#Trails of Ash and Bone

[scrivnomancer]

Season's strangeness! For the holidays, I'll feature one of my writings a day. Consider TRAILS OF ASH AND BONE, a sourcebook for Vampire: The Masquerade. I write decadent necromancers in Florence and a spoiler-proof murder mystery.

[ovaryacted]

SECONDHAND SMOKE

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant f! reader || WC: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: Waiting for Logan back at the X-Mansion, he welcomes you into his arms and enjoys his cigar with you on his lap.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUTTY. Thigh Riding. Dirty Talk. Kissing. Scent Kink. Light Oral (f receiving). Established Relationship. Older! X-Men Logan implied. Age Gap Implied [Logan looks to be in his 40s, Reader is in their 20s]. Reader is a telepath & telekinetic mutant with a human appearance. Telepathic communication. Logan is a tease and a lover boy, he uses multiple terms of endearment. They match each other's freak.

A/N: I've been meaning to upload another Logan fic especially since watching the D&W movie on Friday, and I wanted to share this with y'all. This story is also technically part of a larger idea, but that will be talked about later. I have other things planned for Logan as well for X-Men Logan, old man Logan, and variant Logan. That man is not going to be safe on my watch. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and the motivation to keep writing for this man, and shout out to @zloshy for taking part in the aesthetics and the encouragement with the yap sessions. I adore you both. Anywho, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’ve been waiting for him all day while he was out with the rest of the leading group of X-Men, something regarding a history lesson that needed to be handled. You stayed at the mansion on Xavier’s orders, tending to the younger class of gifted mutants until the veterans arrived by nightfall. To keep yourself occupied, you perused the many books Logan kept on his shelf towards the far end of his bedroom, picking up a well-loved novel from Hemingway to delve into. 

Carefully turning the pages, the wording and storytelling entranced you, each paragraph manifesting into visions that played in your head like a live-action film. Half of your senses remained in the book while the other listened for the familiar creaks of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway.

You sensed him before you saw him. Halfway into the book, you lift your head at the sound of the door opening, spotting Logan standing by the threshold of the room’s entryway. Closing the door behind him, he steps towards where you sat on his bed, holding your chin upwards to face him. Bending forward, he placed a soft kiss on your lips, followed by a content sigh that made a smile creep up on your face.

“Hey,” you said, meeting Logan’s softened gaze as he moved away from you to the other side of the room, plopping down on the leather armchair in a heap. He exhaled heavily through his nose, throwing his head back along the edge of the chair. “Long day?”

“The fucking longest,” Logan grumbled, his brow bone creasing before he relaxed.

“I thought you liked hanging out with Scott?” you questioned, the end of your voice trailing off into a playful tease as you sat up on the mattress.

“Sweetheart, that man has a pretentious stick up his ass. You couldn’t pay me to spend time with him.” You laughed at his mild irritation, knowing Logan’s faux vexation towards his friend was a facade to cover his true feelings of fondness.

Reaching for a box of cigars to his right, Logan clipped the cap off a fresh one and popped it between his lips, holding it by his teeth. He glanced at you, the corner of his lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“Come here, you gotta light this for me.”

With a smile, you obliged, quickly rising on your feet and striding to where he sat in the chair, swinging your legs around to situate yourself over his denim-clad lap. Straightening your back, your eyes briefly flashed black as you materialized the metal lighter from its place on the bookshelf before Logan, flicking the spark wheel until the red flame brightened his chin. The foot end of the cigar sizzled as it burnt to ash, the familiar scent of finely aged tobacco filled your nose as he drew in his first breath.

“Sneaky.” He mumbled around the cigar, taking a harsh pull of air before curling his fingers to hold it, huffing the smoke out on the next exhale.

“I call it being efficient.” You grinned to yourself, accepting the reciprocated hum rumbling through Logan’s broad chest. Your fingers skimmed his collarbones that peeked through the white tank under his flannel, admiring the bob of his throat and the steady rise of his body whenever he breathed.

“What were you up to in here? Snooping through my shit?” His sight darted to the burgundy button-down you wore, ending right at the top of your bare thighs. He brought his free hand to caress your leg, running circles over your skin and feeling you shiver slightly under him. “I was looking for this shirt last week, you know?”

“First off, this was gifted to me,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, smacking Logan across the chest and forcing a dry chuckle out of him. “And secondly, I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying you missed me?”

“Surprisingly, I did.” You sneaked your other hand towards Logan’s neck, curling your fingers around the thick hair at his nape. He almost purred at the touch, smoking his cigar and looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Besides, it’s nice and quiet here. You also gave me permission to be here for your information.” 

Since dating Logan, it has been a slow start to accomplishing milestones for either of you, taking things one step at a time to avoid scaring the other off. Now that things have been good between you, he gave you free reign to be in his bedroom at the mansion, usually spending the day here for some solace or sleeping in his bed instead of yours on the other side of the estate. On a mental note, he intended to make your presence in his life more permanent.

“Damn, I forgot I gave you permission to take my stuff,” Logan quipped, somehow becoming more cocky than he usually was. You loved him for it either way.

Asshole. Although you didn’t verbally say the word, he heard your voice in his mind, taking the telepathic route. His smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigar, the smoke heavy in the air as it circled the two of you.

“All yours, darlin’.” He offered you a wink, squeezing your thigh with his other hand to keep you in place, seated on his thick thighs.

You spent a few minutes talking to him, giving him a rundown of your relatively calm day and mentioning the book you read earlier. It was oddly domestic, something that most mutants would not be able to partake in, and Logan silently thanked whoever granted him the opportunity to experience it.

A comfortable silence occupied the room once Logan was halfway down his cigar. Enjoying his company, you nuzzled into his neck, taking in his natural scent. A mix of pinewood and leather filled your senses, musky and so clearly him, your belly twitched at the warmth of his body against yours. Absentmindedly, you began to litter kisses over his skin, placing a few more along the base of his throat and moving upwards to the corner of his jaw. He could smell the shift in your behavior; arousal mixing in with the lingering haze heightened his senses, and his attention was directed back to you.

“Need something?” His voice dropped an octave as he asked you, running lines up and down your leg, the sensation making you squirm.

“Need you, smartass.” Holding his face, you kissed him on the cheek and once more on the tip of his nose, reaching his lips along the way. His eyes closed at the touch, wanting nothing more than to feel the caress of your tongue and sink his teeth into your bottom lip. 

“I want you too, but I’m on my smoke break.” You were ready to pout at him before Logan adjusted your positioning, shifting you more off to the side so your pelvis sat on one of his thighs. The thickness of the denim covering the hard muscle of his leg rubbed against your underwear, a moan settling in the back of your throat at the contact.

“Get yourself off while I finish this. Promise, it’ll be worth it, hun.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, knowing what he was asking for, yet your cheeks warmed under his stare. He merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow and patiently waiting for your next move.

Doubtfully, you pivoted your hips forward, dragging yourself across the vast expanse of his thigh before drawing backward. The first few passes felt strange, but you quickly found your rhythm, rocking your hips in even thrusts. The material of his jeans rubbed just right against your panties; the thin fabric that separated your body from his added more friction to your sensitive clit. Your lower spine grew warm with Logan’s free hand idly holding your waist, calmly guiding your movements over him until he was confident you got it handled.

Logan leans back into the chair and plants his feet on the floor, giving you more leverage to work with. His keen eyes take in the way you flutter yours shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration at getting the perfect angle and drive. He can hear your heart beating in your ribcage and can feel the pumping of your blood flowing through your veins to rush between your legs.

Muffled moans pour out of you, gripping the fabric of Logan’s shirt and tilting forward a bit more, digging your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. The secondhand smoke from his cigar amplified the incessant throbbing down South, a second pulse that pounded through your body with a need clawing at your gut. The motion of your hips grew more persistent as your slick seeped into your panties, known to Logan when his nostrils flared to catch your scent in the air.

“Feeling good, princess?” You heard his voice filtering through the light mess of your thoughts, focusing on making yourself feel good under his orders. You hummed against his neck, nodding and keeping your even pacing as you leaned into his muscular body.

“Yeah, I know it’s good. Bet your pussy is just crying for me now, probably tastes just as sweet too.” Logan’s vulgar mouth only motivated you to grind your hips harder against his leg, reminiscent of a bitch in heat the more you moved over him.

There was something erotic about getting yourself off while Logan observed and enjoyed his smoke. To him, you were quality entertainment, a sight for sore eyes after a hectic day full of learning things he was trying to retain. Your mind grew clouded, full of the many ways Logan handled you, things like this that kept you on your toes the way he knew how. Flashbacks of this morning flickered before your eyes, reminiscing the feel of his tongue slipping inside you and his bicep tucked under your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Logan could picture it too, traces of your daydreams passing by in his head, instances where he made you feel so good you had nothing left to give. He wonders how wet you are, could taste your cunt on the back of his tongue, missing it since he left you with a weary grin on your face as you slept in his bed. He hopes you stained the worn denim that separated the two of you and prays that you leave your mark on him, no matter how temporary.

“Getting close?” he asked. He didn’t hear you respond, but your voice remained floating in the confines of his skull.

Yes. Fuck yes. So close. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please.

“I will sugar, promise I will.” His hand ran up the curve of your spine and gently curled around your neck, pulling you backward to hold his gaze. Your glossed-over pupils dilated at the sight of him, irises darkening and filling with ink. The embodiment of your powers made him curious at first, with blackened eyes at the indication of specific actions, but he quickly got used to seeing the signs every time he made you fall over the edge.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Make a mess on my jeans, and I swear I’ll treat your pussy the way she deserves, the way she needs. Let me feel it.”

Logan. Logan. Logan.

“Fuuuck…” You whined under your breath, doing three more harsh passes over his thigh before your body abruptly tensed, legs shaking and pressing into his hard body as the wave slammed over you. Mind clear and body lax, you hummed against Logan’s throat, pulse thumping against your lips as you placed a light kiss.

He took one last pull of his cigar before smudging it into the ashtray on the end table to his left, ideally saving whatever was left of it for after he fucks you. Wrapping his thick arms around you, he brings you closer to him, pulling your hips over his to hover over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Need something?” you taunted, parroting his earlier words with equal tone and sarcasm.

“Yeah. Need to clean up the mess you made.”

Crashing into your lips, he kissed you deeply for the first time that night, curling his tongue around yours in affectionate swirls and releasing an audible groan. Holding you close, he stood up on his feet and picked you up with ease, strolling towards the bed in three strides. Lighthearted giggles tumbled out of you, making Logan’s heart beat in tandem with yours. The sides of his face creased as he mimicked your smile, tugging hastily at your sodden underwear and tossing them to the side. Rough fingers curled around the soft flesh of your thigh, parting your legs to admire his handiwork as he heard your voice in his head again.

Greedy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” As if to prove your point, he licked a broad stripe up the length of your cunt, your wetness coating his tongue as he placed a complimentary kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, re-igniting the fire he started.

 “Now be good and let your old man have a taste.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[grugruel]

Big Iron

Pairings:

bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: She's escaped a robbery, and bounty hunters have been sent out after her. They'd made no problem so far– that said, the notorious Arthur Morgan set upon her trail.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Arthur Morgan, pinv sex, rough sex, soft sex ish, lap/bulge-riding, praise, petnames (girl, sweetheart, ma'am), creampie, overstimulation.

AN: 3rd person pov, trying it out. Not yet proofread!

A campfire blazed in the night, casting a warm glow over the small, temporary hideout.

Smoldering flakes of ash rose skyward in tired swirls, and the woman's face lit up, sizzling embers of spent coal entrancing her.

The fires of a bright building shouldered It's way into her mind, stealing precious space from all else.

Money was all she had needed. But the simple, well practiced heist escalated. Attempted arson had suddenly been added to her list of offences, robbery another one among them. Which she could admit to, and proudly so.

Trees around her rustled, and she leaned back against the rockwall. An overhanging cliff sheltering her.

Guard lowered, at last. She let herself slide down the wall until she felt the ground beneath her thighs. Then dove deeper into the memory.

But the fire. . . Now the fire was not her fault.

Not only was the law after her, but they'd also sent out money hungry bounty hunters aswell. She'd already tied two of them down yesterday, big brutish men they were. All muscle and no brains. Still, they proved to be quite the nuisance. But they wouldn't be a problem anymore unless they died of starvation, which would indeed be u fortunate.

She gritted her teeth at the memory, her eyes interanally. She doubted it, seeing as they were curently tied to the fence of the sheriff's office.

Which left only one real threat.

One man, one singular man; a notorious outlaw himself. He was the sheriff's most resent hire. Big, deadly, tall and muscled. From long days of hard work killing and robbing she imagined.

She'd actually seen him in person once, and she could admit, he looked dangerous, and devilishly handsome. The rumors had been right about that, she was only hoping that his volatile reputation along with the Van Der Lind gang's would turn out to be folly.

She shivered at the thought, shaking her to the very bones. If it were from the thought of him or the cool of the night, she did not know. She closed her arms around herself, stroking them for warmth as she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away, her gaze snapping to the treeline beyond.

Back to reality, and suddenly accutely aware of the black darkness that lingered between the thick stems beyond. Her vision was good, and she was quite hidden after all. No one would be sneaking up on her.

"Ma'am."

From the shadows, a man appeared at the edge of the campfires domain, vaguely illuminated by its warmth. Broad and tall in frame, the deep night clung to his back. His sudden prescence was the only evidence of his arrival, he'd made no sound nor been seen before he'd needed to be.

Her eyes snapped in his direction, widening with recognition, the eerie sense divulged itself to her body. Like poison, it spread quickly, crawling into every blood vessel and turning them ice-cold along its journey.

"Mister," she greeted, doing her damndest to stay calm.

His hat covered his eyes, but the smile he dealt was unmistakable. 'There's quite the bounty on you, girl.' The drawl of his accent sunk into her skin like the warmth of the fire.

"There's no doubtin' that," she nodded in admittal, slowly moving away from him, "Although im only worth half of it, I assure you."

She moved slowly, eyes meeting his as they poked out beneath his hat. He tilted his head to face hers, regarding her silently. Eyes flickering over her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and how her blouse revealed the hills of her chest. ". . . 'S that so?. . ." He took a step closer, the rope in his hands now excruciatingly evident to her.

She got to her feet in one swift motion, hesitantly gesturing for him to stay calm. "Mister, I'm not a murderer. The sheriff framed me." She took a few steps to the left, placing the fire between them.

The man chuckled. "I belive ya' ma'am." His hands pulled on the lasso, adjusting its length. Gripping it roughly from time to time, trigger fingers readying themselves for any sudden movement. "But the law can be a crooked thing sometimes." His eyes narrowed in on her, then shrugged nonchalantly. "But, a bounty 's still a bounty girl."

The birds sang above them, and the world blurred around her, her knees suddenly weak. Unfortunately for her, he would be there to catch her in a sense too literal for her liking.

"And I can say the same for myself ma'am, I'm a bad man. . ." His voice imposed, yet, the gravely tone vibrated perfectly well in her ears.

Gulping her nervousity, she assessed her options. . . And then ran.

Trees rushed past in peripheral whirls as she made her way along the cliff wall. Rope flexed behind her, threads wringing against eachother as it was swung and thrown with a woosh.

The air caressed her cheeks, pulling tears from her eyes and whistling in her ears. She gave it all she had, but it wasn't enough to stop the lasso from capturing her with deadly accuracy. It fell over her shoulders and tightened around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

The rope pulled taunt–and the world stopped moving for a short second, with a yank, her body whipped forward, and her feet was swept from under her–then, just as suddenly, it sped up again.

Like a tree cut down for its timber, she fell. The ground rushed up to greet her face as she stumbled to the ground with a hard thud. She panted, smelling the earth and feeling the wet grass tickle her face as she struggled against her entanglement; wriggling and thrashing like a stranded fish.

Well-used leather chaps groaned behind her as he stalked closer, winding the rope up with friction she was sure could start a fire, her stumache churned the thought.

The woman rolled onto her back to get a better layout of the situation–and there he stood. Just by her feet, he loomed over her. With his back to the fire, it cast a back-lit glow around him, framing the big man as he filled her sight. Fear and desire fought for the helm, conflicting her mind terribly.

He crouched down, bending over her as he circled the rope around her waist, foirtyfying her restraints and securing his valuable bounty tightly.

He grabbed the lasso and pulled her up diagonally. It pinched her midriff painfully and pulled her body flush against his, just so he could level her head with his. ". . . And I've done bad things," he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. A dull pulse appeared where there ought to be no pulse. She screwed her eyes shut, and lust for this man was the last thing she should be feeling. But oh. . . How his breath raised goosebumps and spread like a wildfire over her skin.

He straightened his legs and stood back, pulling her with him while keeping their bodies close together.

Her breath fanned over his lips as they stood a mere inch apart, one bound and the other free. A smirk made its way onto his lips, his hands sliding along the tied rope around her abdomen until they were at her waist. And in one strong motion–he threw her over his shoulder.

She yelped in surprise. "You brute!" Kicking wildy in hopes of getting free. But one of his arms circled around her legs and gripped the back of her thigh to keep them still, while he laid the other on the small of her back to stop her from falling. "You keep your hands to yourself Mister!" She shouted, struggling against his bullish strength.

"Yes, ma'am." He assured as he began walking, not paying her futile thrashing much mind. "That's not the kind of bad man I am."

She cleared her throat and huffed, expecting more of a reaction. She didn't quite know what to do in this situation, she hadn't planned this far ahead. She didn't think she'd ever be properly cought. "Well, good," she said curtly, calming herself.

Being a nuisance and making this whole situation worse would be a bad idea, and she hadn't made any progress thus far, seeing as his grip was solid steel. So she'd have to settle her mind with the feeling of his strong back beneath her instead. In fact, she was reveling in the feeling of his hand on her thigh.

He stomped out the campfire before moving to where he'd hidden his horse. "Sittin' or layin'?" He asked, being nice enough to hand her to option of sharing his saddle or to be stored over his horses ass.

She huffed, "what a gentleman. Take a guess Mister," she muttered.

He nodded, "Sittin' with me it is." His hands moved to her waist, and easily transfered her from his shoulder and onto the saddle. She scoffed for the sake of scoffing, eyes narrowing as she looked down on him, and if it had the power to, her look could certainly have killed him. "Quite presumtions of you."

With a low chuckle and a shake of his head, he gripped the saddle before climbing on. Placing his hands on either side of it, one hand on the pommel and the other on the cantel. Which just so happened to be between her thighs, and just behind her ass. Almost grazing her on both sides as he braced himself against the saddle, eyes meeting hers with a satisfied smirk, "Much more attitude from ya' girl and I'll have to take meassures."

Shock sprung itself on her, feeling dizzy all over again. The knuckle of his thumb was an inch away from brushing against her cunt. Her eyes widened at the fact, and the implications his words carried. Her loins burned, but she simply cleared her throat and neutralised her expression, "Id like to see you try." And faced away from him, turning her nose upward.

He climbed onto the horse, placing himself close intil her back and leaned over her shoulder. "I will if you'd let me, respectfully, ma'am," he whispered in her ear and then spurred his horse. Shivers shook her at that, her entire body vibrating with a dull sense of need.

They rode silently for a long while, and she wanted to sass him, she wanted it terribly. But was both afraid and hoping he'd take action, just as he'd stated.

The miles wound on, oh it felt never ending. Especially with the man behind her, rutting his hips against her with every step of the horse. He was a blessing against the cold, but pure torture as his heat soaked into all the wrong spots of her body.

Finally, it came time to rest. They'd ridden nonstop from the early morning of her capture to the next night. If that weren't enough, a heatwave had been raging for the entirety of the day as well, and the setting of the sun had barely made a difference.

He set her on the ground, binding her feet and hands before starting on the camp. Making quick work of the fire and tent as she sat down on a rock, silently watching the man work, and very much enjoying the show.

His skin was slick with sweat, much like herself. The cool light of the moon and the warmth of the fire made him glisten in every sense of the word, and oh, the way he toiled away.

He'd removed his vest and chaps as he got to work, respectively rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, which now stuck to his skin. A nuisance for him to be sure, but a dream for her, she could practically see the muscles of his chest rippling.

A drop of sweat trickled down her temple, tickling her skin and drawing focus away from the view. Her eyes widened as she realised how she stared at the stranger and shook her head, attempting to clear it.

Goodness, focus. She needed to hatch a plan.

Running would do her no good, he would be too fast. He wouldn't accept bribes either and was very hard to persuade. No attempts had been successful so far.

At that thought, unavoidably, abashedly her eyes snapped back to him as he pulled his shirt off and reached for a new one in his saddlebag. She clenched her jaw to keep it from falling, his strong chest was adorned by hair, trailing down his abdomen and disappearing under, the waist of his pants.

She swallowed. In that exact moment, she wanted nothing more than to see where that trail ended.

Her jaw began aching, she fought to tear her eyes away from him. Managing to direct her gaze to the ground instead, a d impatiently waited for him to put a fresh shirt on.

After a short while, she dared look up again. He'd pulled a log to opposite side of the fire and sat down, a cigarette had been placed between his lips, and was currently being inhaled with fervor. Tilting his head back, he released the cloud of smoke with a sigh.

Her eyes followed his movements intently, studying them as she hoped that perhaps he'd notice her and offer one–

"Want one, girl?" He nodded toward her, gesturing with the match box.

"I do, yes," she answered expectantly, holding her hands out for him to untie.

But to her surprise, he scoffed, then stod and walked around the fire. He crouched onto one knee in front of her, his arm bracing on top of the other. "You'll have to do better than that," he said.

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and offered it to her, holding it an inch from her mouth. She hesitated, observing him with disdain. "Go on," he nodded.

Reluctantly, she followed his orders, but met his eyes to make sure he knew how unhappy she was about it, and then leaned in.

Closing her lips around the cigarette, she could feel the dampness where his own lips had been moments before, and sucked the toxic smoke into her lungs, as if it were air.

She swore she saw something glint in his eyes, studying her pouting lips. And a plan struck her suddenly, but–

"Good girl," he hummed.

Again, shock gripped her. The praise rose right to her head, sending waves of heat cascading through her body. Then she coughed, the smoke settling wrong in her airways. She pulled back, letting him retrieve his cigarette while she worked to regain her composure. "You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a grin and patted her back before replacing the cig between his lips.

"Just fine, mister," she hissed, still reeling. "You got anything stronger? Whiskey, bourbon?"

He nodded and pulled out an old bottle of bourbon from his bag, "Could you?" She held her hands out to him again.

He studied her, stroking his stubbled jaw in thought. "Got somethin' for me, then?"

Insinuations led her down a path of filthy thoughts, but she instead opted for a simple, "Please?" Instead, attempting it cheapishly.

His hands slipped down to his hip, pulling the knife from its hilt. "That's more like it," he mumbeled with his cigarette clad lips.

And cut the rope around her hands and feet, stopping at the rope around her waist and met her eyes. "Try anythin'. . ." He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a mocking tone. ". . . Run, hurt me, trick me." His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lip tugging. "And there'll be a steep price to be paid."

Swallowing, she nodded enthusiastically, "I just wan't a sliver of freedom before im locked up, you could understand that."

He nodded. "S'pose so. . ." And began untying. "The difference is, girl–" The lasso loosened and slid down her sides. "–that I'd never get caught." He gathered it and pulled it over her body, his fingers accidentally brushing against her hips, the sides of her breasts.

Her breath hitched, and their eyes met. Her skin tingled desperately as fluttering wingbeats set off in her stumache. Such a small thing, building into such a big reaction.

He cleared his throat, handing her the bottle as he threw the rope into the fire and put the lasso bag in his saddlebag. Finally replacing himself on another log, not as far away from her this time. He leaned back against the tree behind it and spread his legs wide. His bulge was enough to make her salivate. "It's not easy, you know, for a woman like me, when there's men like you, Mr Morgan."

Arthur quriked an eyebrow in question. "You know me?"

