#tfw fanfic

[amemipiacitu]

Fun and fluffy one shot about TFW on vacation to the beach, anyone?

[embarrasingmf]

a surprising discovery

PAIRING: TFW (dean, sam, and castiel) x reader (platonic, ofc)

A/N: I had such a bad headache while making this drabble / fanfic (i’m leaning more towards drabble now that i have finished writing..)

SUMMARY: After finding a baby on a hunt, you and the boys have no idea what to do or how to take care of it.. until they discover something surprising about you.

While on a grueling hunt dealing with shapeshifters, you four had found a baby. A baby, of all things.

Dean didn’t really want to take it back to the bunker, thinking it would be another Bobby John type situation, but you and Sam had managed to convince him otherwise.

So now, here you guys were, all looking down at the baby sitting contently in a wooden crib. Their big, innocent eyes flickering from one person to another.

“So, what the hell are we gonna do with ‘em?” Dean asked gruffly, his arms crossed.

You looked over at Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Well we gotta take care of the little guy for at least a little bit.” Sam nodded in agreement with your statement.

You had focused back on the baby and leaned down a little bit, to which they let out a giggle and kicked its chubby legs.

A small yet fond smile curled on your lips. You had some experience with children considering you babysat during your teenage years before you got into hunting.

Castiel, Sam, and Dean had busied themselves with discussing a plan on what to do while you interacted with the baby.

They reached their chubby arms out in a silent and clear demand to be held. You complied almost immediately, your heart squeezing at how cute this little thing was.

Once the baby was settled in your arms, you held them against your shoulder. They squealed happily and started patting your face, exploring the expanse of skin with small hands.

…

“Since when did you know how to handle a baby?” Sam’s questioning voice broke you out of whatever happy-baby-trance you were in and you turned on your heel to face him.

“Uh,” You paused, your tongue briefly darting out to wet your lips. “I used to babysit around my neighborhood before I got into huntin’.”

“Oh so you’re like a baby whisperer, huh?” Dean smirked, his eyes drifting over to the baby who was giving you a gummy smile.

You shrugged, a smug smile forming on your face. “Guess so.”

Castiel, who had been silent for most of the time, finally spoke up. “They do seem to like you, not that they really interacted with the rest of us yet.”

You hummed, eyebrows knitting together a tad as you realized that at least one of them would want to possibly hold the baby.

“Anyone wanna hold ‘em?” You held out the baby at arms length, who started fussing as soon as they registered they were too far away from you.

“…or maybe not.” You added as an afterthought, bringing the baby back to your chest so they wouldn’t start crying.

As soon as the baby was tugged back towards you, they snuggled up to your chest, letting out a small yawn and their tiny fists clutching onto the collar of your flannel.

“Looks like they’re getting ready for a nap.” Castiel said matter-of-factly.

Sam chuckled quietly, “yeah, to be honest, I don’t even think they’ll let you put them down so you might have to keep carrying them.”

You laughed, nodding.

You realized that you probably didn’t want to stand and hold a baby so you prompted to move to the main room of the bunker so all of you could relaxing after the hunt and new, temporary addition to the team.

—————————————————————————

if you enjoyed pls like and reblog bc then it’ll give me motivation to make more stuff like this in the future! :D

[dragonagitator]

We REALLY need more fanfics that explore this side of Gale.

But, like, in a smutty way.

Please.

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[dazymaisy]

Do you think Ginny has her own " chest monster" version ? Just like Harry? We always talk about Harry's jealousy moments but Ginny also has her own when it comes to Harry

“Ginny! You’re drooling,” Demelza giggled.

She felt her fingers tighten around her broom and tore her eyes away from Harry, who was commandeering a clumsy group of first years. “I am not,” she said brusquely, “just scouting his body language, is all.”

“He’s not bad looking,” Dee qualified. “You like his captain’s badge, do you?”

“Shut up,” she groaned.

“He’s bound to pick you,” said Dee. “He practically lives with you, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t wan t him to put me on the team because he’s friends with my brother,” said Ginny. “I want him to put me on the team because I’m bloody good at quidditch.”

Dee patted her knee. “That’s very noble of you, Gin.”

Ginny huffed. A second group had taken to the pitch – a gaggle of third and fourth year girls, giggling and falling over themselves. Ginny spotted Romilda Vane immediately.

“Oh, god,” she moaned.

“What?” said Dee.

“It��s Romilda,” she said coldly. Romilda was not well-liked amongst Ginny’s dorm mates. They often heard her through the floorboards, in the fourth-year dormitory below – giggling loudly at all hours of the night. “No way she can fly a broom.”

