#trying to free him from his leather prison.

[saturnsorbits]

Thinking about the boys getting stuck in their suits…

About Sero, who’s suit is so damn tight, sometimes he struggles to prise it far enough away from his skin to unzip.

Or, Bakugo, who waddles into your office at least twice a month having bust his shirt or pants bc he’s added an extra weight to his daily routine.

… And then there’s Denki. Who sometimes misalignes the zip on his jacket and needs helping out of it like a toddler.

[worstloki]

Thor and Loki often have similarly styled pants but no one seems to go 👀👀👀😳 over Thor's and I for one find that very funny

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 7

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Rhys and Reader get into an argument that leads to a moment Under the mountain that Y/N would rather forget. And when things don't go as planned at the prison, Y/N must confront her sister after learning just how much Feyre was suffering.

Content Warnings: our FMC being put on a leash (Literally), mentions of abuse potential abuse to children (there is none! just the idea is brought up) , mentions of suicidal ideation, Nightmares, angst

Word Count: 6.5K

Masterlist Chapter 6

Unwavering Masterlist

After finishing the awkward dinner, I made my way to my room and changed out of my dress and put on my silk pajamas sighing at the comfort. Cassian had walked me to my room in silence though his pinky was still entwined in mine and when he dropped me off, he murmured a good night and kissed my hand before heading to bed. His lips against my skin, caused heat to rise in my cheeks and I found myself quickly hiding in my room trying to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

I walked over to my desk and grabbed my journal from my cloak pocket, ever since Cassian bought it, it has been on my person I never leave it. I took a seat and was about ready to write when there was a knock on my door, “Come in.” Rhys walked in.

He leaned against the door, crossing his arms and his ankles leaning against the dark ornate wood. “Did you have to be so hard on her?”

I closed my notebook and let my fingers graze the leather the indents of the ivy engraved in the leather, and finally meeting is eyes, “She’s acting like a child.” She crossed her arms, “She was also extremely rude, and you and your family didn’t deserve that.”

Rhys smirked, and tilted his head, “You know we have been around a long time we can handle ourselves.”

I shrugged and crossed my legs on the bench. “Just because you can doesn’t mean that a friend can’t come to your defense.” I bit my lip, “Even when she feels guilty of her previous behavior to you and is super apologetic.”

Rhys crinkled his nose and made his face so youthful, something I noticed I didn’t see much under the mountain, and I giggled, and confusion fell over the high lord’s features, “What?”

My giggles softened and I gave him a smile, “I enjoy seeing you outside Amarantha.” I could see him physically restrain himself from wincing at her name, but I continued as I stood and made my way to him, “You look so free. Youthful even.”

Rhys smiled, “Well aren’t you sweet,” He opened his arm and I slid into his side as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders pulling me close. “Feyre and I are heading to the prison tomorrow.” I must have had a confused look on my face because he continued, “The prison is where we keep some of the most ancient and vile fae and magical beings. Under a mountain at the edge of Night Court border.”

I meet his violet eyes, “Rhysand, you’re taking her under another mountain.” His lips were a tight line. “What is in there that is so important?”

Rhys remained silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t ask her if I didn’t think the answer, we could find there were important.” Rhys eyes hardened, “The information wouldn’t tip the scales in our favor for the impending war.”

I scooted out of his grasp and his gaze softened. “Why Feyre?”

“The inmate we would be seeing won’t talk to me, but will talk to Feyre Cursebreaker, that I have no doubt about.”

I Internally cringed at the title, tampering that unprecedented jealousy, the title proved she was important in Prythian’s history. Further proved that I was not. Clearing my throat I asked, “She’s okay with it?”

He nodded, “You are an important part of our history too you know?”

I stood up and turned my back to him checking and grumbled, “Get out of my head, High Lord.”

“Your shields are solid, Angel, you wear your heart on your sleeve.” I turned and scowled at him which only caused him to chuckle, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Feyre may have broken the curse, but no one in that ballroom will easily forget about the human girl who stood in front of those two Fae children and took their punishment for them.”

My heart stopped as the sound of fabric ripping echoed the cavern hall. Amarantha with lethal calm turned to see two small fae girls frozen in place with fear. Their hands clasped together. Terror exploded on their features. Amarantha’s smile was sinister, as she steps down from the dais, “What did you two do?” My gaze drifts to my sister who is on Rhysand’s lap head laying on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as her eyes drift close, probably the effects of the fae wine taking hold of her as Rhysand sipped from his own cup. He had since given up forcing me to drink it after I spit it out on his shoes. Though Feyre doesn’t remember  

Turning back to the young girls as Amarantha was waiting for them to answer the two simply trembled in response a puddle was forming under one of them and my heart broke. The longer the two girls remained silent the irater Amarantha became “You two ingrates ruined my dress! You should haven’t been that close to royalty. Clearly your useless parents didn’t teach you respect. So, allow me.”

Her hand raised up and my feet moved before I could think about what I was doing and suddenly I pulled the girls behind me before Amarantha’s hand collided with my cheek. The girls screamed but I turned to them, “It’s okay. Go find your mother. Wipe your tears and hold your head high.” The girls both did and lifted their chin as they briskly walked to their mother, and I turned to the seething fae female before me.

“You had no right-“

I interrupted her my chin high, “They are children. What they did was an accident. If a punishment must be implemented, I will take it in their place.”