"I know of you," she corrected, taking a big swig of the fluid, then handed it back to him for him to do the same.

He nodded silently, a sigh escaping under his breath. "All bad I hope." He took another swallow, not to bothered by her statement. Probably used to hearing it by now.

She shook her head, taking the bottle and another gulp. "Many of the ladies say you're handsome."

At this, he looked up at her, chuckling. "Well, I don't know 'bout that."

"It's true. . ." Antoher sip, followed by a hiccup. "They say you can be quite the gentleman too."

His eyes bore into hers, his tone serious but expression joking as he humored her. "Depends on the lady." He reached for the bottle, and she stood up to give it to him. Walking closer, she handed it over, fingers brushing against each other in the motion.

His eyes met hers, and she brushed her hand under his chin. "You know what else they say, Mr Morgan?"

"No . . . What do they say about me, sweetheart?" A smirk made its way onto his lips. The liquor seamingly starting to affect the pair of them.

"That you're good in bed. . ." he stepped between his thighs, her hand falling from his chin to his neck, scratching at the nape gently.

He hummed appreciatively, then took another sip of the bourbon and set the bottle aside. His hands reached for her, coming to a rest on either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to him, squeezing them at his pleasure. "They're only rumours girl." He tilted his head backward, resting it against the tree to get a better look at her, eyes fastening on her lips.

With her other hand, she hiked her skirt up, revealing her thighs as she stepped over his legs. One at a time, then slowly sank down on his lap, while his hands automatically slid to her hips.

She placed herself on top of his bulge. He grunted from the pressure. The pulse within her began strumming at her nerves, turning them jittery.

"See, I doubt that, Mr Morgan." She whispered. "Women do not lie to eachother of such things." His bulge beneath her grew harder, luring a hidden smile from her. It took strength to will it from her lips and only reach her eyes. "They say you're rough, or gentle. Dependin' on your mood." As she said that, she could've sworn she detected the faintest red creep up his cheeks. Arthur Morgan, blushing? Now, she couldnt help herself and the smile reached her lips.

The man cleared his throat, acting as if it had never happened. "That's told of me in everythin' I do." He smirked, the grip on her hips hardening, knuckles turning white.

"But you're always sweet 'n caring." She continued, her own words were building the lust within her, making the pulse ever stronger. It grew harder to focus. She needed to release some of the pressure building inside her. Evaluating the consequences, and deaming them minor in conparison to her needs, she rocked her hips downward–grinding into his bulge.

Simultaneously, she whimpered and he hissed. She leaned against him, her lips brushing against his ear as shenuzzled his cheek. "Apparently, It's also true what they say 'bout ridin' cowboys-"

"Girl," he interrupted with a chuckle. "Dont think I dont know what you're doin'. . ." He breathed. "Seducin' me." With the tight grip on her hips, he rocked her hips against him, the rough fabric of his pants grinding against her core.

With a gasp, one of her hands shot out to burry itself in his hair. She leaned into him, the other hand grabbing his shirt for support as she rested her head against his shoulder. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, returning the gesture and muttered. "You use your sweet talkin', then get me drunk 'n run off, that your plan?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, hips grinding down harder, her ruts becoming more frantic, needy. She screwed her eyes shut from the copious amounts of pleasure washing over her. All she could do to answer him was hum in admittal as she strained hard to focus.

He chuckled. "Easy girl. . ." His voice commanding, low and raspy as he slowed her hips, but keeps the pace hard. "Use your words." He ordered, loving the way she fell apart for him.

She nodded hastily, hoping it'd be enough satisfy his request. But he pinched her hip through the fabric of her skirt, and her eyebrows furrowed in pain. However, not having the energy to even make a sound. Her thoughts were a blur, she couldn't tell what to keep hidden anymore. "Yes– yes. . ." She moaned, the coil inside her tightening impossibly hard.

"Thought so," he breathed, the words curt on his tongue, but lust evident in his voice. Suddenly, his hands left her hips, snd one arm snaked around her waist, his hand placing itself at the small of her back to push her against him.

Then he stood, drawing a whine from her. She did not quite understand what was going on as the loss of movement gradually undid all the progress she'd made. "Mr Morgan?" She inquired, hesitantly wrapping her legs around his hips.

He walked them toward the tent. "Arthur," he corrected, carrying her with ease. Pushing the tent flap to the side, he kneeled, bending over her as he placed her on the ground.

"Arthur," she smiled, worry seeping out of her as she realised he was making them more comfortable.

His knees slid apart, hooking her legs upon them as they spread. Her hands shot up in response, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt to pull him closer, close enough for his lips to hover over hers. Their eyes met. "Please. . ." She whimpered, one hand sliding downward. ". . .Please." She said again, fingertips trailing down his abdomen, suddenly grabbing hold of his bulge with a firm hand, his member rock hard. "Outlaw or gentleman?" She asked, smiling a wicked smile.

A grutn escaped him while his lips brushed over hers. "Neither." And grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from his crotch and catching the other in the same motion. His free hand reached over her head, and the hauntingly familiar groaning of strong rope sounded above her. She shook her head, "Arthur, please. . ." Panic moved into her voice, the repeated words carrying a completely different meaning this time.

He held both wrists with one hand and tied them together with the other, the rope stinging her skin. She cried out unhappily.

But he chuckled, in a matter of factly kind of way. Stroking the burn gently as ge corrected her, "Should've behaved." And when done, he sat back. Observing her as she laid tied up, legs spread in front of him, and circled around his hips. Much to his dismay, he wouldn't be enjoying the sight as much as he wanted to. "It's late."

"Arthur. . ." She pleads, attempting to appeal to him, one last time.

He turns his head just enough to see her in his peripheral. "Get some sleep. You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." He flashed his eyebrows smugly. "Night, sweetheart." Then exited the tent without another word.

She huffed, unbelievable.

Sweetheart. . . But how could she be annoyed when he called her such a thing. She dreamed herself away, with imagines of a shirtless Arthur Morgan and the feeling of him inside her. But she'd not given up, make no mistake, he would fall asleep and she would leave. . .

The night carried on and the temperature finally began dropping, a shiver shook her pleasantly. It was a welcome change. Her body strained as she raised her neck to get a look of the outside. Through the flap she saw Arthur, sitting, snoring, hat covering his face as he leaned back against the tree he'd previously been sitting on.

Now, she needed to get rid of her restraints. Rolling over, she crawled toward the opening, her eyes never leaving Mr Morgans sheathed knife.

The fire had been reduced to embers at this point. Crackling and sizzling lowly as the cool moisture in the air riddled the grass with dewdrops, dampening her hands and skirt as she approached her goal. She sat on her knees, then moved to grab the knife carefully, gnelty sliding it out. The sound of it unlatching nearly had her yelp.

No movement in Arthur.

Shallow breaths, she exhales. Relief flooding through her begoee she began working the knife against her entangled wrists with her fingertips. Carefully regarding the vicious man for any signs of waking. But her thoughts slid, perhaps, if he caught her, he would be kind. Or would he be angry? She could truly not decide werther which reaction she'd most prefer–

The rope snapped, and exhilaration filled her. Gaze snapping between her free hands and the hunter, imagining her prospects. She stood quietly, holding her skirt tightly around her to keep the fabrics from rustling. Slowly, knife still in hand, she backed away. On careful tiptoed steps she faded into the night, the fire dwindling in the distance.

The darkness made it hard for her to see much of anything, at its height the tree-crowns silhouette were visible against the blue summer sky. Branches moved, leaves swished in the gentle wind. She grew paranoid, head snapping in every direction, reacting to every little noise around–

A branch broke behind her, she jumped, turning around so fast she almost ripped– a Buck. She froze, a god damned buck? She had expected it ro be Arthur, but she seemed to have ogtten the better of him. The animal looked at her, ears twitching as it chewed on grass– suddenly hopping away. She sighed and turned back.

Only to collide with something hard. Her thoughts raced, she knew, she knew. She looked up, eyes tracing along his body until they met his, half hidden under his hat. Reflexes prepared her to run, but before she had as much as taken a step back, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him. Again, she thumped into his strong chest. Held against him with the familiar iron grip, she fought, as usual; but to no avail, as usual. He snaked an arm around her waist to hinder her from breaking free, yet she kicked and punched violently with her free limbs. But it made no dent in the man. He couldn't even spare her a reaction as he half carried, half dragged her back into the low light of the burnt out fire. He spun her around and pushed her up against the cliff wall, grabbing the wrist closest to him and pinning it above her head. 'I warned you, girl.' He snarled, the look in his eyes doing just as good a of job pinning her to the wall as his hands. He reaches for the second–

When something sharp digs into the soft flesh of his throat, he froze. His chest was the only thing moving between the two of them, heaving breaths of annoyance.

'Thrid times the charm.' She smirked.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, 'That so?' His voice mocking, and before she could comprehend what had happened, he'd captured both wrists with one hand and slammed them above her head and into the wall. And the knife had appeared in his free hand, she noticed this because it was now held against her own throat. 'Repeat that for me girl.'

Her lips struck a thin line as she attempted a neutral expression, although fuming on the inside. She shrugged her shoulders, 'No.' Was all she said, but stubborn in tone.

He nodded, looking her up and down, studying the buttons on her blouse. 'Ought to teach you a lesson sweetheart.'

She cleared her throat, deciding that to act nonchalant was her best option. 'Yeah? What ya' gunna do, huh? Ravage me?' She asked half joking, but still hoping there'd be some truth to it.

At this, the corner of his mouth turned up, a wicked grin developing on his lips. 'I just might.' He breathed, tracing the tip of the knife downward, along her collarbone and then along the front of her blouse, coming to a stop at the first button. She gulped, feeling the knife poke through the thin fabric against her chest, making goosebumps run amock in reaction and the pulse reheating in her core. He leaned forward, pushing his body against hers until there was no room left between them, his head hovering just above the crook of her neck. 'May I do with you as I please?'

This was it, the sweet balance between a hardened outlaw and a tender gentleman. 'Yes– yes, Arthur please.' Her voice near a cry, it took everything in her to control her tone–

Her blouse ripped, from top to bottom he cut it open, and she wasn't wearing a brasier. Her chest laid bare before him, and he groaned happily at the sight.

With her go-ahead he wasted no time, he let go of her hands and cut her skirt too. Cutting a slit as far as he reached with the knife then threw it to the side, and the tore the rest. She gasped, every nerve in her body on edge. In an instant, his lips were upon hers. Hungry, hungry lips devouvered her as hands roamed her body, groping and grabbing wherever they got purchase. Her own hands greedily searching for a steady hold in his hair, she grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He moaned at the feeling, such a beautiful sound. His hands slid over her breasts, squeezing them, then pushed the remains of her blouse off of her shoulders.

Except for her undergarments, she stood completley exposed for him. She could practically feel him salivating when he cupped her clothed mound, and finding her clit with expertise and rub it through the fabric.

She tore herself free from his kisses, she had to breathe. A deep gasp brought oxygen to ger lungs once again, allowing her to whimperand moan in equal measure as he worked her clit. The pressure made her knees week, she wriggled, attempting to rut against his hand. But she was too unsteady to make progress. Noticing her difficulties, his other hand slid behind her back and held her steady. Allowing her to chase her pleasure. And left with no lips to kiss, he latched onto her neck instead, to suck at her sweet spot.

She hummed appreciatively, unable to keep a big smile from her lips as pulses of pleasure washed through her. She slid her hands from his hair and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers along his strong chest and abdomen, gingerly feeling all of him as her hands worked themselves lower. Finally unbuttoning his pants. She did no longer have to wonder were his happy trail dissapeared too, she bit her lip. He was huge. She stuck her hand into his pants and stroked him eagerly. 'Need ya' Arthur, please.' She panted.

He let out a strained grunt against her shoulder, and his hand left her clit. She whined, but didn't have to stay displeased for long.

Both his hands slid down her sides, and she tried to breathe steadily, but it proved hard. The feeling of his calloused hands on her skin was too heavenly. Suddenly, he lifted her. Pinning her against the cliff wall with his arms and the weight of his body, allowing her to wrap her arms and legs around him. She hadn't known, but he had wordlessly obided her request. He pulled her garments to the side, and line himself up with her entrance. 'Sure about this?' He asked, a final reassurance.

'Yes.' She purred, no hesitation in her answer.

And so he pushed inside her, the sheer size of him was making her want to scream–

'Good girl.' He moaned, and directed his eyes to hers. She repressed a moan, biting her lip hard to hinder it as heat flashed through her. It was two words, yet she could've come undone from them alone, when said by him alone.

He gazed upon her softly, one of his hands left her thigh to gently stroke a strand of hair from her face. She smiled, and so did he. He was just giving her time to adjust, but her heart soared at the simple gesture.

God how could she feel so strongly for a stranger?

Her hands retangled in his hair as Arthur slid out of her, she furrowed her brows– but in a rough, quick thrust. He shoved himself back inside of her, filling her to the brim. He set a cruelly pleasurable, unrelenting pace. Any trace of gentleness gone.

She felt the pressure tightening within her, building snd building until she was on the verge of coming once again. Her hands sunk to his back, clawing and scratching because she did not know what else to do, he was too much, too good, too big. He overstimulated her with his mere prescence. And he knew when her walls tightened around him, adding extra pressure onto his already throbbing member. 'You close girl?' He grunted, his gruff voice breathed against her ear and his hand squeezing her thigh roughly beneath her. God it was sublime.

'Mhm. . . So- close.' She murmurs, her words coming out jagged as her body rocks with Arthurs thrusts. Pushed closer to her release with each thrust, once again, she shut her eyes and spots speckled her eyelids. Breathing turns frantic, she could no longer tell who was who as they mixed, moans and curses spilling from them both.

With a flash of pleasure, searing hot it soured through her, making her whimper uncontrollably. His thrusts slow, holding her securely, caressing her face and kissing her lips as she rides out her high. 'You're alright girl.' He breathes reassuringly, 'Well done Sweetheart.'

Overstimulated tears roll from her eyes, 'Oh Arthur, you sweet, sweet man.' She sighs happily, and he comes a mere second later. His seed filling her and oozing out.

They'd clean themselves tomorrow, since tiredness plagued them currently. He backed away from the wall and she clung to him, desperatley not wanting to part with him.

He carried her back to the tent, this time not bothering to tie her up as they laid down facing eachother. Arthur, grabbed her chin between his index and forefinger. Studying her thuroughly before they finally succumbed to sleep. She could escape if she wanted to, he wouldn't stop her this time. Her plan had worked, they both knew it. But they felt something else too, and they both knew it.

Hooded eyes blinked, blushing at Arthurs intent eyes and searching gaze. Her eyelids weighed down by exhaustion, It'd been a long few days, and before she knew it–

The light dawns, rays of dusty sunlight shone through the flap of their tent as the morning wakes. Bringing warmer tempratures and calm birdsong.

He opens his eyes, and immediately meet hers. She'd just been admiring him. 'Surprised?' She asked, biting her lip and stopping herself from reaching out to touch him.

He smiles, 'Naw, I was hopin' I'd wake up to you girl.'

[revasserium]

A request for the prompt "Stolen kisses" + Zayne!! Thank you so much :D

also I love your writing SOO much <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

49. stolen kisses

zayne; 1,720 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, but still very saucy, zayne is hornee 24/7 and hes not afraid to show it

summary: 3 kisses, some stolen, others willingly given

a/n: i believe in my heart of hearts that zayne is barely keeping it together around the mc

one. After dinner, when the pair of you are cleaning up and your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into him as he presses a kiss to your neck before trailing his lips up to your cheek. Your laughter rings through the kitchen, folding around the pair of you like wings. His smile is soft, is radiant, is tender and absolute as he pulls back to regard you with his searching eyes.

“Good dinner?” he asks.

“The best,” you answer, grinning as you trail a finger along his jaw to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Good…” he breathes the word against your cheek, leaning in, the ends of his bangs tickling the skin of your face. You make to pull back, but his arms loop tighter around your waist, pressing you close, holding you against the solid cool of the marble countertop.

“But we haven’t yet had dessert.”

Heat flushes up your neck and up, up, up till you can feel your face burning, as you blink up at him from beneath your lashes, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t know we had dessert planned on the menu.”

His grin goes sideways, his eyes taking on a darker, more dangerous light.

“It’s not always planned but…” his voice trails off as a tingling shiver races up your spine, “It is always… considered.”

And then, he leans in to kiss you — and he kisses you with a hunger that has nothing to do with the scrumptious meal you’ve just shared and everything to do with the pulsing heat coalescing between your bodies as he lifts you up onto the counter.

He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for all other tastes but him; he kisses you as if he’s already been ruined by the taste of you.

two. It is unprofessional; you know — and so does he — to do this here, with your back pressed against the wood of his office door, his white coat slipping off his shoulders, his glasses nearly knocked askance by the force of this kiss.

You’d always known that just beneath his smooth, tempered glass facade is the kind of roiling heat that makes up the heart of the earth, the kind of passion that licked at the mouths of volcanoes and rends the sky into nothing but a devastation of ashes.

But here, now, the only rending is his fingers pressing into the dip of your waist, the only devastation his tongue as it traces along the inside of your teeth. You hear yourself make a low, wanton noise and feel him react, his fingers tightening impossibly, his mouth ever and ever more demanding.

“Z-Zayne… we —” but the words die on your lips as he drops his to the bare skin of your neck. You can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your mouth, nor the sudden flash of memory — crystal clear and sharp, as if carved from ice — of the night before, when he had sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder and twisted your hair with trembling fists. It had been pain and impossible, improbable passion. All urge and fire, desperation and need.

“Shhh…” Zayne murmurs against your skin, groaning softly as he finds your lips with his own again. And you are helpless all over again. Weak against the burning need of his embrace.

A soft knock shocks both of you from the frenzied passion soaking through your bones, threatening to blot out your good sense entirely. You pull apart, gasping. From the other side of the door comes the muffled voice of a nurse -

“Dr. Zayne? Your next patient is here. Shall I let him in?”

Zayne hisses out another breath before pulling away.

“Yes, just give me five minutes - finishing a report.”

You can't help the amused grin that tugs across your lips as the both of you make to tidy the slight mess you've made.

“So… I'm a report now, am I?”

But Zayne only regards you with a light, challenging look, quirking his brows.

“No.”

You blink, confused. Then Zayne smiles.

“We’re nowhere near finished.”

A fresh wave of heat crests up into your cheeks as you purse your lips, casting your eyes anywhere but Zayne's pleased face.

“Unprofessional,” you accuse, through the word lacks any vehemence, marred by the extensive blush still coloring your cheeks.

Zayne straightens his impeccably pressed white doctor's coat before taking three swift steps into your space, his chest nearly pushing against yours. He reaches out to tilt your chin up towards him and you feel a hitched breath caught like an insect in amber, suspended perfectly between your lungs and your throat.

Slowly, Zayne draws his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip. You feel his breath fanning across it like a wave of summer heat, found at the heart of winter itself.

“Only in front of you.”

He pulls away just as another gentle knock comes at the door, the nurse's voice announcing the arrival of Zayne's next patient. Zayne casts you one last lingering, meaningful look before gently nudging you aside to pull open the door, the vision of a young and promising doctor as he greets his patient with a small smile, the other hand guiding you towards the opened door.

"Don't forget to take your supplements,” he chides in a voice just gentle enough to inform polite company of his fondness for you, but nothing in it would hint at the indiscretions that had been committed only minutes prior.

"Okay,” you say, ducking your head as you brush by the middle- aged man blinking at the pair of you.

"And… see you at home.”

You only manage a nod and a squeak as the nurse chuckles behind her hand and the middle- aged man makes a soft noise of understanding.

three. You are both eighteen, and teetering on the edge of adulthood — though he’s already well on his way to stardom.

“Congrats — on the Starcatcher Award —“ you feel your throat catch around the words, and suddenly, your mouth is dry, your cheeks hot, your fingers twisting behind your back as you rock on the balls of your feet.

Zayne watches you, his expression thoughtfully blank, but his eyes — they’ve always been his tell. You meet them and search them and feel the fire caught behind them. His Evol might be ice, but… his soul has always been something that burns.

“Thanks,” he says, and you can almost taste the unsaid words bubbling just at the back of his throat. You wish he would tell you, but there’s a depthless chasm cut into the air between the pair of you, rough and jagged and —

“Do you know what I received the award for?”

You blink, startled. You purse your lips, looking away. It’d been too painful, too much to look into it, the knowledge of his brilliance always nipping at your heels like an unruly dog. It had pushed you forward, yes, but only out of the fear that if you let up even one single step, he’d race too far ahead and… leave you behind.

“N-no — I haven’t —“

“For my research on congenital heart defects in infants.”

The world slows, tunnels, and tilts around you. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and there — you see it, the blistering heart of all his so-called fire — and you remember suddenly that if it’s cold enough, the body starts to process the sensation as heat. That ice and fire are not so different.

That ice can also burn.

You find your own hands clutched just above where your heart beats inside your chest and you see his eyes flicker down towards them.

“Zayne —“

“I start work at a clinic next week.”

A frown creases at your temple.

“Our first appointment is on Tuesday.”

Your frown deepens.

“What do you —“

“To qualify for the Hunter Program, you need a medical verification of fitness. And… a primary care physician.”

At these last words, his eyes finally cut away. And here, in the dying light of his brand new living room, the sunset turns his glasses opaque for just a second. You’re left blinking in the aftermath of that light, the afterimages will be stained behind your eyelids for hours after — just that look, the firm line of his shoulders, the determined set of his mouth, his jaw, the softness in his fingers as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against the bend of your cheek.

“L-Lying on reports would be a medical malpractice suit waiting to happen,” you say, your voice shaking with either delirium or emotion, you’re not sure which.

Zayne quirks an eyebrow, “I have no plans on lying.”

“But —“ your fingers clench at your chest.

“I’m just… confident in my own skills, that’s all.”

The shadow of a grin twists his lips and he turns back to you, his eyes cast in threads of molten gold.

“Oh… of course,” you let out a soft breath of laughter, toppling back into the sofa and tossing your arm across your eyes. A moment later, you feel the cushions of the sofa sink beside you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You drop your arm and turn, your head still pillowed against the back of the sofa. Zayne’s gaze flickers over every aspect of your face before he reaches out to take your hand in his. Slowly, he leans down to press his lips to your knuckles, letting his lips linger there till you make a soft, questioning noise at the back of your throat.

He looks back up with a knowing smile.

“Shall we get something to eat?”

You jump to your feet, “Y-yes! My treat — a congratulations gift!”

Zayne considers for a moment before sighing, “Alright, but just this once.”

“What, we’re not allowed to go out to dinner now that you’re a certified doctor?”

Zayne’s mouth twitches with amusement as he reaches for his coat.

“No, we’ll still go out for dinner — you’re just no longer allowed to pay for them.”

[cinhomi]

𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑑

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Han Jisung x fem reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you and your soulmate in a random morning of May

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: descriptions of sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, no dynamic specified, vanilla, talks of death and afterlife

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9K

“Ji?”

It's warm. The Sun’s rays penetrate the cream colored curtains of his bedroom and dance on your naked skin. The tree outside paints stunning shadows that turn into shapes that move with the light, in a psychedelic motion that molds with your bodies. A pantone of warm colors reflects everywhere and it's as if they're about to spill in your heart, too.

“Yeah, baby?”

His voice is barely a whisper, his breath tickles your ear. You can feel his hand move from your side to go up, up, until it reaches your neck and his fingers delicately close round it. You feel his bottom lip first, then the upper one, as he starts to leave little pecks on your nape, your jawline. The presence of his other arm is persistent, under you, dragging you closer until your back is flat on his chest. The pendant of his necklace starts to leave a print between your shoulder blades.

“Do you think there's life after death?”

He halts his actions. Jisung leaves another kiss behind your ear and inhales, hoping to get drunk with your scent. His hand caresses your cheek, and then travels down to your arm, finding your wrist, taking it close to his pretty mouth to rest there, to let him kiss it. He presses your digits on his lips and gives attention to each of them. It takes him a while to reply, but you give him all the time he needs.