Harry had his back to her – Ginny couldn’t see his face, but she could see the way Romilda looked at him, eyes wide and falsely bashful. Her hair wasn’t even tied back. It cascaded in long, dark curls down her back.

“She needs to put her hair up,” Ginny muttered, “that’s a hazard.”

Dee blinked. Their grudge against Romilda had always been quiet, a sort of unspoken undercurrent – Ginny had never been so outwardly venomous.

It took her a moment to understand. When it clicked, she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, who does she think she is?” said Dee.

“Harry, I’m so sorry –” Romilda’s high-pitched voice carried across the pitch, and Ginny cringed – “could you help me mount the broom?”

Ginny let out a disbelieving huff. Something deep inside her chest threatened to rear its ugly head. “Oh, that bitch.” 

Beside her, Dee dissolved into poorly concealed laughter.

Harry refused to help Romilda mount her broom. “It’s expected you know the basics of flying before you come to a try out,” she heard him say.

Romilda and the other girls did not last long. They just as soon got their brooms off the ground as they collapsed into a squealing heap. Harry told them to get off the pitch – the girls obeyed, clambering up into the stands to watch the rest of try outs.

“He’s very authoritative,” Ginny observed. Dee smirked at her.

And really, she needn’t have worried about her own try out – she easily out flew the rest of the contenders, and sank seventeen goals before Harry blew his whistle.

The chasers landed in a semi-circle around him, chests heaving as he announced his decision. Ginny hardly felt winded.

“Alright. Er – you all did very well –” Harry met her eyes for a split second before lowering his head. “But obviously I can only choose three...”

Ginny felt her heart sink. Was this his indirect way of letting her off easy?

“Katie Bell – we’ll keep you, obviously.” Ginny saw Katie grin with pride. She felt a surge of dislike toward her, though she couldn’t identify the source – Katie had never been anything but kind to her. “And next… Demelza Robins.” 

Dee let out an involuntary squeal of excitement, and squeezed Ginny’s hand. It was with great effort that Ginny returned the gesture. If Dee made the team and she didn’t, she’d have to seriously consider dropping out.

Harry was very pointedly avoiding looking at her. Ginny’s heart sank, she thought she might throw up right here on the pitch – she hadn’t made it.

Her disappointment was swiftly replaced with anger. How dare Harry not choose her? She’d filled in for him all last year – proven herself, again and again –

“And, er, Ginny Weasley,” said Harry. 

Everyone else let out soft sighs of displeasure. Ginny felt as though she might faint. “But like I said, you all did quite well, there’s always next year…”

“Yeah, right,” said a girl Ginny recognized as one of the seventh years. She crossed her arms and stormed off toward the changing rooms.

Harry watched her go, then clapped his hands together. “Good work today, everyone. Katie, Demelza, Ginny – I’ll see you all at practice. I’ve got to go find some beaters, now.”

Dee grinned at her sideways.

Ginny’s eyes were locked on Harry. He was turning to leave, to head back toward the group of potential beaters. He caught her eyes for a fleeting moment, just long enough to give her a small smile.

Something warm spread down to Ginny’s toes. She smiled back.

[sapphireisverygaymydudes]

Dean being a dad. Cas being a weirdo about affection again. Jack being a genius toddler.

Cas walked down the silent hallways of the bunker. Looking. For what he wasn’t quite sure. But as he found his way to Deans room he heard humming. Soft and gentle, sweet and safe. The door was cracked open, Cas peaked in.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, Jack in his lap. Jack was cradling his finger which had a Paw Patrol bandaid on it. His faced was wet, the left over remains of tears. Dean was holding Jack in his lap, rocking gently back and forth. The song he was humming was Hey Jude.

Cas remembered Dean mentioning once that Hey Jude was the song Mary would sing to him as a child. As the song neared then end Cas entered the room more, leaning up against the doorway, watching.

Dean finished the song and continued rocking back and forth. “Why’d you stop daddy?” Jack said

Read on archiveofourown

[guardianspirits13]

currently remembering that one time I needed a reference for a fanfiction I was writing and found a peer-reviewed paper about how grief affects children only it was locked behind a paywall so I emailed the author of the paper with my .edu email and said I was working on a project (which was technically true) and he emailed me the pdf for free

peace and love on planet earth

[spacedoutcowgirl]

grown out weeds — 🪴 ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

6 months after amelie and

nathalie’s wedding , a letter all

the way from paris makes its way.

to their door . it’s time for a

graham de vanily family reunion .

no one has written a wiki-how

article on how to deal with that.