Amarantha eyes flared her stare made me shift the sheer red fabric that shifts to orange at the bottom covering very little of my body moved with my fidgeting. Her eyes then moved to find those two girls, she found them cowering in the arms of their mother, “The cauldron has blessed you both. You should be grateful.” She takes a step forward and her finger touches one end of my collar bone and slides to the other side smearing the paint Rhys’ wraiths painted on me. “Y/N Archeron, twin sister of Feyre.” She circles me like predator waiting for the kill. She stands behind me, her nail grazing the fabric on my shoulder, I fought off a shutter as she faced me again, “You’re a pretty little thing, for human filth. Bold too. Interrupting me not only during my punishment but as I was speaking too.” She tsks as the hand that provided false gentleness collided with my cheek once more her nails scraping skin. She gripped my chin and forced me to look at her, “A foolish human girl, who risked her life for two fae children. What a silly thing to do.”

“Children human or otherwise-“

Faster than a blink a piece of Amarantha’s dress was torn from the dress and shoved into my mouth she worked on getting another stripped around my wrist. “I grow tired of you speaking, girl.” She cinches the fabric against my wrist tightly causing me to shriek in pain. She turned me to face her again and she smiled, “Much better. "Now the question is, what to do for your punishment?”

I tested my binds, and she pressed me to your back. “Hmm I think your punishment will be someone else’s reward.” She looked out into the crowd and I allowed myself to look at Rhysand and my sister. The High Lord’s face revealed nothing but there was a prickle in my mind and his voice filtered in my head,

Breathe. I’m sorry Y/N, I cannot help you.

In the hopes he could hear me, those girls didn’t deserve to see the cruelties of this world just yet. Try to keep their innocence.

To my surprised he gave a curt nod before he drank the rest of his wine and Amarantha’s voice bellowed through the hall, “Eris Vanserra, please step forward.”

I looked out for Lucien and saw his face frown as his eldest brother stepped forward. The male was handsome his tan skin and gold eyes were warm but hardened. Amarantha pushed me forward and I whimpered muffled through the gag as she forced me to my knees, and she gripped the back of my head pressing down until my forehead hit the floor. “Stay there, Pet. Until he tells you otherwise, “her slim hands left my body as she spoke to the eldest brother, “You have done exceptional work, and it has not gone unnoticed. There was a long pause, “As a treat, one of the Archeron twins to use however, you please. You can deposit her in her cell in the morning.”

“Thank you, My Queen. Your gift is beyond gracious. I am truly humbled.” My heartrate spiked, and I tried to shift pain racking in my knees.

Breathe. Through your nose.  Rhys’ voice instructed and I followed his instruction.

A calloused hand hoisted me up to my feet and I looked up to find Eris smirking at me. “I don’t think the gag is necessary don’t you.” I nodded, “Open, Love.” I opened my mouth, and he removed the fabric from my mouth.  I coughed, and he tipped my chin up to face him, and he gave me a cold smile as his toned arm wrapped around my waist, undoing the binds, “I don’t think you need this either. and pulled me close, his breath warm on my ear. The smell of an autumn day filled my nostrils. He whispered low enough that no one could hear, "Y/N Archeron, let’s give them a good performance. Keep your face neutral and do everything I say."

He gripped me tightly, and a gasp escaped my lips as my chest was flushed to his, his lips kissed my ear, “We must make it believable, Love. Say ‘Yes Master’ if you understand.”

“Yes Master.”

He growled in my ear his hand gripped my skin tightly, “Good Girl,” He slapped the bare area of my ass causing me to yelp. He waves his hand and flames circled around my neck, the end of the flame in Eris hands. “Let us do a lap, pet and then we go to bed.” He yanked my leash pulling me closer to him, “Let’s start with thanking the High Lord of the Night Court for dressing you in Autumn Colors.” He looked at me expectantly.

I take in a deep breath, “Yes Master.”

He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, “Good Girl.”

Rhysand snapped his finger in my face. Worry written on his features stars were banked out. “What did he do to you, Angel?”

I feign ignorance, “Who?”

Rhys gave me a knowing look, “You know who. Don’t play dumb.”

I rolled my eyes, “Nothing happened worth talking about.”

Rhys growled anger morphing into his face, “I saw his intentions, If he touch-“

I rubbed my temples and groaned, “Fuck No.” I looked at him anger boiling, “I don’t talk about it because he asked me not to.”

Rhys blinked taken aback, “Why protect him?” he crossed his arms.

I gritted my teeth, “Stop pushing.” I walked over to my door and opened it, “Take care of my sister tomorrow. Good night.”

Rhys sighs as he stood and walked over to me. He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying you were just as brave and just as much a victim there as Feyre. Talking about it could be helpful.”

I gave him a hard stare, “I know, Rhys. I appreciate you keeping that door open. I do. You don’t know what happened that night. But trust me when I say that nothing happened that night that I mean it.”

Rhys clenched his fist, “Eris is a monster.”

I bite my lip, “Well, people could and have said the same about you. Yet I trusted you. Good night, Rhysand.” I slammed the door before he could get another word in and locked the door.

I couldn’t sleep that night; I kept tossing and turning. Flashes of Under the Mountain and Amarantha, The wyrm, and those girls, forcing their way into my dreams that I began to sweat. I pulled off my covers and wandered to the family library.

 I rubbed my eyes as I walked in and found Cassian sitting in the chair, a glass in his hand staring at the fire. He was wearing black silk lounge pants and a lounge shirt that hugged his taught muscles his wings relaxed but sprawled slightly, his ebony locks up in a bun. I tried to back away before he could catch me, “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”  I sighed as his warm eyes met mine, he patted the chair next to him, “Come on, Princess, talk to me.”