“I like to believe that there is, yes.” his eyes close for a moment, it's almost as if he wants to memorize your fingerprints. “Where does this question come from, baby?”

When you turn around to face him you find his faint smile, his adoring eyes that trail from your chest, to your lips, to your own irises. There's a rebelling tuft of curly hair that stands alone on his head, and the mole on his cheek moves whenever he swallows. You caress the one placed on his collarbone, before taking a deep breath. “I just… I was thinking- when we die… our body remains here, right?”

Jisung nods and hums, brows furrowing slightly, trying to predict the path your thoughts will take.

“And, wouldn't it be sad if it all ended… like that? Or maybe- or maybe that's the beauty of it? In the end we really always kind of leave a piece of us here. Being it bones or ashes…"

He hooks the necklace he gifted you the night prior, twistes it in his hand and watches it shine. “I always feel like we're too big to just end with death, you know? I don't know if we actually reincarnate or if something like Heaven or Hell exists, but I don't want to- no, I can't accept the idea of disappearing from the universe completely.” he explains, all while bringing you close to him again, your breasts now against his chest, your leg brushing his glutes as he takes it to rest on his hip. “Do you agree?”

“Yeah,” you pout, your hands open to feel his muscles tense under your touch, “we are immense. Don't you ever think that, sometimes, you have strong feelings about something because you were connected with it in your previous life?”

Jisung nods, he leaves a kiss on the crown of your head. “For example?” he chimes in, resting his head on your pillow.

“Well,” you start, a hint of a giggle already threatening your voice, “maybe you're scared of bugs because in a previous life one killed you!” and a light slap can be heard on your shoulder as he shakes his head trying to suppress a smile.

“I thought you were about to be all cute and reference us… tch.” he looks at the ceiling, faking being offended.

“What do you mean?” and at your question his farce crumbles immediately, enamored eyes staring down at you.

“Maybe we're together now because we were lovers in our past life, too. No?”

All words die in your throat. There's a block forming in the pit of your stomach and your waterline starts to tingle.

“From the first moment my eyes laid on you, I knew you were the one. Sometimes I think I've known you all my existence, sometimes I wonder if we come from the same star.”

“Ji…” before he can see your expression you bury your head in his chest, “this is disgustingly romantic…”

He giggles. You look at him again just to get a glimpse of his gummy smile, maybe searching for the crooked teeth he had once. You miss it sometimes.

Jisung gets up on his elbows and in moments like these he seems bigger. His shoulders are up straight, chest popped up, slim waist twisted making the faint lines of his abs become curves. You'd look at his thighs and at his cock too, but grey cotton sheets cover it all.

“But it's true! It's true… I refuse to believe otherwise. We're together in every universe, baby.” his gaze fixed on yours. “Is it childish to think so?”

You shake your head, blinking slowly. Sunlight is still a bit too strong, your eyes straining from it, but the way it reflects on him, it's mesmerizing. Jisung takes your face in his hands and kisses you, tenderly, totally opposed to how he did it the night prior. It's so sweet, it's overwhelmingly sweet and you can't help but melt as his index finger caresses the corner of your eye, as his thumb taps your bottom lip for him to take between his. There's still a slight ache between your legs but it's a lovely feeling. There's still the smell of your juices, your panties by the end of the bed, his shirt hanging on the corner of his TV.

“I'll find you in every universe,” he whispers between kisses, “I'll be by your side, even if we become different things, I'll- I'll find a way, angel, I'll find it.” more urgently, his cold rings roam on your back, lifting you up enough to have his arms around you. It makes you sigh, it makes you whimper.

“I- I want-” you gasp, his tongue is under your jaw and it keeps on traveling down every valley of your body. There are soft but obnoxious sounds now echoing in the room. There's also a dog barking in the distance, few cars passing by, someone opening their shutters. “I want everything I lost to- come back to me, Jisung…”

His head is now on your belly, he stays there with his eyes closed. Jisung sighs. He kisses your belly button and goes even lower, almost disappearing under the covers.

“It will…” he inhales your smell, you, groaning against your navel, “it's already here angel. You may not be seeing it, but you're already surrounded by it. You said that, we just leave our bodies-” he checks on your expression quickly. “You feel it, don't you?”

He sees your eyelashes flutter and your head moving up and down. Jisung kisses your clit, and then your labia, and his eyes roll back when your soft sounds reach him. When your leg lifts and your knee presses on his cheek, nudging him away, big round confused eyes run all over you once again.

“Inside…” even if the sentence floats between you too, Jisung understands. He comes up and the way the freshly clean cotton falls from his figure reminds you that time at the lake, when he came out from the water to make love to you under a willow. He's hard, you feel it against your thigh.

“Need me to stretch you?” he's whispering, he's kissing your left shoulder. As you shake your head, his tip is already catching in your entrance.

“It'll be okay baby. I know you miss them, but your heart is big,” his cock slowly slips inside you as he speaks, “your heart is big and I love you for this reason.” and then you find yourself full, of him, of his sweet words, full of light and sorrow and sadness and cheesecake. You feel so many things, it's only natural that some tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but Jisung kisses them all away, but Jisung hushes you and rolls his hips deeper into you, with the same rhythm of the tap of your kitchen sink, that broke two days ago. Later he’ll call someone to fix it.

When your palms glide on his back you feel bumps, formed as long streaks. You close your eyes, you touch them like a blind person reading braille, you try to read him. It's written “I love you” all over. He adores it when you hold him flush over you, when your nails cling to him as he thrusts into you, adores your delirant praise, hushed under your breath.

Jisung drags his voice in long moans, you feel them hot on your neck, they alternate with hisses while his eyes squeeze shut and fight to stay open, to witness how your own face moves. They reverberate in your chest and your heart is being caressed. What was warm light now is scorcingly hot directly against your bodies, a sheen of sweat making you sparkle. It's such a nice day, you should grab coffee together later. Take his sunglasses maybe. His hoodie. His soul. He doesn't mind.

“Baby…” it's hoarse now, it'll sound melodic again when he's calm, “baby you are my everything-” his hips pick up speed, they falter, his thighs burn. When you wrap your legs on his lower half, when your heels press on him they stutter and Jisung chokes on his own words. You feel the tell-tale throbs in his cock, you feel the way his hands grip the flesh of your hips, and your walls closing around him.

“Ji- baby, look at me, look me in the eyes-” it's afternoon already. He lifts properly, both hands on the sides of your head. Jisung looks you in the eyes. Jisung, he tells you that he loves you repeatedly as he feels his high so close he thinks he's going to pass out. Your pussy sucks him in whenever he retracts his cock, he hears the change in your voice. You'll go on a walk together tonight.

He does as you asked, never closes his eyelids. He's like a god falling apart, stilling into you, orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. It's him, it's his expression that makes you arch your back, it's him greedily covering every millimeter of skin he sees with his wet lips, it's his praise, his “baby”, his cum deep inside you. You exist. In that moment you're sure you exist because Jisung breathes life into you, because when you come for him he circles your clit and smiles. You die and then you're alive again.

Jisung stays there for a while, he keeps smiling, teeth grazing your chest and collar bones as you both start to giggle. You feel the ache again and it's comforting.

"I don't care about dying, angel. I mean, I don't want to, but… it's okay because I already knew happiness, you know?” he closes his eyes.

It's a hot day of May and few butterflies appear to do their dance in the air. It's a hot day of May and you discuss about life and death like it's nothing, like you talk about the weather. It's a hot day of May and it's easy to love, to exist, to accept the end of existence. It's just a day like the others, and that's beautiful.

“I know.” your reply comes before a sigh. You'll have to say goodbye to coffee and think about lunch. “You have to tell your mom I need her kimchi recipe, okay?”

a.n.

life is beautiful, please live it to its fullest and enjoy every moment, even if it brings pain, even if it seems dark, please cherish it. life is beautiful and you deserve to think so. I love you, take care of yourself.

[tryingtofindava]

hi !! could u write tyler x fem reader where they are dating, and instead of tyler being impaled by a tree it’s his girlfriend ! thank u

── 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

{[TYLER HERNANDEZ X FEM! READER]}

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

Your breath was staggered, twitching every few seconds or so. Trying your best to keep your eyes open, which proved to be a tricky task.

‘I wonder if I’ll die in the real world.’ Your thoughts spoke loudly, too loudly for your own liking. Why was it so quiet anyways?

Have the other’s drove off?

Will you ever see your friends again?

Will you ever see Tyler again?

I hope they’re safe from that… thing…

…

Is this how you die?

Thoughts like these consumed your mind. Y/n let out a defeated grunt, as she tried to push herself from the tree one more time. Her efforts were all futile though…

She is quite literally a human kabab. On this dead tree. In the middle of fuck all. The girl sighed shakily, her tear filled eyes trailing down to her stomach

. Looking at the tree that had pierced right through her very being, blood gushing out of you at an alarming rate, making it look like a Saw movie in real life.

This sucks major a-

SNAP!

Your head wipe to the side, your puffy eyes widening at the grinning face staring back at you. Shit. You have to get off this tree. Now.

Your brain is in overdrive as you try to push yourself up to escape from the phantom that was approaching rapidly. You close your eyes real tight, waiting for the phantom to scale the tree with ease and end your suffering.

TWACK!

Opening your eyes and peering down, blood dribbling from home parted lips. “Y/n!” You heard the red heads voice call up to you, though it was all muddled from the blood loss.

“Ashlyn, have you found her-“ Tyler looked up, his mouth falling open in utter shock. His hand shakes as he shone his flashlight up on your hanging body.

“Help me get her down!” Ash called out to the boy, who hurriedly went to help the leader to save his girlfriend. While Ben, Aiden, Taylor, and Logan watch from the sidelines.

Making quick work to get the needed medical equipment Ashlyn’s dad had placed in the real world for them to use to help.

You let out a pained whine as you feel Tyler lift you from the bark of the tree. His brows were furrowed as he focused on doing this as quick as possible to not prolong your pain.

“You’re safe now, I got you…” He murmurs quietly to you shaking form.

Everyone in the group made team effort to help you, all while Tyler gripped onto you so hard like if he let go it’d be game over. Mumbling reassurances, though you couldn’t tell id it was to you or himself.

Aiden was talking your ear off to keep you awake. “Y’know? This isn’t even that bad! One time, my bone went right through my knee while playing soccer!” He blabs, though it didn’t help you feel better or assured at all.

“Dude, not the time!” Your boyfriend scolds him, while he rocks you in his shaking arms. While Ben and Logan stitched the gaping hole going through your back to your stomach.

“You’re gonna be okay, I promise… I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again.” He squeezes your arm.

A/N: SOZ THIS WAS SHORT!! ^_^ I’ll probably add more and make it better in the future lolz :3

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part One

Summary - As the ways of the world shift, you find yourself torn between those who have always cared for you and the life you feel like you were made to live.

Warnings - none right now really, some angst, harmless flirting, tension, slight fluff, mention of wing loss

Hauntingly beautiful was one of the few ways to describe the High Lord Eris Vanserra.

There was a rake-ish look about him, like he belonged in one of Nesta's regency era romance novels that had her eyes widened and bottom lip caught between her teeth. It was rather infuriating.

Tension continued to linger, one of doubtful trust. Rhys wanted to trust Eris, he wanted to trust that the new High Lord of Autumn knew what he was doing, but something was stopping your brother from investing into the change fully and you weren't quite sure what.

Eris sat opposite you in the meeting chamber, eyes trailing down your figure approvingly, a crown of golden leaves dipping to his brow and accentuating those russet eyes that always sought to burn you with their intense glare. It had been strictly forbidden for you to leave Velaris on your own after what had happened to your elder sister at the hands of Tamlin, you understood it of course, Rhys wouldn't survive if he lost you too, his youngest sibling but by far the fiercest creature in all of Prythian's history.

War was scoured into your bones, hellfire raged in your soul, and you were very well known for your tactical prowess and outspoken nature, from your quick wit to your dry humour. Some said that you were the reason that Prythian still stood, you had worked very hard to undermine Amarantha right under her nose, feigning innocence and naivety that she drank from like a fountain of youth, you had been instrumental in the war against Hybern too, and Eris had watched in stoic awe as you wielded your sword like it was an extension of yourself, gracefully cutting down your victims and using your power to decimate hoards of males into ash.

Eris wouldn't admit it, certainly not in front of Rhysand and Cassian who made it his mission to keep Eris as far away from you as possible, but he thought that you were the most incredible thing he had ever witnessed. And as you sat before him, draped in a sheer black dress adorned with white crystals that allowed him to relish at the picture of your full breasts, it was taking him a lot of will power to not fling you on that table and take you right there and then, even if your brother was watching, he didn't care.

The meeting was simple, Rhys wanted to know how the politics between the courts were to improve with Eris now at the helm and steering the Autumn Court ship. Feyre sat to the left of your brother, dressed in her usual ethereal pale blue, another garment made by your mother, but less impressive than the items you owned. You sat to his right with Azriel to your side, Mor, Cassian and Nesta occupied the seats to Feyre's left in that order, and Lucien lingered somewhere between, still on the side of the Night Court, put just an arms length away from his brother.

Eris was stoic and cruel, power radiated from him, but you seemed the be the only one who saw what lingered beneath that façade. The occasional split second glance he would direct to Lucien when he thought no one was watching, one full of regret and sadness. It seemed that there were many more layers to Eris Vanserra than any of you realised.

"How do we know that you won't rule like your father did?" Rhys had craned forward in his seat, his jet black crown glistening in the darkening sunlight that poured down through the domed windows.

Eris' jaw ticked, a clearly sensitive subject for him, your chin dipped in examination and for a moment, he glanced to you, fire in his eyes that mirrored the very faint sphere of orange that curled around pupils, "Would I have bothered to overthrow him to only rule like him?" Eris replied with his own question and you felt Mor scoff from where you sat, your older cousin not enjoying the sentiment one bit.

"Who knows what you males strive for," Mor bit, more like growled, at him, you face remained distant and cold, you didn't remove your gaze from him, everyone knew that they couldn't hide from you, you were too observant.

Guilt had swirled in your gut at the sight of him, under examination by a group of people he longed to be somewhat friendly with, to work with to better the lives of his people, and Velaris was rich in knowledge and power, it was a court that you would want on your side if you walked a second in his shoes.

It wasn't often, if at all, that you would speak at meetings, it was an unspoken rule for you to be seen and not heard, your presence was powerful enough, and you did have the knack for making things worse with your jabbing words, "Raise your hand if your father is a piece of shit," the room fell silent, and Azriel had his head dipped low to conceal his smirk, his knee nudging yours gently in warning.

Slowly you raised your hand and looked to Rhys who rolled his eyes, but didn't raise his own, he didn't want to indulge you. In turn, Cassian raised his hand, Azriel lifted a finger as did Mor, Lucien's hand raised with his elbow still firmly plastered on the arm of his chair, and Eris didn't dare partake, but you all knew his answer already. Counting under your breath at the souls that had answered your call, you relaxed into your seat, "I don't know about you Rhys but I don't think you're anything like our dear old dad. Mor is nothing like hers, nor is Cassian or Azriel or Lucien. If we were all held accountable for the actions of our fathers then we surely would live in the most tyrannical world possible, no?"

Rhys raked down the iron clad walls of your mind and you gave him a pointed look, refusing him entry and smirking at the twitch that pulled at the corner of his lip, "There is no evidence that Eris will be like Beron, and refusing him alliance only makes such possibilities more likely," you picked at an invisible thread of your sheer black garment and feathered your fingers down the bargain tattoo that curled around your upper arm, one that matched the mark Azriel bore in the same place from a stupid bargain you had made what felt like eons ago.

"In simple terms, brother," you fluttered your eyelashes at him, ignoring his clear fury, "Get over yourself and give it a chance. Prythian can't be a land of harmony when males with big egos can't see the opportunity before them."

Feyre had confined herself to looking at the wall, shifting uncomfortably at the colliding forces of power between you and her mate. It was never something she had the courage to stand between, she'd perish if she even tried. Nesta was smirking at you, the only one who would hold Rhys accountable and live to see another day, relishing in the fury of the High Lord.

Another nudge prodded into your thigh and you snapped your gaze to Azriel, "Will you stop nudging me?" You swatted at his thigh, "This world has been through enough already, Amarantha, Hybern, Koschei... It's time that we made a world to be proud of and we can only do that if we work together."

"Who knew that the fawn had a voice?" Eris spoke and you sent him a satisfied grin, Rhys looked to the High Lord and snarled at the name he had dared to direct to you, but quickly composed himself with a warning glace to you that meant he would deal with you later.

Matching is tone, you teased, "Thank you. My campaign for High Lady is imminent," Cassian let out an audible low chuckle, his shoulders shaking next to Nesta who was doing her best to contain the amused smile that fought its way onto her lips.

Typical y/n.

Looking to Rhys, you smiled and waiting expectantly, he seethed out his answer, "Fine," he moved his attention to Eris who was still smirking at you, eyes blazing with curiosity, "We will work with you, Eris. Let's call this the start of a long lasting alliance between our courts," Rhys rose to his feet, "Please feel free to stay the evening and join us for dinner. I will have a room prepared for you."

An olive branch, one that made you avert your gaze to Eris to see him nod in shocked agreement.

Rhys lowered himself so that his head lingered by your ear, his fingers curled around the back of your chair, and he growled, "My office. Now."

A chill slithered down your spine and you smiled thinly at no one in particular before rising from your seat and following Rhys from the room. The pair of you didn't utter a single word as he led you through the halls of the House of Wind, walls that seemed to shrink away from your pulsating energies as he led you to his office and shut the door behind your entrance.

"What in the name of the Mother do you think you're doing?" Rhys seethed as he rounded your smaller figure, towering over you to the point that he shrouded you in the shadow of his figure and flexing wings.

With a raised brow, you spoke calmly, "I highly suggest you take a step back and stop trying to intimidate me," his gaze softened slightly and he obeyed you, stuttering back a couple of feet and tucking his wings out of sight.

"Eris is not someone that we should have an alliance with," he leaned against his desk and watched as you turned around, lifting the heavy glass lid to his whisky decanter and pouring two glasses of the amber liquid before extending one out to him which he took without question.

You waited until he had taken a sip before talking, "Regardless of what you think, you know I'm right," you took the seat opposite the desk and nestled into the deep brown cushions, leaving him standing before you, "Rhys, you wear a mask to the rest of the world, in everywhere other than Velaris. Cauldron, you even make us follow suit. Has it ever entered your limited mind that Eris may do the same, that he too is hiding behind the mask he has created for himself?"

Rhys frowned, "Did you just call me stupid?"

Scoffing, you sipped the amber liquid and enjoyed the delicious burn that sank down your throat, "All you're doing is proving my point."

Rhys threw his head back and inhaled deeply, clenching his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose, "You know that I love you," he lowered his gaze to wash over you, but you didn't falter, you had never faltered under Rhys' glare, you were perhaps the only one who wasn't impacted by it, "You have to understand that I will always do what is right to protect our home, to protect you."

"And you have to understand that I will always do what is right to better the continent, not just our people."

The relationship between you and Rhys was a complicated one. There was a lot of love and respect between you, but his fear of losing you often clouded his mind. His word was law, but your word was the final judgement. The reckoning. There was nothing even he could do to change that.

Many males had attempted to get close to you, but none were good enough to appease the expectations of the High Lord of the Night Court. It wasn't as if you cared. You required an equal, someone who wouldn't diminish your power, and males had the tendency to attempt to control you.

Rhys had even refused your hand to Helion, much to your disappointment, and before the acts that led to the demise of your sister, he had refused to extend a thought to Tamlin who had clearly been besotted with you. Thank the cauldron for that at least.

"You have a strong will, y/n," a backhanded compliment if you had ever heard one, you rose from your seat and placed your empty glass on the bare surface to his left, "It will get you in trouble."

"Good. I can't wait."

Leaving Rhys alone in his office had filled you with far too much smugness and serenity.

The golden tainted pink hue from the sunset poured through the large windows, trickling up the walls and coating your skin in its soft shimmer as you paced before them.

Black fabric chased after your steps from your dress sweeping in the breeze you had created in your movements, you could feel the comfort of your chambers, you could almost taste it as you rounded the corner and entered the room without a second thought.

The familiar skitter of cool kisses swirled around your ankles and you didn't need to look up to see who was splayed across your cream comforter, "I know what you're going to say," you disappeared behind the thin clouded dressing screen and peeled your dress from your body, rifling through the railing full of ornate pieces whilst Azriel examined your silhouette from his place on your bed.

"Then I don't need to tell you how stupid you are," you looked over your shoulder at his words, like he could see your expression which was one of confusion and annoyance, "I swear you get more defiant each day."

Peeking your head around the corner of the screen, displaying your face and shoulder to him, you spoke, "It's the only exciting thing I have to do around here."

Azriel quirked a brow to you, his shadows dancing around his shoulders at the sound of your voice, "That's not true," you scoffed at his words and disappeared back behind the screen, continuing on your quest to find a dress for dinner, "There are plenty of things to keep you entertained in Velaris."

"Azriel," you deadpanned, not stopping your movements in plucking dressed from the railing and holding them up to your body, "Rhys doesn't let me do anything other than train and sit and look pretty and intimidating. I'm Velaris' glorified trophy."

A particular garment caught your eye and you smirked, taking it from its hanger and pulling it up your form. It was a stunning piece, one you rarely wore. An ornate solid gold bodice of blooming roses and ivy that connected to a red wine skirt that possessed a high slit, cream lace poked from the highest point of the slit and kissed your thigh.

"That's not true. He let you fight against Hybern," Azriel told you pointedly, seemingly becoming lost for words when you stepped from the screen and soothed down the skirt of the dress before bending down to secure golden heeled sandals to your feet.

"I fought against Hybern because there was no choice to do anything but that," you hadn't spared the Shadowsinger a glance but smiled softly at the shadows that curled lovingly around your ankles, you held two sets of earrings up to your ears and tilted your head in the mirror, "I'm sure if there was an option to stay home then Rhys would have gladly assigned the position to me."

Azriel rose from the bed, moving behind you and resting his hands on your hips, his hazel eyes boring into your reflection, "He worries about losing you. He couldn't stop what happened to your mother and sister, I think he just wants to be able to stop anything from happening to you," Azriel smiled at you and your orange ringed violet eyes softened at him, "Wear the red ones, they match the skirt."

"Thanks, Az," he hummed in response and took a step back, the place where his hands once lay turning cold and begging for more, "Shall we go to dinner then? What an exciting evening we have ahead of us," Azriel chuckled and offered his arm to you which you gladly took, allowing him to pull you from the room.

There was an unspoken attachment between you and Azriel, like it could be something more if you were both willing to risk your already perfect relationship on the notion of it. You both knew that feelings lingered, but if Rhys ever found out it would surely cause a civil war within your family, and you'd hate to think where everyone would stand in that battle.

The dining room had been beautifully dressed, a black tablecloth and tall golden candles, gold plates and coated silverware, ornate but expensive goblets and an array of blood red and orange flowers, no doubt a nod from Feyre of respect toward Eris.

Azriel left you at your usual seat with a subtle squeeze of the hand before rounding the table and taking his spot opposite you, scuffing the chair against the stone and sitting in it as you did in yours. Family members trailed in one by one, Nesta took her seat beside you and Cassian sat to her left, Mor took the spot beside Azriel and Elain took the other, then Amren entered, then Rhys and Feyre, the former of which nestled into his spot at the head of the table.

Then Lucien and Eris entered, and the High Lord eyed the last two remaining spaces, the one at the head of the table opposite Rhys or the one next to you, and Eris strode beyond his brother to steal that option. He teetered at the edge of it and peered down on you questioningly, "May I?"

Feeling Rhys' eye on you that you didn't dare to acknowledge, you nodded gently, "Of course," he took your answer in the palm of his hand and used it to pull the chair out, his scent of mulled wine, candied orange and pine filling your lungs as he sat.

