#Modern inheritance cycle AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grenadehearts · 1 month ago

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the only exception.

✰ in which you've sworn off love until you meet a crimson haired boy working at a record shop, bound to show you he's the exception.

contains: fem!reader x e!kirishima, modern au, 3.9k words written + smau.

authors note: this was inspired by a request here, idk how i feel abt this fic honestly, but i wrote this fic for people who feel its hard to allow themselves to love, and or allow people in at all, to let you know its okay to love and be loved <3 masterlist link here. i just noticed there's a typo in the smau so ignore!! pls

You were thrilled—a new record shop was opening in your small town. One that exclusively sold rock and alternative pop music. Or, to put it in simpler terms, 2000s emo rock.

Growing up with teen parents who never really matured meant a constant cycle of breakups and angsty rock music playing between those breakups. So, at a young age, you fell in love with that sound. Your mom’s favorite was Evanescence, which she would blast while driving through forested backroads, gripping the wheel a little too tight and muttering, "Love is fake." Occasionally, she'd swerve just enough to make your heart lurch before throwing out a warning—"Never let a man into your life."

As for your dad? Well, he was always a piece of shit. But at least he had good taste in music, which you inherited. Regardless, you swore love wasn’t real and that you’d never let anyone in.

Now, here you were—eighteen and in a completely new town. A small one, no less, which only made your craving for city life worse. Not that you’d ever been privileged enough to get a taste of the things you wanted. That was a fact you learned young, growing up with parents who liked to forget they had a kid, too caught up playing teenagers and chasing each other down.

You had to grow up fast. Which, on paper, sounded like a good thing. In reality, it just left you stuck—unable to fit in anywhere, permanently annoyed by people your age. They all acted like spoiled children, crying over the dumbest things. Meanwhile, you already had your hands full with two actual children at home—your parents. So, you stopped trying. Being alone suited you just fine.

Now, in this small town filled with people you were sure you’d dislike, you told yourself it was okay. At least it was away from everyone back home.

The tiny record shop came into view, and as you pushed open the door, a soft jingle announced your arrival. You were immediately met with shelves of CDs and vinyl records—every band you had ever loved, from My Chemical Romance to Sleeping With Sirens, from Avril Lavigne to Paramore. The walls were plastered with patches, horror film posters, band posters, and concert tees. Dim lighting cast deep shadows, red LEDs glowing against the walls, broken up only by neon signs and the soft streams of sunlight filtering through the glass windows.

Before you could even start browsing, a figure stepped in front of you—a tall, muscled guy with spiky crimson hair. His piercing eyes had the faint smudge of reddish eyeliner beneath them, and his sleeveless shirt did little to hide his build. He flashed a grin, teetering on the edge of a smirk, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp.

"Need any help looking?"

You barely glanced at him before brushing past. "No, thank you."

But he didn’t take the hint. A moment later, he was right back in front of you, leaning across the record bins to meet your eye level.

"Hey, wait—I’ve never seen you around here."

You looked up, unimpressed, one brow raised. "Do you work here or something? Because a customer just walked in." You nodded toward a group of angsty middle schoolers wandering in, skateboards in hand.

The guy let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand down his face. "Ugh okay—wait right here. I’ll be right back."

Thankfully, you were able to find the CD you wanted—Brand New Eyes by Paramore. As you walked up to the now-empty counter, a group of middle school boys shuffled past, laughing among themselves. The red-haired man from earlier was still there, and the moment he saw you, he grinned.

"See? You didn’t wait."

You gave a slight smile. "Did you really think I was going to?"

He laughed—a deep, reverberating sound that seemed to shake something loose inside you. For a moment, it stunned you.

"No," he admitted, still grinning. "But I had hope."

You gave no real reaction, aside from the briefest flicker of surprise. His laugh made you feel—warm, like being wrapped in honey and laid to rest beneath soft petals. A feeling you weren’t quite prepared for.

"Why’s that?" you asked.

He looked slightly taken aback, his expression shifting to something almost… puppy-like in confusion. Then, as if suddenly self-conscious, he rubbed the back of his neck, exposing the flex of his toned arms.

"Not every day you see a girl as pretty as you, y’know?"

You let out a full-bodied laugh, the kind that shook through you, because really? The sheer audacity of this man. He actually believed that would work? Like he could just say something like that and expect you to melt?

Through a breathless chuckle, you tilted your head. "You really got me with that one, big guy. Let me guess—you say that to every girl who walks in here, huh?"

But he didn’t respond.

Instead, he just stared. Captivated. Mesmerized. The sunlight caught your frame in a way that seemed to make him forget himself. The way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. The way your nose scrunched in mock disgust when you called him out. He should back off, he really should. But instead, words slipped from his mouth like a secret he hadn’t meant to spill.

"Your laugh is beautiful."

The comment halted you.

Despite everything—despite your reservations about love, despite how utterly ridiculous this was—you were still human. And humans had weaknesses. So, much to your own frustration, a faint blush crept onto your cheeks.

"Yeah, whatever," you muttered, placing your CD on the counter.

As he reached for it at the same time you let go, your fingers brushed—just the lightest touch, fleeting and accidental. But you pulled your hand back quickly, like you’d been burned.

Or maybe… not burned.

Because the touch didn’t sting. It felt soft, like the featherlight kisses your mother used to press to your forehead before bed. Like the quiet hum of something electric beneath your skin.

He grinned, all bright and boyish. Something about it made you feel like a kid again. "Paramore, huh? I’ve been meaning to listen to them."

You nearly jumped over the counter in sheer disbelief. "You’ve never listened to Paramore?! How?"

He just chuckled. "I’ve been wanting to—I just don’t know where to start." Then, with a teasing grin, he added, "Got any recommendations?"

You forced yourself to compose your excitement, clearing your throat. "Yeah. I grew up on their music—pretty much any rock and alternative, actually."

That seemed to intrigue him, because he leaned in just slightly, just enough to be a little closer to your line of sight. "Really? That’s so manly."

You blinked. "Manly?"

He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, like… cool, you know? Most parents are super controlling about what their kids listen to."

You let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I guess. So, what have you actually listened to?"

He thought for a second. "Well, uh… not sure, really. I listened to a little MCR back in middle school, but after that…" He shrugged, then gave a thumbs-up with a lopsided grin. "I’m more of a ‘whatever comes on the radio’ type of guy."

You chewed on the inside of your cheek before sighing. "Okay, well—I grew up on every band. I’ll burn you a CD." Then, pausing, you turned to him. "Wait. Do you even have a CD player?"

He hesitated. "Uh… no, but I do have a phone."

You frowned slightly. "Well, I’d hope so."

He quickly followed up, "Wait, wait—what I meant was… give me your number, and we can talk music. You know?" Then, as if realizing how that sounded, he shook his head, looking slightly flustered. "I mean, uh—that is, if you want to."

You just shook your head with a small, amused smile. "Here, give me your phone."

Taking it from him, you quickly entered your number before handing it back. He slid your wrapped CD across the counter, and as you grabbed it, you turned to leave.

You were halfway out the door when you glanced back, calling over your shoulder, "Just music, mister. Nothing else."

His grin widened, all teeth. He gave you a playful salute. "Yes, ma’am."

Stepping out into the cold, the air bit at your skin—like it was trying to wash away the warmth still clinging too closely to your heart from that damn crimson-haired man.

As you neared your apartment, you reached into the flimsy plastic bag, fingers brushing against the wrapped CD. But something else was there, too. A small note.

It had a doodled shark on it.

And beneath that, scribbled in casual handwriting:

On the house.

The air was cold, biting through the fabric of your long-sleeve shirt. A thick fog hung in the early morning air, shrouding the quiet streets in an eerie stillness. Snow blanketed the ground, shimmering like a thousand fallen crystals under the faint glow of streetlights. It was too early for most people to be out, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you made your way to the record store.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because, yeah, you were meeting up with a guy—one you didn’t want to admit was attractive, whose touch ignited something in you, a heat that curled in your chest like smoke, dangerous if you inhaled too deeply. Yet, despite everything, here you were. Allowing yourself, even if just slightly, to be in someone else’s presence—something you had always avoided.

What you could ignore was how right it felt. How it didn’t feel wrong at all.

You told yourself over and over again that it was just about music. Just conversations about records and artists. But even as you repeated the excuse in your head like a mantra, your feet had a mind of their own, carrying you into a familiar coffee shop. Your usual order rolled off your tongue before you even thought about it, but your gaze drifted to the menu, scanning for something he might like.

And then you saw it—protein hot chocolate.

By the time you reached the record store, the snowflakes had settled in your hair and clung to the fuzz of your jacket. You pushed the door open with your fluffy boots, the bell chiming overhead. Almost instantly, Kirishima emerged from the storage room, his expression shifting from surprise to mild concern.

“Why didn’t you text me? I would’ve opened the door for you,” he said, gesturing to your hands—full with drinks. “Y’know, because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

You shook your head, sending a few stray snowflakes tumbling to the floor. “I’m used to taking care of myself,” you said simply, then held out the drink. “Here. This is for you.”

His eyes lit up as he took it, grinning wide. “For me?” He took a sip, then paused, his face breaking into an even bigger smile. “Dude, how’d you know I always get this? You got it from the café down the street, right?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I always go there.”

He cut in. “Me too!”

You smiled—a little shy, a little amused. “Well, I figured you’d like it. It’s got protein. Isn’t that what you gym guys are into?”

He beamed. “How’d you know I’m a gym guy?”

You giggled, tilting your head toward his arms. “Not exactly hard to guess.”

Grinning, he flexed his bicep and pressed a playful kiss to it. “Oh yeah, these babies.”

You rolled your eyes, deadpan. “Right.”

That’s when you noticed it—his outfit. Or rather, the lack of one. A simple grey tank, despite the freezing temperatures outside, left his arms bare except for studded bracelets.You raised an eyebrow and gestured toward his shirt. “Aren’t you cold?”

Kirishima followed your gaze, as if only now realizing what he was wearing. Then, with a smug smile, he shrugged. “Nah. I don’t get cold.”

You gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “Yeah, sure. Because it’s totally not snowing a ton out there.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, looking almost sheepish, he scratched the back of his head and muttered, “...My coat’s in the storage room.”

You nodded. “Ah.”

"Hey, uh, I got something for you yesterday."

Kirishima disappeared into the back room, leaving you standing there, curious. When he reemerged, he held a CD player in his hands.

You blinked, tilting your head. “Got a laptop?”

He grinned, holding up a hand as if to tell you to wait. "Yeah, yeah, just hang on."

A moment later, he returned with a laptop covered in Crimson Riot stickers, the red and black decals standing out against the worn metal surface. You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your expression.

"Who's Crimson Riot?"

His face lit up instantly, excitement bursting out of him as he launched into a passionate rant. He talked about Crimson Riot being a pro boxer—one of the manliest, most fearless fighters out there. His words tumbled over each other in an eager rush, his hands animated as he spoke. Then, as if catching himself, his voice softened just slightly.

“I, uh... I take a lot of inspiration from him,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s the reason I dyed my hair, y’know. And, well... I wanna be a pro boxer someday, so... there’s that.”

Something about the way he said it—like a secret slipping past his lips before he could catch it—made you pause.

“Really?” You smiled, the kind that reached your eyes. “I think that’s super cool. You shouldn’t downplay it, like it’s not a big deal or something.”

Your words made him stop mid-motion. His eyes flickered to you, something unreadable in his gaze before he quickly masked it with a chuckle. Walking over, he set down the laptop and a blank CD between you.

“If I didn’t know you,” he teased, “I’d say you’re getting soft on me.”

You nudged him with a grin. “Nah, never.” Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you added, “Now, let’s burn a CD.”

As you reached for the laptop, a thought struck you. You glanced at him, head tilting. “Wait—what made you get a CD player? I thought you didn’t have one.”

His smile turned sheepish, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface of the desk. “Well… I didn’t. But I went to a shop downtown and bought one. It seemed important to you when you mentioned it earlier, so…” He hesitated for half a second, then shrugged. “And I thought it’d be fun to do together. Which, by the way, totally is.”

You looked away, suddenly very interested in the laptop, but the rosy warmth creeping onto your cheeks betrayed you. “We haven’t even started yet,” you muttered.

He dramatically waved his hands as if dismissing the thought—except his movement was a little too over-the-top, and before he could catch himself, he lost balance. With a yelp, he toppled over, landing hard on the floor. His hands shot up to his face, burying into his palms, his voice muffled as he groaned, “Yeah, but I know it’s gonna be super fun.”

You stared at him for a second before sliding down the wall beside him, the laptop balanced between you both.

“S’okay,” you said, settling in. “We can just work down here.”

“No one really comes by, right?”

He peeked through his fingers. “Yeah.”

You grinned. “Then it’s perfect. If someone does, we’ll hear the chime from the bell on the door.”

At that, he finally lowered his hands, flashing you a full, toothy grin and a thumbs-up.

After sorting out all the technical details—which took longer than expected—and carefully selecting the songs for the disc, your progress was suddenly halted by the static of the radio flickering in and out.

The lyrics to Let Love Bleed Red by Sleeping with Sirens stuttered between bursts of white noise, the words "You deserve much more, and I'll give until I’m all gone..." dissolving into a broken transmission. The melody faded completely as a sudden weather broadcast cut through.

"The snow has intensified. Conditions outside are hazardous. Residents are advised to stay indoors until the warning is lifted."

Kirishima immediately shot up, peering over the counter toward the door. You followed his movements, your heads turning at the same time until your gazes locked.

“Snowed in?” you both echoed in unison.

As if on cue, the lights flickered, the bulbs pulsing weakly as the snow and ice pressed heavily against the outside world. Then, without warning—darkness.

“Aw, crap,” Kirishima muttered, his voice fumbling through the dim light. “Hold on here, 'kay?”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the back. When he returned, he was holding his coat, and before you could react, he gently draped it over your shoulders. His breath ghosted across your skin, warm in contrast to the cold that nipped at you, his touch careful—deliberate.

“Don’t want you to get cold,” he murmured, his words sinking into your skin, curling around your ribs, twirling like lace around your lungs.

You both slid down onto the cold tile floor, pulling the laptop between you to finish the CD. But when you opened it, the screen remained black, a small dead battery icon blinking mockingly at you.