(bottom right art by @hurryglow — commission her if you can, she’s lovely)

[saccharine-dean]

monachopsis

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Not Rated

Word Count: 15,656

Content Warning: Major Character Death

• • •

The record that Cas picks is warm toned, with speckles of ocean blue dancing across the vermillion cover. It’s not one of Dean’s, but even at the first note of the song Cas chooses, it feels so strongly of home that he thinks he needs to sit down.

There’s no hope for him there, though, because Cas turns, then, and in one swift movement he’s lacing his arms around Dean, and they’re swaying to the beat of the song like there’s nobody and nothing left in the world but them and their modest little house.

Cas, being only a couple inches shorter, leans his chin on Dean’s shoulder, his lips so close to Dean’s neck that it makes his stomach churn. Cas’ hands rest around the small of Dean’s back, and the song whispers something about falling, and it finally occurs to Dean just how tired he is of pretending he doesn’t want exactly this, with Cas.

So, in what feels like much more of a moment of bravery than it really is, he tightens his grip on Cas’ shoulders, allowing one of his arms to sweep under, around Cas’ back to thumb the back of his neck. Cas leans into the embrace with a contented sigh, and Dean holds him tighter, taking the lead in their makeshift slow dance.

They sway like that for a while longer before he takes Cas’ left hand in his right, allowing them to part so that he can twirl Cas by his arm. Cas plays along with the movement, a grin spreading wide over his face as he glides right back into Dean, as if magnetic. He lets his hands rest on Dean’s hips this time, and his laughter stills as the song starts to fade into an end.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, so sincere it hurts, “I am… Very happy that I met you.”

The words roll smoothly off his tongue, achingly sweet and yet so casually offered, as if they don’t render Dean breathless for a couple seconds, then three, then four—

Cas runs his hands up Dean’s back, and he touches down to Earth again. He tightens his hold on Cas’ shoulders, takes a breath, and continues to let them sway. Barely audible, he replies a “Me too” that he knows is far from lying, but it certainly feels that way.

Dean shuts his eyes and tries very, very hard not to blow his cover.

Read the rest on AO3!

[lenreli]

Day 25 - Spin the Bottle [Human AU]

[AO3]

Dream resists rolling his eyes, watching as Matthew and Johanna share a kiss, courtesy of the bottle they’re sitting around. Sadly, Matthew is next to him, so Dream knows he’s up next on the chopping block, and Dream thinks about just getting up and leaving. “Since sourpuss here won’t do it, can I?” Matthew asks loudly next to him, and everyone else shrugs and agrees. Dream scowls even more as he watches the empty wine bottle spin, and spin and― 

Land on Hob, across from him. Which, as far as people go, isn’t bad. Even though Dream is straight and Hob isn’t, but. Sighing, he gets up as Matthew shoves him over to Hob. “Still time to flee if you want,” Hob says once he’s closer. “I’m sure you could take the ribbing after.” 

“Let’s just get this over and done with,” he scowls, leaning hesitantly in. Hob’s eyes are sparkling, lips pursed as Dream puts his lips over Hob’s, warm and faintly scratchy from stubble and Dream starts to move away― 

“That’s not a kiss,” Hob mutters, affronted. Dream’s heart rate spikes as Hob’s hands cup his face, hands going into his hair and pull him down to another kiss, tongue licking against his lip as one of Hob’s hands goes to his hips and he’s pulled onto Hob’s lap. Gasping, his heart rate spikes even more as Hob kisses him, devouring and deep as a thumb strokes his cheek. Shivering, he melts onto Hob’s lap, grabbing onto the other man’s waist as he succumbs to the racing heart, to a kiss he’s never had before, full-body and consuming. 

The sounds fade as Hob hums, stubble pressing around his mouth and Dream’s mind struggles to take in the way Hob’s kissing him, tongue and teeth licking and nipping, sucking on his tongue, and Dream can feel his cock ― get interested in the proceeding. Whining into the other’s mouth, he shivers as the hand on his face goes down his neck, the extra sensation making him moan.