Eris was dressed well, a red waistcoat adorned with golden swirls, a cream shirt that was tucked into the waistband of his black pants, like he knew to match your own attire, something that not only you noticed.

Idly, decanters of wine floated about the space, pouring themselves into the empty goblets placed at every seat, and food began to appear, dish by dish, on the long table. Platters of roasted vegetables, silver dishes piled with meats, bowls of fresh salads, boats of sauces, and most importantly, towers of desserts that made your eyes glisten, wanting to skip the main course entirely and help yourself to a slice of cake.

Clearing his throat, Rhys raised his goblet, tearing you from your salivating thoughts, "A toast," he smiled thinly at Feyre whose gaze shifted to you and then to the male at your side, "To new alliances."

The room repeated the sentiment before digging in, doing their best to ignore the swirling tension caused by Eris choosing to spend the evening sat beside you. Though, that soon vanished when Cassian started telling his many tales of his escapades throughout the years with the intermittent corrections from Rhys and Azriel.

"I should thank you," a low voice spoke from your right and you craned your head toward Eris, his hypnotising russet orbs were fixated on you, dark and full of wonder as they raked over your face, "For what you said at the meeting. I hope you weren't scolded for helping my cause."

Eris' voice was low, only loud enough for you to hear and you alone, his eyes were soft and stare void of that stoic cold that usually possessed it. He looked like a completely different person, there was actually kindness bubbling within him, genuine sincerity in his words.

"Rhys can scold me all he wants, it'll never change anything," you replied in the same tone, the orange ring in your eyes burning like wildfire, "Anyhow, it's a cause worth supporting."

From the corner of your eye, you caught Lucien watching you with intrigue, his fingers encased with Elain's atop the table with a knowing glitter lingering in his expression, he grinned as his brother spoke and leaned toward Elain to whisper something beyond your realm of hearing, "I can't remember the last time I saw you before Hybern."

Smirking, you asked, "Have you been thinking about me, High Lord?"

"It's not hard to," he replied honestly, watching the faint blush creep up your cheeks, "When was the last time?"

Humming, you thought about it, it wasn't often you actually left the confinements of Velaris thanks to your brother's protective antics, your eyes glazed over slightly, "It was Under The Mountain, at the beginning, after she," you rolled you shoulders, coiling them in the memory of that night.

That's right, the last time he had seen you before the war had been the night after Amarantha had stripped your wings from your body, carving them off with her talons to punish Rhys' reluctance. It had taken everything within Eris to not set her alight on the spot, if he could have, after he had seen your shaking pale form wandering the halls like a ghost.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's fine," you insisted, sighing deeply, "It's a fading memory now, I've adjusted well."

"I'm glad to hear it," the genuine tone to him was confusing, but you always knew there more to him than what met the eye, and part of you was proud to have been correct about it.

Eris had grown up listening to the stories about you and Rhys, two formidable winged warriors that exuded darkness and power, who held the capacity in their fingers to shatter kingdoms if they so wished it.

It didn't scare him. You had never scared him actually.

"Make the most of this alliance, Eris. It's very rare that I speak up on such matters," you told him, sipping from the wine in your cup and placing it back onto the tabletop under Rhys' watchful gaze.

There was an elegance about you, Eris noticed, the poised shoulders and perfectly slender pointed ears, the violet eyes with the speckles of Autumn orange, the grace laced in your words. It was a spectacular thing to witness up close.

"Then why did you?"

There was a moment of contemplation and you furrowed your brow in thought, "I can't sit by and be part of the reason why people suffer," very unlike Rhys, "Other than that," you trailed off, looking deep into his eyes like your violet pools were drowning in his soul, "I'm not quite sure."

Author's Note

Part one to the series I've been planning for awhile.

Prepare yourselves for a pining, needy slow burn with a hint of forbidden love x

[kastalani123]

The Riordanverse is, ultimately, a children's series so it's expected that the nitty-gritty, darker details of certain things get omitted. Still, I think it'd be interesting to see the demigods, each raised for slaughter in their own way, be the soldiers, the victims, the prey that they grew up to be for both godly and mortal reasons.

Percy always keeps Riptide in arm's reach, always keeps his fingers curled around it, ready to unsheath it every waking moment. He sits and stands with his back flush against walls, eyes and ears always open to seek the slightest hint of danger. He trusts Paul, he trusts Chiron — he still watches every minute shift of their expression, of their body for warning signs. He keeps outside Dionysus's range, ensures he always has an open exit within reach. The smell of alcohol makes him dizzy, nauseous; his thoughts leave his body sometimes, when it gets bad enough.

Annabeth keeps a packed bag at the bottom of her closet when she stays at her family's home; she has places she can stay and her parents and Chiron have been good, but her feet still itch when they frown a time too many. Nobody knows she still sees spiders sometimes, feels her skin itch with their crawling. She makes Percy swear he'll never leave the room before she wakes up unless it's truly necessary. She puts boards on her bed's edges so she'll never fall while she thrashes from nightmares; falling would only make it worse.

Leo sits far from any open fires and leaves if people start roasting meat; Plan C is used sparingly once he isn't constantly fighting for his life. His tool belt can't make food, but it stores more granola bars than he could ever carry without it. He makes himself near-unnoticeable earplugs after New Year's and he avoids looking at himself; his body is too whole for being blown to pieces and half the time he's sure the chunks are rotting around Camp Half-Blood where they should've fallen. He tries to keep from unnecessary interactions; he can't have things tying him to some place, not when he's mapped out dozens of escape plans. He smiles longer and wider than ever before.

Hazel doesn't wear jewelry; the only exception is a wooden bead bracelet Nico gave her after she rejected a golden necklace. Walls close in around her, dust and liquid clog her throat, stones crush her bones– she comes back to the present. She clings to affection like a drowning man to a piece of wood, but keeps watch for signs that it'll turn against her. Silence haunts her every step; she keeps an MP3 player and headphones with her at all times to drive it away.

Frank gathers up his form and pours it into a mould of himself, does what he can to keep it from spilling through the cracks. His fingers are littered with scars and scratches, with a trail of broken mirrors left behind in their wake. There are always voices arguing in the back of his mind — not his father's, but not his own, either; just a phantom screech pulsing through his head. He drowns them by sinking into new responsibilities, new dangers, shaping himself to fit while trying to remain himself. The crackle of burning wood follows him everywhere he goes and he can do nothing to down it out — only stare at whatever he had managed to save from his suicide to remind himself he does not need to worry about it; he has already crumbled into ash.

Piper dives into Oklahoma, into mortality, like she'll suffocate without it. She remains far from everything, though not far enough to be out of the loop, because she needs to know about every prophecy, every end of the world, every step and challenge her friends face. She calls them on a bronze-infused phone, not a rainbow, even if the camera and the notifications and the everythingness of it blind her like a spotlight and the thrum of electricity runs through her veins like venom. She paints her face a bit misshapen here, a bit discolored there, a bit unsettling everywhere, and Shel understands. She understands and she loves her and she says it's beautiful not in aesthetics but in the potential protection it provides, as Piper intended.

Jason had learned every rule with the mere intention to break it, to tear through the chains of military life that had been clamped around his throat for as long as he could remember. He had chased life, rather than the survival he had clung to for so long — packed every second of his ticking down time with it. Finally with freedom, but so little time with it, he snatched every piece of it he could: a mortal highschool, a movie theatre, a mall shopping spree, a room of his own — all carefully documented in stacks of journals, ever breath of air and glimpse of the sun, with copies upon copies stashed away so that his memories could never again slip away like sand between his fingers, so that his friends had something of him left, after his life of nothingness.

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Two)

word count:

author’s note: writing more chapters of a sad dragon family series. I’ll be on a Norwegian cruise line for Italy and Greece for 2 weeks. I’m gonna be seasick, I already know it. So I’ll be writing this series before I leave. Please enjoy and have a good day.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

The preparations for the celebration of King Viserys has reached closer whilst you accompanied Alicent into the corridor, corridor after corridor of a long tour within the Red Keep. Servants bowed as you all passed. Cold bows and cold eyes lingered, despite their bare minimums of smiling graciously at your direction, as Alicent presented the halls with lavish decor. However, mostly it was green and gold. But others blended it with black and red.

As always, you’re marveled by the exquisite lace and embroidered patterns and a clear structure of its final design of artwork is invigorating. The stitching is what you’re most impressed of.

As all Targaryens and Hightowers strolling, Alicent parted ways with her children, unbeknownst to you, the one-eyed prince had his hands behind his back, violet shade of eye looming over your new gown designed by the seamstress, all soft-shaded periwinkle, strapped with gold embroidery and green and red, streaks of iridescent shun upon sunlight, your manes healthy and glowing, maintained through and through.

You knew he was watching. With his precious one violet eye gleaming at the back of your head, your body shivered in an alien sensation. As for Aemond, a dragon’s hunger is anything but stable or sane. A dragon’s hunger is like a breath of wild fire casted to the torch of the wondrous nature and life itself. The fire eats and leaves the bones of ash, dwindling in midair.

Aegon I altered the history and thus, House Targaryen must stand with unity and strength and blood.

Still parted aways after an idle chat, for Alicent to task with decorations, as her children were long gone, back into your large chambers, you were unpacking your materials for the completion on a quilt, a quilt with colorful dragons and mermaids and ships, various shades of sews and needles unpacked, as the back of your neck tingled with goosebumps as you felt a hot breath stroking.

Before you turned around, large and slender hands travelled over your clothed waist, nearly close to your chest above. A writhe of hot tingle rushing in your coils and chest. A quiet breath strained, lax down to a low hiss, a hiss nearly tickling your skin. No servants were around, no Alicent or Gwayne.

Aemond, a one-eyed prince has lurked and captured you. A princess sent by a Maiden herself. The fiery dragon must seize the princess.

You thought he has gone back to training yard with Ser Criston, as Alicent mentioned once at the entryway within a prolonged conversation.

“Aemond—”

His face inched close to yours, his supple and pretty lips touched your cheeks, trailed down to your jawline, whilst his left hand grasp your face to stay still. The pool between your legs gradually strengthened its warmth and slick, easily for the prince to prance and insert into your tight hole. Under the layers of silk dress, Aemond bunched the layered fabrics to your waist.

You never had a noble taken an interest in you. The only that interests them is the brightness of your teal eyes.

A mesmerizing glow of your hues has yanked his curiosities. His mother never mentioned him about you—not even once in a dubious talk.

Better late than never.

With his hand, fingers strapped, and his trimmed nails clutched the fabric of your corset, the laces loosener it in smooth motion, loosening around your frame, breasts ached as his hand—his cold hand—brushed and pinched your nipple while his other hand found his way your thigh, grasped as Aemond’s tongue flicked and his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your clit.

A moan escaped, your mouth shielded, you face drowned in flush, as Aemond’s heart leapt in satisfaction. Humming, he stood up and inserted his fingers into your cunt, thrusting the fingers in with doubled speed as your moans grew louder, but restrained the pleasure into your chest, holding it. The walls in the Red Keep are dire; servants and nobles and guards walked passed and patrolled through wall and doors. Even the highest nobles strolled by.

“Fuck,” is all he said, as if it was a prayer. “Your cunt might be as Holy as the Maiden herself.”

His lips sucked your swollen tit.

“My prince,” you cried softly. “Please. The guards, my brother and sister will see us.”

“I do not care of their pious thoughts.”

“I’m your aunt, my pri—”

“Don’t fight it, my sweet,” he said, giving a sensual flick on his warm tongue to your swollen flesh, “I might give you a reason to have bruise on you, ones that they’ll never find on your skin.” His hands grasped your waist, trailing with soft strokes. “You’re humiliated. Maybe there’s more than meets the eye.”

Based on his words, you never thought you found it attractive, considering the soft spoken voice, hoarse with arousal.

“Don’t fight it. If you fight against this, this subtle encounter between us, you’ll never forgive yourself,” he whispered, his wet lips brushed yours. “If you have been, you would shoved me away. Would you like that, princess? Shoving me away?”

His voice ragged dampened your cunt and clit twitched at his sound.

“Seems you enjoy it. You’re a good princess. But alas,” he pulled himself afar, the warmth on your body began to turn a chill.

“I shall see you at the feast. Enjoy your stay.” His neck went for a stiff bow, but his eye glued with plea for your consideration of his statement, whether you accept his offer or not, and departed your apartment—a once organized structure is now filled with clutter and oozing sex and the arousal groans you shared has imprinted in your head, you find yourself still with embarrassment.

In a way, a blessing in disguise when no one, not even Gwayne, saw or heard your affairs with a young dragon prince.

You have seen the arrival of Rhaenyra and Daemon and the children, you had a short introduction to all Black faction.

The dinner celebration for Viserys’s nameday celebration has been all but cumbersome. You felt a subtle hostility, but to due your presence, it has lessened but somewhat guarding up—all due to pettiness.

As you, making a progression with your father, it was all but cold distance even you and Otto were near. Not once he looked at you with adoration like he shared his adoration with Princess Helaena, showing her teal beetle. The Green children are all strained; Aegon had his fair share of capable stupidity to throw down a nasty comment of his cousins and nephews.

Daeron was disappointed with Aegon’s perversions, but Daeron veered at you with a kind smile and made a polite conversation with you. Once again, Otto did not acknowledged of your accomplishments. You felt sick in the stomach, and it’s not your bright gold and yellow dress you have finished making. Tears behind your eyes was arising, and your throat budged with hot and parched sting.

Aemond clenched his fist, for his anger was directed at his grandsire for not noticing you. That damnable old fool—if only Otto sees how your talents. When Viserys disregarded Aemond, even his siblings, he wanted nothing more than to see him dead. But alas, with your existence, it’s almost as if Viserys’s existence just naturally died out.

You pardoned yourself, and Alicent thereby dismissed you, you bowed and left to your chambers, spent the rest of the night weeping, thinking what have you done wrong.

As you exited, the tensed feeling withdrew, and Otto was happy again. And so, without a doubt, Aemond gave a good jab on Otto, which caused a disastrous supper for everyone. The music stopped. As for Aegon and Daemon, they found it amusing while Alicent ordered the guards to escort Aemond way back to his chambers.