“Just great,” you muttered, handing it over to Kirishima. “It’s dead. And with no power, we can’t charge it.”

He gave a sheepish smile, shrugging. “Well, it’s alright. We can just talk, right?”

You glanced over at him, then exhaled softly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, filled only by the muffled sound of wind outside. Then, his voice came, slower this time, hesitant—like he was carefully inching toward something fragile.

“What made you move here?”

You looked down at your lap, fingers fidgeting as you cleared your throat. “Wanted to be somewhere new. Somewhere no one knew me.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the tile. “Why’s that?”

You turned to face him. “Nosy?”

He shrugged. “Not usually. But something about you makes me.”

You sighed, the weight of old thoughts settling in your chest. “I wanted to get away from my parents. Plus, it’s not like I left anyone behind. You’d have to actually have friends for that.”

His expression shifted, softening into something unreadable. “It’s not that I didn’t have the option for friends. I mean, I’m sure I could’ve fit them in somewhere—between parenting my parents.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “But everyone around me was so childish, and I just… I just preferred my own company. So I never really sought anyone out. And when people tried to get to know me, I shut myself off.”

His hand inched across the tile, stopping just a breath away from your fingertips. A quiet hum left his lips before he murmured, “You’re letting me know you.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Shocker to me too.”

He hesitated before speaking again, this time slower, as if he wasn’t sure how the words would land.

“You know… I used to be like that. Not the same situation, but I grew up weak. And when I saw people getting treated badly, I wanted to stand up for them.” He huffed out a laugh, void of humor. “But when I tried, I realized I was weak too. People laughed in my face—like, ‘Haha, this lame dude really thinks he can take us on?’ Got me busted up a lot.” He pointed to the scar on his eye, his voice quieter. “I moped. Hid from people. But then I realized—if they thought I was weak, I’d just make myself strong. And so I did.”

He glanced at you, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his eyes before he masked it with a grin. “I mean, I still have a long way to go, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job. I mean, hey—I’m talking to a pretty girl. Old me would’ve stuttered and made a complete fool of myself.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Yeah, well… you still kinda do.”

His grin faltered.

“But it’s okay,” you added, softer this time, watching as warmth crept back into his expression. “It’s… somehow cute.”

His face deepened into a shade of rouge as he buried himself in his hands, muffling out a shaky, “Hey, man, don’t say things you don’t mean.”

You laughed softly, inching closer to his aching frame, pulling his coat over both your shoulders. Your skin brushed against his—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder—your fingertips so close that your pinkies twitched. Bathed in the dim halo of each other’s presence, the static hum of The Only Exception flickered in and out through the radio.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt young. Fresh. Like maybe love isn’t about thrashing and screaming, or hearts cracking against pavement. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s this—sitting close to another aching soul, breathing in sync. And maybe you should have realized it sooner, instead of always staring at the ground, drowning in the noise of the world. But now, with slight touches and hushed breaths, the sound has stilled. The only thing you hear is him—his breathing, soft and steady, a rhythm you wish to trace straight to his heart.

His pinkie twitches, inching closer to yours. And something inside you—something restless and yearning—claws at your chest, desperate to reach him. So you allow it. You let him link pinkies with you. You let him peer into the dim soul you hold, and in return, he lights it up with the golden glow of his own.

Breaking the fragile silence, he asks, “What’s your passion?” Then, as if nervous about sounding too serious, he quickly adds, “Ya know, like... for a job or whatever.”

You fiddle with the hem of his coat. “Writing.”

His eyes brighten as he knocks his foot playfully against yours. “That’s so cool! Writing’s something I’ve never been good at.”

You laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be great at boxing, so I guess we’re even.”

A silence falls between you, comfortable yet charged. Then he tilts his head, watching you. “When do you write the most? Like, what inspires you?”

You hesitate before answering, voice quieter this time. “I only ever write when I’m falling in love… or falling apart.”

He exhales, considering. “And which one is it now?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Never been in love, so… the latter, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “I could show you.”

Your breath stills. You know what he means, but you want to hear him say it. “Show me what?”

He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze. “I just meant—I could be your muse. No, wait—that’s not right. I mean… I can—no, I will love you.” His voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going, determined. “And hopefully… over time, you’d love me too.”

Your chest tightens, breath coming out jagged in the cold air. Slowly, you turn to him, and in his eyes, you see it—your reflection dancing in the embers of his gaze.

“Guess I’ll get to writing,” you murmur.

His face lights up, but then his expression shifts into something more serious, more intent. His voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “For which one?”

Your faces are so close now, lips brushing, breath mingling.

You smile, soft and teasing. “How about you kiss me… and maybe you can find out?”

His hand cradles your face, thumb tracing soothing circles against your cheek. And you swear, with every beat of your heart, his name is being spelled in the rhythm.

He leans in, breath ghosting against your lips, and whispers, “Only if I can take you on a real date first.”

taglist: @lotusstarr @luvseraphh @wokasiv @candiiee @xoxojisu @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @princessshnazzy @chlosology @203steph @cupkiki p.s sorry if anything in the fic isn't accurate.

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prettypinkguns · 3 months ago

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HOARFROST. ‖ poly!141 x reader

[wolf shifter au]

✎ cw: Wolf Pack, Wolf Instincts, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Pack Hierarchy, Pack Bonding, Werewolf Courting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Scent Marking, Marking, No Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Polyamorous Task Force 141 (Call of Duty), Military Inaccuracies, Military Backstory, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Knotting, Eventual Smut

AO3

Named in a will of estranged grandparents that you never met, you bequeathed a generous inheritance and a property out in Alaska; in a small town called Coalition. With city life slowly whittling away at you, you decided to take time off of work, flying out to Alaska. Partly to prepare the property to be sold before winter and to enjoy the wilderness in the meantime. There you meet four mysterious ‘bachelors’ of the town who not only took interest in you, but you in them. But you soon realize something wasn’t quite right about those men or the pack of wolves, with their strangely intelligent eyes, that frequented the woods surrounding your property. Curious, you're determined to get to the bottom of it. But as the saying famously went… curiosity kills the cat.

[1]

Sometimes, you wished life was simple.

Where the world was nothing but a simple place with simple people who lived nothing but simple lives. Where there were no complexities, no complications, no corruption nor any suffering. A symbiosis, a balance. Between individualism and culture, nature and civilization, necessities and consumerism. Yet, life was anything but simple. And to long for such simplicity was nothing but wishful thinking.

Like many, you felt crushed by the hustle and bustle of modern life. From which everything was autonomous, automatic. Where an individual’s entire life revolved around their jobs and whose personhood was defined by market value. To capitalism, a person was nothing but a commodity to be exploited and to maximize profits. Passion was snuffed out like a flame or squeezed and squeezed until it was nothing but rind. In which pastimes and hobbies were too much effort to keep; a common sacrifice. Just another stepping stone on a long career path, just another rung on the corporate ladder. Now only an emptiness remained from the smothering of both soul and spirit. Until you were nothing but a husk, an empty shell of a person.

But such was life. And who were you to want simplicity?

But unlike you and a majority of the population, there were outliers. Others that weren't partaken with conformity or willing to settle for such a thing known as ‘normality’. Mostly nut jobs, based on personal assumptions. Or even religious cultists and doomsday preppers. Or people too consumed with conspiracy theories and antigovernmental beliefs. The black sheep of the family. But among it all, you didn’t know where your grandparents aligned. Didn’t know if they were a little bit of the above or none at all. They were never heavily involved in your childhood or your teenage years. You had no memories of them. Only knew what was whispered between the adults. Questions brushed off when you got too curious for your own good. Denial when you happened to remember something small and stray. A fleeting memory, that was like sand grains in your palm. Rendered as nothing but a child’s wild imaginations or vivid dreams.

Or even the feign of ignorance when you found a Purple Heart behind a delve of old photographs. All collecting dust in an old shoebox when you were helping your parents go through old boxes for a spontaneous spring cleaning. You remembered your parents’ faces when you showed them the shoebox. Purple Heart in your palm, black-and-white photographs rifled through by your curiosity. They had a look of complete fear; wide-eyed, color drained from their faces and frozen in place. Before the shoebox was yanked from your hands and you were sent away to your room, excused from helping out.

That was the last time you saw the shoebox.

You remembered one time when you tried to sneak into their bedroom to find it, but to no avail. But that fear on your parents’ faces was unforgettable. As were the old monochrome photographs of blurry faces, of strangers. Just like the weight of the Purple Heart in your hand and the stain of grime and dust on your fingertips. Sometimes you wondered about the significance of it. Wondered why your parents acted the way they did that day. They never did answer your questions about it, told you they didn't know what you were talking about when you would bring it up.

And soon, just like many things in your life, it became nothing but an odd occurrence in your past. Something you tossed around your head before shrugging your shoulders and worrying about other things. But one thing stood out to you, one thing was certain as time passed. Those strangers in the photographs weren’t just some random faces in a crowd. They were your grandparents. Those unspoken, estranged family members scratched out in the familial records. And even more interesting, they were former military.

Now, you were sitting in your break room. Mentally exhausted, physically tired. Ready to go home and snuggle underneath your bed covers, scrolling through your phone until bedtime. It had been a long and draining work week. More than you had thought possible. But it wasn’t unusual. The holidays were coming up which only meant more strenuous work and more tedious responsibilities -– but such was life was it not? Luckily, you were the only person in the break room. Able to take a breather and actually enjoy your break by yourself. Your social battery was completely depleted, and you were in no mood to socialize, let alone tolerate another presence in the same vicinity as you.

Quietly brewing in your own thoughts, you thumbed against a piece of paper in your hand. One that had been just another envelope lost in your endless pile of mail on your side table: bills, notices, magazines, and flyers. You had stumbled upon it a few days ago when finally getting the motivation to sort through the accumulating pile. Inscription of a legal notice was across the front that made your heart drop into your chest, fingers shaking as you carefully tore the seal to fish out what was inside. A will, and all assets and inheritance named to you. From your supposed grandparents. The call that followed was interesting… for lack of a better word. You were the sole inheritor, no one else in your family was named. But none of your family had contested it. Not even your parents. Upon their death, your grandparents’ bodies were already taken care of; cremated and buried in a private graveyard in their hometown.

You had taken note of the information given to you and made arrangements for your appointment with an attorney in regards to the probate. You had gone early yesterday morning, all legalities and protocols were explained to you. And in the following afternoon, with a few signatures, all assets and inheritance were now legally yours. Namely, and more intriguingly, a property out in Alaska was now under your name. Now, you eyed the document again. Still in disbelief. It all felt too good to be true. As if any second, you would wake up from a dream to a snoozed alarm and indentations on your skin from your sheets. Your eyes went to your blaring watch, realizing that your break was over. You folded the document, tucking it away in your pocket. Letting out a deep sigh, you forced yourself on your feet. It was going to be a long day…

Back at home, you collapsed on your couch. Bag, keys, and all. Too tired to walk to your bedroom. Too tired to even think. But underneath it all, there was relief as well. Not only from finally being at home after such a long and grueling day. But also from your time-off being approved. Which was surprising given such a short notice and the upcoming holiday season. You remembered the nervousness. The shock you felt when you got that approval email. Things were going too well for your liking. But there was no time to question it or mull over it. You supposed ‘urgent family emergency’ had been sufficient enough. Which was accurate, but you knew it would serve partly as much needed time away from life.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there lounging on your couch. But eventually, like you had in the break room, you forced yourself up on your feet to get ready for bed. You had another long work week ahead of you. All you needed to do was to tough it out and get through it. Then it was packing up and heading to Alaska to see that estate for yourself. Do some upkeep and maintenance if necessary, take time-off as you did so, and then simply sell it — land and all. Then it would be a piece of cake from there. A straightforward plan; a solid course of action.

Now all you needed to do was book that flight.

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

From above, the town of Fairbanks was a spectacle among all the wilderness. And, after hours of flying, it was also a sight for sore eyes. Fairbanks was much more than what you expected for a city out in the Alaskan frontier. With high-rise buildings, arching bridges, highways, downtown areas, residentials and beautiful wilderness just beyond. A beautiful city just waiting to be explored and experienced. But it was not your destination nor was there any time to tour it. You had another flight to catch immediately after yours landed. The property that was left to you was out further, in the outskirts of Fairbanks. In a small town; more rural, more remote. Driving there was feasible. The main highway went near enough to the small town, but it did not go thoroughly. Renting out a car and driving there was an option, but not something you wanted to do after such a long flight. The next best option you found was to take another plane there. And luckily, the town had an airstrip.

With all your luggage behind you, you went to find the right terminal gate and the pilot that would take you there. The terminal was surprisingly busy. But expected given the upcoming season and it being in such a huge city. Though it wasn’t the worst, not too overcrowded or hectic, as it wasn’t a hindrance to walk around. You eventually found the terminal gate on the other side of the terminal, opposite to where your plane landed. The sitting area for the terminal gate was completely empty, save for a couple workers behind a tall desk. The sight of it made you double check that you were in the right area. But soon after checking, you sat down and waited for the boarding call. Which didn’t take long to be announced.

You walked forward with your luggage. Confused when the workers didn’t take it to be packed away onto the plane. Instead you were escorted onto the tarmac and towards a noticeably small conventional aircraft ahead of you. There was a person near the wing of the plane in the distance. Rendered into a blurred figure in the sun, no matter how hard you squinted to make out any noticeable features. But as you grew nearer, the clearer the figure became; as did the plane. A man stood against an old Beechcraft. Wiping along the wing tips so affectionately that it made you feel that you were stumbling into a private moment. But as you approached, his head lifted up and the man’s focus waned. Attention now on you.

His face immediately lit up.

The man gave both of the workers a nod and a grin. Immediately, your ears perked up at the rhythmic lilt of a Russian accent as the man introduced himself as Nikolai. He took your luggage from the workers and you, stacking it away into the underside compartment of the Beechcraft. You couldn’t help but notice how casually the man was dressed for a pilot. Clad in jeans, a plain T-shirt, a brown leather jacket and boots. Finger length raven hair was slicked back neatly, curling naturally at the bottom of his neck and emphasized his widow’s peak. A Cuban gold link chain hung around his neck. Apprehension prickled down your spine, suddenly unsure. More so as the workers left you alone with your supposed pilot. You eyed the man as he stacked another one of your suitcases inside the belly of the aircraft.