I dragged my feet over there and plopped on a chair, “Rhys and I got into an argument.”

Cassian nodded and handed me a glass. I took it and tried to ignore the feeling in my chest when our fingers touched. “Want to talk about it?”

I took a sip letting the burn of alcohol ease down my throat and looked at the fire. “Something that happened when we were Under the Mountain. I don’t want to go into details. He just assumes one thing happened and when it didn’t.”

His hummed, “Would it be about what happened when you saved those girls?”

I turned my head to him, “You know about that?”

Cassian gave me a warm smile, “Sweetheart, a human girl put her life on the line to save to fae children from getting harmed. Rhys may have told me when he got home, because he had never met anyone, a human no less, defend a child while being under there. But when the curse was lifted, everyone brought up about your bravery.”

I bit my lip, “It was an accident they didn’t deserve whatever cruel punishment Amarantha was going to endure. Anyone would have done that.”

Calloused fingers moved my face to meet his eyes slight ire there, “No, Princess, they wouldn’t. They should but they wouldn’t. Especially if that meant you were Eris’ pet for the evening.”

I groaned pulling away from his touch and taking my drink, slamming the rest of the contents in my mouth. “Not you too.”

“He’s dangerous from what Rhys said he had you in a collar on a leash.”

I gritted my teeth, “Drop it, Cassian.”

He sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time he did something heinous, have you talked to Mor about this?”

“No and I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You should than you would understand Rhys’ concern-“

I stood up, slamming the glass on the table, “He took me to his room, gave me his jacket to wear, and let me sleep on his bed while he slept in the chair. Is that what you want to hear? Because that’s what fucking happened, Cassian. He didn’t hurt me; he didn’t touch me past having a hand on my back. He let me have a good night’s rest. That’s. it.”

Cassian blinked, “The collar. The leash made of fire; Rhys said you had burns.”

“Amarantha had expectations, we met them.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not saying he’s perfect or not a piece of shit. I’m saying that on that evening specifically, he didn’t do a damn thing to me.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed and his lips formed a tight line, contemplating. “Fine, so he didn’t hurt you or force you to do anything why not tell Rhys that?”

“Because Eris asked me not to tell anyone what happened that night and I wanted to honor that not because I wanted to protect him but because I owed him. And given the look you’re giving me. I don’t think he would believe me either.” I bowed my head, “Goodnight, General.”

 I turned only for a hand to circle my wrist, “I believe you, Princess.” I faced him, he rose from is seat and his face held no trace of humor, his form towering over me. “I believe you, and he would to, but I know there is more you’re not telling me.”

“I am.” I didn’t bother hiding it. “But anything past what I already told you is not my story to tell. I hope you can respect that I won’t share it.”

Cassian nodded, “I understand.”

I took my free hand into his, “Why are you awake?”

Cassian sat back down and smirked, “What keeps anyone from sleeping, Princess?”

I blinked surprised by the question I asked when we first met, “Nightmares...”

I released his hand and noticed he flexed his fingers like he yearned for my touch as I sat on the chair across from him. “Yeah, I don’t get them often, but when I do, they’re…realistic enough to keep me awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, his face looked haunted.

“No.” He gave me a small smile, “But thank you for the offer, you should try to go to sleep.”

“You should as well.”

“I’m going to have a hard time falling asleep.” He retorted.

“Me too.”

He chuckled and I stood and held out my hand. “Come on, General.”

Cassian placed his hand in mine and tugged indicating I wanted him up, he stood, his wings rustling. I led him over to the couch and sat patting my lap. “Sweetheart, I would squish you if I sat on your lap.”

“Is it a requirement that to be in this court you have to be a smart ass? I want you to lay your head on my lap, Darling.” His stunned look told me no one has ever given him a pet name before, but he slowly sits and adjusts his wings in a position that is comfortable but won’t hurt me and finally he lays his head down on my lap. His eyes look up to mine and I smile as I pull the tie that is keeping his hair bound.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled, as thoughts from the week before coming to my mind, “I know when I’m not going to win a battle, General.” I wink at him, “I’m compromising.” His eyes twinkle in recognition of my words. He turns his head as I begin running my fingers through his hair he sighs in contentment. “Close your eyes, Cassian.” I watched his lids flutter shut and his breathing deepening as I kept weaving my fingers through his hair and I started to hum a lullaby and in seconds the General was asleep on my lap, and I leaned my head back as the smell of him calmed me and my eyes grew heavy and with my hand through his hair. I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Cassian’s POV

I woke up to the sun illuminating behind my eye lids. Though I realized I’m not in my room but the library. The memory of the night before came back to me. I shifted to find Y/N sleeping, her head leaning against the bookshelf. I gently sat up careful not to disturb her, but she stirred as I moved into a seated position. Her eyes lit up by the morning sky coming in from the window. Even as she woke, she was radiant like a gift from the mother herself. “Good morning, did you sleep well?” She mumbled as she tried to blink away the sleepiness from her eyes.

I smiled, “Yeah, Princess, did you? I’m sorry you fell asleep sitting up.”

She waved me off as she took the hair bind, I used to tie my hair and placed her hair in a bun few strands framing her face. Beautiful. “I have had to sleep in worse conditions than this. I just wanted to make sure you got sleep.” Another yawn from her. I stood up and stretched my sore wings.