For Aegon, this was a win for him. He’s not in trouble for once.

~~~

In dreams, you have never seen your mother, what she appears like or what she sounds like or how her personality was. The only thing that is closest to being a mother to you is the wetnurse or the servants or the Septa who provided you with assistance on your daily appearances and wisdom. Whenever a servant brushes your hair, you often think of what it feels like to have a mother brushing your manes with care and doting manner, a soft voice to soothe your aching heart, where doubts and fears would go away.

In times of sleep, you often thinking of ending your life, just to see your biological mother on the other side. Or perhaps more than just seeing your mother. There are times where you hated your life, and you want nothing more but to end it.

People have often told stories of your mother, though it felt it was a grave mistake. Some say she fled away to Free Cities, some said she ended her life from the highest tower of Oldtown and fell down to the sea. There are rumors where Otto took you because you’re adopted, or perhaps he had a secret, illicit affairs.

The cold feeling rushed in you as your eyes pricked with tears. With somebody telling you stories of your late mother, it brought no peace. Only the enigma of your shadowed doubts and an endurance of chaotic insanity, to question whether your life is real, if you’re real in this world with purpose.

The servants have been kind to you more than the nobles, the more everyone pointed out your flaws and the insignificance of your existence, you lead to believe that you’ll never be loved.

And cried once more. Each night, your tears flooded in pillows and blanket, as you embraced the closest object, pretended that it’s your late mother. An endless of an anguish thought has been a hazard.

Only the echoes of the walls could hear you and the pillows has stained, under your hug squeezed the material as hard, wishing for the pain to go away.

In his awake, he’s a perfect prince, but in his dreams, he’s a beast.

A beast kept within a shell of a noble man.

He has dreamt of your teal eyes basking in his dark dreamland, your voice, how it was yearning so much more. A dark dreamland filled with scornful memories of his nephews and Aegon, and the pink dread. He had kill all of them in his dreams, even the fat pig.

With a scolding from his mother, he couldn’t care less. He wanted your presence to be acknowledged by your father, but how can Otto be so cynically dimwitted and more offensively calculating against you?

When the servants spoke over how you’re not related to Alicent, chances are why Otto was pretending that your presence is nothing more than a useless and meaningless substance of meaning to exist.

Others said that they haven’t seen you gone out from your apartments—and that was recent.

Aemond visited you, presented you with a gift, but the word from you not leaving the apartments has concerned. Thus his mind came up an idea.

You have several servants entering the room with stack of your favorite meals and drink—including lemon cakes and Dornish wine.

One knows someone’s best interest. Whoever did it, your heart is elated. As soon as Aemond came in, you hadn’t known whether he knew something that you don’t. Somehow, his intimidating presence softens your heart, prickled in relief.

For some reason, when Alicent paid you a visit, although shortened, she was concerned of your health, you hadn’t formed a proper conversation; Alicent hasted when the Council has called for her summon, but gave her regards.

Aemond accompanied you for a while in your apartments, and chat whatever discussion came up. Each minute and each hour, the two of you became close, became so close that you or him hadn’t open your hearts, despite what he did to you days ago. With your cunt coiled at his face, his voice and neck, his waist, you find yourself crossing your legs, aroused and squirming beside him. You wondered and imagined of Aemond’s tongue guiding and gliding your soaked cunt. At this moment, you wanted tackle him and suffocate him with your legs wrapped around him, taking in of your nectar.

“I’m glad you are doing well, princess,” Aemond said to you. “For I have been concerned of your well-being. A delicate flower such as you does not deserve the cruelty of my grandsire or anyone in the matter of your visit.”

“He’s always been difficult,” you explained. “No matter how much I’ve improved with my skill, he’ll never sees as his or my sister’s equal.”

“In ways my mother and grandsire are more intolerable. Though I respect my mother, I find myself with bore with my grandsire has to say. If anything, I’m glad your presence has casted a light into the dread.”

In Aemond’s case, however, found you as exquisite as gentle as the blooming flower. His one took a longer glimpse at you and notice the difference—how your eyes glinted in glee while your cheeks adorned with youthful flush and enamored smile. Oh so pure and harmless. He hasn’t seen his mother and his siblings. As for Otto, he hasn’t spoke to him since supper at Viserys’s nameday after sending a jab across the face—out of character for a self-assured prince.

Oh, to ruin you.

“Thank you for the meal, Prince Aemond. You don’t know how much I’m relieved to say this,” you said as you finished the embroidery on your unfinished dress you sewn.

Aemond found your gowns just as otherworldly as you.

Consequences won’t matter; Viserys nor anyone else in the room care for his presence. Perhaps it is a blessing, perhaps it is for the best for you to be settled here in King’s Landing, as long you’re in content, nothing else matters, but if harm does come, he shall smite the immoral act. Aemond is no perfect, but with you, he’d be at his best behavior.

“Then I shall relieve you,” he proclaimed.

You find yourself halted at his declaration and glimpsed at his resolved expression.

Something has stirred in your heart that you wanted more than the civil interactions, wanted more than having someone to converse with you.

Tossing and turning onto your bed was all but a doozy. Dizzy from pivoting and switching positions, you had enough. Dreams had come again. This time it’s Aemond calling out to you, feasting on your wet folds and pumping his lithe and graceful rugged fingers in you. Ever since the day before Viserys’s nameday, with Aemond’s thirst, your legs ached.

For a Hightower, it’s a sin to self-pleasure one’s body—a selfish immoral act.

Somehow you found it odd. If a man does self-pleasure, no court would turn the eye, but a woman does self-pleasure with hasting fingers and naughtiness is considered dire.

Faith of the Seven had their own laws, but you knew that men and women had their fair share of illest secrets. Lucky for you, Alicent and everyone in the Red Keep does not know your impure thoughts. The room became hot, then cold, then all at once, the breath in your lips became ragged and desperate. You wanted someone to hold you, treasure you, seduce with sweet nothings and sweet promises with adore.

For your years of not having a partner, you have begun to fear of not having pleasure. In the heating moment, you thought of what’s like losing your maidenhood to someone with a big cock.

You wanted a cock.

His cock.

Oh, a dragon prince. If Aemond hears your thoughts, you’d run away and never to return Westeros and give yourself a new name and fashion.

Damn the consequences and the punishments from the Lord Hand and the Queen themselves! Damn the Faith of the Seven and their laws!

With your fingers circling your clit, no climax arrived. Thus, you casted your blankets aside with a huff, setting out to see him.

Trudging through the dark halls, the guards were nowhere to be found, assuming the guards went elsewhere. As you made your way to the doors, you approached and entered the chambers where you have found Aemond on his bedside.

Your breath held back, taking in at the sight of Aemond. With his porcelain skin and his long silver-blond hair, it gleamed under moonlight, appearing paler compared to daylight. His eye had an old scar, and his eyepatch was placed elsewhere.

Watching his body rising and falling within breath, you approached him and kissed his back, planted your light kisses, feeling the smooth surface of his skin.

Aemond awoke and turned, found you kissing his back.

“My lady,” he whispered, one eye widened, as you stare at his sapphire. It was beautiful like him.

You placed your finger on his lips.

“Have you come to made a decision?” he asked.

Your lashes fluttered under his gaze. “What do you think, my prince?”

Then your lips collided with his. Aemond was taken aback of your sudden act. Eventually, his consciousness fell; with his lips shared an illicit chaste kiss, his hands uncloaked you, and roamed on your womanly body, caressing you, until you began to undo his trousers, his cock hardened.

“This won’t take long,” you promised, slowly pinning him down onto the pillows, unstrapped yourself naked and sat in between his legs. You didn’t expect for his cock to harden.

Your eyes darted to his, awaiting. And thus, you yanked his trousers downward, unveiling his hardened cock. You eyes widened at the sheer size. Your maidenhood hasn’t been taken yet. Your future prospects of marriage hasn’t arrived, but it feels as the more you wait, the more your chances of marriage dimmed. With your body descended, the maidenhood had met his engorged tip.

Aemond lay still, watching you. His sapphire eye gleamed at its victory.

Your voice moaned aloud; your maidenhood slammed down, his engorged cock tightened on your damped walls. Gradually, the pace on your hips sped. You have never felt anything as good. Prayers in the sept are insatiably helpful compare to the prince’s cock.

You have never felt so alive.

Aemond knew you’re a virgin; your hips bounced all thanks to the guidance of his hands.

He pleasured a woman in the brothel in the Street of Silk at the age of three-and-ten. As a young boy, he regretted making a decision by making himself a fool to go along with Aegon and his shenanigans. He was expecting Viserys to guide him gently into the world, but the Driftmark incident has left Aemond concluded that Viserys, his father, did not spare a single kindness or thought and only spared it Rhaenyra and her sons.

All hope was lost until he saw you—a radiant maiden.

You reached your high, as Aemond clutched your hips, spurring down the hot semen bursting the inner walls—a divine conclusion.

Gasping for air, your legs stood achingly, leaving white traces of his semen dripping down on his balls and thighs. When Aemond tried to assisted you, but instead his face met your open legs and slammed your went against his chiseled face and nose.

Fuck my maidenhood, you thought, desperate, as your hips gyrated, feeling his warm tongue and the sharp line of his nose encouraged your arousing sense to further the climax, as your right hand found its way at the back of Aemond’s hair.

Aemond find himself humming against the warmth of your cunt, mingling with his semen. It was a divination, nothing like the brothel. If only his virginity had taken by you instead of a woman who hasn’t live up to her beauty and standards of gentile and grace. Streets of Flea Bottom aren’t to be trusted. His lips kissed your inner thighs, gliding his tongue, and pumped it in between your walls.

Groaning, almost feral-like, your hips paced, your tits bouncing as your walls grew hot again.

“Relieve me,” you said to the prince, hoarse. A soft squeak caught into his ears.

I shall relieve you, my sweet. Just as I promised, he thought.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his face as Aemond’s tongue lapped on your cunt faster than last. Your head threw back with his languid strokes on his warm tongue.

Gods it was a miracle.

He has taken your maidenhead.

“Good boy,” you cooed, your breath rasped, your hand still placed on the back of his long silver-blond hair, gyrating your tired hips against his face.

Both you and Aemond found yourselves in elation.

“Good boy.”

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[drabblesandimagines]

I absolutely love how you write Halsin, can I request a fic with a fem Tav having a nightmare sometime after Orin's kidnapping. The possession scene still haunts me to this day and keep imagining Tav seeing that over n over on top of struggling to rescue him. It ends with him waking and comforting her. Keep up the great work!

Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you enjoy - please let me know! xxx

Nightmares

Your limbs feel heavy, vision somewhat blurred around the edges as you walk past strangely empty tents in the camp on the outskirts of Rivington.

There’s an overpowering smell of rust in the air as you approach the barn, the dirt soon growing damp under your boots and it isn’t long before a squelch accompanies every step.

A sinking feeling in your stomach as a large figure emerged from the shadows.

Halsin – your sweet, caring druid - looms over the lifeless bodies of Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart. They’re splayed out almost atop of one another, arms and legs at unnatural angles, gruesome tears in their flesh, the straw sodden with red that matches the splatters across Halsin’s bare chest.

“What…?”

“Go,” Halsin growls between gritted teeth. There’s a look in his eye you haven’t seen before, his muscles shuddering with exertion as he tries to catch his breath. “Go - now - before I do the same to you.”

“No.” You shake your head, furiously, as if it might change the scene. “This isn’t real. it can’t be. You wouldn’t, Halsin-”

“It’s this city,” he grunts, thumping his chest with his fist as he glares at you. “The corruption, I cannot hold it back any longer. Why did you bring me here? I said-“

His eyes flash gold for a split second before the light engulfs his entire body – fur swiftly taking its place as he transforms and emits a mighty roar.

You take a step back in retreat and immediately trip over something – an arm or a leg – falling and knocking the back of your head upon stone. Above is no longer the ceiling of the drafty barn but what appears to an endless chasm. You sit up, scrambling back on your hands, heart pounding as you recognize your surroundings.

The Temple of Bhaal.

Halsin lies on the altar, his knuckles grazing the floor as his arm hangs off the side. You stumble up to your feet without further thought, not even checking for any Bhaal cultists or Orin herself, only focused on reaching him.

His eyes, once so full of warmth and love, stare blankly skyward - lifeless and bloodshot.

You’re too late.

There’s a scroll clenched in the fist resting upon his still chest. You tug it out with gentle fingers and unfurl it, only for to burn into ash immediately, only allowing you a glimpse of what was written at the top.

Speak with the dead.

Halsin’s body is illuminated in an eerie green glow. Not the greens of nature that he so adored, but something entirely unwordly. His neck cracks as he turns his head to face you, a hollow, foreign voice emitting from his mouth.

“You did not come for me.”

“No, I did. We did. We were just-” Cold fingers encircle your wrist, keeping you in place by the altar.

“No.” He cuts across, emotionless. “You left me here to die – alone.”

“No, Halsin. No, I swear. I don’t know what happened. We were just in camp and-“

“I called out for you.” His fingers squeeze your wrist so hard you swear the bones are about to break. “I called your name over and over and over, until my voice grew hoarse.” He places his other hand at the base of your throat, fingers splayed out over your collarbones. “I called for you, the one who lay with me, claimed to love me… yet still you did not come.”

“Halsin, please, listen-”

“You killed me.” He trails his fingers up your neck, pausing to cup your chin. “And, now, with the Oak Father as my witness, I will reset the balance of nature.”

With one powerful squeeze around your throat, your breath is cut off.

--

Whilst most elves favour four or so hours of trance, Halsin has proved to be quite the heavy sleeper in comparison – most likely due to the time he has spent in his ursine form – though a whimper from your lips is enough to wake him immediately, concerned.

He releases you from his spooned embrace, laid upon the pile of furs upon the ground, in fear that he’d somehow caused you pain, perhaps squeezed a little too tight in his dreams as he sought your warmth.

The furrowed brow, twitching limbs and mumbled, somewhat frantic protests, however, suggest you are in the throes of a nightmare. The druid swears his heart breaks, knowing it is best that you wake under your own steam rather than him call or shake you.

Mercifully, he does not have to wait long. You sit bolt upright with a desperate, gasping breath, drenched in a cold sweat, eyes flitting furiously side to side as you try and work out where you are now.

Your heart is pounding dangerously loud in your ears, so much so you can’t hear how hard you’re trying to gulp down mouthfuls of air, but it’s as if it stagnates at the top of your lungs, never truly getting deep enough.

Tears burn at your eyes at the effort and Halsin cannot hold himself back any longer. He places a large hand against the small of your back, hoping his gentle touch would help ground you.

You flinch at the contact, eyes widening as you finally see him in the dim light of the tent. There is a momentary flicker of fear across your face that Halsin prays to Silvanus that he will never see again.

It’s a short, gasp of a breath in and out and the colour now drained entirely from your cheeks that drives him to act. He pulls you onto his lap in a smooth motion, pressing your back snug up against his chest, ignoring another flinch as he places a palm between your collarbones.

“Forgive me, my heart,” he bends his head to speak directly into your ear, too aware of how hard your heart is beating and wanting to be sure you’ll hear – he can feel the dull thud against his own chest. “I need you to breathe with me.”

His body feels warm. You twitch, trying to turn to face him, check his face over for injuries, feel his heart beat beneath your fingertips, but he has you nestled perfectly between his thighs, keeping you still.

“I have you, petal. I promise you are safe.” His breath dances across your neck. “Close your eyes, focus on my touch and breathe as deep as you can. Please.”

Dark spots are dancing around your vision now, so it’s easy to close your eyes. Halsin is breathing deliberately slowly - exaggerating his inhales and exhales so your body shifts with each of his breaths in the hopes that you’ll mimic the movement.

It is trial and error - more than a few resulting in short, sharp gasps and spluttering breaths – but, slowly and surely, your heart beat slows and your breaths grow more productive.

The scent of moss, wood smoke, various herbs and flowers permeate through the panic and you finally recognize where you are in – in your dwelling in the commune.

It has been four months since the fall of the Nether Brain.

You twist in his lap again, desperate to see his face, to check if his eyes are still lifeless. Halsin permits it this time and it is with a sigh of relief that you see your druid whole and alive.

“My love?” His tone is so cautious that you break into a sob.

Halsin pulls you back against his bare chest in an instant, maneuvering you into a more comfortable position with ease as you cry. He does not make to hush you, or ask you what is wrong, only rocks you back and forth in his arms, pressing periodic kisses to your crown as he does.

Even when your sobs eventually cease into teary, pathetic hiccups, he does not press for details, remaining in silence until you build up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, unsure if he has even heard.

Halsin presses a final kiss to your crown. “There is nothing to apologise for, petal.”

You look up at him, shaking your head. “No, there is. I was too late. T-the Bhaal Temple. I was too late. You-”

“You were having a nightmare. Please”, he lifts a hand to your cheek, stroking away a stray tear with his thumb, “do not torment yourself with recollection of such dark dreams. All is well – we are both safe.”

His other hand leaves your side for a moment, grabbing something you can’t see. You make to protest – it’s not safe, it’ll never be safe, Bhaal still exists, what if it was a message, or a threat? – but it dies on your tongue as he holds up a small bouquet of dried flowers under your nose, the scent calming you almost instantly.

“Humour me a moment, do you recognize the scents?”

“Mm-hm.” You take them from his hand, twirling them between your thumb and forefinger. “Lavender, roses, daisies…”

“Very good. I feared I had been somewhat distracting during our lessons.”

Lessons – that coaxes a soft, breathy laugh from you. Long, leisurely walks around the lands surrounding the commune, all with the intention of Halsin imparting his knowledge of the natural world had often turned into anything but.

Of course, he had always started off with pure intentions, he’d even keep his hands behind his back in an attempt to give focus, but all that seemed to break it was you bending down to inspect a sapling, or take in the perfume of a flower he’d pointed towards and then somehow you’d find yourself pinned against a nearby trunk or tackled oh so gently down into a flower bed, hot open-mouthed kisses pressed across your throat and collarbone…

“Mm, a little. But not enough that I don’t recall what you’ve taught me,” you look down at the dried bouquet. “For I do know that these are all known for their calming properties.”

“Indeed.” He chuckles. “I find placed under the pillow works wonders for troubled sleep, as well as keeping bad dreams at bay.”

You look up at him then, brow furrowed. “You have trouble sleeping?”

“I did – not for a while now. I find that having you nestled in my arms, my heart, is more soothing than any of the Oak Father’s creations.”

You feel the warmth prickle across your cheeks – Halsin’s compliments never fail to leave you a little flustered. He chuckles again as you drop your eyes back into your lap, a tell he has come to know well during your time together. He tilts your chin back up and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep again, petal? Dawn is still a way off.”

Tomorrow will be another long day. Though the commune continues to fall into place more and more each day, there is always so much to be done.

“I can try.” You concede.

“Here,” he plucks the dried bouquet from your hand and slips it inside your pillow, giving it a firm pat to make sure it remained comfortable. “With the hopes that it makes your dreams as sweet as you are.”

Halsin coaxes you to lie down wordlessly, spooning you against his chest and draping an arm around your waist with a light squeeze.

“Comfortable?”

You inhale deeply, the bouquet of dried flowers seeping out from the pillow, the warmth of Halsin behind you, the way his hand begins to rub gently up and down your side.

“Mm.” You mumble, closing your eyes. “I love you, Halsin.”

Halsin smiles as he feels the tension leave your body fully at last – he hated seeing you in any sort of distress, whether it be minor or major.

“I love you too, my heart.” He bends his head down and starts to kiss your neck slowly and softly -  a favourite spot of both his and yours for a few moments before he retreats.

“Now, sleep, petal. Regain your energy so that I can show you precisely how much I love you in the morning, hm?”

He is unsure you have heard for sleep seems to have claimed you once more...

..but that doesn't mean he won't keep his word when dawn breaks.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[djarincore]

a sacrifice in your name

SUMMARY: A paladin's oath means everything to them—but not to Simon, not when it comes to you.

ALTERNATIVELY: Simon sacrifices his oath to save you.

TAGS: oathbreaker!ghost, f!reader, DND!au, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, nondiscript violence, implied minor character death(s), Simon can lift reader, special villain guest appearance by Graves, body worship, cock warming, WC: 3.2k

A/N: a little what if scenario for vengeance paladin!Simon, who will always choose you over everyone else no matter the cost. and yes, the title is another sleep token lyric...

thank you to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!

You wake to dim woods, a full moon overhead, and arms firmly encircled around your waist. The world bounces and sways in your bleary vision with a persistent ache pounding through your head.

Memories of the past few hours are a rapid flash of reds and oranges, sounds of crackling, splintering wood, and terrified screams echoing through the night. The bone-chilling fear of death seems to still freeze your sore muscles.

Now, as you slowly regain your senses, you realize you're riding atop a horse somewhere deep in unfamiliar woods in nothing but your night gown. The figure, whose arms encircle your body, grips the reins in front of you. Their own weight almost sags against yours. A helmet rests against your shoulder.

Icy fear crawls back through your body. You wish you can remember or get a clue as to where you were, but it is too dark and the horse is no longer on a path. The best you can do is escape, run, somewhere far from this stranger.

You jerk forward and claw at their arms, but you're blocked by leather vambraces. The stranger pull you closer to their chest, trapping your arms against your body.

“Let me go,” you plead. The stranger scrambles to restrain you and reign in the horse, who has become spooked by your cries. “Please!”

“Shh, you're safe,” a familiar voice soothes. It's grated, rough. Simon. “It's alright.”

Your body sags into his, but your heart still pounds. Your thoughts are mush in your head as you try to piece them together.

“What happened?”

The last thing you can recall is smoke and flames, raiders breaking down your door, and the blunt end of a sword bashing your temple.

Your query is followed by thick silence. A dark cloud of confusion hangs over you and Simon doesn't seem to want to offer any guidance.

“Simon?” You attempt to turn, but he holds you tighter, almost forcing the air from your lungs. And then, you realize he's trembling.

Simon, who was the pillar of strength, never trembled, never showed an ounce of fear. You grew worried.

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Just rest. We’ll be at an inn soon.”

A pit sinks in your stomach. An inn, but not your inn. If your fragmented memory serves you correctly, your inn is ash. The home and business your family-owned for generations was gone in a single night.

All the fight and adrenaline drains out of your body, leaving you weak and exhausted. You shut your eyes and lean against Simon, allowing tears to fall freely in the dark.

The neighboring town’s inn is small, cold, decorated with the heads of different animals and sharp weapons mounted on the walls. You hate it. There is no fireplace, no warmth, or life—nothing like your inn, your home.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

The owner is a bony, severe-looking man whose slimy gaze clings to you alone. Even as you cower behind Simon the man’s hunger makes you shudder.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner instead. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

“A bath for her.” Simon tosses an extra silver piece onto the counter.

You're covered in soot with a trail of dried blood running down your temple and a small cut on your neck.

The owner perks up. “Do you require any assistance washing?”

You can't help but cringe at his words and wrap your arms around yourself.

Simon’s hand darts over the counter to grab the man by the scruff of his neck and slam his face onto the counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barks, “and get it ready. Or I'll spill your fucking guts on the floor and you can wash that up instead.”

The man whimpers and you can't find it in you to feel bad for him. But you do worry. Simon always makes a point to keep his violence away from you.

His fury wasn't a sight you saw often. You only know the beginnings and ends of it. The deep breaths as he tried to control himself and keep his temper in check or the bloodied knuckles and split lips.

“Yes, yes, right away,” the man stammers.

Simon doesn't let up. You see the fingers of his pointed gauntlets curl tighter, forcing a choked gasp from the man.

“Mercy,” the man pleads, voice wavering on the edge of tears.

Finally, Simon flings the man back and he stumbles to catch himself from hitting the wall. Scampering off, the man disappears around the corner.

Simon heaves a sigh, bordering on frustration and exhaustion. His shoulders are tense and when you reach a hand out to touch his arm, he doesn't look at you. He hasn't since you woke up on his horse. His helmet being on didn't help either.

You desperately want to know what he is thinking. Simon was never a talker, but his eyes were always more expressive than his words.

His arm wraps around you, bringing you into his chest. Your cheek rests against his chest plate. The metal is cool against your skin. Your arms wrap around his waist in turn.

You want to ask him so many questions, but now isn't the time. You want to think he’ll explain everything soon, but his tension doesn't reassure you.

He holds you in silence until the owner returns.

The man's gaze doesn't fall anywhere near you this time. The bloodshot, green eyes stay firmly on Simon as he stumbles over his words and let's you know the bath is ready.

Simon takes your hand and leads you around the corner. The narrow hallway has a wooden staircase built into the left and leads further down to an open door. You can see the tub inside, a towel draped over a wooden chair beside it.

The washroom is a simple room with a basin and a chair. There's a standing mirror tucked in the corner you use to look at the grime covering your body. Your face is gaunt, a shell of yourself. Your fingers ghost over the frown you fear will become permanent.

Simon shuts the door and moves behind you like a pillar, poised to support your unsteady legs. “Off,” he commands with a low voice, brushing the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder.

Your clothes slip off easily and Simon guides you into the tub. The water is lukewarm at best and you curl your knees to your chest to conserve heat.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” Your question is quiet.

He runs a cloth over your shoulders.

“Raiders,” he all but spits.

“What of everyone else?”

“Gone.”

Your brows furrow. You just couldn't believe you were the only one to make it out. Your heart breaks for all the people who were lost.

“And the raiders?”

No doubt Simon made short work of those bastards. He always did.

Simon wrings the towel out and extends his hand. “Come on. Out before you get cold.”

You're redressed in your nightgown but not satisfied.

He leads the two of you up to your room for the night. There's a wooden bed tucked in the corner and a dresser beside it with an oil lamp. You grimace at the sheets which are covered in a layer of dust. You pull them off the bed and toss them to the floor.

Simon begins the quiet routine of shedding his armor at the door. It almost feels like you're back home. His helmet comes off first and rests on the dresser.