Dream moans a fuck into Hob’s mouth, feeling Hob’s other hand go up and under his shirt, nails scratching up it and he shivers, clutching desperately at Hob as they start to ground against each other, heart racing as he feels Hob’s hardness against his stomach, mind only going yes yes yes yes more as he moans, his hands going up to Hob’s jaw to touch the stubble, pleasant against his skin as Hob bites at his lip, changing the angle, and he whines as Hob’s other hand goes down to cup his arse and oh gods yes please―

Abruptly, he’s pulled away from Hob, and they both whine, other sounds coming back as―looking up, he sees Lucienne sigh, a hand on the scruff of his shirt as he’s pulled back to his seat, reality trickling in slowly as he stares back at Hob, whose lips are red, lap open and inviting―and there’s another sigh as he placed back onto the floor next to Matthew in confusion, Lucienne keeping a hold on his arm.

Eyes still stuck on Hob’s, who smiles as the others speak, admonishments for how explicit their kiss was becoming and other complaints. “Matthew,” he croaks, licking his lips and Dream’s pulse jumps as Hob’s eyes zero in on them, brown turned a deep black. “I’m gay,” he confesses, suddenly very sure that yes, definitely gay.

“But are you really gay, or is he just a good kisser?” Matthew asks.

“Both,” he replies immediately, touching his sensitive lips, insides squirming at Hob’s dark eyes on him still, not having left him at all, and Dream’s only stopped from going back over there by the iron grip Lucienne has on his arm.

[insomniacirl]

One of my first memories of reading fanfiction was after dunking my face in a bowl of icewater, sat cross legged on the floor in the middle of my room- and then moving to go and read like a 30k word fic (which was like, CRAZY for me back then ig idk).

[thepagemistress]

Two Feds Walk Into a Gas-N-Sip - Chapter 1/?

Pairing/Characters: Dean/Cas, Sam | Rating: Teen | Tags: meet cute, case fic, hunter Dean, human Cas, undercover, awkward flirting, openly bi Dean | Warnings: none yet | Word Count: 2,099

Summary: Castiel works at a Gas-N-Sip. During one of his early morning shifts, he meets two FBI agents who are working a case in his town. He has no information to offer and the coffee really isn’t that good but if the one with the green eyes wants to keep dropping by then Castiel isn’t going to complain. Except maybe when it brings the case right to his store...

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

Castiel liked working the shifts no one else wanted. The late shifts, the early morning shifts. His colleagues didn’t understand it. They would bemoan the drunks who stumbled in during the early hours, the surly truck drivers who had been awake for longer than they should have been. The “shady” individuals who could only be up to no good at that hour. But Castiel had never had a bad encounter on his late shifts. He loved the eclectic mixture of patrons and also how few and far between they were, giving him a chance to catch up on some reading.

It was a quarter after five in the morning, Castiel’s nose buried in a much loved copy of The Return of the King, when there was the deep, bass-y rumble of a car pulling up to one of the gas pumps. Indecipherable music thumped through the speakers, cutting out along with the engine. Castiel clipped his bookmark to the current page, a little metallic bee marking his place, and placed it beside the counter, waiting to see who would come through the door.

Keep Reading

[betterthanworse]

The Baron offers redemption, but his eyes are too cunning to take him at his word. The Soldier suspects he has unwittingly aligned himself with an entirely different kind of God.

[browniefox]

“’ll do what I can, but I’ve made it clear there’s no guarantee. I’ll be doing more research into his problem tonight, and hopefully in the next day or so Fiddleford and I will have a plan of action” Ford explains tensley.

“Great. The second that you realize you can’t help him, you be honest with him, and we’ll be out of your hair,” Stan tells him and Ford can’t help but to blink in surprise. There’s a strange seriousness in Stan’s voice, the kind Ford can only recall hearing form his brother on rare occasions, and never this tense. That was always Stan’s problem his inability to be serious, to take things seriously, to grow up. It should make sense that ten years can force anyone to start to act their age, but the change is still surprising.

“Well, if his time machine is indeed broken beyond repair, it may be worth keeping him around-” Ford begins. That seems to only anger Stan.

“He’s not a science experiment, Ford, he’s a kid!”

“And it’s a good things he’s not, because you probably would’ve killed him by now if he was!”

[spn-fan-letter]

pls reblog!!

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Nine

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: Chapter contains explicit smut, reproductive coercion, references to murder and suicide, and some minor Rhysand slander.

Aisling didn’t know what happened. One second she had been consumed entirely by the stretch and delicious friction of Eris moving within her, the curtain of his red hair, the intensity in his amber eyes. The way the gold chain around his neck caught the firelight. Pleasure had been burning through, blazing to the tips of her toes, molten in her belly, when he had pushed her legs back to her shoulders. She thought it was a cramp for half a second, then it seized her heart and burned.

