56k, character injury) The BBC Breaking News Twitter just says, One Direction star Louis Tomlinson rushed to hospital after M25 car crash.Louis has an accident, but nobody even knows he and Nick are going out.

💜 loose lips sink ship all the damn time (not this time) by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(E, 39k, canon) The one where Louis is outed via a sex tape he made before the X-Factor and Nick can't resist flying to America to give him a shoulder to cry on. Told through flashbacks, this is a story of getting together and getting back together.

💜 The One Where... (series) by checkthemargins

(E, 34k, canon) The one where Nick is accidentally dating Louis.

💜 we are not alone in the dark with our demons by alison

(M, 32k, canon) He can't play along anymore, so he walks out of the studio and gets in his car and drives, the destination not seeming important in this moment. The last person he would expect to find him is Louis.

💜 A Waltz For A Night by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 26k, kink) Louis finds someone who likes every bit of him, and who likes the same things he does. He just hadn't expected that person to be Nick Grimshaw.

💜 walk, walk fashion baby by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 23k, established relationship) Louis loves his supportive boyfriend, his passionate and interesting band of friends and coworkers, and his pair of quirky and dedicated dogs. What he doesn’t love is his job as co-editor of the Lifestyle section at a popular site aimed at millennials.

💜 I'll surrender up my heart (and swap it for yours) by clairdeloune

(E, 17k, sick fic) When Louis got a text from Harry saying ‘hey so I kind of need you to do something for me’ he didn’t expect it would lead him to standing at Nick Grimshaw’s doorstep with a bag full of groceries, medicine and a box of takeaway.

💜 Portions For Foxes by pukeandcry

(E, 16k, hurt/comfort) Louis injures himself, and somehow Nick winds up taking care of him.

💜 it's a beautiful night (we're looking for something dumb to do) by carissima

(T, 12k, canon) In which Nick ends up in Vegas for Harry's half-birthday and leaves with a famous popstar husband in tow.

💜 Drive It Like You Stole It by justyrae

(E, 11k, tiny penis) He doesn't know, a tiny voice in Louis' mind reminds him. You can't blame him for not knowing when you never told him.

💜 Polar Bear 'Verse (series) by Jiksa / @jiksax

(E, 7k, bed sharing) Norway has a polar bear population, Nick has a broken heart, and Louis Tomlinson is, unsurprisingly, still a complete fucking wanker.

💜 burning our pretty little hearts by icarusinflight

(E, 5k, soulmates) Nick's twenty-nine, and still not the least bit ready for it, when he finds his soulmate.

💜 I Found 'verse (series) by Jiksa / @jiksax

(M, 4k, sexuality crisis) Nick and Louis get trapped in a closet for seven minutes in heaven/hell.

💜 All the Silver Moons by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(T, 4k, canon) Nick wakes up in a strange hotel room and is apparently visiting Louis on tour. Which is really weird, because Louis doesn't like him and they've never hung out without Harry as a buffer. And clearly Louis thinks they're *together* together and Nick hasn't the faintest idea what's going on.

💜 Kind of Tough to Tell a Scruff (Stand and Deliver) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(M, 4k, neighbors) There must be one good thing about your new place. Nick considers for a while. There's a fit bloke lives down my hall, he types finally. In which Nick moves north and Louis lives next door.

💜 acrobatic blood by nightwideopen / @themarshalstale

(G, 2k, asexual character) “Thought you’d gone home,” Nick croaks miserably. Louis rolls his eyes. “This is my home, dickhead.” A coming out fic.

#weekly recs #ficrec #Tomlinshaw #1dficvillage #1dficlibrary #Tomlinshaw fanfiction #trackinghome

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simply-wlw-kpopstan · 3 days ago

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14. Strangers

⚠️ Kidnapping (idk what else but Def let me know in comments if you think it's a trigger to mention)

The next day, you act like nothing happened, like you hadn't spent hours with Sophia in your bed. Like her moans and gasps weren't embedded in your brain from now on. The positive thing is that Megan never asked about the smell when she came home, even though you knew she could smell it. Sophia's perfume was everywhere in your room, in the whole apartment even. You may have washed up and changed your bedding but there was nothing you could do to hide her scent. Megan just gave you a look but didn't speak. Instead, she talked about her day, and you were thankful she did. The same couldn't be said about Manon this morning at work.