Finally, you can see the tight furrowed brows, the downcast eyes, and tense jaw he wears. There is a quiet conflict raging behind his tired eyes. He looks exhausted and beaten to the core. He leans his sword against the wall, places his gauntlets on the dresser, chest plate and greaves beside it.

You watch as each piece comes off, searching for signs of injury. He never returns to you without scars or bruises for you to fuss over. But piece by piece, his clothes are free of blood and his body doesn't tense from sudden movements.

No sign of injuries should be reassuring, but it only adds more questions.

“Are you okay?” Your hands run down his chest to rest on his abdomen.

He's quiet for a moment, tense beneath your hand, before he mutters a curt, “Fine.”

Simon takes your hands and guides you back onto the bed. He leans over you, forcing your neck to crane back. A hand cradles your cheek, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb, as his lips lower to ghost over yours.

You want to ask him more questions—ones he won't answer, he can't answer—but he stops you short.

Simon captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He kisses you with a hunger that he needs satiated. His hands cup either side of your face, always gentle.

When he pulls away there's something missing from his gaze, replaced with a despair that stretches beyond you.

“Simon…”

“Not tonight,” he whispers.

He never liked to talk about his missions, the evils he faced all in the name of upholding his oath. And you never forced him to, simply doing your best to provide him comfort in other ways. You gave him a home to return to, open arms to fall into, and loved him completely. But, the hollow look on his face warns you of something terrible, something that can't be healed.

He brings himself to his knees, head hung in quiet repentance. His lips press against your knee. Then his hands snake up, pushing your nightgown past your thighs.

You grab his hands before he can reveal anymore, but he is insistent.

He looks up between your thighs like you alone can offer him salvation for whatever sin is consuming him whole.

“I need you,” he pleads. “Let me have you.”

Simon doesn't wait for your response before he’s rising once again to push you against the bed. When his lips meet yours, it's fierce and demanding. His body cages you and you're helpless to refuse as he knees your legs open.

Simon’s rough hands explore the soft curve of your body. Your hands caresses the slender curve of his neck and into the silk strands of his hair while his thumb traces random patterns on your stomach before dipping below the waist of your panties. His fingers skim lower and lower, and you squirm when the dull ache between your thighs grows stronger.

The pads of his finger meet your sensitive clit for the first time and rub slowly. Your body seizes around him, thighs clamping around his, and your arms wrap around his neck to ground yourself around the sensation.

The way he gazes upon you so reverently, like a goddess worthy of his devotion, nearly makes tears spill down your cheeks. You let out a gasp as the pleasure in your stomach grows stronger.

Your hips move against his hand, demanding more. When his hand moves away to tug at your gown, you pout.

“Off,” he commands.

Nothing needs to be said twice, not with Simon. You pull your dress off, freeing yourself to the darkness and his roaming eyes. Your nipples are pert against the cold air. His calloused hands glide over your waist, mapping every inch and curve of your body to commit you to memory.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers in awe. His hand cups your breast as he lays kisses across your chest. Between each kiss he says, “You’re mine.”

You feel yourself blossom beneath his reverent touch and words. You lift your hips to let him pull your underwear off. His hands slide up your calves, over your thighs, and eventually one settles over your mound. You arch into his touch. A sigh leaves your lips as he runs his finger through your slick folds.

Two fingers are thrust into you without warning. Your breath is caught in your chest as you clench around him. His fingers work inside of you, pulling sweet moans from your lips, until you come undone.

Simon lifts your limp body against him as he settles on the bed with his back against the wall. You lay against his chest, face buried in his neck, as a wave of exhaustion hits you. The traumatic night is finally catching up with you.

As you come down from your orgasm and your eyes grow heavy, he pulls his cock free and positions you above him.

You attempt to shift your hips down to take him, but he stops you with a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“I've got you. Just relax.”

Simon eases you down on his cock, stretching you open. You want to squirm, to move, to please him the same way he did for you.

“Just stay here,” he says, his breath heavy in your ear. His hands cling to you as he shifts your bodies against the pillows. You feel the stir of him in you and involuntarily clench. He groans, burying his face into your neck to regain control of himself. “Let me feel you.”

You stay in each other's arms until your breaths fall steady. The closeness, his warmth, is a comfort you relish. Your home may be gone, but you still have Simon.

And, for now, it is all you need.

Simon waits for you to fall asleep first, cradled against his chest, before he allows himself to feel guilt wash over him. The weight threatens to drown him and he clings onto you like a raft.

He leans his head against the wall, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A veil of unshed tears blurs his vision. “Forgive me,” he whispers.

To who and for what, he doesn't know. He just hopes those words are enough to make the ache fade—it doesn't.

He allows himself to fully recall the entire night before he found you, before it all fell to shit.

Simon returned to ruin.

He saw the plume of smoke in the distance and hoped it wasn't real, but it was. Your town was engulfed in flames, glowing in the dark as bright as day, burning in his eyes like hellfire.

He moved through rubble, mind swimming with dread, to find you at the center of town, bound and unconscious. There were men surrounding you who wore a familiar coat of arms.

Graves, the pain in his side who never seemed to just disappear, was standing in the center of it all. Simon had faced his men before, but never Graves in person.

Simon would have caught on to the strangeness of the situation if not for the fury boiling in his blood.

Simon knew what he had to do—kill him, make him suffer. His oath wouldn't allow his evil to continue any further.

Gods, he hated the cocky grin on his face.

“There you are,” Graves called out like he was greeting an old friend.

“What the fuck do you want?” Simon’s sword was already unsheathed, ready to taste blood.

“To teach you not to fuck with me.”

Simon almost barks out a laugh. He raised his sword toward the challenge. Not one of Graves’ men moved to help defuse the situation.

“Go ahead and do as your oath commands—kill me.” Graves stood proud, arms spread wide.

Simon took a step further.

“But if you kill me, your girl dies too.”

A henchman hauled you up and placed a dagger at your throat.

Simon, for once, faltered. The sword in his hand trembled. He tried to steal himself but found he couldn't catch his breath.

He couldn't kill Graves and reach you in time. And he was sure if he made any move to save you, you'd be dead already.

“If you don’t kill me, I'll let you leave with her. Make your choice.”

So that was the game.

“Fuck you,” Simon spat. “I don't know ‘er.”

Graves ignored the bluff. Something in his smile told Simon, he saw right through his bullshit. “Go ahead and be a hero, Ghost.”

“I'm not a hero.”

He scoffed at the word. Destroy evil by any means necessary. His tenant echoed in his mind. Any means necessary.

He was far from a hero. A hero didn't turn a blind eye to those in need to pursue evil. He left behind innocent's far more times than he can count in the name of his oath.

Would you become one of the souls he sacrificed too?

Ever since he lost his family and took up his oath, he couldn't allow himself to feel emotions like guilt, sorrow, or fear, less it made him weaker to deliver the vengeance he swore to uphold.

But, you were his new family, the love he found amidst his violent wandering. He couldn't lose the safety and warmth that you were.

No matter what he chose, you or his oath, he would lose a part of himself.

Simon wanted to plunge his sword into Graves’ chest and be rid of the man and his impossible choice and that fucking smug smile. He wanted to destroy his very existence, so not even the strongest magic or God could piece him back together. He knew the world would be better off without him. He knew it deeply.

Yet, Simon lowered his sword and made his choice to condemn the world.

“I knew you were a selfish one.”

“Give her to me.”

Graves waved his hand and you were dropped. Simon caught you before you could touch the ground. He wrapped his arms tight around you, shielding you from the world.

“Fuck with me again and I won't wait for you to save her.”

Simon gritted his teeth but didn't say a thing. He kept his eyes on you. There was a cut on your neck where the blade was, shallow enough to draw a sliver of blood, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Fighting Graves would mean your death. Simon didn't care if he died, but he would never risk you. All he could do was lift you up and walk away.

Each step away from that ruined town he felt a piece himself slip further into the dark, remaining in the wreckage. His limbs lost feeling; his chest constricted.

A rope pulled inside his chest, urging him back to finish his duty. But, his feet dragged against the force to continue forward.

When Simon stepped over the town's threshold, the rope snapped. He was left with cold, empty despair.

Simon held you because that was all he could do as he left behind the destruction and his oath. At least he still had you.

He condemned the town’s survivors to death and allowed evil to escape the wrath of punishment—and he would do it all again to save you.

He will tell you of his selfishness in the morning. But, for now, he will hold your bare form tighter against his chest, closer to his heart, convincing himself you will fill the piece of himself that will never return.

But the void is boundless. It is echoes of flame and terror, shame and guilt, and a haunting voice calling to him in the dark.

“Oathbreaker, what have you done?”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 40

Part 1 Part 39

Days pass, and Steve’s painkiller script runs dry. Without the pills, Steve’s every waking moment twinges, but what irks him more is the way his life is passing him by.

He spent almost a week in a painkiller haze of sleep, and now he’s awake and pissed off.

The swimming season is almost over, he’s going to be drowning in schoolwork, and he’s just sitting in the Munson trailer, rotting with Eddie by his side.

Will had gone back to school yesterday, and Steve’s itching to scrabble back into mundanity.

His doctor, Wayne, Eddie, hell even Joyce, all act like it’s too soon, like he’s made of crumpled paper, like he needs handled delicately or he’ll tear.

He’s sick of it. Steve wakes up, too early with the taste of ash in his throat. Eddie’s already awake, curling his fingers around Steve’s forearm and dragging him closer in his small shoebox bed.

“What day is it?” Steve asks.

Eddie squints at the clock, reading the vivid red 4:43 on the clock like it’s a calendar. “Thursday…” he says, voice ragged with sleep, trailing off, clearly unsure.

Steve stares up at the dark ceiling, doesn’t look at the glowing red, and says, “I’m going to school today.”

Eddie squeezes his forearm, says, “Steve,” plaintively.

“I can’t do this Eddie,” Steve whispers. He blinks and he’s there, staring up at the vines writhing on Eddie’s ceiling, the red of Eddie’s alarm clock pouring through the windows. He blinks again, and he’s back, Eddie’s warmth beside him. “I’m going crazy, cooped up in here.”

Eddie sighs, a long, dramatic groan that vibrates Steve’s head where it’s propped up against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re making me go to school, Stevie,” he says, trailing his fingers gently up and down Steve’s shoulder.

“Don’t you miss your friends?” Steve asks, pointedly not thinking of his own.

Eddie’s still rubbing Steve’s shoulder, as he replies, “Yeah. Jeff called a few days ago, and Wayne told him I had the flu.” He sighs. “I just hate lying to them.”

Steve’s relationship with Tommy and Carol is built on a bed of deflection and lies. No, what you said didn’t hurt my feelings. Of course, I want to throw a party and get stuck holding the bag when the cops show up. Yeah, my parents are out of town a lot, you’re right, it’s the best.

But sometimes, when Tommy was just the right level of tipsy, or late at night at one of his sleepovers with Carol, one of them would say something real. Carol would whisper about the diet her Mom was on, how her bones were that of a bird and Carol was so afraid of being whittled down to nothing. How Tommy’s dad had hit his face hard enough to bruise, and then gotten made that he looked like a ruffian the next day.

How Steve’s parents don’t stick around long at all.

Those are the people he misses. The people left rotting in the corners of the ones who roam the halls of Hawkins High. That’s not who he’ll get to see at school today.

“They’d understand,” Steve says. “If they’re your friends, they’d understand.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Eddie says, letting the topic drop.

Wayne grumbles over his mug of coffee when they stumble out of Eddie’s bedroom, both dressed in Eddie’s clothes, but doesn’t say much. They share a quiet breakfast, as Wayne scarfs down his meal before bed, drooping into his plate.

Eddie rifles through the whole trailer until he finally finds the van keys discarded in the bathroom. Wayne sends them off with a gruff, “come home if ya get tired,” as they walk through the door.

Steve doesn’t notice he doesn’t have any of his stuff until Eddie’s already pulling into the parking lot, students glaring and giving a wide berth to his van as it loudly chug chug chugs into a space.  

He can’t remember if he had any assignments due, what they were learning, barely even remembers his class schedule. It’s like everything from before has the haze of a dream. Only the nightmare of after is crisp and real.

The whispers as he stumbles out of Eddie’s van, start slow. They grow louder when Eddie rushes to the other side of the van, holding out his arm in an offer of support that Steve snubs.

Eddie walks by his side, leaning into him like he just can’t help himself. “You know,” he whispers conspiratorially. “It’s not too late to pretend I kidnapped you or something.”

Steve snorts, letting his elbow slide into Eddie’s ribs as he takes a step closer, even as the stares fillet his skin right open. “I’d make a terrible captive.”

Eddie laughs. “You really do,” Eddie says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Coming here against the doctor’s orders? Naughty naughty!”

Steve jams his elbow into Eddie’s ribs, hard this time, sending him reeling even as he laughs, clutching the abused spot.

No one approaches them, treating the whole spectacle like it’s a television show. Fascinating and untouchable.

But the bubble inevitably bursts. Tommy’s loitering by Carol’s locker, arm slung over her shoulder as she digs through its contents. She laughs, smacking his arm even as she smiles up at him. They look happy. Fine. Normal. Like Steve hasn’t been missed at all.

There’s something dark and slimy slithering up Steve’s throat. He swallows it down.

He keeps walking, Eddie by his side, not looking their way. So, it’s a shock when a small hand grabs his hand and yanks.

“What the hell, Steve?” Carol says, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Nevermind that, what happened to your hair?” Tommy asks, laughing. Like Steve being missing is a joke. Like everything always is, with him.

“Just felt like a change,” Steve says, smiling sarcastically at them before trying to continue on his way.

Carol’s hand tangled in his sleeve stops him. He looks down at it. Her fingernails are turning white under her pretty pink nail polish. He sighs, stops, Eddie stopping beside him.

“I was in the hospital,” he says, meeting Carol’s eyes, pretending Tommy isn’t there at all. “Thanks for visiting by the way.”

She takes a startled step back, stretching Steve’s borrowed sweatshirt out with the way her fingers are still hanging onto it. As if she can sense people staring, she steps forward, holds her ground as she glares up at him, hissing, “we didn’t know!” she stamps her foot, loud with her clunky heels. “We went to your house, and no one answered!”

“And you didn’t think that was weird?” Steve demands. “You didn’t think, huh, maybe we should look for Steve? You couldn’t even pretend to give a shit?”

“Steve, I—” Carol starts, before Tommy interrupts her.

“So, what?” he demands, posturing into Steve’s space before Eddie throws out an arm, pushing him back. “You got your feelings hurt and you decide to start slumming it with the trailer trash?”

That dark thing slithers back up Steve’s throat. He pours it out at Tommy’s feet. “Anyone’s an upgrade compared to you,” he spits. “Poor little Tommy, has to make everything a joke so no one will notice there’s nothing underneath.”

“Steve!” Carol gasps.

“Oh, like you’re any better!” he says, something vicious and snarling crawling out of him. “Act like a bitch so no one gets any closer.”

“And what does that make you?” she demands.

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling him back. “Let’s go.”

Steve looks at the two people who were his best friends and feels nothing. “You’re right,” he says, turning around and not looking back. “They’re not worth it.”

“Whatever,” Tommy shouts. “Just go off and fuck your new boyfriend, see if I care!”

People in the hallway are staring. Steve feels their eyes like fingernails down his face. Eddie takes a step away from him but doesn’t leave his side.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, afraid he’ll spit up rage like bile if he opens his mouth. Eddie doesn’t leave him alone until he’s at the threshold of English class.

“I’m in shop,” he says, eyeing Steve critically. “Get me if you need me, okay?”

Steve nods.

“Promise me,” Eddie says, crossing his arms and staring Steve down. They both ignore the furtive look other students give them as they slip past to get into the classroom.

Steve chokes out, “I promise,” maintaining eye contact with Eddie until he finally turns and leaves with a strained sigh.

Once he’s out of sight, Steve runs on shaky legs, shoving through the nearest bathroom door and dropping painfully to the tile as he leans over the open lid of the toilet, stomach heaving.

It’s not rage that crawls out. Something small, and slimy, and black slithers out of his throat and into the bowl.

Steve flushes the bowl, washes his mouth out and goes back to class just before the bell.

Part 41

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar

[a-jynx]

buried promise (Astarion x reader)

bg3 has had me in a chokehold, specifically a certain vampiric rogue.. and i felt angsty, so i hope you enjoy !

maybe this will get me into writing after years lmao - this may be out of character, but i just needed this for my lil heart okay ;-;

angst warning tbh <3

You swore you'd find a cure. You swore to fight for him.

Yet, you forced him to promise to live if you died- he laughed when you said it, not truly believing such words from you... Why would he? You were cursed. Easily fixable... Right?

He sent for anyone - everyone - that could and would help you, but no luck came your way. The curse was progressing faster by day, he could see it. Draining the color from your skin, sucking up your warmth like a fire being snuffed out. Even, your eyes changed colors. Becoming something dull. Lifeless.

You saved the city. You helped even the most miserable low lives when you wouldn't benefit from it. And you... You helped him. Saved him. He swore to save you just like you did for him. Nights became longer as he sat rereading the books Gale had scavenged up for you. Rubbing sleep from his eyes while glancing at your sleeping figure curled up in one of your armchairs; snuggled into a cocoon of blankets to help you keep warm. You looked peaceful. No pain, just peace. Rolling his shoulders, he grabbed another book before practically stabbing his nose into the musky pages. He was going to save you.

"You promised to try, my love," he murmured into your hair, brushing it from your eyes as you curled further into your shared sheets. Cold nipped at your fingertips, biting at your blood supply as if it were your lover. "I tried, my star, but I just want to rest-"

"You've rested enough," he bit, crawling into bed behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around you. His grip shaking. "It's time for you try and get up. Move. You're letting this curse take hold and.." His voice trailed, feeling his chest ache. A tight bubble strangled his voice, quieting it. "Please." His voice was barely a whisper. "Please, try." You glanced over your shoulder to see him. His ruby eyes brimmed with tears. Turning in his hold, you pressed yourself into his chest, gripping his shirt tightly. Your shared ring catching on the fabric as you felt your own tears well up. "Aeterna Amantes," your lips pressed a careful kiss to his exposed skin. Dotting your way up his throat as you felt tears drip past your lips. "Lovers Forever."

He remembered teaching you that. That was his promise to you the day you slipped a ring on each other's finger. Now it's become your promise to. Even if you lay on Death's doorstep, your last breath would be a promise of love to him. A promise for his peace.

"Aeterna Amantes," his voice shook before he buried his head into your hair, lips fangs catching his already chewed lip. Pressing quick kisses against your crown as you allowed your own tears to caress your cheek, he bit back a bitter laugh. "I'll find something." He whispered, hiccupping back a sob. "I'll save you." Wrapped in your sheets and each other, somehow you felt more... Alive than you have in these last days. "I know you will."

Time had not been kind.

He failed. And he kept failing, and failing, and failing - everything seemed to work against him in this rush against time. This curse had sucked your very life from your bones and left you bedridden, hells, you couldn't even make it to the other side of your bed.

"There's not more we could do?" He could beg..

"I'm sorry, my friend, but we've exhausted all of our options." He could slaughter. He could give away the ring that keeps him from bursting into ashes at dawn. He should've protected them. He could've- "The best you could do now is, just be with them. Fill these last moments with peace." He was tired of peace. He wanted life.

"Right. Well, I trust you can find the door," he turned away from his friend, the one person he thought could save his lover - his darling - Had failed him. "I need to keep searching."

"Astarion, these might be their final moments and they're withering away-"

"Do you believe I haven't realized that, Gale?! I'm watching them become a husk of their former self!" He couldn't fight back the laugh, yet tears dripped down his cheeks. "I am the one who watches as they wither away in our very bed. The bed that should've been warmed by them for years to come have it not been for the wench we met! I busy myself with every book and scroll that the lands and seas could offer me! I sit beside them waiting," his lips trembled. "I sit beside my lover waiting for their breathing to stop. For their heart to quit. To take them away from me,"

"I meant no harm,"

"And yet, you suggest I sit idly by and allow my love to perish." Astarion moved upstairs, listening to the front door slam shut behind his friend. He felt his legs give from beneath him, his knees slamming into the stairs. Kneeling there, he pressed himself against the wall, gripping his white curls with shaking fingers. Tugging at the ends, he jumped at the loud thump that came from the top of the stairs. Moving quickly, he nearly fell at the sight.

You sat up from your kneeling, holding your knee as he rushed over, grabbing the blanket that rested around your shoulders as you leaned into his chest. Sweat dripped down your brow while you wheezed, trying to catch your breath. "What happened," he searched over your body for any marks. His fingertips grazed over your old battle scars and even his old love bites, the ridges seemed to chase his touch. "Why're you out of bed, my love? You should've called for me-"

"I heard you and Gale," you murmured into his shirt. His grip seemed to tighten around your waist as you curled further into him. "I know our time is coming to an end." Your breath seemed to be so hushed that even his ears could pick it up. Or, more so he didn't want to hear it.

"Godsdamnit.. Gale is a fool." He snipped, carefully maneuvering your body to fit against his own as he lifted you. You shivered against him, wincing at the movement and bitterness in his voice. "We'll find you something," he paused, pushing open your bedroom door and quickly setting you back into your silk sheet prison. You felt your heart shatter at his state. His skin seemed more transparent, his eyes a duller yet still brilliant red, and dark circles curled around his eyes as they seemed to be sunken in.

"What if there is nothing for me, my love," you sighed, caressing his cheek as he tsked, grabbing your hand and pressing gentle kisses to your tattered knuckles. "What if you're... Wasting our time?"

"Any time I have that is searching for something to help you," he paused, pressing a kiss to your wrist. "Is." Anther kiss to your shoulder. "Never." Another pressed to your neck, you shivered. "Wasted." He pressed his lips firmly against your own. Both of your lips chapped and scratchy, but he moved further into your bubble, pressing his body against your own. His hands slithered up your body, tugging you into his lap while his lips ventured down your throat. His fangs ghosted your flesh, barely leaving a mark in their wake.

You lurched away, your chest squeezed, and your lungs felt as if they were burning from the inside out. You turned away, attempting to cover your cough as Astarion laid you back against your pillow. Blood trickled past your cracked lips as he stared at you with wide eyes, reddened lips agape. "I'm, I'm sorry," you quivered over each shake, covering your mouth as more blood smeared across your chin and palm. He moved closer, ripping a piece of his shirt and pressed it against your lips, wiping away whatever blood spilled.

"Hush, just let it out, darling," His voice trailed as your coughing fit continued. More blood came and more clothes were ripped from his very back. Time had run out..

He left you to sleep, wandering outside into the crisp night air, feeling his lungs burn as he inhaled as deeply as he could. His chest tightened as his mind flickered back to your blood smeared across your lips. The gags and cries as you tried to stop, tried to swallow water to make the copper taste leave, but you said it reminded you of him. The smell and taste. Balling his fists, he moved through the forest behind your home. No clear direction in mind, just movement. Clear air. Dampened colors of the world. He stumbled as he came to a cliff. With a hiss, he stood at the edge, feeling the heightened breeze push past him as if trying to make him stumble and fall.

Fall.

Oh, he fell. He fell for you.

You were a rare gem in his eyes. Someone who could roll with the punches of life and still come out with a smile. Perhaps someone's blood smeared across your cheek, but he would happily wipe it away before pressing his lips to yours. You were his reason for freedom. Hells, you found him something to help keep his freedom amongst the world after 200 centuries of torture and forgetting who he was. But you gave him someone new. You showed him there was a way to a good life... A precious life. But now his reason is being ripped away from him. And he can't fight or kill this beast.

Astarion watched the horizon, his gaze twitching down to the two rings that cladded his fingers. His other hand moved towards it, trembling as he traced the golden bands. One glittered with rubies, a slight glow to the band itself. The other could be seen as just an ordinary ring, yet it held the most value to him. It was his promise to you. The shared rings between you. His gaze settled on the trees to his left. Moving towards it, he smiled softly as his fingers grazed the bark. Your initials carved jaggedly into it with his last name attached. Memories flooded his mind as tears washed over him once more, yet he couldn't fight back the smile gracing him. Turning around he noticed a rather large pair of rocks near the cliff, swallowing thickly he moved closer and grabbing them, plucking his dagger from its sleeve and began to carve.

Hours had passed. He found himself back in front of his - your - home. More memories danced around his mind as he walked inside, his hand grazed every surface it could reach as he moved up the stairs. His chest felt tight, yet he pressed on.

Opening the bedroom door, his gaze softened as it fell to you. Your chest barely pushed up the blankets as sweat matted your hair to your forehead. Your lips were a chapped pink, torn from your nervous chewing - possibly his fangs work as well. Your eyes fluttered as he settled onto the bed next to you, caressing your cheek as you blinked awake. "Finally coming to bed?" You tried to smile as he mirrored it, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I thought we could go somewhere first.. Remember our cliff?" His voice hushed as you sighed, gently nodding. "How could I forget the most magical place of my life?" He smiled again, brushing hair from your eyes. "I would say this was the most magical," he grinned as you scoffed, quickly turning away as you coughed shaking gently.

"I'll help you, my love," he rose from your shared bed. Carefully moving his arm underneath your knees and caressing your back, your body cradled against him. The movements felt like that of a mother rocking her newborn child as he descended down your stairs, still holding you close as you sighed into his ripped and stained shirt. "You... You should wash this, my star," you murmured, feeling the scratch of your old blood stain as he tsked.

"I'll be alright, darling, you just rest..." His voice seemed softer than usual. Lucid even. You heard a door open and shut as the world around you chirped and sang with birds and insects songs. The breeze chilled your skin as you gently shook against Astarion's chest, goosebumps lining your flesh. "We're almost there, my sweet, just a bit longer, please." You nodded against his chest, sighing softly.

All movement stopped as your body met the dirt and grass, Astarion following as you leaned into the curve of his body. You smiled, moving your head to where you could see your vampiric lover. He seemed... At peace. Whole. You caressed his cheek with your trembling hand, your thumb dragging across his skin. His lips caught your thumb, pressing a soft kiss to it.

"Thank you for bringing me here." You whispered, afraid to disturb the gentleness surrounding you.

"Thank you for being with me." He whispered back, catching your lips in an almost blistering kiss. You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten and your eyes began to flutter, yet your lips still danced along with his own. Seemingly chasing his, begging for more time..