I grinned at her, and she gave me a lazy smile back, “Thank you, Princess,” I held out my hand to her, “Let’s get you some breakfast,” she slipped her hand in mine, and it was dwarfed in mine and had tiny callouses from hunting, fighting, and training. I help her up and I go to release her hand, but she keeps a hold of mine as we exit the library and head toward the dining room. “Sweetheart, don’t you want to get dressed?”

“No, I want to eat.” She paused and looked at our hands and let go missing her warmth in my palm in an instant, “I’m sorry if you want to-“

I held my hand up, “Not at all, lead the way, Archeron.”

There was a glint in her eyes and her smile was mischievous, “Last one to the dining room has to do 50 pushups at training today.” Before I can respond to her challenge she bolts. I chuckled and waited about a minute before I chased after her. It only took me a couple of strides to catch up with her and past her, “No!” She huffed as I reached the double doors, opening for me and skidded to a halt barely winded as Y/N got there and placed her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. “Stupid fae speed.”

I laughed and ruffled her hair, and she swatted at me, “Maybe next time I will let you win. However, you owe me 50 pushups.” She groaned, and I placed a hand on her back and led her to the chair where food appeared on her chair. Only then acknowledging the short black haired fae who quirked her brow. “Morning, Tiny one.” Amren glared at me, and I grinned, “She challenged me to a race and lost.” I explained.

Amren snorted sipping her goblet, “Girl, if you are going to survive here, you have to pick and choose your battles properly.”

Y/N stabbed my eggs, “I thought I had a chance.”

Before I could counter Rhys and Feyre winnowed in, Feyre stormed out of the dining room ignoring everyone including her sister. I could see the pain in Y/N’s face as she looked over to my brother. “We need to talk, Y/N.” His face was stony, and I could see the light dim in Y/N’s eyes as she shrunk in her seat.

Rhysand walked over to her and held out his arm. Y/N pushed the plate away, not being able to get a bite and making a note to make sure she ate before we trained. She stood and walked past him ignoring his arm and heading out into the hall.

Rhysand.

My brother paused as I sent my thoughts to his mind. What?

Apologize to her, she told me what happened with Eris. He let her sleep and get a good’s night sleep. That’s it.

You believe her?

I growled at him, Yes. As should you. She has never given you a reason not to believe her.

Rhys gave a nod still not facing me as he walked from the room. Before leaving completely he whispered in my mind She might need you in a few minutes.

I looked to Amren to find her looking at me with her scrutinizing gaze. “What?”

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked her as she took another sip of her goblet.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She looked at the door that Rhys and Y/N walked through, “She’s a force even for a mere human. Willing to stand up to her own blood for Fae she doesn’t know well.”

I smiled, “She’s got a warrior’s heart. Someone just needs to remind her that she doesn’t need to take care of everyone else, that she should take care of herself.”

“Hmm someone like the General of the Night Court’s armies?” Amren questioned her red lips quirked up a bit.

I took a bite of my food, ignoring her inquiry, “Mind your business.”

Reader POV

Rhys walked out of the dining room after having a conversation with Cassian and Amren. My mood had quickly shifted with Feyre looking upset and the hard look Rhys gave me after our argument last night. “Follow me.” He led us up to his study, I shut the door behind me and leaned against the door as he sat in the chair behind his desk.

The room had various paintings of maps of not only Prythian but constellations of the night sky, and on a desk flushed against the wall was a model with all the planets. “Please make yourself comfortable.” His voice was formal not teasing like he was the day before. I didn’t move, He looked up and my feelings of his behavior changed must have been apparent on my face as Rhys sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “I owe you an apology.” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “I should have dropped the Eris subject last night when you asked.”

I looked at him a steeliness in my tone, “Yes you should have.” He flinched, I walked toward him and sat across from him holding out my hand. “Let me show you.”

Rhys shook his head, “Y/N you don-“

“Rhys just shut up and do it.” He nodded and took my hand and I let him into my mind and showed him Eris giving me his tunic, him tucking me into bed, and him sitting on the chair, eyes watching me as I fell asleep. I broke off the connection. “I wouldn’t lie, Rhys.”

Rhys nodded, “I know, which is why I want to apologize.” He walked around the desk and knelt in front of me. “I’m sorry for pushing. I’m sorry for not believing you. I will spend so many days being sorry so long as you stop looking at me like I am stranger and just your High Lord and not your friend.”

I gave him a smile and I wrapped my arms around him, “All is forgiven, unless you did something to make Feyre so upset. Then I’m kicking your ass.”

He laughed, but his face grew solemn, “Y/N, she needs you.” My forehead creased, “She never went into the prison today she got scared, that wasn’t her fault, but Y/N, I need you to understand just how not well she’s doing.”

I meet his violet eyes his stars gone, “Show me.”

Rhys gripped the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mind as I let him in and flashes of her throwing up the night before from the nightmares Her screams echoing the halls, Rhys comforting her. He flashes me to the week I hid myself after she accused me of abandoning her and she tells Rhys how nice it would feel to die, and I felt my chest tighten. Rhysand immediately talking her out of that headspace. Her gaunt haunted face through Rhysand’s eyes.

His claws released my mind, but Rhys held me close as tears and panic rose through me. “Y/N, it’s not your fault.”

“She wants to die. How did I not feel that? How did I miss it? I’m a terrible sister.” My voice barely above a whisper as the images whirl around my brain a never ending loop of Feyre’s pain.

Rhys grips my neck tightly, “Stop it.” I met his gaze as he pulls his face away from mine, “Stop beating yourself up. You didn’t know.”