"Come on, I know something happened. I was out late last night and imagine my surprise when I saw Sophia leaving your apartment all disheveled." She smirked as she set up her bar, refilling bottles and preparing her needed extras like cutting lemons and limes. " I've never seen her with tousled hair or frazzled-up clothes and yet both are the case when she walked out. Almost looked like a walk of shame."

"It was nothing." You shrugged as you installed a new keg underneath the tap. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"That you and Sophia did something! I know you two did! Was it like a heated kiss? Make-out session? Or did you two get Freaky?" she wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm putting Sophia on the spot next time I see her so don't worry about being treated differently by me. You both are getting an old-fashioned interrogation by me."

"How sweet," you finish connecting the tubes and test out the tap by filling up a test glass, the beer runs smoothly out of it and into the glass, the right color and texture, and you nod to yourself. "Sophia and I.... We're complicated. We've been fighting since we were kids and yesterday some stuff got brought up. It's between me and her. I don't know what happens now but we both agreed that whatever happened didn't mean anything."

"So something DID happen," she grins.

"Keep it to yourself, please? And I mean really to yourself. No talking to Dani, Lara, or Yoonchae. You walk to the faucet and wash your hands after cleaning the glass.

"what about megan? Does she know?"

"I haven't talked to her about it but I'm sure she does. There's no way she didn't smell Sophia's scent throughout the apartment. She has a very distinct one that's easy to catch. I don't know many people who use baby cologne."

"True, but she smells great at all times, though."

"Yeah, she does." You look up after saying it to see Manon grinning, "Don't even say it."

She holds her hands up in defence when the front door of the bar opens and two hooded figures walk in. Neither you nor Manon recognized them, and you shared a look, "Can we help you?"

"Just stopping for a drink. We're on a trip and decided to stop for a refreshment." One of them stepped closer and took off their hood. "My name's Nate, this right here is my sister Eli. I believe the sign said open?"

"Yeah, we are. just not used to people coming in this early or new faces." You give them a smile, "What can we get you?"

"A club soda for me," Nate said as he walked up to the bar and sat on a stool close to the tap. His sister followed, reluctantly taking off her own hood.

"I'll take a coffee"

"Any preference as to what coffee?" Manon asked as she walked up to the machine, ready to make whatever got said.

"A black coffee is fine"

"So what brings you to these parts?" you ask them as you fill a glass with the sparkling water and some ice cubes before setting it down before Nate on a coaster.

"Just passing through, we were going to spend the weekend, but your town doesn't seem to have a hotel or inn." Nate smiled politely, "Not big on outsiders here?"

"Well, we're not used to strangers. No point in opening a business that wouldn't survive. We do well on our own. Healthy little community, but that's about every small town."

Manon finished the coffee and put a packet of sugar, along with a cookie and a little cup of cream on a plate before handing it to Eli, Here you go." Unlike her brother, she doesn't say anything.

"You have quite the town if I do say so myself. Do you have a jeweler? My sister's necklace broke and we'd like to get it fixed somewhere." Nate swirled his glass before taking a sip.

"No jeweler but we have an antique shop that can help you out. He fixes all kinds of stuff so I don't think a necklace will be too much trouble for him. Where do you come from? Are you far from home?"

" We're travelers. Never really stayed at one place for too long to call it home. We like to hop from place to place. Enjoy the scenery and the little things. So, if you don't have a jeweler, how do you get your stuff? I mean rings, necklaces, earrings, you want to know if it's real gold or silver when you buy it, don't you? "

" Louis, the guy from the Antique store, has a collection of some jewelry with certificates if that's important to you. Online shopping does exist too, so it's not like we don't have our accessories in this town."

"Right, of course. Long live the internet right? Plenty of things to find and buy." He looks sideways at his sister, "I apologize for the lack of communication from her, she's a bit shy."

"No problem, some people are talkative, others aren't. The beauty of the bar is that you don't have to chit-chat if you don't want to. So where are you headed next?"

The door opens and Yoonchae walks in with a bag of stuff. She eyes the two strangers for a second before she walks up to the side and places the bag on a stool. " I brought those sketches you asked for," she hands Manon a couple of papers and waits patiently for the feedback.