“So you’re a pilot… sir ?” You asked. Trying to sound polite, conversationalist even, only for the skepticism to peek through and waver your voice. But if your pilot was bothered by it, you couldn’t tell. He only gave you a warm smile.

“Call me Nik, please.” He said, stuffing your duffel bag away. “And yes. Your pilot to be exact.”

“Well… Nik . How long have you been a pilot for?”

“Nearly two decades.” With your luggage and bags all put away safely, Nikolai shut the underside compartment closed with an audible click. “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He patted the side of the plane. “Katyushka and I will get you there safely.”

You blinked at him. “ Katyushka.. ?”

The edges of Nikolai’s lips twitched as his smile widened. Obviously finding your butchering of the Russian word funny.

“Yes.” He leaned against the Beechcraft. “Well, to me. But to strangers, it’s Ekaterina .” The drawl of his accent made it sound so sensuous that you couldn’t help but shift your weight on your heels. “Built her from the ground up years ago. She’ll take you where you need to go, no problem.” He affirmed that notion with a gentle patting on the metal body again.

“Ok.” You nodded, your concerns not diminished in the slightest.

“It’ll be smooth sailing, I promise.” Nik opened the passenger side door. Offering his hand out to you as you reluctantly stepped forward and into the aircraft. Then took his seat in the pilot seat afterwards.

Curious, your eyes wandered around the flight deck. At the various knobs, levers, buttons, and dials. Blinking displays and flashing lights that grabbed your attention, wondering what they all were for. Nikolai grabbed the aviator headset from its perch, placing it on top of his head. Then looked towards you, gaze meeting your inquisitive one as he tapped against the earmuff.

“Headset – put it on.”

You nodded, looking around near your seat aimlessly before a hand darted in your vision, grabbing the other headset next to the side of your seat. Though Nik’s smile remained, you grabbed them sheepishly. Putting them on then fastened your seatbelt. Nikolai flicked a few switches and pressed more buttons before the Beechcraft sounded to life. The engine revved as the propeller began to spin faster and faster. Until the twisted nose blade was but a blur.

“She purrs like a dream.” The static voice of Nik surprised you as it hummed through the intercom. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights or get motion sick. Ran out of emesis bags months ago.”

You swallowed, putting on a neutral expression. “I’ll be fine. Already came this far, didn’t I?”

You didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself but either way Nikolai moved the plane down an unoccupied part of the airstrip. Away from the other larger commercial planes, one of which you had arrived on. He stopped just at the end of the tarmac where it ended at the tree line. Slowly and steadily, the Beechcraft went along the airstrip before Nikolai increased the throttle, making the Beechcraft pick up more speed. Until the wheels hovered above and the aircraft soared. The worst part of the plane ride came and went. The Beechcraft cruised at a comfortable altitude. But your nails were dug into the leather of your seat still and you released the lungful of air you repressed. The Russian man found it amusing it seemed by the way his grin only widened. Which made you force yourself to ease your grip on the seat and relax.

There was a silence between you both, more comfortable than awkward which you appreciated after such a long day of traveling. You settled back into your seat, arms across your chest as you leaned to your right. Stared out of your passenger window to the sight beyond. All you saw was a clear blue sky and the tufts of clouds floating on by, whipped around by wind. Before you knew it, you were starting to get drowsy. Your aviation headset blocked out the sound of the plane and the propeller, only emitting white noise from an open radio line. You decided to lay down your head for a while, letting your eyelids flutter close as you snuggled against the side of the plane’s interior and into the leather seat. But soon just resting your head turned into you dozing off the rest of the way there.

A sudden turbulence made you bolt you awake, panicked as your stomach dropped. Hands gripped around the armrests as the plane shook as it began to descend. Your wide eyes darted to your left, catching the Russian pilot’s apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” Nik said over the headset, “Didn’t mean to scare you awake.”

You were groggy, still rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. Not lucid enough to consciously hide the scowl on your face. You relaxed a little, arms across your chest as you peered through your window. You weren’t surrounded by an endless sky anymore, having decreased in altitude. Below you was the Alaskan frontier in all its glory — alpine mountains, wide lakes and winding rivers, overgrown grasslands, open fields and thick woodlands.

You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful view, disregarding all that second guessing that occupied your headspace since your first flight. For that moment, all worry and regret was gone, and you felt at peace. Enjoyed all the scenery for a while, but it wasn't long before you were near your destination. From above, the small town of Coalition was a strange sight in the surrounding frontier. A smidge of civilization in all that untamed and untapped Alaskan wilderness.

"Hold on."

The fuzzy words of your pilot came through the aviation headset that you both wore.

On cue, Nikolai eased the Beechcraft lower and the cabin of it shook as it began to descend downwards, making you clutch against the armrests. Your pilot aimed towards the landing strip on the outskirts of the town where its fetal airport, paling in comparison to a commercial terminal, settled in a manmade open field. When the plane's wheels safely kissed the ground, you let out a rush of air. Relaxing into your seat as Nikolai slowed the acceleration until the aircraft began to lose its speed and rolled off into a slow and easy cruise.

He drove it towards an overarching steel hangar, coming to a stop just at the threshold. When the engines were cut off, you were quick to pull your aviation headset off and hop out. Stretching away the ache in your limbs and breathing in deeply for once as crisp air filled your chest for once rather than city smog. You took in the sight of the trees in the distance. Already their canopies were just beginning to lose their green pigmentation, right on the cusp of turning into shimmering gold and auburn.

Fall was imminent. Thereafter, winter. Ideally, the land you inherited would be sold before then with a bit of luck on your side. But for now, you would enjoy your time off in such beautiful surroundings.

“See. Told you it would be smooth sailing.” Nik smiled with a lean against the right wing of the plane.

“What about when you scared me awake? What was smooth about that?” You asked.

But he only shrugged. “Can’t tame the wind.”

Nikolai began to pull your luggage out of the holding compartment – one by one. Quicker he was retrieving it out than he was when trying to stack them inside like Tetris pieces. When you grabbed all your luggage, you and Nik exchanged your farewells before sauntering off and tended to the plane. His ‘ Katyushka’ , whatever that meant. But it was only when you grabbed all your luggage, struggling to carry it all as you walked, when you realized how far the town was from the airstrip. And how you didn’t have a designated ride there. You stood there for a moment, contemplating on what to do next. With such a small town, you doubted there were any taxis or any sort of paid ride shares. It seemed your predicament wasn’t as internal as it seemed when Nikolai soon approached you, concern etched on his smiling face.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Not really.” You said, trying to sound unbothered. “I was just going to walk.”

“All the way to town?!” Nikolai eyed all your bags.

You couldn’t help but feel bashful, feeling a need to dissuade and not draw attention to yourself and your little predicament. “Yeah. I need to stretch my legs anyway after the back-to-back flights.”

“It’s a two mile walk into town.”

You nodded, nonchalant about it. But internally you were screaming. “That’s not too bad.”

By the look on his face he doubted your words. “Do you have anyone you can call to pick you up?”

“No.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Before saying, “Wait here.”

You watched as Nikolai jogged towards the hanger then went around the side of it. Less than a minute later, a loud engine roared to life. Revving in the distance before a vintage four door sedan appeared from behind the hangar. And around the landing strip, following a gravel road along the perimeter. The car stopped at a junction just off the runway, where the gravel merged into a dirt road and then stopped in front of you. Nikolai emerged from the driver’s side, trunk already popped open as he went for your bags.

“It’s ok, Nik, really. I don’t mind walking. It’s not that far.”

But he only shook his head at you. “It’s no problem to me.”

“But the road leads straight to the town, right? I think I can manage it fine.”

“With all these bags? You won’t make it there by sunset.” Nik said right as he stuffed one of your duffle bags into his trunk. Ignoring your pointed stare. “Besides, we got some wolf sightings recently. Not good to let you wander about.”

You widened your eyes at him. Your skin began to prickle. “Wolves? Aren’t they usually too scared to be so close to people?”

“Usually, yes. But this pack’s the bold type. They like to sometimes wander the outskirts of town, too close for people’s liking. But for the most part, they mainly stick to the forest.” Nik huffed as he picked up one of your heaviest suitcase. “Which is why I don’t want to let you walk all the way to town. If you get lost in the trees and end up as their dinner, I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”

You let out a sigh, an almost laugh that made you ease up. You watched him a moment before deciding to help Nikolai put away your luggage in his car. Despite his insistence for you to let him do it.

“Is it a big pack?" You asked, putting your bag into his backseat. Mostly for conversation but also to feed your curiosity.

Nikolai loaded the last suitcase and closed the trunk with a loud click. Then shook his head. “It's only a few of them.”

You hummed in interest. Went around the car and opened the passenger side door. You settled yourself in the leather seat, putting on your seatbelt before the car went driving down the road. A silence settled between you and Nikolai once more, much like the one during the flight here. You occupied yourself by leaning on the car door armrest, looking out the window to the surrounding trees. But as the road turned uneven and rough, the car rattled over holes and bumps. What was a nice cruise down turned to slow and steady driving as Nik carefully tried not to scratch the paint or get his car stuck or scraped. And the lowered suspension from the added weight of all your luggage didn’t help the effort of getting over potholes and elevated ground.

You sat back in your seat, arms across your chest. But nonetheless grateful for not walking, experiencing just how bad the desolate road had become. Soon Nikolai was on a paved road again, leading into civilization. The town of Coalition was about what you expected for a small, rural town in the middle of nowhere. Small facilities here and there, the necessities needed to sustain and maintain a population. You noted some of them as the car drove by: a small general store, a local grocery store, a doctor’s clinic, a post office, a community center and a gas station. And all in a centralized area.

You guided Nikolai towards where the property was, having written the directions just in case. Nikolai knew the roads by heart and nodded along, already knowing where to go. The property was on the outskirts of the town, more situated within the forest. But it wasn’t uncommon, there were other properties that did the same. It was late afternoon, by the time the vintage sedan rolled up to the property, following an off road dirt roadway leading between a dense thicket. Soon you saw a cabin, unassuming in the shadow of the pines and evergreens and all by its lonesome in a clearing in the forest. It stood on a few acres of sundered land – your land – that endured against the fickleness of nature. Slowly and steadily, the forest encroached – brush, young tree saplings and briar that creeped into the clearing and towards the cabin.

Nik stopped just short of the gravel driveway where a tree had fallen and blocked the path. Roots uprooted, sticking out of the end of the trunk. It was a young tree, properly too weak to hold its canopy during the winter. The hole where it grew from was already covered up. And the tree was already cut up and sectioned in logs by a chainsaw, its branches rotting in a heap thrown aside towards the forest. You wondered if your grandfather had done it. The thought sat like a stone in your mind, it made you recoil. Trying to imagine the grandparents you never met, never saw. But still gave you this property after their passing. One that you looked up at now with curiosity and… fear, comprehension?

Too many questions, too many thoughts. You dismissed it all away.

You expected Nikolai to stop right then and there and park. But he only drove around the logs, crushing the vegetation underneath as he went. The sedan stopped in front of the cabin. He left the car on but in park as he hopped out, wasting no time in unloading all your luggage with your help despite his disapproving frown. It was easier taking it all out than it was loading it, and before you knew it all your luggage and bags were on the front porch. And with a wave and smile from Nikolai, and sincere gratitude from you, you watched as the sedan drove away until it disappeared between the trees.

With a heavy sigh, you turned and faced the door to the cabin. The house key felt heavier in your pocket. Overcome with a sudden hesitation that prevented you from moving. As if you were a vampire needing permission to enter a home. You took a big step back, sitting on one of the wooden chairs out on the patio. Next to dead perennials and other potted plants grouped along the railing where you assumed the early morning sun concentrated. You took in the fresh air. The smell of the forest and soil that felt cleansing for your lungs, accustomed to the fumes of pollution. After a few minutes you stood back up. Facing the door once more, you placed your hands upon the wood. Feeling the cool, smooth surface. You grabbed the key, turning the lock and with a squeak, you opened the cabin door and went inside.

You stared into darkness. Only a rectangular strip of light extended into the cabin from behind you. Enough for you to distinguish the shadowed shapes of furniture and decorations. Your footsteps echoed against the wood flooring, reverberating through the dark as you grabbled around for a light switch.

“Let there be light.” You mumbled to yourself and flicked on a light switch.

Immediately the house flooded with warm lighting. You walked further in, hit with the layered smell of dust and must. The cabin was a bit smaller than it looked from the outside. With a small yet open kitchen that led directly to a living room. A singular hall divided both, leading to the back of the cabin where a bedroom and bathroom were. You took a second to wander and take in the inside. It was what you expected a grandparents’ house to be like. Rustic and vintage. With old furnishings, knickknacks, and décor.

Various art pieces, landscape paintings and nature photographs hung on the walls.

A cross-stitch sampler of the wild Alaskan landscape full of grazing deer and songbirds in the treetops was next to the front door, right above a small table where a wilted plant sat. Plush couches overstuffed with not matching throw pillows huddled around a wood-stove in the living room. A large bookshelf stuffed full of old books and films lined along the wall, away from the wood-stove, and next to an antique grandfather clock. Ticking away, louder than your footsteps as you went to the window. Pulled the drapery and opened the window to air out the house and get rid of the stench. Dust motes danced in the sun streams, floating and falling slowly like fall leaves.

Everything felt lived-in and loved. How peculiar.

You made quick work in bringing in all your luggage and bags. Collapsing on one of the couches and into the pile of pillows, some tumbling onto the floor from your impact. But soon the smell of dust from the cushions invaded your nose and you quickly got up, making a mental note to deodorize the couches. You grabbed your suitcases and bags, taking them down the hall past the other bathroom and a closet to where the master bedroom was at its end.

The floor creaked as you stepped foot inside. Sunlight filtered through the drapery as you pulled it aside and right onto the handcrafted quilted duvet of a queen sized bed in the center. It was a decently sized room with a small connecting bathroom. Compared to the rest of the house, it was decorated minimally. With only a bed, an armoire, and a lamp. A small vanity desk near the window. Some novelties here and there. You lifted the window latch and opened the bedroom window to get rid of the stuffiness in the bedroom and continue to air out the house. You rummaged around the room, finding clean sheets, pillowcases and blankets in a plastic tub underneath the bedframe.