“BUT I SHOULD HAVE!” I erupted causing Rhys to jump back, “I was so mad! I couldn’t even look at her only to find out she has been hating herself.” I stood and began to pace, “I promised my mom that I would take care of her. But I let her go out into the forest only going out with her scarcely, I let Tamlin sink his teeth into her with his sweet words, and soft touches. I let her think I abandoned her.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, please calm down.” Rhys tried to grab my shoulder and I shook him off.

My breathing became short and erratic, “What if she would have taken her life when Tamlin kicked me out of his court. What if she did it and I never apologized.” I rubbed my hand on my chest, “It would have been my fault. Oh gods.” Breathing became difficult and my hearing muffled I didn’t even notice the door open. Strong arms wrapped around me and flushed up against a strong toned chest the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounded me. I leaned my head back as tears flowed freely.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Cassian whispered in my ear, he pressed his lips to the top of my ear. He led me to the couch to sit and he lightly bended my head in between my knees. “Inhale,” he commanded his voice not that of a general, but I couldn’t place the gentle yet firm tone in it, and I take a breath, “hold it,” I did for a moment, “Exhale slowly,” He exhaled with me his hand rubbing circles around my back. “That’s my girl, again,” He guided me through some deep breaths, and I began to calm down.  I slowly sat up and I met his Hazel eyes his hand continued to rub my back, “Hi.”

“Hi.” I whispered.

“You okay?” I nodded and gripped my chin, “I need you to say it, baby.”

“I’m okay.” I murmured, I leaned my head on his shoulder, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. We’re not training today.” I tried to protest but before I could open my mouth he said, “Don’t fight with me. You need to take it easy, and by the sounds of it you need to have a talk with your sister.”

I lifted my head, “Okay.” I looked at Rhys, “I’m sor-“

Rhys growled, “Do not apologize for letting your feelings out.” He kissed the top of my head, “You’re scared for your sister and want to take her pain away. I understand. I had a feeling this might happen due to how much you love her. But don’t apologize for feeling these feelings, okay?”

I sniffled, Cassian’s hand grounding me, “Even if I was a contributing factor to her pain.”

“She doesn’t see it that way. When we were outside the prison, she wished you were there. That doesn’t sound like someone who is contributing to her pain.” Rhys said. “Stay here for as long as you need.” Rhys walked away and shut the door the soft clicking felt loud against my ears.

“You don’t need to stay here, Cass,” I said as I straightened my back.

He laughed, “I’m not going anywhere, unless you ask me to. Would you like me to leave?” I bit my lip debating being honest and eventually I just shook my head. “Then I stay.” And we sat like that for a few hours with him rubbing soothingly on my back as my forehead leaned against his shoulder.

When I was finally calm, I parted ways with Cassian, kissing him on the cheek in thanks for once again taking care of me. I could have sworn I saw him blush as he turned and left for his room, but he was gone before I could assess further.

***

Then I changed and found myself outside Feyre’s door, my hand hovering over the wooden panel to knock. Before I could I just hear her go, “Come in, Y/N,”

I opened her door to find scribbling on parchment. I walked in closer and noticed she wasn’t scribbling, she was drawing. Which means she was itching to paint again. She smiled, “I could hear your heartbeat skyrocket in front of my door.

I swallowed the lump down my throat as she put her sketch to the side and faced me.

“I’m sorry.” We both said at the same time we both blinked at each other before we began to laugh.

She got up and pulled me in a bone crushing hug that I returned. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for leaving. I know you wouldn’t have gone willingly. I was just so relieved, hurt and scared that when I saw you I just.”

“Let your inner Nesta out and said things you knew would hurt.” She nodded as she sat back on the bed dragging me with her. “I get it Fey, and I need to apologize to you for my outburst yesterday. I may have been out of line.”

Feyre shook her head, “You weren’t. I was being unfair to them. I meant what I said though.” I frowned, “You seem happier here. Less on edge.”

I nodded my head in agreement, “I am happy.” I smiled and squeezed her hand, “You could be happy here too. They are good Fae either way they are kind, and generous and I think we could fit right in. If you’re open.”

She gave me a small tentative smile, “I can see myself getting to place here. Rhys is not what I expected. He is kind, patient, and sweet.”

I smirked and looked at my nail, “Handsome, charming, alluring,” Feyre shoved me playfully, as I felt what must have been the equivalent to laughter down our bond.

“I mean he is all those things too, but I should have listened to you when you told me to give him a chance.”

“Yeah, probably, but we can’t change the past. We can only move forward, and maybe that starts with us being able to talk again.” I extended the olive branch.

“I would love nothing more, Y/N. I know I have pushed you away, but I have been feeling so lonely and isolated. I want you around.” She looked down at her hands, “I need you around.”

I grabbed her hands and gave them a squeeze, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Until my heart stops beating. You’re my sister. I will always be there for you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she gripped me in a hug as she sobbed in my shoulder, “I wanted to die.”

I didn’t realize my own tears were falling as I gripped her tightly back, “I know.”

 “I don’t how to heal from this.” She whispered.

“We’ll figure it out, together.” I retorted.

“You swear?”

“I swear.” We both hissed as light flashed between us and designs of swirls and two hearts intertwining revealed itself on Feyre’s collarbone, her eyes widened when I moved my tunic shirt to see the same design. “Well, I guess you and I have a bargain, Fey.”

I pulled her back into me for another hug, and we stayed like that for a while, nothing but the crackling of the fire. Staring at the fire my brain led me to that night with Eris.