Worse than being hit. Worse than a whip. It felt like a hot poker laid to her chest. Everything she’d ever read about mating bonds said it was almost a holy experience, a union of souls; novels made it sound delicate and romantic. It felt like violence to her, like a finger had been stabbed in below her heart and hooked around her rib. Like the bond had been stitched into the bone itself, and she felt every pull of the needle.

But an orgasm had been barrelling to her like a falling boulder, undeterred by pain or fate. It slammed into her and she felt like a falling star, nothing but a wave of light and heat, the pain and the pleasure knotted up together. Eris had pressed his face into her neck as he reached his own end with a shuddering gasp, spilling inside her.

They were left panting for a moment as they came down, staring at each other like strangers. His eyes were running over her face, and he looked as rattled as she felt; as if his life had been flipped upside down and dropped.

Eris had flecks of gold and brown in his amber eyes, she noticed suddenly, and a very faint scar by the edge of his hairline. His thumb ran over the point of her ear softly, a shockingly tender gesture. Neither of them spoke.

His cock was still in her, still hard as an iron rod. Aisling remembered that as he shifted and felt shy suddenly, pinned down beneath him. Her face flamed red at the unbearable intimacy of it all. She felt completely bare before him, as if this absurd bond was more an invasion than what he’d just done to her.

She never expected a mate, in her small little City. She didn’t know what to do now that she had one. Just laying with Eris would have been fine, impersonal because of the transactional nature of it all. But now he was linked to her in a way that was soul-deep. Aisling didn’t want her soul to be known.

“Tell me,” Eris ordered her, studying the redness in her cheeks, the way she was suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

“You’re naked,” she whispered, making him huff a laugh.

“Is that objectionable to you now?” He murmured. His voice was thick and low, honeyed on the edges. It made her shiver with desire all over again.

Eris rolled off her, catching her when she tried to rise, pulling her to him. Aisling didn’t try overly hard to resist, some part of her compelled at the thought of nestling against him. She settled against the warmth of his lean, muscled chest. It felt right, even if she was caught between desire and distress.

Something in her was purring in satisfaction, golden and warm and content to be in his arms. He circled them around her firmly, amber eyes distant. But she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable vulnerability, as if she had shared too much with him accidentally. It was the same feeling of exposure as telling a secret to someone she shouldn’t have.

But Aisling had read that mates could sense each other’s strong emotions; she wasn’t sure what was true and what was a romantic fantasy. Was any of that anxiety coming from him? His heart beat under her ear, in time with her own now, tied together forever –

Eris hissed, shifting under her. “Don’t pull on it,” he complained, but one hand gently stroked her hair.

“I didn’t realise I had,” Aisling frowned, cautiously feeling the new magic in her chest, nestled beside her own, encompassing it.

“If you do it again, we’re going to have words,” Eris cautioned her, dark and taunting now. Some of the shock was ebbing away from him; she could feel him, the thing writhing in her heart. She touched her breast absently, almost expecting the skin to be hotter where she could feel his fire burning.

“I think we need to have words regardless,” Aisling said. Eris merely turned to study her, eyes blazing again. Whatever he’d been contemplating before, she had his full attention again now. His face was pale and blank, caught in the flickering light of his fire. She had no idea what he was thinking - either the touted bond was defunct, or he wasn’t feeling anything at all.

He was so handsome it was painfully unfair. What chance did she stand? How could she ever resist him?

“Later,” he said, and gave the golden thread a tug.

———————

Eris had never known his cock could be this hard, or that he could fuck so much in one night. He felt insatiable; all his desire for Aisling explained and intensified.

Aisling – his mate – pleaded for mercy sometime in the middle of the night, straddling his lap. She had whimpered into his neck even as she rode him to her finish, face a beautiful twist of pain and ecstasy. He almost took pity on her. If he thought he wanted her before, it was nothing compared to the well of desire that had been tapped in him now. He could feel it in her, too, responding to him, answering his call.

In truth, he didn’t know when or if he’d have her again. The anxiety of the choice that lay before him made him frantic. He had never wanted a serious entanglement, let alone a mate, because of the danger from his father. He had learned well from Lucien’s mistakes. Sure, he was the heir and the favoured son, but he’d be walking a knife’s edge to keep Beron happy lest Aisling take his place in the dungeons for any missteps he made. And the danger posed to him by her, by the way she would be held against him to manipulate him – it was unacceptable. Even as they made a wreckage of the bedsheets, Eris felt himself letting go.

It was a sliver of ash in his heart, a pain so acute that it drove him on ferociously to pin her down and lick her cunt until she came gasping his name again. It wasn’t so much Aisling – she was a stranger, really – but that she was meant to be his equal, someone who could have been his above all else, were everything different.