They were still fresh and smelt of detergent, better than the duvet and pillowcases that have been sitting in a stuffy room for who knows how long. You quickly changed the bedsheets, pillowcases and duvets. Throwing the stripped contents aside on an end-of-the-bed bench to be cleaned later. You brought all your luggage inside, the entirety of it cluttered a majority of the space. Only giving you one way to get on and off the bed and a path to the bathroom. You cleaned up as much as you could, a shallow cleaning: sweeping and wiping away the gathering dust; taking up the rest of the late afternoon that turned into early evening.

Now, the only thing left was something to eat. You walked into the kitchen, looking around. The fridge was filled with expired and molding food. And nothing appetizing. You looked into the pantry cabinet, seeing a lot of canned foods and sealed, labelled mason jars. One of the labels reading ‘chamomile’ caught your eye. You grabbed it, looking inside to see the dried flowers of chamomile. Deciding that tea and that bag of chips in your handbag from your flight to Alaska would be your dinner. You found an old kettle and searched through the kitchen cabinets stacked with mismatched dishes, old tea cups, novelty mugs, and glassware. You grabbed one of the mugs, noticing it was hand-painted with a howling wolf. After a few tries, you managed to light the propane stove, filled the kettle with water and began to boil it. You filled a tea ball you found in one of the drawers with the tea, letting it seep once the kettle whistled and you filled up your mug with boiling water.

You enjoyed what you could of your…dinner. Deciding to peruse the bookshelf for something interesting to read as you began to settle. But soon, you felt your entire day weigh down on you; the entirety of your day filled with travel. You closed the living room window, noticing the waning gibbous moon between the sliver of clouds. You pulled the curtain closed and went to the bathroom for a much needed shower. When you finally collapsed onto the bed and sunk into the quilt, you tried to get some rest. Only to toss and turn for hours, not being able to get comfortable. Soon there came a recognizable sound. Between the doldrum came a cry, the howls of wolves in the distance. It was a night’s call, a symphony. Haunting, beautiful. You couldn’t help but tilt your head, trying to hear it better. Memorized by the harmony.

You snuggled underneath the covers, listening to the howling until it lulled you to sleep.

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

🡨 [0] | [2] 🡪 ﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍

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ceoofyearning · 10 months ago

Text

half algorithm, half deity - (Mafia AU) Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader (Rhysand’s Sibling)

Summary: You try to date other people, but in truth you’ve only ever wanted Eris Vanserra.

Tags/Warnings:

Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI), SMUT with plot, Angst, Modern Mafia AU, Established FWB, Mentions of past Tamlin x Reader (brief), Mentions canon typical violence, Mentions of minor character death (Rhysand’s mom and other sister)

Alcohol, Oral (M & F receiving), Rough but make it tender & loving too, Hair pulling, P in V, Overstim if you squint (please lmkif i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.5k

Links: Masterlist | My Art

Despite your father’s best efforts, you didn’t inherit your family’s propensity for violence.

You drink your wine and remind yourself of that fact for the umpteenth time tonight. But if this male gives you another backhanded compliment or, Mother forbid, another unsolicited criticism, you might reconsider that fact. Rhys had made sure you knew how to gut a man in just three moves and you remember each precise stroke as effortlessly as a breath.

To dissuade yourself from such thoughts, you take another generous gulp of wine - your only saving grace as you listen to him drone on and on about his most recent business acquisition. For the past forty-five minutes, the man has managed to recount his entire genealogy, his academic history and recited what felt like an itemized list of all his professional accomplishments. This is supposed to be a date, you’re tempted to remind him, not a chance to whip out his dick and measure it.

He has yet to ask you anything about yourself, of course, entirely preoccupied with stroking his damn ego. You’ve stopped trying after the fifth cycle of appropriately timed ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, seeing he doesn’t seem to need you to continue his tirade. Your pointed glares and longing glances at your wristwatch remain unnoticed too. The number of drinks you’ve had seems to be an entirely different story, however.

"You know, you should really slow down," he remarks, his sardonic smirk exposing a set of eerily straight white teeth.

“And why is that, exactly?” You ask before taking another long sip of wine with deliberate slowness. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, his smile little more than a collection of clenched teeth.

“You wouldn’t want to be too drunk for later.” He makes a show of raking his beady eyes over your form. The predatory glint in his eye makes your skin crawl and your hackles raise in equal measure.

“Bold of you to assume there would be a later,” you drawl, your eyes narrowing into slits, nostrils flaring in silent outrage.

“Oh, there will,” he declares with an impressive amount of unearned confidence. “How else are you going to pay me back for this meal, sweetheart?” He says it as though it’s a given, like your body is something he’s owed for this paltry display. Fuck, if you don’t leave now, you’re sure you’ll end this night behind bars, probably charged with manslaughter. Rhys would get you out of it, of course, but he’d be incredibly smug about it and you couldn’t have that.

The man makes another show of tracing his slimy gaze over your body, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “I must say, I wasn’t a big fan of the dress - too revealing to be classy, in my opinion - but I suppose it wouldn’t matter when it’s on the floor of my penthouse.”

You admit that you don’t try very hard to hold back a gag. Without even dignifying him with a response, you hail the waiter and gesture for the bill in the hopes that the expression on your face is enough to convey the urgency you feel. To her credit, it only takes her a minute to rush to the table in all black and white salvation, the bill in hand.

With haste, you pull out the cash from your wallet and slam it down the table. It should be enough to cover everything, even the tip. You give the man one last scathing glare before you rise from the table. A fish out of water - that’s what he looks like, wide-eyed with his mouth opening and closing, probably on the cusp of claiming to everyone in the room that you’re crazy, that you’re overreacting.

Before he can do any of that you pivot sharply towards the exit, ignoring the man’s indignant sputtering. Your feet protest beneath you, your new stilettos digging painfully into your skin with every step. Only when you’re five blocks away from the restaurant do you let yourself slow to a stop. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, undoubtedly ruining the makeup you spent such a long time putting on earlier that night.

Suddenly, the dress you felt so confident in now feels suffocating. The fabric clings to your skin fat too tightly, constricting your every movement. The silken garment you had thought to fit you like a glove now surrounded you like a cage. You tug at the neckline, trying to find some relief, but the discomfort only intensifies.

Frustration bubbles in your gut as you collapse onto the nearest bench to catch your breath. You feel so stupid. Although you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been looking forward to a nice night out after an entire week of slogging through work. Instead, you ended up sacrificing what little free time you have to satisfy some asshole’s vanity.

The city continues in indifferent chaos around you. The fluorescent streetlights overhead and the headlights of passing cars slice through the night. People bustle past, absorbed in their own lives, oblivious to your existence. At this moment, you’ve never felt more alone.

Seeing Feyre and Rhys fall in love has been an eye-opening experience. You’ve watched them gradually find happiness in each other, watched them build a life together. There’s also Nes and Cass, Viv and Kal - all so utterly content, so in painfully love. It is a relief to know that love is possible despite the kind of lives you live. After what happened - your gun slotted in between those bright forest eyes, finger frozen at the trigger; the stumbling string of sorries, of depthless regrets; white marble tiles stained crimson by blood - happiness hadn’t seemed like a possibility. All you’ve had since then are inconsequential flings and ill-conceived dalliances, nothing that could lead to anything more.

It’s difficult to admit that you want something more.

But since you’ve started seeing other people, it’s only been a series of disappointments one after the other. What made basic empathy and human decency such a scarce resource these days? In all honesty, you’re starting to lose hope, starting to think that maybe that love just isn’t in the cards for you.

You cared for Tamlin in your own foolish, fumbling way. He was solid ground, he was stubborn certainty. He clung to control so tightly that his nails left angry red indents on his palm. In many ways, you were his antithesis, his unmaking. He tried to be good but the both of you hadn’t been good for each other. Perhaps the two of you had been too lonely, too stubborn, too fucking young to realize not all forms of love were healthy.

Eris Vanserra is an entirely different matter. He came to you as a flicker of flame in the darkest night. He was a breath of fresh air - a lungful of ember and possibility - setting you alight from the inside out. More importantly, Eris understands you the same way one side of a coin knows the other. That, however, didn’t mean you could be together.

Perhaps in some ways, knowing made the longing worse.

Your hand clenches around air, around the vestige of a memory you can’t seem to let go of. Your fingers itch to dial the same set of numbers you’ve deleted from your phone time and time again. You remember it anyway, though. Your mind has faithfully cataloged every memory of him - silky red hair brushing against your cheek, amber eyes crinkling in mischievous delight, arms wrapping around your body, making you feel safe for the first time in your life.

Your body moves before your better judgment can catch up. Before you know it, the familiar set of numbers is staring accusingly at you from your phone screen. Droning rings of an outgoing call pierce the silence. On the third one, Eris picks up.

“Firefly.” That word. You can hear the amusement in his tone. You refuse to acknowledge the hint of relief you sense there too, the note of near manic joy. It’s been months since you’ve last seen each other, since you told him that you needed something more - more than stolen moments, more than simply falling in and out of each other's beds only to be nothing but mere strangers come morning.

You say nothing, trapping unsaid words behind teeth clenched so tightly it’s a wonder you don’t break your jaw.

“Cat got your tongue?” Eris laughs, smooth, sensual, and utterly addicting. The sound sends a shiver down your spine. You fight the sudden urge to feel his lips shape the words with your own, to feel the vibrations of his laughter with the tips of your fingers.

“Tell me where you are,” he tries again. You can hear him lean back on his office chair, undoubtedly working late yet again. To anyone else, he would’ve sounded perfectly calm.

“I don’t know,” you sniff, fighting back the traitorous tears. “I’m near the Moonstone Palace.�� It’s the overpriced restaurant you had been in earlier, the reason you’re going to have to struggle with rent this month. You could always ask Rhys, but you’ve long since divorced yourself from your family’s wealth.

Eris exhales, and you hear a suspicious amount of rummaging in the background. “Could you send your location to me?” He suggests, and you can make out the faint sound of a door opening and closing.

“Okay.” It comes out as a resigned sigh.

Before he hangs up, he makes sure, “Are you safe?”

“I am.”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Eris arrives in ten.

You’re slumped on the bench, clutching your purse to your chest as the frigid night air rushes past you. In your haste, you completely forgot to retrieve your coat before rushing out of the restaurant. But then, the low growl of an engine captures your attention. You turn to find a sleek black Benz gliding into view before coming to a halt right in front of you.

The window rolls down to reveal Eris’s smug face, familiar and foreign all at once. His bright fiery locks, longer now, have been tamed into a braid behind his back. Loose strands frame his sharp features, highlighting the severity of his beauty. He looks paler than usual, freckles now barely visible across his cheeks.

Eris grins, voice laced with far too much delight. “Didn’t I tell you, Love? You wouldn’t be able to stay away.”

Your nostrils flare involuntarily, equal parts irritation and wry amusement warring in you. When he notices the redness of your eyes, however, his smile banks. The only reason you can tell he’s worried is because you’ve spent an inordinate amount of time learning his tells, mapping the meaning behind the slivers of genuine emotion that sometimes slip through his carefully constructed mask. You’ve got it down to a science, interpreting him the same way astronomers find reason in the depths of the cosmos.

Without another sly remark, he steps out of the car and slips out of his coat as he strides toward you. When he moves to wrap the garment around your body, you try to protest. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re freezing,” he insists before dropping the surprisingly heavy coat over your shoulders. The effect is immediate. Eris is a walking furnace most days and traces of his heat still linger on the cloth, thawing the ice that has gathered beneath your skin.

You groan in relief despite yourself, finally acquiescing and pulling his coat tighter around you. Eris smirks, and you shoot him a perfunctory glare in response. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t comment on the way you bury your face in the upturned lapels, inhaling a lungful of his cinnamon and woodsmoke scent.

“Fun night?” He asks once you’ve plopped down the passenger seat.

“Obviously,” you reply, words thick with sarcasm. “I had the time of my life, really. Nothing like a date with another entitled, self-involved trust fund asswipe to liven up my Saturday night.” Eris looks entirely too pleased with this information.

He shrugs. “Your dates can’t compare?” He shoots you a knowing look. You resent the implication, but can’t entirely deny it either.

The truth of the matter is that you’ve never truly gotten over Eris. As brief as your explosive affairs may have been, the male has found a way to burrow beneath skin, to etch himself onto the surface of your mind. There is no washing him off you. In these last few months, all you’ve done is find fragments of him in faceless men.

“Can’t compare to your arrogance, maybe,” you retort a beat too late.

“Oh Firefly, you know you love it,” the smug bastard shoots back smoothly.

“You think you know me so well,” you grumble, crossing your arms defensively.

“Well enough.” Eris’s smile widens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Well enough to know those men you’ve found aren’t worth your time.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he is at least vaguely aware of your failed attempts at dating. Embarrassment coils in your gut, betrayed only by the steadily rising flush of your cheeks. “Maybe one day I’ll find someone who doesn’t make me want to scream.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, a hint of mischief lingering in his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?” He leans toward you, face hovering over yours. The intensity of his gaze feels dangerous, almost like a threat, a promise that he could easily tear down all your walls if he pleased. Memories flash - of him devouring your mouth with his own, of bare bodies intertwined on soiled sheets, of him greedily drinking in each moan from your mouth as you clench tightly around his length - playing on torturous repeat in your mind.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Your breaths come short, voice trembling. Eris’s smile widens, canines glinting beneath the warm light - a well-honed predator to and through.

Eris chuckles. “And yet, here you are.”

You sincerely can’t tell whether you want to clock him in the jaw or pull him down for a kiss. But then, in a rare show of mercy, Eris withdraws. He simply pulls your seatbelt down and fastens it beside you before turning back to the wheel. You release a breath you don’t realize you are holding.

The engine roars beneath you and Eris begins to maneuver the car back onto the highway. You slump further down in your seat, only to have several objects dig into your ribs. You jolt up, patting down his coat for the offending items. In your search, you produce a stiletto hidden in the inner lining and a Glock 19 in one pocket.