He felt his lips quiver as you slumped into his arms. Your mouth falling away from his own while your head rolled into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Tears stained his cheeks as he held you close, shaking with gasping sobs.

You were gone. Just... Gone.

Licking his lips, he gently stood, taking your limp figure with him before moving towards the hole he had made before.. He knew your time was over when he saw the blood. The thing he once thrived to take from you, now all he could wish for was for it to return to you. Carefully placing your body into the earth, sinking to his knees as he pushed and shoved dirt over your body; more tears blurred his vision as he pushed forward, wanting to dive in after you. Once his hands were dusted in the dirt that now held your body, he glanced to the stone he had carved earlier, Y/N Ancunín. Reaching over, he plucked one of the few wildflowers and laid it on top, releasing a shaking breath.

Astarion blinked once, twice before swallowing thickly. Early sunlight peaked over the horizon now, awakening the world around him and yet... All he wanted was to rest. To sleep. Carefully standing, he moved around your grave, and pressed a kiss to your gravestone. Standing to his full height, he turned towards the cliff and watched as the sun rose over head. Feeling the warmth that caressed his cold skin, he huffed out a sigh as he walked backwards, settling into the spot next to your grave. Licking his lips, he glanced towards your sight once again as he smiled softly, closing his eyes and seeing your smiling face greeting him.

"Aeterna Amantes, my darling.. Lovers Forever. I will find you again," he paused, swallowing around his tongue as he reached towards his left hand, gently tugging off your wedding band and pushing it into the earth underneath him.

"After this life, and the next... I love you, my sweet love."

His voice fell into a sigh as he tugged off the last ring. The sunlight bit and bullied through his flesh, burning and peeling at it as he began to sparkle and crumble. His final thought of hugging you tight while pressing a firm yet loving kiss to your lips. Tugging you into his chest, while you laugh and smile into the kiss.

The sunlight ring glittering in front of your shared burial site. Your headstones he carved with a gentle caress, love, and kindness. You were lovers. Soulmates even. Beings that were crafted to fit one another and Astarion knew that... If he lost you, he would lose himself all over again. Besides... He promised you.

[the-monkeies-girl]

NAHHHH NOT CEASAR HITTING ON HIS SON'S GIRL!! SHAMEFUL !! (more please and ty)

like father like son, like FATHER LIKE SON [Gunshot, I am taken out ] Do i need to make this a series oh my god

It felt like even looking at Caesar was going to cause your heart to jump into your throat as you brought your knees inwards and rubbed them together as you tried to focus on Blue Eyes' hands making rapid pace with signing. It was immaculate to watch, especially when he was in the throes of conversation with Ash. Hands flew faster than you were able to really comprehend. They were giving you a kind re-cap of the fishing trip they had gone on that caused you to inadvertently flirt towards the Ape King himself thinking with grace that it was in fact Blue Eyes. Heat tickled your nose at that, thinking about the idea that Caesar thought about what piece of clothing you had lacked, what you had prepared for his son and it sat in the pit of your stomach like a brick. You were probably overreacting. Caesar was kind to you and always had been, his words weren't meant to be taken as flirtatious! Maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you and he was being cordial to put you at ease, as he so often did and based that direction his actions on his nuanced knowledge of Human intricacies.

He could have just been making a joke to make you feel better about being embarrassed or he was plainly unaware that what he said make your heart stop in your chest for a few seconds, the look he gave you made fire splatter along your ribcage. You went with the latter option. He did not know, and he was most likely not even thinking about it, and you were left the fool for letting yourself think that he was thinking about it. A mess, you thought to yourself and sighed gently, but reality. Bringing your fingers down, you rested them on your knee caps and lightly traced the tucked away bone there and smiled at Blue Eyes when his gaze caught hold of yours and you wished he held it a bit more and pulled you into the azure depths of assurance and comfort. But, he was quick to chatter back to Ash as they were talking about how big the catch was today.

He'd gotten back only minutes after Caesar departed, the whole moment lost in the shuffle of his hands caressing your back and pulling you flush against him, your mouth gasping in surprise at that as he took you. Once, and then twice. Caesar had to know that happened - the time lapse between Blue Eyes arriving back and going to see his Father was too significant for the Ape King to presume that his son... Didn't lay with his mate.

Then... There was the whole scent issue. Blue Eyes probably wafted your scent straight to Caesar upon greeting his Father. Even now, you were blessed with the knowledge that any Ape in the vicinity was aware of what Blue Eyes had done to you, what you had done to you and while that was often shoved aside in favor of being ignorant to eyes on you, eyes critiquing you for even captivating the Ape Prince's attention and the mindless chatter of how you were going to ever give him an heir, you were unable to shake the feeling of a set of intensely focused green eyes boring holes into the back of your skull with malice intent.

Moving to the side, you adjusted your position on the rock you were perched on for the tanglement of conversations you were often blessed with after communal dinner, enough time to let your stomach settle before you trailed off to bed with Blue Eyes. There was no settling though, you felt like you were flying off the charts of carnal want, wanting another round with your intended to see if the gross sensation you had about his Father would dissipate. Anything, anything... You'd trail your hands along Blue Eyes' chest, you push him down and let yourself fall between his legs, something you hadn't gotten the chance to do but you were morbidly curious how the timid Prince might react when you touch him, barely grazing with the tip of your tongue ---

'Father.' Blue Eyes signed reverently, letting his eyes capture yours for a second, curious to know why Caesar was even here.

Your eyes widened as you looked over and found it difficult to even stutter out a small 'hi' at him as he drew down and sat next to his son. With them side by side, it was abundantly clear that while Blue Eyes was more like his Mother in personality and some aspects of his looks, it was diluted Caesar to his very core. The same intense stare, the same gait, the same movements of signing, Caesar must have been the primary parent to teach him growing up.

He knew, oh god he knew you had been thinking about him and now he's over here torturing you with his presence. In front of Blue Eyes no less. How uncouth, you muttered bitterly to yourself, letting your arms fall across your chest. You had an excuse, it was a cold enough night. Caesar fell into small conversation with Blue Eyes and Ash - even going as far as to thank them for the amount of fish that was caught today and with that, he gave you one good look before standing and walking off, your eyes watching that all too familiar stance before he was out of your vision.

'Are you okay?' Blue Eyes asked, reaching a hand up and placing it delicately against your knee cap where you had been rubbing at earlier.

'Do you want to...' Your signing came to a slow stop as you looked into his eyes, raising your eyebrows a bit suggestively in hopes that he understood.

'Talking to Ash. Did it when I got back, you want to again?'

You nodded.

'Can you wait until I'm done with Ash?'

You sighed quietly and nodded in agreement. it wasn't like he was wrong. 'I'll be waiting for you.' You were fast to sign that so Ash didn't catch on, letting your hand linger on his shoulder for a moment as you stood, Blue Eyes tilting his head into the minor affection as you set to trail towards the nest you shared together, unsatisfaction bubbling in your core. If you were going to be alone, you figured, maybe you'd do something to help yourself out. You had a feeling it was going to be sometime before Blue Eyes finally joined you.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 1 - El Paso

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut - MDNI

The darkness within her became his obsession. She was his. Didn’t she know? When Azriel spies his wicked mate with another male, when he kills that male, what he knows as life shifts eternally. No longer is there life. No longer is there death. There is only Felina. Felina who has many secrets.

Series Masterlist - Part 2

Warnings: threat of self-harm/suicide, assumed character death (you’ll see), implied rape/non-con (some gross, shitty males discussing it in a tavern), dub-con, violence, obsession, dark themes, sexual content

One hour ago

Rhysand

All Rhys knew was that when Azriel returned from what was supposed to be a short inspection of the Illyrian war camps, he was different. His shadows whirred violently; his eyes… there was a darkness in them that he’d not seen even within the depths of harrowing interrogations; and while his scent remained his usual cedar chilled mist an iron tang tinged it.

“Az?” Rhys asked cautiously, trailing his brother up the stairs

“Not now.” Azriel growled, clenched fists shaking, pupils blown wide, sweat beading his brow.

Rhys said nothing more, following the frantic male to his room. Well- until Azriel slammed the door shut in his face.

Message received.

A few minutes later, Azriel re-emerged into the living area, a packed duffel bag in tow.

“Az? Talk to me.” Rhys pleaded. Fighting against the urge to dive into his mind. Azriel’s shields were ironclad but Rhys could break through them if absolutely necessary.

“Just stop. I’m fine.” Azriel growled.

He sure as shit didn’t look fine.

“I need to go handle some personal things. I have never asked for leave for anything. Can you please just allow me a couple of weeks?”

The High Lord’s brows creased, voice raising “Weeks? With no provided reasoning?”

“I said that it was personal.”

“As your employer, I can accept that it’s personal. As your family, Az, come on. What happened?”

“I’m leaving whether you grant me this or not.”

Azriel and Rhysand had many battle-of-wills over the years but this was different. Rhys could feel it in the very marrow of his bones.

And Azriel’s demeanor - Fuck, he’d always been dangerous but he was outright predatory in the moment.

Rhys shook his head. “I should kick your ass for talking to me like this but fine - go. Two weeks, Azriel, and then you’re back here or I tear the world apart looking for you. You aren’t abandoning us without reason. I will not accept it.”

Azriel’s only response was a tick of the jaw before stepping out the front door and launching skyward at breakneck speed.

Rhys spent the next hour nursing a glass of whiskey, fighting an internal battle of leaving his brother be or going to find him. Just when he began to lose that battle and head out searching, Cassian burst through the door. His hair disheveled from the wind and caked with blood, his eyes puffy and red as if he’d been crying the entire flight.

Rhys froze in his tracks at the sight of his brother who took a few steps forward before falling to the floor, knees giving out as he let out a deep, world-shattering scream.

Rhys sent his darkness to caress his mind, gently prodding for what could have left Cassian in such a state only to be met with crushing waves of grief. Rhys pushed his consciousness with great effort to cut through the viscous surge of emotion desperate for any sense of clarity.

He’d almost reached his own daemati limit when he was abruptly greeted by flashes of memory. Snow painted bright-red with blood. Azriel laying limp. Ash arrows littering his body. Lifeless hazel eyes. Long dark hair. Red lips. Eyes darker than night. Sounds of a female voice screaming. Tears falling onto blood coated hands.

Suddenly Rhys was thrust from Cassian’s mind as he fought against the induced slumber. Cassian’s body shuttered as tears broke free once again. His words slurred as he tried to communicate within his half dazed state, “Go. Ste-steppes.” Another broken sob. “Az is d- Oh gods!” He cried out. “Dead. And s-she’s”

“Who?” Rhys’ mind flashed to the female crouched over Azriel, screaming.

“Oh fuck, R-rhys. Go!!!”

Cassian fell back into his dream state before Rhys could press further.

Rhys willed himself to remain as calm as possible. Fighting to keep his mental voice steady before the grief could overtake him as he called for Amren and Feyre.

Elain, who had been in the garden, would stay with Nyx. Amren would keep an eye on Cassian and throw additional wards up, while Feyre retrieved Nesta from the House of Wind. Once Feyre returned she would be able to soothe his mind.

Feyre’s mental voice wavered, heartbreak surging through the bond at the news, but she agreed to keep details private until Rhys understood exactly what had happened.

——————

Three weeks ago

Azriel

War Camp inspections had a way of bringing out the worst in Azriel. As if his tolerance level for Illyrians was not already at a miniscule level, these inspections always seemed to inflate the egos of the Illyrians. Camp Lords and their cronies marching into meetings with puffed out chests and mouths spewing hatred particularly grated on his typically infallible patience.

Azriel had been staying at the River House for some time now, carefully avoiding Elain as much as possible, and trying his best to avoid giving Rhys anything to pull rank over. And fuck, he was so tired after a day of negotiations. With nothing but tension awaiting him at home and overwhelming fatigue, he found himself at a shitty Inn in the Illyrian Steppes.

He’d seated himself at a small corner table, shrouding himself in shadow as he observed the belligerent patrons of Rosa’s Cantina, a shoddy tavern attached to the Inn.

“Witch.” He heard a group of males call her. Their eyes fixed on a stunning female swaying her hips in time to the music flowing from a rickety piano at the front of the bar.

Remaining silent, the Spymaster listened to the ruddy males lecherous conversation.

“I wouldn’t mind being under her spell.”

“You’ll sooner find your balls nailed to a stake than completion - even with tits like that it’s not worth it.”

Azriel snarled to himself. Even outside of the Illyrian camps, the males in the Steppes were abhorrent. Backwards in every way. The woman continued twirling, her raven-black hair flowing with each movement of her supple body.

“Not if I tie her down first.” A burly male chimed in, his slurred voice gruff.

“I’ll bet you five marks that you won’t survive the encounter with all of your appendages.”

“Look at what the whore is wearing. She wants it whether she knows or not.”

The brute of a male stumbled up to her and Azriel sighed to himself, he really didn’t want to get into it tonight. But….

The male put his greasy hands on her and Azriel instantly jolted upright, preparing to step in. She tried pulling away as the male yanked her into him. The female whirled in his arms, looking up to him like a lover. The male immediately dropped his arms, palms in the air as if placating a wild animal, he began stepping away slowly. When he turned around, Azriel noticed the blood drained from his face as he threw gold marks on the table and immediately left the cantina. The males only laughed and went back to their drinking.

“Wicked Felina” they called her.

“Eh? How much money have you won off the males she scares away now?” One of the patrons chimed in.

“Enough to cover these boys.” The male slapped the new pair of leather boots adorning his feet.

Azriel hadn’t seen what the male saw in her face when she looked to him but his shadows whispered to him.

“Darkness”

“Like calls to like”

“Look”

And maybe it was the stale mead he’d downed but he did. He strode right up to the female and could have sworn he felt time stand still as the patrons of the bar watched.

He didn’t touch her, only spoke in a low tone, “May I have a dance?”

The female whirled towards him and Azriel had to fight to keep his footing steady. Before him stood the most breathtaking female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes met his and his heart sputtered as he stared into the depth of them. Blacker than night, constellations and blood and something “other” swimming inside of them. He could sense her darkness and instead of his typical urge to question, it drew him in like metal to a magnet.

As she took him in, he heard her heart skip a beat for only a moment, before that darkness invaded his senses once again. No, it wasn’t darkness to run away from at all. It was alluring, captivating, dangerous. And he wanted to drink it all in.

“You are a brave male.” She spoke with a slight, unfamiliar accent. So similar to those of Velaris but with something else mixed in.

Azriel’s shadows whirled around the female, winding through her hair and between her fingers. She didn’t balk from them, she only remained intensely focused on him.

Her scent surrounded them and he couldn’t breathe the female in deeply enough.

An hour later he found himself driving into her. Her breasts bouncing so beautifully that he nearly came from the sight alone. He’d spent so long fisting his cock as he fantasized of Elain that he’d forgotten just how glorious the feel of a tight cunt wrapped around him felt. And this female, Felina, her moans were like a sirens call, drawing him so deeply into her that he didn’t know where she ended and he begun.

He would have gone slowly with her, tenderly, worshipped every centimeter of cool, exposed skin, but she had begged him so prettily to fuck her until she forgot what she was. Who was he to deny a female who knew exactly what she wanted. He’d never fucked a female so hard and still she pleaded for more, sensing that he was holding back. When he finally let go of his restraint, he had to dig his nails into her moonlight pale flesh just to keep her from sliding away. She bit her lip and held his gaze through every thrust. Those damning eyes looking at him like she could read every fucking tendril of his own inner-void.

When she came, he came with her. The Inn shaking with the intensity of their combined orgasms. As he came down from the high, the darkness in her eyes banked momentarily a deep, blue flashing in them before once again overtaking them. He gasped sharply as a snap yanked in his chest. Gold tethering him to her.

“Mate” his shadows sang

“Our mate, our mate.”

Azriel’s breathing grew frantic. She climbed out of the bed, her exposed backside red from the slaps he’d pressed to her round ass. “Did you feel that?”

She turned her head over her shoulder, those eyes meeting his again. “Feel what?”

Azriel’s heart sank. “Nothing.”

“Hm.” She shrugged. “Intresting.” And poured a glass of water from a pitcher on an oak dresser with nonchalance. As if they hadn’t just had life-altering sex, like the ground itself hadn’t shook with the force of their coupling.

Her mouthwatering breasts bounced with each step toward him, her lightly toned abdomen baring silver, faded scars.

“Who gave you those?” Azriel asked.

“I’m as willing to talk about them as you are about those.” She nodded toward his hands.

Touché

“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.” She stated before bringing his head to her chest and running delicate fingers through his hair until he drifted into a deep slumber full of darkness and a golden thread.

When he woke, she was gone.

And he would have thought he’d dreamt it all, had it not been for the nearly-healed crescent moon imprint of her nails littering his body. He hummed in satisfaction at the sight.

He only hoped that next time she’d leave marks deep enough to scar. He should have staked his claim on her too.

——————

Two weeks ago

Azriel

He searched for her, frantically, day in and day out but she was nowhere to be found. How could he have found his mate and been so foolish to lose her in such a short period of time. He hadn’t even told her his name.

Eventually, he had to take pause, and venture into the camps due to a couple of missing Illyrians. Through his questioning, he’d found that the males were shaking, reporting a fanged creature that swept from the trees and picked off several of their men, one by one. When they returned to reclaim the bodies, all that was left were scattered body parts. Fingers, tongues, and cocks mostly.

He remembered the whispers in the taverns of “Wicked Felina.” Surely it was just paranoia.

Azriel returned to the tavern each night, hiding outside within his shadows. She was never there.

His patience was infallible, no amount of space or time would deter him. He would find his mate, he would embrace that pit of darkness dwelling within her - even if she were the creature the men were speaking of. She hadn’t hurt him, she’d only awoken something within him. His Felina may be dark but she is not the villain. She couldn’t be.

He pushed the sight of the ghostly pale brute running away from her at Rosa’s far into the back of his mind.

——————

One week ago

Azriel

Something tugged at him that night, urged him to find her again. Felina had become the focal point of his thoughts, consumed with her 24/7.

He was a desperate male, he wanted - no, needed - to know every piece of this dark anomaly. Mind, body, spirit. He’d sought someone whose light cast upon his obsidian soul for so long - finding hope in the radiant enigma that is Mor and the gentle, sweet presence of Elain. But all along the mother knew he needed someone who could step into his shadow and find solace. When Felina stared into his eyes, he knew she saw it, saw home. He saw it in her too.

She was so new to him and yet so familiar.

His brothers would tell him he was infatuated, that this was just another Mor, but they would be so far from the truth. This was a need, as essential to him as water or air. He thrummed with desire for his Wicked Felina.

She was the other half of his soul and he would not lose out on the opportunity to make her his.

Tonight was the night, she’d be there, he felt it deep within.

And she was.

Not inside. No, in a dark corner of the alley adjacent to Rosa’s Cantina. With a silver haired High-Fae male, nearly as tall as Azriel, muscled, well-groomed.

And she - her back was pressed against the wall. Her head flung back from the crook of his neck it where her face had been burrowed, pure ecstasy written all over those seductive features. A moan escaping her plush lips.

And then he saw it. Blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

No.

No.

This couldn’t be.

He HURT her. She didn’t want this. Didn’t she know that he was her soul-bonded mate? She wouldn’t fuck someone in the dark corner of an alley willingly.

Didn’t she know she was better than that? Didn’t she know she was everything?

Visions of the scars on her abdomen and of the male who joked about tying her down to have his way with her came to mind.

No. Not his Felina. Nobody would harm her now that she was his.

Azriel didn’t think further as he barreled for them, unsheathing truth-teller and slitting the males throat before he could even lock eyes with him.

Felina let out a quiet inhale of shock, onyx eyes blown wide.

“No. No. No.” She dropped to the male. Her nostrils flaring at the sight of him, his bloodied neck, checking for a pulse.

There was none.

Felina looked up to him with near-black, pleading eyes. “Azriel.”

And despite the peril of the moment, the fact that he clearly misread the situation, his name rolling off those pretty red lips made it all worth it.

Until the thought occurred to him. He’d never told her his name. “How?”

“Az….” Her voice cracked, the slightest bit of silver lined her eyes before darkness began radiating from her, rage filling those deeper than night eyes. Her voice became cold, deadly. “I told you that curiosity was dangerous.”

Shouts from bystanders rang out, creating panic among the villagers.

“You need to go now. They’ll recognize you.”

He paused, mouth gaping as she looked to him. He knew what she was saying but remained frozen in place.

“Azriel, please!” She cried.

There it was. His name again. Had she been as taken by him as he was by her? Had she sought him out too?

It was then that she unsheathed a dagger and held it to her own throat. “If you don’t leave, I will end it all right now.”

If he’d have looked closely, he would have seen the way her hand shook, the way she couldn’t quite touch the blade to her pale skin.

“I will find you again, Felina.” He vowed - threatened - Don’t even think about escaping me. You’re mine.

“Go.” She mouthed.

——————

Four hours ago

Azriel

Staying away for days was impossible. When she’s wander at night, he’d watch her from afar, remaining unseen. The small village mourned the dead male, apparently the esteemed ruler of this shit hole place. He caught glimpses of a mourning Felina. He felt something in the bond but he couldn’t quite make it out.

Resentment, perhaps? Jealousy? Longing?

And despite the black apparel she donned through the village, her face remained neutral with only a tinge of sadness.

Villagers whispered as she walked by. She paid them no mind.

He imagined they likely suspected the death was over her. Azriel’s shadows reported he had a wife. Why would his Felina sleep with a married male? If he was willing to cheat on his wife with her, he couldn’t have been a good male. Azriel did right by the females for eliminating him from the picture, right?

It was then that a flash of auburn appeared. The male’s wife with several large males behind her carrying torches. “Whore!” She spat. “Only fucking my husband wasn’t good enough, was it?”

“You had to sleep around with another male, one you surely had under your spell, just as you had with mine. You vile witch! And now my husband is dead because some enchanted soul grew jealous over you. You will burn for this!”

Suddenly she was placed in shackles, his shadows zooming into her vision. She must have noticed them as she whipped her head searching for him. She mouthed “no”, shaking her head in the direction his shadows raced off to. They came back.

“Blue not black. Blue not black.”

“Still beating. Still beating.”

“Mate. Mate. Mate.”

It was then that wings burst out of her back. Like Illyrian wings but white, the light casting a holographic range of gentle hues of blues and purple, and pinks. Talons emerged from her nails, but her lovely face remained impassive.

His shadows stirred aggressively.

“Alike. Alike. Alike.”

Another shadow shot back to him, beginning to report something when Azriel saw the pyre lighting in town as the villagers threw obscenities in her direction.

Felina held her head high, accepting her fate so easily.

The fire grew and Azriel once again acted on instinct. They couldn’t take her from him. And to burn her? Rage roared within him.

Azriel flew in, obliterating the large males jerking her toward the fire.

“The Shadowsinger!” someone cried out. Azriel saw nothing but Felina and the rising flames. Never would his mate be subjected to licks of flame marring her flesh. She was far too precious to burn.

Anyone who tried to lay hands on he or Felina were eviscerated. “The key!” She cried, pointing to a dead male. She ran toward it. Azriel launched in front of her, his speed overtaking hers as he retrieved it. She caught the key but her talons made it impossible to unlock the chains quickly. Azriel grabbed the key, unshackling her, the talons and wings disappearing.

“We have to go!” She shouted. Azriel caught her, launching skyward, right as an arrow shot toward them, and straight into Azriel’s back. He fought through it, he had to get her to safety. Another arrow flew through the air, narrowly missing Felina. The attempt on his mate triggering a knee-jerk reaction in Azriel who turned to send a blast of power at the bastard shooting the arrows.

He was struck in the side as another arrow met him. Azriel shot another blast of power in the direction that it came from.

Azriel could feel power rumbling under Felina’s surface. “We don’t have time! You’re hurt.”

Azriel bit back a cry at the pain radiating through his body, the blood not slowing as it should. He began feeling faint, fevered. He struggled through it, needing to make it as far away as he could but his vision began to blur as his body weakened. Felina was crying out something but he couldn’t hear her. All there was was pain and the cool press of her body against his. Gods, she was so cold.

“We need to land, Azriel! You can’t make it further.” She commended. He felt the sting of her palm on his face. “Wake up! Land!”

The slap along with her frantic voice roused Azriel enough to land them, very roughly. He crashed down on top of her.

“Felina….” He rasped.

“Shh.” She hushed him. “Save your breath. I’m okay.” Reassuring him through staggered breaths. “We need to get you to help.”

Azriel placed a hand on hers. “Too far. There’s nothing.”

“There’s got to be something!” She choked out.

Commotion erupted from the trees as a group of males from the village drew toward them. Their torches lighting the night and their bows drawn and ready.

Azriel used the little remaining might he had to push himself up. Felina throwing herself on top of him, her hands coated in his blood.

“I’m sorry for this, Azriel.” She spoke and ripped the poisoned arrow out of him, stabbing it right into her bicep. “Fuck!” She cursed. Suddenly the talons and wings were back. Her scent shifted into something so fucking familiar that it made Azriel’s heart ache, and screams echoed as she shot bursts of power at them. The range was short and the damage limited but it slowed them.

A commotion distracted the group of males as flares of red shot from the brush. A large winged male approaching from the night.

“Cass.” Felina whispered in awe.

Azriel’s vision went dark again, his conscious only picking up on words as the males screaming became less and less with each blast of power from Cassian and Felina.

A light caress came over Azriel’s mind, stroking it into submission, his pain easing. This was it. He wasn’t going to make it out of here.

And at that moment the caress broke free, Felina releasing a piercing scream. He tried moving, tried to console his mate, but the arrow that had just lodged in his heart was too much.

Azriel fought to see her one last time, her darkened eyes now shining like the night itself.

“Mate.” He whispered.

“I know, Azriel. I know.” She sobbed. Caressing his face with those delicate, chilly hands.

All Azriel remembered was the darkness embracing him once again. The pain easing as he heard Cassian’s voice.

“How?” Cassian’s booming voice cracked.

“Later, Cassian. He needs help.” Her voice was so pitiful. Broken.

Azriel’s breathing grew so shallow, that sweet darkness lulling him, even his shadows were silent. All he saw in his mind was her but she was fading. Her touch no longer registering to his senses.