One person he could rely upon entirely. A fantasy.

He couldn’t see an immediate path forward. He wouldn’t put her at risk by bringing her to Autumn, let alone that he would have to beg fucking Rhysand to release her from the Court of Nightmares. He couldn’t even stomach putting her at risk by claiming her in front of her vicious, scheming shithole of a home; she’d be snapped up and leveraged against him by any number of his so-called allies in Night.

Aisling finally fell asleep after hours of begging him alternately for more and to stop, curled against his chest, sweaty and utterly wrung out. Eris couldn’t help the smirk as he stroked her hair back. Poor female – he’d taken her maidenhood and fucked her into absolute oblivion in the same night. He’d intended to be far gentler, to trick her that he was the sort of considerate male who wouldn’t pin her by the back of her neck before him and rut her like an animal. The mating bond was bringing out his worst impulses.

That was another thought. He didn’t want to be reduced to the sort of territorial, insufferable male that Rhysand and the bastard were, but he could see how quickly he could spiral into possession and obsession with Aisling. He recounted all the mated couples he’d known of, all the ones that ended in disaster for everyone but the gloating males. Rhysand’s own father came to mind, as did the previous High Lord of Spring. The odds seemed poor, in his estimation. He had grown up in a house where a father fashioned his love into a weapon and his entire family’s burden. Perhaps that predisposition was lurking in his blood, the mating bond potent enough to call it forth when his formidable willpower could have otherwise kept it down.

Eris idly wondered how Lucien had coped, all this time. Having Aisling near him was almost painful now, a longing to touch her and know her so strong it twisted against his ribs. Perhaps because his brother’s own mate was, by all accounts, an insipid, beautiful wallflower. He supposed that could be thought of Aisling as well, but he knew the truth. He’d seen her true temperament, the Unseelie in her. She’d been sired by a Court of killers and liars; her blood would hold true.

His brow furrowed anew as he watched her sleep. He would have accepted the bond, even knowing as little of Aisling as he did now. She was clever and could keep secrets; she would be merciless by his side if he could convince her to give him her loyalty. She was half of him. A rare gift, given to one who had nothing and no one. Through choice and through force, he was alone. In the house where Beron could take everything from everyone including their souls, it was far easier to have nothing to lose in the first place.

Eris watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way she had curled into him, already seeking safety in his arms. The golden bond glittered bright, still unfamiliar, still shocking. Having her asleep on him, naked and sated, utterly drenched in his scent, felt right in a soul-deep way. It soothed a jagged part of him, somewhere deep in his soul.

He kept turning the situation over and over in his mind, trying to anticipate all outcomes; trying to reason out what others would do. He would explain to her, keep her as safe as she could be here; run his plans for Beron’s assassination as quickly as he could get away with. He’d come back for her then, once he was High Lord. Rhysand couldn’t stand in the way then, couldn’t balk and threaten to sell him out to Beron if he insisted on taking her as was his right. He’d learned this lesson from Lucien, too; watching his little brother scrape his way across Prythian to rebuild Night’s tenuous alliances, only for Rhysand to topple any progress with his arrogance and self-serving nature when he decided he wanted something more than he wanted to appear like a misunderstood martyr. And all for a vapid doll of a mate who wouldn’t even look at him, by the reports he got. It was painful to watch.

Rhysand would have Eris dancing to the same tune, if he could. He’d managed to get Lucien on the hook by insisting that it was Elain’s choice; Lucien played along. Lucien also had no leverage against Rhysand, and likely wouldn’t have used it even if he did have it, trying to convince his own mate to want him.

Eris differed in both ways. He’d simply take Aisling if he had to, as was his right. He doubted Rhysand’s philosophy of choice extended as far as the Hewn City, anyways; if Aisling decided she hated Eris as so many others did and begged to stay, Rhysand would still send her to Eris if he could benefit from it. He was predictable in that regard. Morrigan certainly wouldn’t have been happy about Rhysand allowing access to Velaris, and still Rhysand had bargained it away, knowing it would hurt her. Aisling wasn’t part of his insufferable little family; there would be no silk gloves in her treatment.

He slept at some point, wrapped around Aisling, nose pressed into her hair to breath in her rose and mist smell. He woke to her trying to pry herself out of his arms carefully, as if she could escape without waking him. As if he could do anything now but be attuned to her every move.