“Really?” You quirk your brow at him as you drop another knife on the car floor.

Amber eyes dart towards you for the briefest second, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, before turning his gaze back to the road. You don’t doubt Eris has more hidden on his person, maybe even in this car.

“Can’t be too careful,” he replies with a shrug, his hand flexing on the wheel. You follow the movement with rapt attention, transfixed by the rhythmic contractions of the muscles beneath, by the faint blue of the veins that run in webs up his forearm.

Eris, the bastard, catches your preoccupation with his body. Of course, he does.

His smirk widens into a full grin, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Enjoying the view?"

You snap your gaze back to his face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Keep your eyes on the road," you remind him, stalling, trying to regain your composure. “Perhaps you should put up a show for me, and I’ll decide then.”

Eris chuckles at the challenge, a deep, resonant sound that never fails to send shivers down your spine.

The rest of the drive to your apartment is spent in comfortable silence, Eris content to leave you in your corner, brooding and bundled up in his coat. You lean your head on the window, letting your thoughts drift by at the same pace the scenery slips away from view. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until you feel Eris tucking strands of your hair behind your ear.

“We’re here.”

Your eyes flutter open, reality reluctantly coalescing into focus in front of you. There's an amused expression on the redhead's face as he watches you wake. A part of you is tempted to curl back into a ball, content to pretend at peace just a little longer. Eris has no such qualms, however. He undoes your seatbelt and tugs you out of the vehicle. His arms remain loosely wrapped around your waist, though, even as he closes the door to the passenger seat.

“I should go.” He is so close his hot breath brushes against your cheek, the scent of mint permeating the air between you.

“You should.”

But none of you move to part. Your hands remain tightly fisted on his otherwise pristine shirt, while his arms create a cage around you, his body pressing you against the cool metal of the car.

“Why did you call?” Eris asks instead. His cheek rests on your temple, his nose buried in your hair like he can’t quite help but gravitate towards you. Your grip on him tightens the same way the sun pulls celestial bodies into its orbit, completely, inevitably.

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.” He pulls back just enough to look straight into your eyes, molten amber burning into you.

“I want you.” You confess. I’ve only ever wanted you, your mind further supplies. His gaze is searching, as if scouring for all the ways he can turn over your words in his head if the new angles would reveal some hidden meaning.

“I want to forget.” You continue, tugging him down by the collar. He follows willingly and rests his forehead on yours. Lips hover over your own, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. His mask turns translucent. Joy, pain, and regret flash in quick succession across his face before you can even parse their meaning.

“As do I, Love.”

The moment you step into your apartment, all traces of tenderness dissipate.

Eris has you trapped between the wall and the firm line of his lithe body. He easily towers over you. With one thigh wrapped around his slim waist, only his firm grip on your hips and his thigh slotted between your parted legs keep you upright. Your remaining leg stands precariously on the tips of your toes, teetering dangerously in whichever current Eris pulls you in.

His mouth is latched onto your neck, leaving blooms of red in his wake. You should tell him to stop, tell him not to leave any visible marks. But all words and reason are lost to you when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin in time with a particularly well-timed roll of his hips.

“Eris!” You keen, clawing at his back in a vain attempt to find purchase. But there is no safe harbor to be found, not here. Eris is a force of nature. He is the living embodiment of wildfire, burning brightly, holding you so firmly, that it’s as though he intends to fuse your bodies together.

“What is it, Firefly?” He whispers the words against your ear, right before he catches your lobe in between his teeth. You can feel his lips curl against your skin. “What does my pretty girl want?”

“You.” It comes out as a demand, a desperate plea.

“Use your words, love.” His movements settle into a languid pace, excruciatingly slow, pulling a whine from your throat. His single hand encompasses your entire jaw. Pads of his fingers press against the joint, his grip firm but gentle. Eris turns your face so you’re looking straight into his burning eyes. “Let’s try again, shall we? Tell me, how do you want me?”

“I need your cock in my mouth,” you whisper your want against his lips, confessions you’d never be able to make in the light of day. Amber eyes roll back at the image your words evoke. Eris forces his eyelids shut as you continue to speak. “Then, I want to feel you inside me, fuck me into the mattress, until your name is the only word in my mind, until I can feel you for days after.”

“Firefly.” With his face in the crook of your neck, he groans like you’re torturing him. You allow him a few short moments to gather himself - heavy heated breaths blown onto your nape - before tugging him by the hair insistently. His braid comes loose and a river of red falls in delicate curls over his freckled shoulders. Eris is an entirely different person when his head snaps up to meet your gaze.

“On your knees.”

Electricity crackles through the air between you at the sheer command in his voice. Obediently, you sink to his feet, gazing up at him with wide hungry eyes. To his credit, Eris’s expression remains impassive, his ardor betrayed only by the tension in his jaw and the glint in his eyes. With his thumb, he presses down on your bottom lip.

“Suck.”

Your mouth parts to welcome him, until you feel the cool press of his signet against your lips, a welcome contrast. You swirl your tongue around the digit, bobbing your head for a few beats. Eris clenches his jaw, the pad of his thumb lightly digging onto your tongue as he pulls it out. You release it with a pop of your lips.

“Good.”

Eris tilts his head, a silent permission to continue. While you gradually slip off his belt and undo the zip of his trousers, Eris gathers your hair in his fist. With a single push, his impressive length is revealed to you, long and heavy. Anticipation sparks in your chest, eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Go on then.”

So you do. You flatten your tongue against the base of his cock, licking a stripe to the tip. There, you take the head into the wet heat of your mouth and suck. Eris makes an involuntary thrust, despite the tight leash he normally keeps around himself.

“Fuckin’ Hel,” he groans, grip now deliciously digging into your scalp. You moan your appreciation against him, and the male shudders in response. For a few moments, you simply alternate between lazily bobbing your head and swirling your tongue against him as best you can. Your hand twists in tandem to accommodate the remaining length of him.

“You’re a damned tease,” he accuses. “A demon.”

With wide eyes, you blink innocently up at him from beneath your lashes. Eris scoffs, rolling his eyes, but allows the torturous cycle to continue. When you sense his movements grow more erratic, his muscles tensing beneath your palms, you slow your movements just in time to deny him his release. At the third time of doing this, Eris looks close to breaking.

“Enough.” He growls, the command reverberating through the silent room, through every fiber of your being.

You still immediately, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you. He adjusts his grip on your hair, winding the strands around his knuckles and tugging lightly as if to test his grip. You groan at the bite of pain, your arousal dripping from you.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty face now, Firefly.” He whispers with such disorienting tenderness. “Tap my thigh twice if it becomes too much, understand?”

“Yes.” Your too-eager reply draws a lopsided smile from Eris’s otherwise stoic demeanor. “Please,” you add as an afterthought as you brace your hands against his thighs.

Eris tilts his head once more, and you take that as your signal to proceed. Your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing out, tongue curved around his length. His thrusts begin tentatively, but it doesn’t take long for him to find his rhythm. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat with each thrust, his firm grip on your hair directing each movement. You will yourself to relax, angling yourself to take him better, deeper. For a while, all your thoughts evaporate, your entire focus simply on breathing through your nose and watching the look of ecstasy unfold across his face.

“You feel amazing around me.” Eris pants as he pushes impossibly deeper. You struggle to take him, throat spasming around him. “My good girl,” he coos, his thrusts stuttering. You groan against him when one stroke allows him to bottom out completely. Nose nuzzling the thin line of red on his lower stomach, tears bloom in your eyes. You look up, only to find him already gazing at you. His amber eyes were wide with want, transfixed at the sight of you taking him completely.

“I’m about to come, Love. You’ll be a good girl and take it, won’t you?” A drawn out mhm is all the permission he needs. “Every. Last. Drop.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust.

Then, on his final advance, Eris holds you there by the head until the very last moment, until the fire in your veins has spread into each lobe of your lungs. When you swallow around him, he chokes, rolling his hips into your mouth. Your fingers curl into claws against his thighs but you don’t tap out. He moves once, twice, then he’s gone. Eris allows you a bit of reprieve by retreating into your mouth as his length pulses the rest of his release onto your tongue.

“Fuck.” He rasps. Then, with a single tug, he pulls you off of him and onto your two wobbly legs. Eris only gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before his mouth crashes against yours for a kiss. He groans as he tastes himself on your tongue.

“So perfect for me, made to take me.” His hands roam your body as though eager to discover every square inch of exposed skin. This is Eris in his rawest form, you realize, all control turned into liquid flame in his hands. He practically tears your dress from your body, pushing down the silk until it pools on the floor.

“Yesss,” you hiss, clawing at his shirt and shoving it off his broad shoulders. “Only you.” Heavy thunks follow soon after - the gun holstered at his side, the knife strapped to his thigh.

“I fucking love you.” He growls in between breaths. Without giving you a chance to reply, he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at the raw flesh.

You don’t even realize he’s corralled you into your room before he pushes you onto the bed. He pulls you to the edge by the ankle. Eris stands tall before you, rendered in sharp angles and steady lines, softened only by the warmth in his amber eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels between your parted thighs like a supplicant before their God and your body is the only conduit of worship he knows.

“You okay?” He asks this while his head is pillowed on your thigh, as though he hadn’t just blown your mind. Eris, you’ve discovered, is a collection of contrasts - rough one second, and painfully tender the next. No amount of studying him could let you predict the direction of his passion. You don’t mind, though, you’d happily be carried away in his current.

“Perfectly.”

“You remember your word?” He removes your stilettos, brushing over the raw skin where the straps have dug in.

“I do.”

“Say it for me.” He lines your heels neatly at the foot of your bed.

“Ember.”

“Good.” Eris begins his meandering path up your legs. A kiss on your ankle, lips ghosting over your leg. Once his lips reach your thighs, he starts to nibble and suck on your skin. The simple declaration of possession shouldn’t please you as much as it does, but it only deepens the pool of desire and anticipation in your gut.

“Eris,” you whine, breathless, as he pauses at the seam of your thigh. His smirk only grows at your increasingly desperate pleas and the erratic movements of your hips.

“Use your words, Firefly.” Eris reminds you beatifically. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you begin, already struggling to form a coherent string of words. “Please?”

“My mouth?” He asks, pretending to consider it. “But I thought you said you wanted my cock?”

His taunting jolts you out of your reverie, always rearing to meet his fire with your own. You come up to your elbows to level him a raised brow. “Well, you’re already on your knees, aren’t you?” Despite knowing you’ll pay for your words later, you try to inject as much bravado into your voice as you can. The effect is dulled by your obvious desperation though.

Eris chuckles, shaking his head as if in disapproval. “What to try that again, Firefly?” He blows a hot breath towards your core, the sudden sensation sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. “I’m sure you can do better than that.”

You clench your teeth, a vain attempt to keep the pleas trapped within your mouth. Eris remains steadfast, of course, staring you down with obvious amusement. His lips travel a languid path, teeth teasing, mouth nipping, veering closer and closer but never close enough. This is a battle you’ve already lost from the start.

“Please?” You grit out. “Can I please have your mouth?”

“You’re a greedy little thing aren’t you?” Eris laps at the marks he’s left, just a few millimeters from where you want him to be. Practically vibrating with need, you dangle on the sharp edge of anticipation. The bite Eris plants on the soft flesh of your thigh is what pushes you off the precipice.

“Please,” you plead, each syllable dripping with need. “Can I please have your mouth?”

“Well, since you asked so prettily,” Eris drawls, entirely indulgent. He places your leg over his shoulder and dives in. First, he runs the flat of his tongue over your flimsy thong, lapping at your slit. You shudder at the sensation, melting against the sheets as he continues.

“You taste divine.” He growls, the vibrations making you tighten around nothing. Then, closes his mouth over your slit and begins to suck. You throw your head back, heel digging into his back, hips arching towards the pull of his mouth. Your arousal seeps into the cloth. A heartbeat, a fraction of eternity, then Eris licks the lace greedily like a man starved.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He mouths against the fabric. You feel the truth of his words as surely as the growing flame in your gut. Then, he slides your undergarments down one thigh, keeping it wrapped around the other, a mockery of a wedding garter. Finally, his lips close around your clit as he slides one long finger in you, then two, scissoring them inside. You release a choked sob. His fingers are much thicker than your own, but the stretch is a burn you’ve been craving for far too long.

“Fuck, Firefly, you’re so damn tight.” He murmurs against your skin. He begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you, making it a point to curl his digits in just the right spot. The precision of his movements is enough to drive you out of your mind. Eris shifts between murmuring sweet nothings against your heated skin and drawing precise circles around your clit.

At some point, Eris’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with his own. It doesn’t take long for you to climb that familiar high. Hurtling over the edge so fast, you don’t even realize you’re cumming until you’re overtaken by a wave of pleasure. It saturates your senses until the only thing that makes sense is Eris, Eris, Eris.

He doesn’t stop. His fingers hit that torturous angle, while his tongue laps at your bud. “One more,” he demands and you whine in protest. “Just one more, Love.”

“‘S too much-“ you try to say, but your words crack into a sob. “I c-can’t-“

“You can,” he coos. “My good girl, my lovely little Firefly.” The praise does more for you than his hands could. “Always so perfect for me.”

Desire is a living thing inside you, an inferno building beneath your skin. You crush his fingers in your grip, while the other threads itself through his silken locks, needing something to anchor you unspool for him.

“Eris, I’m-“ your voice cracks, reality blurring around you as you spasm around him, hips gyrating, driven only by pure primal instinct. He groans, as though your pleasure is as good as his own. His fingers speed up, his tongue licking your bud to and fro with dangerous precision.

“Cum for me, Firefly.”

You do. You break into flames with his name on your lips, back bowing, eyes trained to the unseen sky. You barely even register when Eris climbs into bed with you, too preoccupied with reacquainting yourself with your body. Only when he pulls your pliant form over his chest do you meet his gaze.

“Are you alright?” There is concern in his gaze, and you wipe the worry from his face as you run your knuckles over his cheek.

“Perfectly.” An invisible tug calls you to dip your head and taste yourself on his lips. Eris licks the seam of your mouth and waits patiently until your lips part for him.