Eris paraded me around the ballroom keeping me on a short leash as his hand sprawled on my back. He reached the Dais where Amarantha and Tamlin stood, his eyes flicked to me and I could have sworn there was a flicker of a smirk was on his face but it was gone as quickly as it was there. “My queen, I would like to retire with my pet at your approval of course.”

Amarantha should me a glare and I just bow my head avoiding her gaze, “Yes get her out of my sight. Enjoy your reward.”

With a tug of the leash, he walked me out and I had chance to glance at Rhysand who was holding on to a dancing drunken Feyre. When we walked down the hall past the sentries Eris removes the leash and collar of flame and holds out his hand. I hesitated to take it and Eris clicked his tongue, “You attempt to flee, my little ember, and I will make sure you are bound to the point of uselessness.”

My hand finds his and finds they are surprisingly warm. He leads me to his chamber and finds that despite it being in the mountain it looks like it could be a room in a castle. Eris walks in and begins to unbutton his jacket and I tense, fear of what he has planned, He looked at me clearly sensing my fear. Not easing my fears, Eris shook off the jacket and walked over holding it out expecting me to put my arms through. Confusion fell upon me as I slowly moved and slid my arms in the jacket. He pulled me close causing me to gasped and he chuckled in response as he buttoned up the jacket, “There better?”

I nodded, the Autumn Court Prince gripped my arms and led me to the large bed on the side of the room near the fireplace, “Sleep.” He ordered and I crossed my arms. He looked at me expectantly and rolled his eyes and with a wave of his hand my dress was gone and so was the paint. My body was cleaned, the only thing keeping me covered was his jacket.

I bit my lip and I sighed, “That’s all you want me to do sleep?” I regretted asking the question.

His eyes flashed with rage, “What? Expect me to want to ravish you. To hear you cry and beg me to stop when I force myself upon you?” I flinched and looked at the ground. “I like my women consenting and moaning in pleasure not whimpering in fear. Only low bottom feeders get off on such a cruel act. My father being one of them.” He stilled and my head shot up at the admission he gave.

“Does he do that with your mother?” I asked clearly not worried about my well being.

“I would NEVER let him do something so heinous to her.” He snarled and I held my hands up in surrender.

“I meant no ill will toward the question.” He relaxed his shoulders, “You don’t like your father?”

He smiled and the expression was cold and cruel, “Do you like yours Y/N Archeron?”

I crossed my arms and looked away from his eyes. “No, I don’t” I answered.

If Eris was shocked by my honesty he didn’t let on. “Then it looks like you and I have something in common,” He had gotten close to me enough his body was radiating heat and gripped my chin, “Now go to sleep, My Little Ember.”

“What’s in it for you? For holding me here as your pet for the night?” I asked.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, “You’re a mortal. I should hate you. But I’m vowing you to secrecy, you will not tell a soul, do you understand?”

I nodded my head, “Yes.” He quirked a brow waiting, and I rolled my eyes, “Yes, Master.”

He smiled and kissed my head and I grumbled at the gesture. “Good,” he said, and he leaned in and whispered in my ear and my eyes went wide. He pulled away and patted my cheek, “Now go to sleep pet,” He sat at the chair and opened a book.

I moved to the bed and found sleep the moment my head hit the pillow. It was reckless to sleep with someone as dangerous as Eris near me, but I couldn’t fight the comfort of the bed, the warmth of the fire and exhaustion in my bones. My thoughts swirling of Eris’s plan to become High Lord of Autumn Court.

Chapter 8

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Beast I

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Some Inner Circle slander. Angst... like a lot of it. And a family dinner that goes horribly wrong.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Bryaxis left you to find Eris. You were sure of it. 

That is good, you thought, as you wiped away your tears and picked yourself off the floor. 

If Azriel was able to enter Autumn unnoticed, you’d both need to reevaluate the security around Forest House and send a strong message to Rhysand that your thin alliance did not mean Azriel was permitted to enter and leave at will. 

You swallowed your tears and collected your breath just as Eris rushed into the house like a tornado, scooping you up in his arms and searching you over with frantic eyes.

“I’m alright, Eris.” You murmured into his soft hair, breathing in his scent and finding it eased your aching heart, “He didn’t hurt me.” 

Bryaxis followed in behind the High Lord, gave you both a nod and ran out again, this time in the form of a falcon. He was going to make good on your promise. If Azriel wasn’t out of Autumn by now he was as good as dead.

“Physically, you mean.” Eris said, lowering you to the floor and pulling you close.

You sighed, leaning against him. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I worry about you in all ways, Y/n. But I confess, if he was able to best you in a fight I’d be surprised. I’d bet my money on you any day.”

You laughed without humor. Your mind went to business, as it always did when you wanted to ignore your true feelings. 

“We should talk about defenses. I don’t like that he was able to enter Autumn unnoticed. Did you feel anything at all? Any disturbance?”

Eris’s jaw tightened. He knew what you were doing and wanted to take the time to talk through what you were feeling. But the look in your eyes told him now was not a good time. 

He shook his head, “Azriel’s powers have always been clouded in mystery. My father spent years trying to keep him out. Clearly he wasn’t successful.”

“Once Bryaxis is back, I’ll ask that he keep guard - at least for a short time. Spread his power out over the borders. He’s built from the same darkness that seeps out from the Night Court and might have a better chance of sensing when things are wrong.”

And so are you. You crawled out of that darkness and survived. Eris’s eyes said, but you didn’t like to dwell on that truth often. 