"These are great! This place could use a boost and this is just what we need. Thank you, Yoonchae," she smiles, and you walk closer to see a few designs of new menus, logo, and a new window stencil.

"Think you'd be down to paint that on the Window yourself?" you look up at the young raven-haired girl.

"Sure." Her eyes drift to the two strangers again, and she leans closer over the bar, "Who are they?" she whispers.

"No idea, keep your eyes open for now alright? They say they're just passing through but just to be safe. Let us know when you see other new faces." Manon replied softly.

You throw a quick glance back to see the two siblings staring at the three of you, "Something's off about them. Think they're hunters?"

"Seem a bit too young. They stick out too much and we know they usually send more advanced hunters on recon." Manon muttered.

"Need me to inform Sophia?" Yoonchae asked quietly.

"No. Not yet. They could be telling us the truth for all we know, just keep a lookout for other strangers. Search for a car, too. They say they drove here. If you find it text me and I'll come to you to unlock it, we'll search the car together while y/n stalls." Manon glances out the window as the town square is remotely quiet. " Be Careful"

Yoonchae nods and takes her bag off the stool. With a quick goodbye, she's out the door and walks past the window. A quick glance inside and a small smile before she disappears around the corner.

"Problems?" Nate's voice fills the empty space once again.

"Not at all. Just planning some redecorating, got to check all the schedules and stuff. Business talk is hardly fun to hear while you sip a drink so we're used to talking on the low." You offer a small smile, "Anyway, I believe we were on the topic of where you're headed next?"

"wherever the road takes us"

"No destination can be fun. What was the last town you were in? Was it good?"

"Rather remote. More like a camping ground, met some interesting folks though. Nature lovers." Nate smiles. You can't help but see the small smirk on Eli's lips at the mention of the last place they visited. "Are you a Nature lover?"

"It has its beauty, very calming to take a stroll in nature. Fresh air, the birds. If you're quiet enough, you see all different kinds of animals. What's not to love about it?"

"Exactly, very beautiful. I've noticed you have quite a big forest down the road. Perhaps we could pitch a tent there for the weekend, right, Eli?" He looks at his sister and the unspoken tension sends a shiver down your back.

"You'd have to get approval from the town's council first. Our forest is protected, and there are some rare birds and small animals that we don't want to scare off. The next town has a wonderful B&B. I'm sure you'd rather sleep under a roof and in a comfy bed than in a tent."

"We don't mind," Eli speaks up, "I like the quiet. I prefer remote places, fewer troubles to do what you please."

Something definitely is up with these two but you can't prove anything. Manon is right, they don't have any of the qualities of a Hunter, but then again, times can change. There are different groups out there and they probably have different work styles. If this is a new group poking around, nothing good will come from it. When Manon gets a text, she sends you a look, and you know that Yoonchae has found the car.

"I'm gonna take a quick break, you want anything to eat?" She pockets her phone and steps from behind the bar to the door, acting like nothing happened.

"I'm good. Take your time, it's just these two anyway, so no big deal." You wave her off. She follows the path Yoonchae had taken when she had left, leaving you alone with the two newcomers.

"Always this quiet at this hour?" Nate asks.

You turn your head towards him before nodding, "Yeah, we usually open at 4, set up everything, clean the floor, tables, and bar. Around 6 o'clock people start coming in. We're never really full unless there's a special occasion in town, then everyone likes to gather and have a drink in here."

"Why don't you have a drink yourself? On me"

'' can't do, I'm on the clock. "

"Not even a water or a soda? Iced tea? Coffee? "

"Nope," it was bullshit, but he didn't need to know.

"Alright then, no drink." he smiled and stood up, "We'll be heading out then." he shrugged into his jacket and pulled out his wallet to pay. "What's my debt?"

"$5,30."

He nods and takes out the money. A five-dollar bill and then some spare change. You patiently wait for him to search for the right coins when you notice a pendant in between the mess of spare change. It's an old school silver coin, one that probably belonged in a museum instead of a wallet of some guy.

"Interesting coin. Collector?"

He smiles and holds it up, "It's a family tradition. It's made out of a silver bullet. Here," he holds it out with a smirk, "come on, grab it, it won't hurt you.... Will it?"