Without breaking contact, you wrap your hand around his girth and begin stroking him to full hardness. Your tongues meet, and you relish the trace of your taste in his mouth. Once his cock is ready, you line him up with your entrance.

You lower yourself onto him, slowly, inch by inch, until you’re fully on his lap. For a moment, you simply stay like that, with him seated deep within you, lips locked in a languid ebb and flow. When you begin to move, you do it together, rising and falling in question and answer to the other. You wonder if there will always be this constant compulsion to have Eris near, the need to feel his skin against yours, to feel his beating heart thump in step with your own. Somehow, against all reason, he’s managed to worm his way into your life, to make a home for himself within the chambers of your heart.

Eris becomes the ruined wreckage of a man as you slide off him up until only the tip remains, before slamming back down. Eris keeps his gaze on you as though he’d rather die than miss a single moment of this. He groans, meeting each and every single one of your movements. His one hand grips your hip, guiding and grinding, fingers digging into you. The other cups your breast, his thumb tracing over your nipple. When your thighs begin to ache, legs quaking, powered only by desire and desperation, Eris easily flips you over.

“Harder,” you choke out, “deeper.”

“So demanding,” Eris teases but seems happy enough to comply. He places a pillow beneath your hips. You almost whine at the pause, but Eris doesn’t give you a chance. He begins with an unforgiving pace, pistoning in and out of you with abandon. The new angle is torture specifically designed to tear your remaining sanity into shreds. Your legs lock around his waist, hands clasped tightly with his own. His lips hover over yours, drinking in each whimper, each moan, like it's ambrosia and you’re the sole source.

“Are you about to cum for me, Love?” Eris breathes. And you nod frantically.

“Tell me, Firefly, who’s making you feel good, hm?” He punctuates the sentence with a hard thrust that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You are,” you rasp, convulsing around him as his cock nudges the perfect spot inside of you.

“My name,” he demands.

“Eris.” It comes out as drawn out moan, a plea, a promise.

“And who do you belong to?” The force of each slam has you seeing sparks, and when he begins to circle your clit with his thumb? You’re gone, utterly defeated and consumed by the flame.

“You!” You scream, repeating his name over and over and over.

“That’s right,” he purrs. Your thighs shake, back arching completely off the mattress. The world breaks apart around you, reality melting into a flash of blinding light. He slows down and fucks you through the throes of rapture, extending seconds into eons while you flutter around him. With one last grind of his hips, you feel his cock throb as he spills deep inside you.

Eris collapses on top of you, surrounding you in his scorching warmth. For a long while, only your shared breaths exist in the silence. He nuzzles deeper into the crook of your neck, as though unable to help himself.

Eris doesn’t tell you he loves you again. He shouldn’t, for both of your sakes. But you feel it in the featherlight kisses he leaves over your shoulder, his gentle touch as he traces each curve, line, and ridge of your body. He does it with such ease, as though it’s an art he’s perfected through the years, through lifetimes.

Instinctively, you begin to run your hands over his back, fingers running over the lattice of faded scars there. Anger is a flaming arrow through your chest. Beron is not an easy father to have. Eris, as the prospective heir to his empire, receives the brunt of his brutal scrutiny. What you’d give to have the opportunity to tear that old bastard’s head from his shoulders.

As if sensing your sudden agitation, Eris’s roaming hands become more insistent, kneading away all the tension from your muscles. “Relax,” he whispers against your ear.

Although he rolls off of you, he doesn’t go far. Without letting you out of the cage of his arms, he curls beside you like a cat, each plane of your bodies perfectly aligned. With his head resting over your heart, a rumble of contentment escapes him.

It’s startling to think that to anyone outside of this room, Eris is a villain, as well-versed in savagery as his father. But you know him, seen parts of him the world would never know. You and Eris have always been two sides of the same coin.

He understands what it’s like to endure and inherit a father’s rage, to house a mother’s bottomless grief, to be saturated with so much shame it steals your every breath. The two of you are so different and yet are hewn from the same ore, forged from the same fire. Although there are a multitude of reasons why the both of you can’t be together, it feels as though Eris is the only one who's ever truly seen you as you are.

But self-denial is a circus act you and Eris perform with practiced ease. You’ve already fucked up before and it wasn’t you who ended up paying the price. No, it had been your mother and your sister. Their blood will stain your hands for the rest of your life.

You won’t make that same mistake again.

Two twined heartbeats, breaths released and taken in unison, Eris drifts off as your fingers card through his hair. You drink him in, long lashes fluttering as he flits into sleep, faint freckles like stars scattered over the ridge of his nose, and his face, for once, open and devoid of that familiar mask. You map its planes with the tips of your fingers, cataloging each detail and etching them onto the back of your mind.

Eris will be gone come morning. He always is. The only proof of his presence would be the ache between your thighs and his scent still lingering on your sheets. But for now, though, he is yours, as fleeting as this moment may be.

This is enough, you tell yourself.

AN: hello this is my first smut fic in a while & this is a bit different from my usual thing so i was a bit nervous about posting this one. Let me know what you guys think!

Dialogue and banter aren’t my strong suit but i tried my best ;u;

This started as pwp fic but now there’s plot and I’m invested. I’ve got a few ideas and I kinda want to do a series of one-shots for these two.

English isn’t my first language. If you see any mistakes please let me know thru DM! Thank you 💙

#My fic #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris x reader #queued because posting gives me sm anxiety #eris fanfic #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #acotar #acotar fanfic #eris smut #guys it’s messy

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uluthrek · 11 months ago

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inheritance cycle modern au in which all of the dragons are horses which makes eragon the underdog horse girl, saphira the underdog girl horse and brom the disgruntled and disillusioned horse trainer who doesn’t believe in the validity of this sport until he sees the ✨bond✨ eragon has with his horse saphira who is still as blue as she is in canon (don’t ask that‘s just how it works, if you question this, i‘ll track your ip).

and galbatorix is the aggressively eastern european horse girl dad who had some sort of hip injury that brought his eventing career to an abrupt end and now he must vicariously live through his protégé, murtagh, lest he kills himself. and thorn is the very expensive horse galbatorix bought for wish fulfillment purposes and murtagh and thorn are so horribly traumatized by all the stress and pressure of defeating little kids at the pony finals that they ✨bond✨.

oromis and glaedr are their direct opponents and galbatorix nancy kerrigan‘s them (oromis dies like he does canonically because honestly, hunters be like that) so murtagh can get his ribbon. and then there‘s the big final competition and eragon, underdog wonder magic horse girl, goes toe to toe with murtagh, tortured champion to be, and they have this epic horse battle (an 80cm clear round but the atmosphere is very intense) and eragon loses. but then brom delivers this epic speech about idk man like success and passion and whatnot and then he dies which gives eragon the final push to defeat murtagh but OH NO, thorn is HURT from being OVERWORKED and murtagh has an epic horse peril breakdown and tearfully tells galbatorix he‘ll withdraw.

so galbatorix goes „fuck the kid“ and gets shruikan (the very bad very big black warmblood stallion that shows up in every horse girl movie) to best eragon HIMSELF (but not before locking nasuada, the animal rights activist that murtagh has struck up a tentative romance with, in a porta-potty). and then him and eragon compete and it‘s INTENSE (meanwhile, roran and katrina have a sub plot about capturing a flock of runaway ducks that is constantly being cut to during that climactic scene) and shit is looking DISMAL for poor eragon until a vision of brom and also his dead mother, because this is a proper horse girl movie and not some bibi und tina bullshit, and that gives him the strength to defeat galbatorix.

and then he wins and thorn doesn’t die and someone frees nasuada from the porta-potty and she gets to punch galbatorix in the face. and fírnen (who is a horse but also still green) emerges during the post credit scene and meets arya and sets up a cash grabby amazon prime spinoff series and roran and katrina successfully capture the ducks and everyone is happy and there is no more horse peril.

the whole thing takes place in exactly one horse show afternoon. it makes such perfect sense actually you can fit everyone in. nar garzvog‘s at the grill and makes hot dogs. islanzadi does nothing but drink cheap wine and bitch from the sidelines. angela mans the beverage stall and tells everyone who wants to listen (or doesn’t) that toads don’t exist. solembum is the raccoon on her shoulder who violates all fda guidelines by simply existing. orrin is nasuada‘s bitter ex boyfriend who pretended to be vegan for years so she‘d like him only to be dumped for murtagh and his emo swagger in a heartbeat. orik is a shetland pony.

#this was very epic in my head actually #inheritance cycle #eragon #saphira bjartskular #murtagh #galbatorix #arya drottningu #angela the herbalist #shruikan #nasuada #oromis #glaedr #roran stronghammer #let‘s see how this goes down with the fandom #long post #sorry #inheritance cycle au

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mineox · 1 year ago

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Arranged Marriage

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১Scaramouche x M Reader !Modern au!

After the wedding night Scaramouche wanted nothing to do with you but sadly you hit your heat cycle but Scaramouche takes care of you like a good husband.

Warnings: cock-drunk reader, two faced scaramouche :c, mean scaramouche, overstimulation, dacryphilia, creampie, mention of pregnancy, reader in a dress, oral, fingering, heat cycle, degrading, tongue pierced Scara ;3

Scaramouche sat in his bedroom he looked zoned out thinking about his new life now that he was forced to marry a boy…the problem wasn’t he was married to the same gender no…the problem was that he never wanted to marry that boy who was sleeping peacefully next door was a pain in the ass. The first time they met the boy was very sweet and Scaramouche hated sweet the boy probably knew he was going to be engaged with Scaramouche soon which made Scaramouche’s blood boil he couldn’t stand him he was always doing sweet stuff for him like cook, clean, help him wash his back…already acting like his male wife, just thinking about impregnating him made him sick. The reason why Scaramouche and Y/n were forced to marry each other was because Ei the mother of Scaramouche told him she needed a nephew of niece, someone who can inherit their last name and since he was the eldest he needed to marry fast and get his mother a grandchild. Scaramouche sighed and stood up, slowly walking up to a mirror and smashing it shattering the mirror into pieces meanwhile his partner was in the other side of the room trying to cry himself to sleep. — “you don’t seem very happy…” said Kokomi a friend of Y/n’s “o-oh no…I’m very happy it’s just I-I feel nauseous and my stomach has been hurting all day…” said Y/n with a weak smile Kokomi laughed and fixed his veil “maybe you and Scaramouche are expecting a little one on the way” said Kokomi making Y/n smile but on the inside he was scared “yea maybe…”

everyone was at the wedding reception celebrating their friends wedding Scaramouche had a smile on his face acting as if he was happy and wanted this wedding to happen meanwhile Y/n had a small frown he was scared and not happy at all he knew Scaramouche didn’t like him at all but the sad truth is Y/n loved him the first time he saw him, his beautiful smile even if he knew it was fake Y/n yelped quietly feeling a small pinch in his thigh he looked at his husband who was looking at him with a hateful look “smile.” was all he said and Y/n obeyed like always. — Y/n was in his room sobbing into his pillow hoping the banging would stop Scaramouche was hurting himself Y/n wanted to patch him up but he knew not to mess with him or interrupt him whenever he’s mad, Y/n just wanted to marry someone and live happily but that wasn’t going to happen not when his husband hates him. Y/n coughed feeling nauseous again ‘must’ve been something bad I ate…’ thought Y/n he looked at him white gown and frowned ‘Ei is treating me with all these dresses I’m not even a girl…’ thought Y/n he paused and grabbed onto the bed feeling drowsy he did his best walking up to the door, his vision blurry “n-need water…” mumbled Y/n feeling more drowsy his stomach felt very hot and his face red

Scaramouche left his room and walked into the large kitchen the atmosphere felt weird…Scaramouche sniffed the air to smell pheromones he looked around before seeing a familiar (h/c) head “Y/n?” Scaramouche walked up to the large sofa to see Y/n who was barely conscious “what the…” Scaramouche touched Y/n’s forehead which was very warm and the pheromones he was letting out “are you doing this on purpose?…” asked Scaramouche standing up there was no response and he sighed and picked up the boy “Scara?…” mumbled Y/n opening his eyes “what.” answered Scaramouche he looked at Y/n who was tearing up “wha— stop crying—“ “I-I’m sorry I’m not a good wife!” cried Y/n “what?—“ “you hate me and I-I’m trying so hard to be p-perfect b-but m-maybe we should divorce!!” cried Y/n ‘it hasn’t even been a day.’ thought Scaramouche now that he thought of it he felt kinda bad how he was treating his wife “I-I…” Scaramouche quickly sat down on the sofa it was hard for him to speak when the strong pheromones were still around the air “I…” Scaramouche looked at Y/n his mind clouded with lust he tried to get a grip but seeing his wife all weak and teary got him turned on, Y/n yelped feeling Scaramouche throw him onto the sofa “S-Scara—“ Y/n was cut off by a kiss “mphm!!” Y/n tried to separate the kiss but eventually gave up due to Scaramouche being much stronger then him “Y/n you’re so pretty…can’t wait to make you cry louder.” mumbled Scaramouche his lips touching Y/n’s neck “Scara!” whimpered Y/n he felt Scara bite him, suck his neck until a dark purple mark was made soon after Y/n felt Scara stand up and Y/n looked at him “get on your knees.”

Muffles and groans can be heard Scaramouche was thrusting into Y/n’s warm mouth and grabbing his hair “good boy…sucking me like a good slut…” groaned Scaramouche feeling good, Y/n who was below him was teary his cheeks were very red and his mind was foggy and filled with lust, all he wanted to do was to please his husband like a good wife soon Y/n felt Scaramouche pull his head closer and the salty taste filled Y/n’s mouth “good slut…get on the bed.” ordered Scaramouche and like always Y/n obeyed.