“I tried not to wake you. You looked as if you were sleeping well,” she said, sitting up and pulling the blanket with her. Eris tugged it loose irritably. This shyness again? He had her half a dozen ways last night and her soul was bound to his. Eris knew she was no shy maiden under her dark-eyed, coy act.

“I had the most pleasant of dreams,” he said, rolling onto his back and propping his arms behind his head. He smirked when he felt her desire flare in her, sharp and hot, as her eyes darted to his bare chest.

“The moon has set,” Aisling said, looking away, a sweet little blush on her face. “Send your dreams away for the day.”

“I far prefer these waking moments,” Eris said, unable to look away from her. A lush slip of moonlight, here in his bed, belonging to him. His lovely stranger, his dark mirror. “How do you know the moon is set?”

She gave him a strange look. “You cannot tell?”

“No,” he said, sitting up now. “Is it a trick of the Solar fae? The rest of us are not privy to much Night Court magic. You’ll educate me in all its secrets.”

“A lady is entitled to her secrets,” she demurred.

“Not mine,” Eris answered with absolute certainty.

Aisling tossed her hair arrogantly over her shoulder. “A presumption on both counts, lord,” she said, and Eris couldn’t help the quirk of his lips. There was a fierce creature in there, buried beneath layers of Night Court bullshit. She’d be magnificent in Autumn, under his tutelage.

“Hardly,” he snorted. “You’re my mate, Aisling. You belong to me.”

Some complicated feeling ran over her face, through the bond, too quickly for him to identify. Annoyance and desire and hope and despair, all at once, then gone as she mastered herself. She turned to dress herself, trying to hide her feelings from him. She hadn’t yet learned that her heart was open to him, that he’d come to know her as she knew herself.

“And if I belong to you, do I also belong with you, lord?” She said, looking at him back over her shoulder. He began pulling on his clothes as well, considering his words. Of course she would want to leave here. She didn’t yet know that Autumn would be as much a prison for her as it stood currently.

“In time,” he said. “I have matters I must resolve before you can join me.”

Eris could see the crushing disappointment written in the way her shoulders dipped. She turned away swiftly, hiding her face from him. She desired privacy; he didn’t reach for her, as badly as he wanted to. She had so little agency, he could give her this.

“And when would your matters be resolved?” Aisling asked stiffly.

“I cannot say.” He wouldn’t – anything she knew endangered her, as well as him. Her shoulders set back like a bull, and she turned to face him, face a pleasant mask once more. She was angry, he could tell.

“Autumn is dangerous,” he said, pinning her with a stare so she knew he meant it. “Especially so for you, an outsider. I cannot focus on your safety with you there and so much in play.”

“More dangerous than the City?” Aisling asked, a hard edge in her voice. “There is no such. We are the worst that can be.”

She wasn’t necessarily wrong.

“A different danger,” he hedged. “You know nothing of Autumn. It is a cruel place and a greater risk to you than here.”

“Far more cruel for you to leave me here,” she said, twisting her hair back quickly, her harried motion giving away her frustration. “Far more cruel for you to come, have your use of me, and go.”

“You were bred for such a purpose, were you not?” Eris snapped. “What else did you presume your role would be here?”

Her eyes narrowed in fury. The bond between them strained with it. “To be in my lord’s bed at all hours, of course,” she said sweetly. “What other purpose could I serve? How else could I be a good mate?”

“I’ll tie you to my bedframe if that’s what you desire,” Eris said sharply, losing his hold on his temper. He struggled to keep control around her. “I’ll take you from here when I am ready and you can serve me all you like. For now, listen to what I’m telling you and mind yourself here, keep yourself safe.”

“My safety is not some small thing within my control,” Aisling snapped back, her own mask slipping.

“Enough,” Eris sneered, and the fire in the hearth danced to his anger. “It’s how it must be. Now, if you’d like to hasten your exit, you’ll be a good mate and tell me everything there is to know about the Night Court.”

“Of course, my lord,” she said, saccharine as she sauntered to the door. “It’s less dangerous than the Autumn Court and full of fair and gentle females. Our males are purring, toothless kittens. What else is there to know?”

“Aisling!” He barked, the firelight flaring brightly, but she had already stepped through the door and shut it softly behind her. Eris snarled at the closed door, only the knowledge that there would be others in the corridor keeping him from flinging it open and dragging her back.

Eris fumed as he got himself together, preparing to winnow back to Autumn for the foreseeable future. One night, and they were bringing out the worst in each other. He’d unleashed her, he supposed. He’d wanted her claws, to know who she was beneath her artifice. To reassure himself that he couldn’t trample her. He’d had a fantasy of her slotting in next to him, his ally and consort and confidante all in one, ready-made by the Mother. The idea was seductive.