"I can see it from here."

"Afraid of silver?" Eli grins sinisterly, "They always are. It's a token in our group. The first silver bullet you kill with gets turned into a coin. A reminder of your first-ever wolf."

You take a step back and everything starts to spin, your head feels dizzy and you can't even see straight at the moment. You hear the laughter of them both, footsteps trailing closer and the burn of the coin against your palm," another wolf to add to the list." Nate's voice comes from your right, and you try to push him off, but you stumble.

"Don't even try, I've opened a bag with some wolfsbane. You're not even in the right state to fight back right now. Your little friend isn't here to save you. You're coming with us.'' Eli snaps," Now be a good dog and don't resist, it'll only be worse for you if you do. "Something gets pushed into your mouth, a small bud and a hand against your mouth prevents you from spitting it out, "swallow it"

"Eli, we have to go. Stop toying with her and get her out of here through the back." Nate's voice seems far away as you get tugged in a direction.

"But she hasn't -"

"Now!" The tension in Nate's voice betrays their urgency. Perhaps they know they're made now. That Manon will be back soon with reinforcement or perhaps they're on a clock.

"Fine." The hand leaves your mouth, and you spit whatever it is out. "You're going to pay for that dog."

_____________________________________

Manon runs back as fast as she can to the bar once Yoonchae finds the silver bullets and wolfsbane but she's too late. She bursts through the door and the place is empty, the glass still on the counter along with the coffee cup. No trace of you either. She walks in slowly, looking for even the smallest piece of evidence, when her eyes land on a small speck on the ground.

She squats down and picks it up to see a small bud of wolfsbane. Hunters are in town and they took you away. You were kidnapped. It feels like time stands still as the realization hits, the sound of the door opening and footsteps entering behind her.

"What happened? Where is y/n?" Dani's voice comes from behind Manon but the witch just shakes her head.

"They took her."

"Manon," Megan's voice sounds through the room, and she doesn't even know how many people came in. She doesn't care because guilt is eating at her.

"I shouldn't have left her. If I had stayed she would-"

"No. You can't think like that. Y/n wouldn't want you to." Megan says, "We'll find her and get her back. She's strong, she'll hold on for us to come and get her."

"Not with wolfsbane around to weaken her. She's as good as harmless with it just being in close range of it. The smell alone can weaken a wolf greatly. " She stands up and turns to show the bud she had picked up. "It's damp, wet. They probably tried to make her eat it."

Megan and Dani stand at the door staring at the small piece between Manon's thumb and index finger. "What will it do then?"

Manon looks at Megan, "If I step closer to you right now, you'll get weaker. The closer it gets, the worse the effect. If you eat it? Your body will reject it. You'll throw it up and depending on the kind of wolfsbane they have? It could poison and kill you. This is the normal kind, easy to find. But you'd still throw up and get so sick you'd feel like you're dying. I don't know all the types or even every effect but I do know that y/n is in great danger."

"Then we tell everyone about what happened and start a manhunt for those two. Yoonchae saw them so she could draw a sketch of them." Dani frowns, "We'll find them and they'll pay."

The door slams open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Sophia stands in the opening. Her eyes gleaming red as she looks over the place. Her chest heaves up and down, if she were human it would probably be from the running. Manon knew better though. Sophia's furious and holding on to strands of humanity so as not to trash the whole town in search of you.

"Is it true?" Sophia's voice holds a certain undertone nobody has ever heard before, "Hunters took her?"

"Yes. A sibling duo, Nate and Eli. That's what they called themselves but I don't know if it's their real names. They used wolfsbane."

"They broke the treaty. If they want war, they'll get war." With that, Sophia disappeared from the doorway.

Silence overtakes the room as nobody dares to say a word. Nobody knows what to say. Dani just walks up to Manon quietly and grabs the small bud of wolfsbane from her fingers," I'll try to locate them. With this being harmful to wolves they're out of commission for the search. You focus on trying to figure out and look into different kinds of it. When we find y/n she's going to need your help to cure her. Take a minute okay? Megan can help you, be each other's rock for now. You'll need each other."

masterlist | next

#katseye smau #simply-wlw-kpopstan #delirium smau #sophia laforteza x reader

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