Y/n whimpered feeling Scaramouches long fingers thrust inside his hole that was aching for something bigger “look at you all wet…you want my dick so bad don’t you?” smirked Scaramouche “y-yes!” moaned Y/n he moaned feeling like he’s about to burst but suddenly Scaramouche stopped “w-why!” whined Y/n he tried moving himself on Scaramouches fingers but his waist was being held “not yet I want you to ride me.” said Scaramouche grabbing Y/n’s waist and putting him up Y/n grabbed onto Scaramouches shoulders and slowly took him in “ugh your pathetic.” Y/n threw his head back feeling the huge cock enter him “h-hurts!…” whimpered Y/n tearing up again “just take it in like a good little slut you are.” smiled Scaramouche kissing Y/n “s-sorry…” moaned Y/n “for what.” said Scaramouche stopping “I-Im not a good wife…” mumbled Y/n “Y/n you are so cute…I can’t wait to see you all plump up…carrying our baby.” smirked Scaramouche seeing Y/n’s surprised face Scaramouche groaned moving inside his wife’s tight hole and Y/n threw his head back again feeling the hard cock hit his sensitive spot

“mmm…s-slow down!” begged Y/n Scaramouche fucked him doggy style to get a good angle at hitting his sensitive spots again and again “not until that heat of yours…is gone…” said Scaramouche out of breath but still thrusting as if there is no tomorrow Y/n’s hole was full of cum “you look so pretty in that night gown…” said Scaramouche pulling his wifes hair making Y/n whimper in pain and pleasure “mmm!” whimpered Y/n feeling himself getting close “you are so tight…how many times have you cum you slut?” teased Scaramouche he smirked seeing his wifes cock drunken face “mmm…n-no more!” begged Y/n “begging me to stop yet you still release these stupid pheromones…do you want some other guy to fuck you?” asked Scaramouche pulling on Y/n’s hair and when there was no response he stopped thrusting and Y/n whined “answer my question.” said Scaramouche “n-no only you!” cried Y/n he moaned feeling Scaramouche slowly thrusting again “good.” said Scaramouche.

Scaramouche and Y/n were in a much larger room Y/n was faced the other way avoiding eye contact with his husband and Scaramouche was starting to regret treating Y/n awful “so that priest told me about you feeling sick and relating to—“ “pregnancy symptoms…” mumbled Y/n Scaramouche looked at him puzzled “are you?…” questioned Scaramouche “y-yes” mumbled Y/n “h-how…?” asked Scaramouche scared to hear the respond what if Y/n was tired of his bullshit and decided to secretly sleep with someone else “l-last time you got drunk and you were releasing a lot of pheromones…” explained Y/n “w-was it non consensual?!” panicked Scaramouche “n-no I did what a good wife would do…” said Y/n a bit red “oh sorry…” apologized Scaramouche he then grabbed Y/n’s hand and kisses it “I-Im so sorry for all the shit I’ve done—“ “I-It’s fine don’t worry about it…” mumbled Y/n “I-I’ll buy you anything I-I will take care of you and our kid p-please just don’t leave me…” said Scaramouche mumbling the last part “Scara I knew what I was signing myself for your mom warned me…” said Y/n with a smile and Scaramouche kissed Y/n and grabbed his thigh “p-please I wanna go again…” begged Scaramouche and Y/n blushed.

Scaras gonna have tons of kids if he keeps this up :3

#scara x reader #scara smut #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin x reader #x male reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #sub male reader #scaramouche

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teh-nos · 8 months ago

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My Next Attempt At Long Fic (by which I mean more than 10000 words and it has chapters) Should Be...

Poll and the (actually quite long) gist of each option below le cut:

The Sylki Con Artists AU

This one I have a wee bit written of already but I go back and forth on this one because it's Alternative Universe - Modern Setting and I feel like there's already a lot of those (which I also complain about a lot), and I have to justify it to myself as an experiment in whether I can do a Sylki Modern AU that doesn't just end up as "two people called Loki and Sylvie do normal stuff together". That's why they are con artists in this! Because 1) MISCHIEF (or crime, or whatever) and 2) if they have the same 'job' for similar reasons and I go on about them being similar a lot then that's maybe as close as reality can get to selfcest. (The selfcest is not just a feature of sylki, I feel it is THE feature and to admit to being Bad At Shipping (again) I'm just not that interested in it if they're different people who aren't even aliens. The same alien.) (You can tell me they are gods all you want but I've seen enough Doctor Who to know that must be A LIE so I reject it as such.)

The plot is that they meet in a bar one night and shag (obviously!) and then the reader discovers that Loki is trying to buy a painting from an old woman (planning on ripping off both her and his own buyer) and Sylvie is an artist who is selling a forged painting to some posh twat on the internet who she knows is trying to rip off her fake old lady persona on the deal but she's selling him a fake painting anyway so at least he deserves to be conned. They meet up a few times before finally realising that they are in fact conning each other under fake names on the internet, and then I have to try and fix it when they inevitably get mad at each other because of it. Also, Thor works in a shop because the brodinsons are Downwardly Mobile (dad spent all their inheritance, oh no!) Plotwise Loki is going to actually need Sylvie's painting for reasons I have not yet entirely worked out so one way or another they will have to eventually forgive each other for being con artists as they themselves are and for having attempted to con each other.

Ideally I will be able to make this one funny in some way, as I think the concept can get absurd enough to make a rom-com out of it.

2. The Jotun Heat Fic (also sylki)

I was into this one for about a day and now I have second thoughts because I am not sure I care enough about Frost Giant Biology to have to write an entire fic about it. It would continue my tradition (I did it once, that's enough for it to be a tradition) of turning a tiny ficlet into a much longer thing. This one: The Opposite of Heat, in which Loki and Sylvie go into whatever the Jotun equivalent of the fandom fave 'mating cycles/in heat' trope is, having never done so before because (see if you can guess...) they've never previously spent enough time around another Jotun for the hormones to kick in properly. They have no idea this can happen, and what starts out as Fun Porno-Fic Times soon gets a bit worrying and then I suppose they have to Investigate and that's the bit I fear might end up boring me.

This is set in an AU where S2!Loki did not instantly demand that Sylvie help him with his cop friends' problems and instead just went to live in Oklahoma with her, so the other/'real' plot is them getting used to living together and the weird-but-sexy medical issue bringing them into conflict because of course the first place Loki wants to go for help is the TVA (this not unreasonable of him, as they have a lot of info in their archives and he has no other friends anyway), which Sylvie is not keen on as she would rather just avoid them for the rest of forever. Gosh, I hope nobody goes to the TVA for help behind anyone else's back!

I need a way to make this one stay interesting once it gets to the Find Out What Is Happening part and also it needs to not just immediately end with a sensible solution like just going to Jotunheim and asking someone there for a talk about the frost-birds and the frost-bees.

Also I think they should fuck in that McDonalds. Just because.

3. Jotunheim Rejects The Guy Who Cannot Possibly Be Its Rightful King, Because I'm Annoying Like That AU (not thorki)

Speaking of going to Jotunheim, you know all those fics where Loki goes to be the Rightful King Of Frostland, as Odin apparently planned all along? That but it doesn't work, because I am not at all convinced he can have been Laufey's heir (who the fuck infanticides their only male heir?!) and even if he was well it'd just look awful, wouldn't it? Crusty Old Odin, worst friend to Jotunheim for several years running, sends back your kingdom's heir having raised him as one of his own family. (I hope at least one of you is thinking "US-Backed Puppet Ruler Who Will Do Whatever The CIA Tells Them To" because I did too! Ooh, geopolitical barely-subtext!)

The problem with this one for me is it requires a fairly large cast of Original Jotun Characters, and I still fear writing OCs because of the constant 'Mary-Sue' complaints in my fannish youth. Also I would Controversially (LOL not really) make some of them women, including Angrboda the ambitious would-be consort and Laufey's tragically spurned lover who on finding out that her long-dead son is not dead makes the most of it by insisting everyone call her 'My Lady, the King's Mother' (yes, I stole that from History but I do that sort of thing now, for the LOLs). So I have a bit of an idea what happens in this one, though I'd need to think of more political type plot stuff and also I just finished writing a multichapter fic that involved the Jotun succession so maybe I'd be overdoing it if I did this one now as well.

The other problem is Jotuns are too fucking tall. I mean really. This doesn't seem to bother anyone else but they are Too Fucking Tall to interact with the shorter characters, to the point that it just seems accidentally comedic to me. Just imagine the totally-not-a-puppet king of Jotunheim sitting on a massive throne, swinging his wee legs in the air. And I don't know how to work around that other than just saying "they are Less Fucking Tall in this fic" and I don't know if that would just annoy people. Also it does feel a bit incendiary to go against the general fandom insistence that Loki Is Totally The Rightful King Of Jotunheim. Though I suppose in this he is, it's just that he attempts to become so in the sort of circumstances that make everyone start saying things like "are we really that keen on our monarchy?" or at least "surely there's a cousin or an uncle we could give the crown to instead? yeah, even a woman would do. no, she doesn't have to be alive if there are only dead ones available."

(It was a mistake to let me read books about the Wars of the Roses, wasn't it?)

Oh and this isn't a thorki fic, but Thor is going to go to Jotunheim with his bro to help him settle in and also he will be going back to rescue him from it at the end. Bros before snows!!!!

#if it saves u a click: two are sylki and the other would be an AU from them Thor films #the vote is not legally binding i just like to have the occasional election to pretend i'm not an oppressive tumblrtator #also it'd maybe help to have some idea which of these anyone else would want to read #fic related #with a poll!!!

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mochalottie · 1 year ago

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Masterlist

(Because even though no one asked for one...I wanted to do it to keep my brain entertained)

Avatar (Cameron Movies)

Oel Ngati Kameie (37k+ words) Series about Spider being adopted into the Sully. Post Way of Water.

To protect (2k words) Oneshot about Spider being injured on the SeaDragon.

Baby Mine (6.5k words) 5 times Spider called someone Mom or Dad and one time someone called him Son.

Eywa Provides (23k words) Multi chapter, complete - Feral Na'vi Spider living alone in the forest who is, surprise surprise, adopted by the Sullys.

Our Hearts Beat in the Womb of the World (115k words) Multi chapter, complete - Spider is adopted by Tonowari and Ronal. That's it. That's the fic.

For the Nights and Days of Life (387k words) Multi chapter, complete - All humans leave Pandora after the final battle leaving Spider behind. Oh, and he’s blessed by Eywa. That’s it. That’s the fic.

You Brought light, and new life (78k words) Multi chapter, complete - The comfort fic/sequel that everyone (surprisingly) wanted and I definitely needed.

What am I supposed to do, dance with it? (8k) Oneshot - Spider turns into a tiger. That's it. That's the fic.

Let the Wind Carry Us to the Clouds Multi chapter, ongoing - Aka the ikran racing!au I've snatched up and twisted into my own version, which features some Nocorro but centrics around our boy Spider!

Every Family has Someone Who Falls (160K+) Multi chapter, complete - the time loop au where Spider is thoroughly put through the wringer.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

When You Can't Look on the Brightside, I'll Sit with You in the Dark (63k words) Multi chapter - a Zukka Alice in Wonderland AU where Sokka is Alice and Ozai is the Red King.

If Music is the Food of Love, Play On (4k words) Oneshot - Zuko essentially pining after Sokka in a Modern AU

Final Fantasy XV

Stronger than the Tides (13k words) Oneshot - Mermaid AU for Reverse Big Bang 2023

Blessed be the Boys Time Can't Capture (6k words) Oneshot - heads of families in Eos are vessels for the Greek Gods.

FFXV Song ficlets Series of Oneshots based on songs by Lauv. Includes multiple ships and AUs.

New Dawn (74k words) Multi chapter, complete - Ignis x Male!OC

Star Wars Prequels

Rock You Like a Hurricane Multi chapter, second part abandoned -The Obikin Band AU with Obi-Wan on drums, Anakin with vocals, Rex on Bass and Ahsoka on Guitar

The Mandalorian

Chakaar (22k words) Oneshot - Din Djarin x Male!OC Where a curious thief gets too involved with a grumpy Mandalorian and gains a family in return.

Inheritance Cycle

The World Ahead Multi chapter, incomplete - The Eragon/LOTR crossover that no one seemed to need, but two people very much wanted.

The Witcher

Destiny Changed Series of Oneshots - Jaskier is a Witcher and falls in love for Geralt the Nobleman. That's it, that's the series.

Voltron Legendary Defender

Space Family to the Rescue (1k words) Oneshot - Sick Keith is cared for by his Space Family.

Love is Endless (6k words) Oneshot - Keith pines for Lance in a Modern AU.

(Techni)Colour Vision (60k words) Multi chapter, complete - Klance through many film AUs.

#avatar way of water #avatar the last airbender #final fantasy xv #star wars prequels #the mandalorian #inheritance cycle #toss a coin to your witcher #voltron legendary defender #lottie writes fanfic #writers on tumblr #masterlist

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modern-inheritance · 1 month ago

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Another MIC!Arya swapped with Murtagh AU blather

I was tinkering with one of my MIC Swap AU things again. Chucked this up. More of the usual. Murtagh is probably getting his ass whooped by Brom the entire time for all his misconceptions and shit.

In Swap AUs, at least in MIC, Arya is taken to Uru’baen before Eragon and Co. break her out. She resists giving up any information, and Galbatorix is able to break her preliminary barriers, but gets tired of it and sees it as more of a distraction from his work with the NoN research, so he presents her with the dragon eggs and Fírnen hatches. He essentially ‘gifts’ Arya and Fírnen to Durza, and after a few months of torment, torture and forced growth in Fírnen’s case, Durza is sent to Farthen Dûr and killed by Eragon, OR Durza goes a step too far in monologuing the king’s plans for Du Weldenvarden and Arya snaps, ripping through the spells put on her via emotion driven wordless magic and kills him. In either case, the Shade’s death loosens enough of the hold for Arya to use wordless magic to break free, grab Fírnen during a hell of a lot of chaos, and they book it out of there.

They just…meander for a while. They cross the lake and don’t enter the forest, getting by with help from a few kind strangers, then skirt up the NW edge until they work up the courage (and desperation, at this point Arya is struggling with magic use, focused her healing on Fírnen to stop his forced growth spells, and is in pretty bad shape herself from bad healing and infection) to enter the elves domain. They hole up in a meadow a decent distance north from the Crags of Telnir and hide, unsure of what reception they would get.

Arya is terrified that Fírnen would be considered a threat, and she’s still unsure of what spells could remain on them. So she doesn’t go for help or even reveal their presence. It’s a handful of days, both Arya and Fírnen settling in, working on a sort of shelter and Arya doing her best to talk to Fírnen more and more as they were separated often. He’s not 100% verbal, his sentences stilted and his words not quite all there. But he can get what he’s thinking across.