Years spent as Beron’s prisoner had changed you - made you more like the Shadowsinger than you cared to admit. Frustratingly it hadn’t made you any better at sensing when he was in your house and in your court.

“Good. I’ll speak to Halvor about increasing the guards posted around Forest House and the borders. We’ll keep it discreet and have Halvor winnow them.”

“And check for any missing guardsmen. He was wearing Autumn Court armor and either had to have stolen it or had it made himself.” You held out the patch of leather in your hand, discretely cut from the folds of his hood when you’d been speaking. Large enough for Myrah to scry with.

“It’s a good start.” Eris said, smoothing back the wrinkles in your forehead that came from irritation. He pressed his lips to your forehead, murmuring, “Talk to me, my love. And not about business this time.” 

Your fists clenched and unclenched, anger brewing inside of you. But not all of it was directed at the Shadowsinger.

“I just-” You huffed, “I didn’t know he was here. I didn’t sense him. I thought the next time I saw him it would be on my own terms. That I’d be more prepared.” You kicked at the ground, sending one of your abandoned knives skittering across the floor, “Instead I froze.”

“Bryaxis didn’t seem to think so. He told me he’s never seen you punch anyone that hard.” You frowned at him, but the pride and satisfaction that twinkled in his eyes melted away some of your sadness, like the first rays of spring on winter frost.

You dropped your gaze to the floor, “He said he and Rhysand were the only ones to know about the deal.” Flames flared to life in his eyes, like someone had shone a light through amber stones. “He asked to visit with the others. In Autumn.” 

Eris nodded slowly, carefully. He didn’t like this, didn’t like this at all. 

“Is that what you want? To see them again?”

You missed some of them more than others. You missed Cassian’s boyish humor, Nesta’s blunt honesty, Feyre’s love for all things creative, and the bright light that Mor seemed to carry around with her as easily as a torch. You even missed Amren, who’d come to tolerate you well enough in the few years you’d spent with the Inner Circle. 

But Rhysand and Azriel… You would have missed them the most if not for what they’d done. Rhysand who you’d once seen as a brother, and Azriel, who you could have fallen in love with so easily if he hadn’t constantly pined over other females. Perhaps you had fallen in love with him at one point. Maybe that’s why it hurt so badly to see him again.

“I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to make the decision now.” Eris said, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers, “But I would like to ask you one thing.”

“Since when do you ever ask for things?” You said, trying to lighten up your spirits by toying with your lover.

He shook his head, “I am a very greedy male. I ask for many things from you - your time, your love, your attention.” 

“And what would you like to ask for now?” 

Eris hesitated.

“For you to move to the Forest House. Today. I’ll send for the rest of your things in the morning.” 

“Today?”

“Today.” You looked around the house. It had steadily been emptying the last two months, coming with you to the Forest House in bits and pieces as your once nonexistent visits to Court became more and more regular. It was all part of the plan to introduce you to Court life and prepare you for the role you’d one day take at Eris’s side.

“I thought you wanted to take time. Prepare things better-”

“I know. I know that was the plan. But I’d feel infinitely better with you under the roof of Forest House with me… with me.”

“Azriel doesn’t know about us yet. The other courts don’t know.” You said. 

Eris had always been so careful, so cautious concerning you, paying the townspeople for their silence, spreading rumors of visiting pleasure houses and flirting with the bolder females in court to disguise the one person who warmed his bed. You didn’t want him to feel rushed.

“I know.” Eris steeled himself. The scars on his back flexed uncomfortably, pulling and stretching at his flesh with memories of the past, “I don’t want to be afraid of that anymore.” He said, “I’ve lived in fear my whole life, unable to protect the ones I love. You know this. I can do it now, with you standing next to me.”

“I just… I want to make sure you’re not doing this against your will because of what happened today.” You said it sincerely. Eris was all about plans and safety and heavily disliked straying from them.

Eris froze and then laughed, a full-bodied laugh that shook his sturdy frame and surprised you.

“What did I say?” You asked. When he didn’t answer, continuing to laugh, you slapped his shoulder, “What did I say?! Tell me!”

“Oh, my love.” He sighed, stealing a kiss, “I’m not asking you to come home with me because of the meddlings of another court. I’m asking you because I want you there.” 

You blushed furiously, color flooding into your cheeks.

“Don’t look so surprised.” He said.

“I’m not surprised! We’ve talked about this.”

“We have! We’ve talked about this in great detail.” You glanced around the room. It had stopped feeling like home some time ago. Home was where Eris was.

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“As in right now.” 

“Well I would give you time to pack whatever you think you’ll need for the next day. I’m not a brute.” 

It was your turn to laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely on the lips. He tasted like cinnamon and cloves. 

You packed a small bag of your most treasured belongings - few in number as most had already been brought to the Forest House - and then you were off. Bryaxis would find you wherever you were and you would be able to sense if anything was wrong with him. Even now you felt his power near the borders of Autumn where he prowled about on his mission. But Azriel was long gone from the Autumn Court.

The Forest House was bustling with energy when you arrived, fae of all shapes and sizes bowing to you and Eris, carrying baskets of bread, honeysuckle, walnuts, and pumpkins against their hips to bring to the kitchens. 

Myrah, Halvor, and Aurelia - The Lady of Autumn - were there to greet you.

Myrah bowed deeper than the rest, grinning from ear to ear as she took your belongings and ran them to your room. She had served Lady Aurelia dutifully as a blademaiden for over fifty years, and now she would serve you with just as much fervor.

“My Lady.” You said, bowing your head. 