As Eris stalked through the halls of the palace, winding towards the main gate, he carefully mastered himself. Aisling was young, he reasoned, and frustrated with her lot. She would obey – she had no choice – and once he was on the throne, he’d be able to give her whatever her little heart desired and fuck her whenever he desired. She’d come to hand when she realised that by playing patient, she’d get her freedom and become the Lady of Autumn. Surely she desired that.

As he left the Hewn City behind, winnowing straight to the gates of the Forest House, he carefully arranged his expression into aloof arrogance, a cruel little smirk. He had a mate to protect as well, now. It was time to begin moving.

———————

Aisling ignored the whispers as she walked back to her home.

The guards in the palace were utter professionals, used to worse comings and goings than her own, and ignored her. It was only when she was in the City proper that she heard it begin. Simply enough, with a courier looking at her twice. She bared her teeth and the boy scampered away. She passed a cafe table and heard conversation between the three males stop as she approached then pick back up, more sharply, once she was a few steps away. Two females walking with their armed guard looked at her, looked at each other, then giggled behind their hands.

It was all a test. She ignored it.

It was only once she was back in her room with the door firmly shut did she crumple, sliding to the floor. She had been so hopeful, so stupidly hopeful – he had played with her, had courted her, and then this stupid fucking bond –

Eris was a liar. He had encouraged her to think for herself, to make her own moves; now he told her to shut her mouth and stay put. She could guess well enough what wicked business he had to attend to, but he was five centuries old. Would it take another five hundred years, to create a so-called safe enough Autumn for her to leave this fucking place? She’d kill herself before then, or be killed, and her head would hang above the palace gates with the rest. There was no safe place. Not in the Night Court, not anywhere. He was naive for thinking otherwise.

Mate bonds were meant to be sacred. Aisling thought, staring at him after it happened, that he was her lifeline. Her mirror, showing her what she always knew, that she didn’t belong trapped in one place. The disappointment that the bond was nothing but a hindrance to him burned through her like his fire. She buried her face in her hands, and gave herself ten deep breaths to let the feelings run their course. She breathed them out, to join all the other misery and pain and sadness in this place. The stone walls here had seen so much, and they would see more – her little burden could join the rest. She carefully picked herself up once more, and undressed to bathe, to try to cleanse his crisp, smoky scent from her.

As she walked by her bed to her bathing chamber she paused, suddenly noticing that there was a gift, waiting for her on her pillow. One she had forgotten she needed, in truth.

Aisling picked up the bottle of contraceptive tonic delicately. She had never seen it before. Healers were forbidden from creating it in the City – every child was a blessing, they said. If the Mother and the male atop you willed it, then you would be the vessel regardless of your opinion on the matter. Little bastard males were destined for the Darkbringers if they had the gift, which Aisling suspected was really the priority.

You could get it, of course, if you had enough gold and were willing to brave the floating markets. Or if you knew a healer willing to betray the law. You could never be sure what you were taking, though. Aisling had known of a girl a bit younger than her who had fallen foul of a bad tonic. She was not quite as wealthy, so was not educated with her and Niamh and the others; the details of the story were hearsay. The girl had been courted by a male, some massively promising young warrior, and had begun laying with him before they were wed though her father had forbidden it and grown furious. When she continued, her father had either found the girl’s tonic and poisoned it or convinced a healer to do it for him; the story changed. Either way, she was dead as dead could be within the moon’s turn. Any idle daydreams Aisling had about compromising her own maidenhood evaporated after that, especially when she saw the female’s former betrothed courting again outside of a year, as if nothing had happened at all.

Which risk was worse? The chance of falling pregnant, or the chance of the tonic being tainted? Aisling considered it as she sniffed the tonic. It smelled faintly herbal but not unpleasant. A pregnancy after one night together was unheard of, but – she blushed thinking of it – the seed of mates was said to catch more easily and Eris had certainly taken his use of her throughout the night.

The Mother hadn’t particularly been her ally in all this, Aisling decided. She would not leave it to Her hands, lest she be betrayed twice. If she died, then she died, and Eris would be sorry he hadn’t taken her from here. Hopefully he would drown in his tears, if he was capable of crying. She drank the tonic and kept it down, which she hoped was a good sign the brew wasn’t counterfeit.

Aisling drew the bathwater herself and bathed entirely in the dark, soaking in her great carved obsidian tub for far longer than she needed to. She waited for tears, but they never came.