He tried fighting it but there was no use as Azriel took his final breath.

“He’s dead, Cassian.”

——————

Two hours ago

Cassian

Cassian had never flown so fast in his life.

Oh gods, his brother was dead. The female, she refused to leave his side until he left to get Rhys.

His mind roared at him that he should have brought her with him. But why? Who was she?

Who was she to Azriel?

All he could remember as the tears flowed freely was that his brother was dead. That he heard the call for help from the village, that the Shadowsinger had gone mad, only to find a group of men on the attack and his brother incapacitated.

He had to get to Rhys quickly and let him know about Azriel, about the female.

——————

Present

Rhysand

Rhys winnowed to the vicinity of where Cassian had been in the memories when he’d held his mind. He flew until he found the bodies of several men. This was the clearing Cassian had been in and in the center of the clearing was caked blood.

Caked blood and no Azriel. No female.

But the blood, there was so much. He couldn’t have survived.

Right?

——————

Two hours ago

Azriel

The darkness on Azriel’s mind eased only slightly. The crippling pain too much to bear.

He opened his eyes to his version of heaven, to his mate’s face. The arrow removed from her arm.

He was in so much pain only managing to rasp out, “Can’t leave you.”

“You have to make a choice now.” She cupped his hand. “There was no other way.” She spoke to herself more than him. “There’s no way Cassian could have made it back in time.”

She was trying to convince herself. His decision was already made.

She shook her head, bracing herself for his response. “You have only a few moments left.”

The black fog cleared from his mind, every ounce of pain returning, but his eyes opened.

“Look at me, Azriel.”

He blinked and where her canines had been were sharp fangs. “I can save you but I can’t guarantee this existence is worth it. I am still figuring it out for myself.”

To his credit, Azriel didn’t balk. A chance to be with his mate… his Felina. He groaned as he turned his head, exposing his neck to her.

“Azriel, if I do this. You are bound to me. I know I’m your mate but you don’t know me. What if I’m… too much? Can you bare that?”

He tried to speak. She would never be too much. He only kept his neck exposed, a warning rattle escaping his chest.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, as she pressed her fangs into his neck.

Blinding light erupted through him along with the worst pain he’d felt in centuries. Tears fell from those otherworldly eyes of night onto his neck.

He fought through the pain, biting back screams. He would be strong for her.

As she drank, she caressed his hair. A slight whimper and the scent of arousal escaping her. She tensed as she recognized the scent. And he could feel a hint of shame from her end of the bond.

Azriel had only heard legends of vampyr’s. Stories told in the camps to scare children who were prone to wandering off and now here she was feeling shame for her own body’s response to having him at the most intimate level.

As she drank, little gulps escaping her, he felt his strength returning. He raised a hand and grabbed her breast, massaging it as she lapped at his blood. A silent communication that whatever she was feeling did not frighten him, was not unwelcome.

Her body relaxed only slightly but he could sense her relief.

The pain began subsiding and Azriel’s strength had already returned in full, in excess, even.

Her drinking slowed and she fought against the urge to keep drinking, the greedy need for blood raging through her.

Azriel raised his hand from her breast to her face, stroking his thumb across her cheek. She leaned into it, grounding herself.

Suddenly she pulled herself off, gasping. Her chest heaving. Pain filled her eyes as she stared up at him. But he felt… incredible. Euphoric.

And there his mate was, reeking of sweet arousal. Chest heaving. Trickles of blood dripping from her mouth.

“You have to go now, Azriel. Get what you need and come back to me.”

He could hardly think. His need to be inside of her overwhelming every sense.

“Azriel. Listen!” She spoke firmly. “You have a couple of hours at most. Go home, get any healing tonics or sedatives that you may have, clothes, and blankets and come right back here.”

“I don’t-“ he started.

“You will. Can you still winnow?”

Azriel nodded. Had he winnowed in front of her before?

“Go. Now. Before Cassian gets home and bombards you with questions.”

Azriel didn’t want to leave, growing irate at the thought of it.

“I know it’s hard for you to leave. It’s a culmination of our newly tethered bond and likely the mating bond, Azriel.”

He stayed in place.

Finally she approached him. Staring straight past his eyes and into the depths of his soul as the urge to obey her taking overtook him. “Go now.”

Without another word, he left, winnowing directly to the River House, collecting a bag, and leaving Rhys with far too many questions. He prayed to the mother that he wouldn’t track him.

——————

One week later

Azriel

She’d begged him not to take her but she was declining far too quickly. They’d spent the past seven days in a daze. He had quickly gone from euphoric to delirious once returning from the River House.

And just as he’d made a life altering choice to be eternally bonded to her when she’d turned him, Felina made the choice to accept the mating bond by allowing him to feed off of her.

The combination of blood lust and the mating frenzy sent him into a spiral. They barely talked in the past few days, they’d have eternity to do that. He spent more time inside of her than out but she… she refused to feed off of him, citing that it was too risky with his newly turned state. When he wasn’t rutting into her, he was hunting for game but the blood wasn’t enough for her. He cursed himself for taking so much of her blood in his frenzied state.

She repeatedly asked that he not take her to his family but they would understand. It was the only option at this point. Her scent began shifting into that strange familiar aroma again, the darkness of her eyes swirling with flecks of blue. That “other” aspect to her diminishing slightly.

As she fought her consciousness, she barely managed to whisper “There’s more.” before going unconscious.

He’d waited so long to find his mate.

She’d saved him.

He didn’t want to go against her wishes but her condition was deteriorating rapidly. Her fever raising, her once-cool skin now burning as whimpers escaped her lips.

He did the only thing he could and prayed to the Mother that Felina would forgive him.

He flew her home.

They landed on the River House lawn in the middle of the night. Rhys appeared with a crack of thunder to confront the threat that breached his wards. Feyre, Elain, Cassian, and Nesta rushing out behind him, their eyes wide with shock.

Rhys shuddered, falling to his knees before his brother. “Azriel. Thank the mother you’re home.” He sobbed.

Felina let out a pitiful moan. Sweat beading on her brow. Her cool skin now radiating waves of heat. She slowly, weakly opened her weary eyes, the swirling black now bleeding into a blend of ultraviolet blue.

Rhys approached the female in his arms, Azriel tightening his grip on her. Time stood still as Rhys gently touched her face, carefully turning her head toward him. His face of relief crumpling into something earth shattering, the mountains quaking as he fell to his knees.

Azriel started, “This is Felina, my m-“

Rhys interrupted shaking his head as let out pained, joyous laughter. “No, Az.” He choked out. “Not Felina.”

Fighting to regain composure, Rhys clarified. “That’s Y/N.”

Azriel gasped as those now violet-blue eyes peered up into his, his jaw dropping as he carefully went to his knees with her in his arms.

That scent. Those eyes of night. Azriel’s mate was-

Rhys gave a disbelieving smile his voice again breaking at the sight before him.

“My sister.”

——————————————

A/N: Thank you for reading! For now, this is a one-shot. I have left openings in the story with the potential for it to become a series or at least part two with an explanation but have not yet decided.

This fic is loosely inspired by an old-western song called “El Paso” that I listened to growing up with my grandmother. The song is where I chose my pen name of “Felina” from. You may also recognize “Wicked Felina” as the title of the final episode of the show “Breaking Bad”

ACOTAR general tag list: @lilah-asteria

[pit-and-the-pen]

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 5

This is a short but not so sweet chapter. I’m sorry in advance for what I’m about to do <3

Warnings: so much angst, mild torture and violence, injury to characters (let me know if I missed anything)

This is the first chapter I’ll put a big spoiler warning on, it follows the events at the end of A Court of Mist and Fury. I would HIGHLY suggest not reading this if you haven’t finished that book.

WC:4.5k

Previous Parts: [Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

It all went wrong so quickly. So quickly, I knew there was never any chance it would have gone right. We woke before the sun had risen. My mind instantly screamed to leave the moment I saw the bone white castle in front of us. But instead, we followed Feyre. Deeper and deeper into the castle.The cauldron urging her to find it. 

Cassian followed nearly a flight ahead of us, clearing the few guards with ease. If only I knew why it had been so easy. 

And then I saw it. It filled the room with something so dark, I didn’t have a name for it. 

“Hurry.” Was all Mor said as Feyre approached it almost timidly. 

“Listen.” Azriel whispered. I felt it then. I thought it had been my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. But as I took a deep breath, it seemed to be coming from the cauldron itself. Feyre walked towards it, eyes clouded and unfocused. Mor cried Feyre’s name as the other female reached into her cloak, hands grabbing onto the pieces of the book. I realized seconds too late as did Mor. Feyre laid the pieces atop one another. The world did not explode around us. A good omen, or simply holding its breath for something worse. I did not know. I watched as Feyre’s lips formed words I could not hear. Then the small trail of red streaked down her face. Azriel’s hands reached out so fast I almost missed it until I sensed the new addition in the room. Jurian. I took a step back, closing the distance between Mor and Cassian. Azriel retreated back a few paces as well. Putting himself between Feyre and the resurrected human. Rhys was instantly at her side. Hissing words at Jurian. The male only seemed to brush them off. I tugged on the sleeve of Cassian’s leather. A silent plea for us to run the hell away. The fog would not roll from my fingers. Frozen behind some new, unknown force. But I stayed silent, not taking my eyes off of my family as they spoke with Jurian. 

“I was sent to distract you-” The joy in those few words was enough to send my mind into a panic. I surged forward to pull them back to the stairs. “You won’t leave this castle alive.” 

Jurian tilted his head as he eyed up Rhys, my proximity to him.

“Do you know what it was like? To be forced to watch everything, to be alive in that ring. Not able to sleep or breathe, or feel.” 

“It must not have been so bad if you joined her master.” 

Rhys’ response seemed to be sucked from his chest. And I followed his eyeline and felt the air leave my lungs. The familiar face of the King of Hybern soaking us all in. 

“I’m almost disappointed you didn’t see the trap, it was oh so…easy.” 

The king of Hybern spoke, distracting all of us just long enough that no one could stop Jurian as he drove an ash arrow through Azriel’s chest. A twisted, gnarled scream ripped through my chest as I saw Azriel fall to his knees. His precious wings drooped to the ground. I scrambled over to his side before a pair of invisible hands wrapped around me, pinning me in place. A cry left my lips as I saw Rhys and Cassian struggle to haul Azriel to his feet.As the force released me, Mor’s support at my side was the sole reason I was standing. 

We marched up the stairs behind the King of Hybern. Soft sobs racked through my whole body as Mor all but carried me up the steps. My eyes did not leave Azriel’s frame. Holding my breath at every passing second, waiting for the moment Hybern would release the poison into his heart. We didn’t stop moving until we entered the throne room

The throne room ripped me from my body, catapulting me back into that vile place under the mountain. Except it was not Amarantha that was waiting for us. It was something more horrifying altogether as I watched Lucien and Tamlin step out of the shadows. 

My legs finally gave out. Mor’s hand wrapping under my arm to stop my knees from colliding with the hard marble floor. Feyre was shaking her head from side to side, like she could shake the sight from her memory. “Tamlin…” I started to take a step before a force pushed me onto my back. A snarl ripped from Cassian's chest as I yelped. My breath getting knocked out of me in a loud whoosh. I could only sit and watch as Tamlin’s green eyes swept greedily over Feyre’s figure, taking in the Illyrian leathers she was dressed in. It seemed it was only Lucien’s hand on Tamlin’s shoulder that stopped him from lunging at her. 

“What have you done?” Her voice a cold whisper. 

“It was easy really. I return you to your rightful place, and Tamlin, in exchange, would allow my shoulders to pass through his court and use it as a base when we brought down that stupid wall.” Pure panic flowed through me as I fought against Hyben’s power to try to get to Feyre, to put myself between Feyre and the High Lord of the Spring Court. I could only manage to sit up with my hands resting beside me. 

“Tamlin…please.” I panted at the effort it took to speak the words. “Don’t do this.” I searched for any other options. “Take me instead. Leave her here.” Despite the arrow through his chest, Azriel growled lowly at my words. For the first time since we arrived, Tamlin looked at me. 

“That’s what you think this is all about?” He gave a single sharp chuckle. “This isn’t about revenge for you leaving me. This is only about returning what was stolen from me.” Feyre tensed as he said her name, a command to obey in his tone. Lucien’s metal eye was whirling around in his head as he spoke Tamlin’s name. A hint of doubt and fear in his voice. A tone I had never heard from the red haired male. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion around me. My mind desperately trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to rip out that arrow from Azriel’s chest, how to get Tamlin as far away from my family as I possibly could. 

“The last part of my plan is simple. Break the bond between you two.” He pointed a bony finger to my brother then Feyre. I felt every muscle in Rhy’s body tense beside me. To his credit, he didn’t lunge at the king. The whole room took a collective breath. 

“No.” Feyre’s voice broke around the single word. I could hear the way her heart broke in that single syllable. 

“Please.” I said around a sob. 

Hybern turned his cold eyes to me. “How else is Tamlin supposed to have his bride? He can’t have Feyre dear running off to a different court every month. We saw what happened last time.” 

“I told you not to come for me that I lef-”

“We all saw that you weren’t okay. He took advantage of that, turned you against your home, against me. He stole you from me. 

“She was going to die in that house.” Anger flared through me for the first time since we arrived. 

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.” He spit at me, not taking his eyes off of Feyre. 

“Don’t you dare-” 

“I’ll come with you.” I swore I felt my heart stop beating. “If you leave them alone. Let them go.” 

“You’d let them- Feyre, they’re monsters.” Tamlin almost pleaded. His voice sickly sweet. Despite his words, he crept closer to Feyre, hand outstretched. He lunged at the spot where Feyre had been standing not a second before. She was now standing across the room. I felt no satisfaction in the way Rhys’ fist made contact with Tamlin’s face, knocking the male off of his feet. Feyre was at Rhys’ side in an instant. The unmistakable combined scent filling the air. Tamlin went deathly still. A look I had never seen crossed the High Lords face as Hybern confirmed what he had already realized. 

“I’m sorry.” her tone honest. 

More soldiers filled the room and I lost the last bit of control I had as I saw the color drain even further from Azriel’s face. 

“You fucking traitor. Do you know what he is going to do with that cauldron, do to all of us?” I could not stop the tears that tracked down my face. 

“There are many, many things I’m going to do with it.” He snapped and the Cauldron appeared in the room. “Starting with this.” Fire flickered in Feyre’s psalm at the sight.

“There she is. Made from all seven courts. Did you really plan to destroy the cauldron? You could rule the world with that book by your side.” He noted her silence, tilting his head with a sickening smile. “You’ll tell me soon enough. Your master made a bargain and you don’t want to know what happens to those who break their word” 

“If you take me from my mate, from my home. I will find a way to destroy you. You, your whole fucking court and everything you love.” 

“Feyre, please. Just come with us.” Lucien begged Feyre. The king’s laugh echoed through the throne room. 

“That won’t be necessary. Because you will find it in your best interest to behave, Feyre Archeron.” The four queens filled into the room but their guards did not stop as they hauled into two small figures. I heard the cry that left Feyre as we all saw the faces of her sisters and thrown at the feet of the King of Hybern. 

Feyre did not move, she wasn’t breathing. She could only stare blankly at her sisters. Elain who was sobbing even through the gag in her mouth and Nesta who yowled like a rabid animal. “If you touch them I will end you all.”

“Do you hear that,” The king of Hybern purred to the queens. “Slaughtering and destroying, that’s all they are capable of. Ending life. While I plan to give it. Now will you let me show you what the cauldron can do?”

“Please. I’m proof, Jurian is proof. I’ll give you whatever you want, just leave them out of it.” Feyre pleaded, the King just gave her a wicked smile. 

“Just show us.” A bored drone from the eldest queen. 

“Don’t look so down, Feyre. Isn’t this what you told our dear friend Ianthe about. How you would miss your sisters terribly. Now you don’t have to. Now you three can stay young together.” 

“Don’t pl-” 

A force knocked the wind out of Feyre.

“Bring them here.”

And then the room exploded. Feyre exploded around us. It felt like drowning and burning and when you come in on a cold day to a hot fire. My skin buzzed. Under that magic, a scream, Cassian’s scream pierced through me. I felt the force of it knock me off my feet once more. And then it was gone. And Azriel was crouched over me. Mor around Cassian. Cassian. One look at his wings and I felt like I was going to be sick. The room broke into chaos. Mor and Rhys both lunged for the king. Tamlin going for Feyre. And I could do nothing more than cling to the male next to me. Azriel let out a cry of pain as Mor pulled out a dagger from her belt. I froze. Mor looked back to him and let her knife fall to the floor. Mor stumbled to Azriel’s other side. 

“Start with the pretty one first.” Feyre only moved an inch before Azriel was writhing in my hold. My hand went to wipe away the strands of hair that stuck to his face. 

“You’ll be okay. It’s okay.” I whispered against his forehead. I could feel his sweat against my skin and my stomach rolled. I closed my eyes tight, praying to whatever god was still listening that this was all going to be a dream. Azriel’s hand resting on mine made me open my eyes, tears streaming down my face at the streaks of blood his hand left on mine. 

This was no dream and I could do nothing but watch as the guards struggled with Elain, pulling her up to the mouth of the cauldron. Nesta looked like she wished nothing more than to rip everyone's throat out with her bare hands. More guards joined her side to hold her back. 

“Stop this. We didn’t agree to this.” Tamlin called out, an unfamiliar horror etched into his face. Jaw and shoulders tight. When the guards continued dragging Elain to the cauldron, Tamlin pounced. Even I cried out as he was slammed to the ground by that invisible force. He strained but did not rise. 

With a blood curdling scream that drowned out Feyre’s last plea, we watched Elain get thrown into the almost black water of the cauldron. Seconds passed like hours, she hadn’t resurfaced after a few moments and both Feyre and Nesta were holding their breath. Eyes locked on the horror in front of them. Suddenly, the cauldron tipped over and Elain’s limp body tumbled to the floor. Feyre let out a sob as Elain gasped for air. I was ashamed of the relief that flowed through me. Her skin had a slight shimmer to it, ears already elongating. It worked. 

Elain was already shivering, her nightgown soaked through. 

“So it works?” One of the queens spoke, if I had been able to move I would have punched her in her perfect face. 

“The next one if you please.” Hybern spoke to the guards holding Nesta. In all my years, I had never seen someone fight as hard as Nesta did in those moments. She almost slipped out of the guards hold three times before they managed to get her to the edge of the cauldron. Before she could be dunked, I watched as she pointed a long finger at Hybern. A curse, a promise that he will pay for this moment until he stopped breathing. Nesta spent longer under than Elain did, each second passing by slower than the next. Feyre vomited as the time passed. Rhys scrambled to her side.  Nesta was dumped onto the floor beside her sister. Just like her sister, she was faintly glowing. But there was something different, unsettling. I couldn’t place my finger on it but Nesta felt like she was more than fae as she clutched her sister. 

Nesta shoved Lucien off, shoved the cloak he had wrapped around her shivering body and replaced it with her arms. Sobbing her sister's name into her hair. She rocked her like a babe. 

Between my own sobs I almost missed it. That one whispered sentence from Lucien. Mate. I never hated him more than I did right at this moment. I let my mind fill with what I would do to the both of them when we left this room. Imagined the blood was not Azriel’s but Tamlin’s or Lucien’s. That it was them screaming and not my family as it was torn apart in front of me. 

Feyre collapsed to the ground so suddenly it pulled me from my violent thoughts. Light so blinding I buried my head into Azriel’s shoulder. My hand blindly reached to cover his eyes. I sensed the light fading and peaked my head up enough to see Feyre on the ground, clutching and tearing at her head. Then she looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. She pushed Rhys away from her and scrambled towards Tamlin. This has to be a sick dream. 

“What did you do to me?” Feyre cried out, clinging to Tamlin like he wasn’t the reason we were in this mess. 

“How’d you do it Feyre?” Rhys’ voice wrapped around the words like a siren song. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening around me until Mor gasped. 

“What did you do to that girl?” 

“Break the bond.” Feyre sniffled. Crawling a pace towards the king of Hybern. The small flicker of her eyes back to Rhys made it come crashing down on me. She was not leaving with us. She was going to go with Tamlin. I watched as the scene unfolded around me. I cried harder. Azriel’s hand tightened on my own. They would pay for all of this, one day. I would make sure of that myself. They were-

Rhys’ scream made every hair on my body stand up. Feyre’s own screamed wove in with his and I covered my ear not pressed into Azriel’s chest with my free hand. Unable to hear the sounds around me any longer. I rocked back and forth, desperately trying to calm down. But the sobs continued as the screams did. I couldn’t take this. Hearing my family's agony was going to kill me, I was certain. Then it all went quiet. A haunting quiet that left my ears ringing. 

Tamlin ripped off the glove on Feyre’s left hand and found nothing but perfectly smooth skin. I clutched onto my brother's jacket as he crawled over to us. He wrapped his arms around our group as best as he could. 

“You’re free to go, Rhysand. His poison is gone. Shame about the wings.” He taunted my brother. I grabbed at his jacket so hard my hands shook. Fiery pain at the small motion. I turned my eyes to Feyre, to this brave and beautiful girl who once again had sacrificed everything for the people I loved. I let my thank you echo in my head, roaring in the mess that was left. It was in that split second that Mor winnowed next to the huddled newly-fae females. And winnowed away. Rhys winnowing us at the same moment. 

I couldn’t breathe. So afraid to even move. I laid on the floor until Rhys pulled me up to my feet, my unsteady legs nearly buckling under me. My eyes looked around, not believing what they saw. The warm wood of the walls in our townhome. Rhys’ arms wrapped around me, pull.ing me tight against him. My arms hung limply at my side. I felt like I was floating away, like it had been me that was pulled into that inky black water and sent adrift. 

“Stay with me.” Rhys whispered into my hair. I fought through the haze in my head and eyes, clawing my way back into the very real room I was now standing in. My muscles locked tight, an ice cold feeling traveling down my spine. A cry left my lips and I pulled myself out of my brother's arms. Caring about nothing else but Azriel suddenly. 

I crouched over him, pulling his head into my lap. The ash arrow still sticking out of him

 “I’m sorry.” I whispered as I ripped the arrow out of his chest. “Where is Majda?” I hissed to my brother. His face was pale. 

“She’s on her way, he’ll be o-”

“Don’t finish that fucking sentence Rhys.” Azriel was getting paler by the second. Eyes fully closed. I leaned my forehead against his. “Please. Please, I can’t lose you.” I whispered, not caring if the others heard. I was shaking all over but I couldn’t let go of him. 

Amren walked into the room, freezing as her eyes swept over all of us. 

“Where is she?” Her quicksilver eyes flaring with something dangerous. Rhys didn’t respond, when none of us did, she simply asked again. That fire behind her eyes growing ever brighter. 

“It was a trap. Tamlin sold out his court for Hybern’s use and Ianthe sold out Feyre’s sisters. He wanted to prove…prove the cauldron could make people immortal. Make them fae. We could do nothing. We were out of options.” Mor responded. Voice heavy with the words, like she was speaking with a mouth full of rocks. 

“Rhysand” Amren started. Blind rage flared through me at the accusation in those words, 

“She knew we couldn’t do anything. She pretended like I had made her do it all, leaving spring, staying here, the bond. She said she would go with them if they stopped. So we walked out of there freely because she stayed behind.”

“The bond?” 

“Hybern broke it.” I croaked. The words like sandpaper in my throat. 

“That’s impossible. That magic simply does not exist.”

“No it doesn’t.” Rhys spoke clearly. My eyes darted to his. That pain was real, the heartbreak for his mate could not be faked. But it was not because of the bond breaking. Because if it could not be broken then Feyre…

“Go get her. Now.” Amren hissed at my brother. 

“No.” The room trembled under the weight of a high lord’s command. Even Amren balked at him. “She is a spy, with a tie to me. So she will stay in Spring where she will see Hyberns’ soldiers, learn their plans. And so will we.”

“She isn’t a spy.

“No. She’s my mate. And she is the High Lady of the Night Court. 

“What?” Amren and Mor spoke at the same time. 

“If they removed her other glove, they would have seen the mark from last night, the ink swirled around her wrist from when I swore her in as my High Lady. My equal in every way that matters.” 

I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to break more tonight. Hearing the sure way Rhys spoke, the decision they had made in a split second together. He would never have allowed this on his own, but Feyre. The cunning girl came up with this in seconds. When Azriel’s life was hanging by a thread. She knew she would have to return to that vile place to save my family, her family. I sobbed, already tired of the sound. But for the first time tonight, there was a shard of hope poking at the edges of all the pain. Worming it’s way to the surface. But I felt it, that itch under my skin. The warm thoughts were already being dragged under by the simmering rage I felt. The rage that was echoed in my brother. The stiffness in his shoulders, his hands clenched white knuckles by his sides. The muscles in his jaw jumped slightly, eyes far away as he drifted far away for a second. Only a second before I felt the room tremble again. A deep sigh in the ground beneath us. My skin crawled in response. That surge that threatened to swallow us both whole and take the house with it.

I unwrapped myself from Azriel’s side, standing on sure legs this time. And crossed the room to my brother. I held out an expectant hand. He only stared for a few moments before he grabbed it. Winnowing us out of the house. I exploded the moment Rhys appeared back in the world. Inky blackness thick enough to hold poured out from me in waves. This was not sadness, no, it was pure rage. Rage at a male who thought he owned Feyre, could own anyone. He might hide behind polished clothing and excuses of good intentions but I could see him for the monster he truly was. Rhys stayed by my side as I fell apart. And when I saw that last cloud of black ink fade into nothing, Rhys collapsed with the force of an earthquake. The ground splitting around us. Cracks formed so deep they seemed to never end. He let out a roar that sent animals and birds running away from us. I didn’t try to comfort him. I had no words that could fix this, nothing that would bring Feyre back to us. So I sat and watched as his heart poured out from him in the only way he could. Screams broke off into sobs and that was my undoing. I sank down next to him, wrapping my arms so tightly around him I was worried if he could even breathe. Worried he wouldn’t push me away if he couldn’t.

“We’ll get her back.” I spoke against his answering swirl of darkness. “We got her out once. We can do it again. We Will do it again.” I pulled back enough to see his face. 

“And we will plan, and we will fight. And you will eat. You will breathe. And you will live knowing we will get her back. And I will live knowing that I am going to help you end them all for what they put our family through.” My own power trickled out. Nothing more than vapor before it faded away. And this time I felt it. That final death knell of the powers I had clung to so dearly. 

“And once she’s back. We go to war.” I whispered, a stray tear rolling down my face as I pushed the hope of ever using my powers again far away. There was no forgiveness in my heart. Swept away when I saw the pain in Feyre’s face. No. I did not forgive Tamlin for what had happened today. And as I tried to forget the screams as they danced around my head. I know, deep down, I never would. 

Next part: Chapter 6

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