Arya, however, has not spoken since Gil’ead began. She utter a few monosyllabic refusals, some inventive swears, but otherwise she’s been silent. Speaking aloud was far too dangerous. And now that it’s been so long, she can’t bring herself to speak, unsure of what’s real, what’s not, and if Galbatorix is again using hallucination magic. She keeps her mind entwined with Fírnen’s.

Usually, Arya and Fírnen are discovered by Oromis and Glaedr, but they flee the moment they see the gold dragon turn to them. This encounter typically leads to one of two things: Either Arya and Fírnen take the initiative and land in the middle of Ellesméra, or Arya passes out later that day and Fírnen waits two days (as she asked him to if something happened to her, to see if she’d wake up on her own) and then books it to the Crags and asks the old guard duo for help.

Glen is around. He does get pulled by Oromis and Glaedr to join them, snapping out of his depressive state (mah boi cut his hair. Badly. Just went at it with scissors. With his bad hand) and immediately gets to work bringing his war sister back around and back to something that could be considered adequate strength. He’s become ultra protective, straight up threatening to fistfight Islanzadí when Arya tells him (via sign, as Glen and Oromis both know Riders sign) that she doesn’t want to see her mother yet.

Fírnen is afraid of Glaedr. Though he’s not nearly as large as Shruikan, Glaedr’s continued half-hostility-half-protective streak is throwing the poor lil guy for so many loops. Arya is similarly skittish, but the moment anyone even turns toward Fírnen too quickly she’s out of bed and trying to strangle them. Glen gets a pass, Oromis does not. Glaedr is insanely not keen on this development. It’s clear that Galbatorix and Durza both did the damndest to foster a nearly berserker level bond with these two, tapping into Arya’s more ‘feral’ streak and Fírnen’s fierce loyalty to his Rider despite his smaller size.

#modern inheritance #ket's modern inheritance cycle #modern inheritance stories #swap au mic #mic swap au #swap au #fuck if i know why im posting it here #this was supposed to be a reflection of how Arya goes mute in all of these #over time she learns how to speak again without that fear #but it takes time and a lot of healing #like all things i write #yes eragon and co do eventually show up #oh ho boy things are....tense. and awkward.

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canonsinthehead · 11 months ago

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Naruto Modern AU/Hollywood pt.2 - Kiri & The All-Star Team

There is a silent hierarchy among all countries and the terrible assumption that bigger countries are better than smaller ones. The large presence and funds of various territories, like the country of fire, wind, earth, and lightning, overwhelms and overshadows small nations, especially in sports where each country dominates certain disciplines.

The land of fire (Konoha): badminton, soccer, gymnastics, and martial arts

The land of lightning (Kumo): Tennis, basketball, and athleticism

The land of earth (Iwa): cross country, marathon, weightlifting, and cycling

But in the last decade, the land of water emerged in the sports scene. It was coming out of years of political conflict that left the country in shambles with record levels of poverty, putting them at the bottom of the economic ladder. Not only was it a smaller nation, but a lot of its endeavors and way of life were unknown to the rest of the world because of the long-lasting reign of violence that controlled the country for decades.

Well, Kiri has been perceived as "these islands far away" with the highest crime rate in the world for the longest but Its newly found peace brought interesting things; industrialization, a new economy open to the world, the exportation of its products, but specifically the creation of various social classes. This was not the case before, since it was, the government/military vs the rest of the population in poverty.

This modernized economy brought the country a new middle class and other social statuses. It recently started experiencing the concept of celebrities like the rest of the world and most are athletes.

Being surrounded by large bodies of water, any form of water activity has always been intuitive to them. To the point where many accuse them of having a "genetic advantage". Athletes from Kiri/Country of Water can now join world competitions and are killing the game in the water department and making a serious name for their country. They are undefeatable in all forms of swimming kayaking, boat racing, surfing, diving, synchronized/artistic swimming, water polo, etc. Now most of the competitions for these sports are held there.

Kiri is getting recognized overseas for many things, but recently certain people have attained celebrity status for unconventional reasons building a solid international fan base

Mei Terumi, the female president, for her breathtaking beauty

Haku is the new sensation in figure skating. A discipline Kiri started to dominate recently but the young man’s high level of skills made him reach first place in all competitions. His likeability, pure heart, and pretty looks opened many doors for him, he often features in variety shows and commercials. He is also a good friend of the #1 YouTuber/streamer and boxer Naruto Uzumaki and often appears on his channel

Ever since basketball was invented, Kumogakure dominated the sport, but in the past year, the mysterious national basketball team of Kiri has made a name for themselves.

Overnight, a team of 195 cm tall men came out of nowhere and climbed up the world ranking to second place. The team’s name is the Swordsman of the Mist and the current coach is Gengetsu Hozuki It may not seem like it, but many of the members have interesting inheritances and backgrounds.

Kisame Hoshigaki: leader and tallest. Surprisingly decent from a prestigious clan from Kiri. Kisame is an academic genius, who has a diploma in biology from the most prestigious universities in the country of Water but decided to use the basketball scholarship he received instead.

His son Shizuma Hoshigaki is a part-time social media influencer. He is problematic in his own way, but not enough to be canceled yet. Shizuma is not worried because he is a trust fund kid but wishes to outshine his father as a professional swimmer. The jokes write themselves since he barely practices the sport but is among the greatest and fastest the world has to offer (his shark DNA, I guess). He is dating Raiga’s daughter Buntan, and her father is really salty about it

Zabuza Momochi: nobody knows about his background. He is the most muscular. Him and Kisame get the most brand deals and promotions. Zabuza is also one of Haku’s coaches. He took him under his wing under unknown circumstances. He is the first to recognize the boy’s unique talent and aiding him in his journey as an athlete regardless of their differences. Zabuza always had a sweet spot for Haku and considered him like a son. So, he is often absent to prioritize the figure skater’s training.

Kisame knows Zabuza well, they are lifelong friends. The leader lets him get away with missing practices (even if it drives their coach insane). His best friend is a man of a few words, and above all works extremely hard and exercises double their training schedule in his own free time.

Juuzo Biwa: He is the third star player along with Kisame and Zabuza (The Killer Trio). He has no sense of personal space. Ironically, he is the wealthiest because he owns a successful brand of luxury cars coveted by the new high class. He is genuinely funny, and the variety show's favorite.

Raiga: Loudest laugh. Lost a lot of money due to his jewelry addiction. He smokes a pack with the blood of his enemies. The mother of his child is still getting child support payments, and he is bitter, even if they’re legally separated.

Because of His herratic behaviour and anger issues, he is kinda of a self-made outcast. The other members can cooporate as co-workers and teamates but nothing beyond that (Raiga has is own circle of friends). Since Raiga is so unhinged, no matter their coach's efforts, him and Zabuza do not get along.

Hassaku Onomichi: professional dunker. He befriended a lot of Kumo basketball players. He often gets caught up in beefs with anyone.

The popularity of the basketball team has offered them fans all across the world for their incredible talent, pleasant chemistry, unique sense of humor, and good looks to the point where tabloids from Konoha have launched a misinformation campaign to stain their image and effort to defend their basketball teams after getting constantly crushed by those "foreigners".

The last match of the International Basketball League’s series opposing The Swordmen of the Mist from Kiri against The Lightnings from Kumo was the most anticipated and heated match ever organized. Taking place in Konoha, it made record engagement and attendance. For the first time in history, Kumo lost the finale to first timers. The news traveled all across the world and, certified Kiri’s team's celebrity status since they won.

With their success, many shady investors like Gato started to take interest in basketball as a means of proposing Kiri overseas and for other shady dealings. The weight of all those rumors pushed many fans who knew Gato’s involvement in Haku’s career to beg him to change his manager/owner ASAP.

PART 1 next part

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good-beanswrites · 10 months ago

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BEANS HEAR ME ON THIS ROYALTY AU OF MILGRAM MIXED WITH MODERN TIMES AND MAGIC

I AM HEARING YOU OUT OOOHHH! Thank you, this is so interesting 👀 My brain kept getting tripped up with the worldbuilding, so I stuck with individual character headcanons -- I bet they'd have some really interesting dynamics with one another though... I wasn’t sure if this was based off a specific/preestablished au, so I kept the powers vague, but still had some pretty clear thoughts on how they’d use them! (I also added brief comments on the murders if those were included >:3)

Haruka: Sheltered most of his life. Maybe he wasn’t originally in line for the throne, so even his own family didn’t pay the proper attention to him. Then family situations changed, forcing him into the spotlight. He’s more scared of the damage his powers could do, so he doesn’t use them. This results in a Frozen-style bottling up and refusal to actually learn about them out of fear, and they come out in dangerous, emotional outbursts instead. (Under so much social pressure, those emotions often come out at people close to him.)

Yuno: Inherited power at a young age but is continuously treated like a child. At first she leans into her bubbly, girlish act, getting a lot of popularity with people and other politicians. Unfortunately, the reputation sticks too much and she’s rarely taken seriously when needed. Though she’s pressured to make tough calls, she’s simultaneously babied by her advisors/counsel. (And, her getting pregnant with anyone’s child outside of marriage would cause a massive scandal.) She handles her powers confidently – mostly for silly shows of magic, only rarely using it as a threat or show of force.

Fuuta: With an older sister, he’s not heir to any real power, nor can he stand the feeling of the public’s eye looking to him, but he’s still involved with politics and official events. It’s interesting for him and Kotoko to have characters so centered on the corruption of higher-ups, now the higher-ups themselves… His brash attitude has forced a PR team to manage all his social media, so he keeps secret accounts/aliases where he posts what he wants without it coming back to bite his public image. (His murder would be from one of these accounts, since they’re a true reflection of him hiding behind anonymity). He’s all bark and no bite when it comes to his powers, always showing off and making threats, but never actually doing much damage with them.

Muu: Well, I guess we already know she’s suited to being queen. As the only child to two well-loved rulers, she’s automatically adored by the public. This causes tension between her and any other politician children, resulting in cycles of bullying undetected by the public so no party’s reputation is affected. (Eventually, though, Rei threatens to go public with something, or maybe already has, and plunges Muu into worse social backlash than usual.) She’s the type to be extra careful about her powers – learning and practicing and testing nonstop, but hesitant to use them for real-world applications for fear of not being perfect.

Shidou: A confident and well-liked ruler. He's known for his calm presence at speeches, negotiations, and events. Unfortunately, he’s very dedicated to his mindset of the means justifying the ends, and has a few shady methods of keeping his people happy and his enemies out of the way. (His murder could range from very similar to the accident in canon, to amping up the drama with royal assassinations by someone who uncovered some of his lies…) He’s very skilled with his powers, using them for politics and entertaining his kids alike. He’s excited to teach them how to use their own, as they get older.

Mahiru: A bit sheltered by the time she inherits power, but ready to take on her responsibilities with open arms. She’s well liked, if not always taken seriously because of her cheery attitude. She falls in love with an ordinary man, dragging him into her overwhelming world of royalty and politics. She’s just excited to have someone to share it with. (He knows he’d be harassed by the public for the rest of his life if he broke their ruler’s heart, so he seeks out another way to escape the crazy lifestyle.) She’s excited to use her powers, though she seems the type to be harmlessly clumsy with them sometimes. If powers are a common part of this world, she's studied up on all the helpful ways to use them.

Kazui: A quiet but successful ruler for many years. From the outside, his marriage wasn’t an arranged one, but internally he knew it was driven by politics and advantages. (He avoids telling Hinako until the truth comes out all at once.) He’s easygoing and prefers not to make too many public appearances, but is very good at it when he does – he comes off reassuring and powerful. Although everyone is very satisfied with his rule, he has a lot of insecurities that his age is making him out of touch with his people, and that they don’t have an heir to follow him. He rarely shows off his powers, choosing to use them expertly, only when necessary.

Amane: She feels the weight of responsibility as an only child to two very powerful rulers, trying to learn everything she can about keeping a nation in order. Her parents tell her how she is above everyone else and destined for perfection. Though Amane always retains a good heart towards others, this treatment does isolate her from her peers. She’s still getting a hang of her powers, sometimes overextending herself to make a good impression on her parents/the public. (No one would dare challenge the intimidating rulers about their strict treatment of their daughter, but that also means it’s possible for a fatal “accident” during training with her powers to be kept quiet by the public.)

Mikoto: He takes his duties seriously, but to the point of overwork. Though he could pass some responsibilities on to his younger sister, he chooses to take on all lawmaking, meetings, correspondence, travel, negotiations, speeches, events, etc himself and let her live free from the royal pressures. Unfortunately, with modern standards, the discovery of his DID would probably be treated as a scandal and kept hidden from the public. Thinking Mikoto wouldn’t want to hide it, his advisors decide to keep the knowledge from him as well. (In his frustration with Mikoto’s overwork and everyone’s treatment of him, John needs to find an outlet for his anger.) Mikoto struggles a lot with his magic, but doesn’t find much need for them in his day-to-day affairs. The most telling sign that John is fronting is the shift in raw power that he displays, not having the training or desire to repress it.

Kotoko: Not originally an heir, but inherited power indirectly – there was no foul play, but she did play an active role in gaining her new title. The previous rulers were very corrupt, so she wastes no time taking over their policies and systems to improve things. For better and worse, she usually sticks with a hands-on approach to all of her nation’s problems. She’s very open about her powers, citing them as something stable and strong that her people can rely on for protection. (Despite her training, though, they can still get out of control when her emotions are running too high.)

Es: Takes their responsibilities extremely seriously. Despite their people's doubts about them due to their age, Es becomes well loved for their complete dedication to their duty and attention toward everyone under their care. They do worry sometimes that they've built up too big of a royal court, having too many voices/opinions in their ear all the time. They use their powers sparingly, though they aren't afraid to give a show of force when deemed necessary.

#milgram #haruka sakurai #yuno kashiki #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #shidou kirisaki #mahiru shiina #kazui mukuhara #amane momose #mikoto kayano #john milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #es #thank you pal!! these were so fun :0 #my brain kept going to fantasy royalty stuff asdfsdf i wasnt sure how to make it specifically modern 🤔#they all could work really well...#headcanon time milgram

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