Aurelia’s scarlet hair and amber eyes were a twin to Eris’s and she smiled at you with a light that had never fully dimmed during her marriage to Beron. Lucien might have been her favored son - the one born out of love and passion - but Eris was the most like her in appearance and she thanked the Mother for that every day.

“I’ll have none of that.” Aurelia said, grasping you by the arm and forcing you to stand upright. She ran her thumbs over your cheeks before dipping her head towards her son and leading you away for a proper meal and rest.

So it went for the next few months. You dove into your court duties during the day, attending meetings with Eris and Aurelia, court dinners, and pouring over reports by the warm light of the fires that filled every room in the Forest House. Your evenings were dedicated to your research in the libraries with Bryaxis curled up comfortably in your lap. And your nights were filled with Eris, whispered words under satin covers, hands resting comfortably against your back and thighs, silken strands of red hair between your fingers.

You ignored the letters that arrived on your desk from the Night Court for as long as you could. Nesta had even made her way through Winter to visit you in person, only to be turned away at the border personally by Myrah. 

That had been the call for you to finally invite them to dinner at the Autumn Court.

The blademaiden, soft and swift as wind and more resilient than iron, brushed through your hair carefully, weaving thin leaves of gold into the braids until your hair gleamed when it caught the light.

Bryaxis was partial to her, puffing his chest out from his seat on the vanity until Myrah stopped her work to give him a quick kiss on his little black head.

“I think you might be his favorite person.” You quipped, smiling at her through the mirror as Bryaxis continued to sit ramrod straight, waiting for another display of affection. Myrah obliged, scratching him behind his ears as he closed his eyes and rumbled in satisfaction. 

“Pffft. Everyone knows he’d go mad if you so much as chipped a tooth.”

“Teeth are important! It’s less impressive when you snarl at enemies with a gap in your teeth.” 

Myrah snorted, finishing your hair and wrapping her arms carefully around you. Her hair was similarly arranged with silver instead of gold to better match her gray-blonde hair and steel gray eyes. She looked like the thunderclouds that rolled over the hills before rain. 

You patted her arm before moving over to the full length mirror, carved from a single slab of wood to look like birds in flight. Your breath caught in your throat. The wine-red dress hung from your frame as light as air, threaded with black and gold around the careful beadwork so that you rustled with light and energy. You looked otherworldly.

Myrah brought her hands to her lips, glowing with pride and happiness. For years she’d seen Lady Aurelia wilt and endure. It was good to know you would not suffer the same fate. She’d sooner die than let anything happen to you. Even Bryaxis was impressed with your appearance, shifting between shadow and flesh as he regarded you with a molten eye.

A knock on the door drew your eyes away from your reflection. Aurelia stepped inside with an ornate wooden box in her slender hands, looking like a living flame and crossing the room on light and even steps.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” She asked gently, putting the box down and taking your hands in hers. Myrah bowed and took her leave, taking up her position outside the door. The folds of her skirt concealed a gleaming silver sword and no shortage of other weapons. 

Bryaxis also followed, rubbing against Aurelia’s ankle with a gentle purr as went.

You took a deep breath after the door shut.

“Nervous.” You said honestly, “More than I would like to be.”

“That’s understandable.” Aurelia said, surveying the curve of your dress, your neck, and ears and nodding. “You look powerful. Myrah did well. Not that you needed the help.” She whispered the last few words like a secret, as if concerned the female outside would overhear and find offense. 

You smiled.

“But, I think you’re missing a few elements.” 

You blinked, smoothing your skirts and looking around. You hadn’t thought you were missing anything.

Aurelia opened the box, compartments springing outward like the unfurling of alocasia leaves. Rows upon rows of jewelry, some delicate and some that weighed as heavy as stones, were laid out neatly. 

You blushed furiously.

“Eris didn’t-I mean this is too much”

Aurelia tipped her head back in laughter, hair swaying across her graceful back like the flickering of candlelight against a window. 

“Now that you are here I am sure Eris will spare no expense. But these are from me.” 

With patience and a careful hand she helped you pick out a thin pair of bracelets that snaked up your arm like the veins of a riverbed, golden cuffs that accentuated the length of your ears, and finally a dainty necklace of amber and gold.

“This one looks different from the others.” You said, tracing the thin chain against your chest, “It’s beautiful.” 

Aurelia smiled, a quiet sadness in her eyes. “It wasn't made in Autumn.”

“Where was it-” You paused. A knowing look passed between you two. “I understand.”

The clock chimed. A gentle ring that made your heart beat faster. It was time. The Night Court would have arrived already - if they decided to be punctual that was. 

“I suppose it’s time.” You said, offering your arm to the Lady of Autumn. 

“One more thing.” She said, grasping your shoulders so you stood face to face. The crown glittered in her hair - a thin band of gold from which grew garlands of paper thin flowers and maple leaves interwoven with redwood. It was said to have been made by one of Autumn’s Old Gods, a powerful relic that spoke of traditions past that the people still honored.

It rested on your head now, laid there by Aurelia’s slender hands.

“Perfect.” She said with a smile, tilting your head up with two fingers beneath your chin.

“I can’t-I can’t wear this.” 

“You can, and you will. Your Lady commands it.” She took your hand in hers, squeezing it with all the love of a mother, and led you out the door.

Myrah was vibrating with excitement and kept stealing glances as the crown on your head. Bryaxis curled up around her shoulders as she trailed after you and the Lady of Autumn. 

Eris and Halvor were already waiting by the steps to the great hall - Halvor in his general attire, and Eris looking like the heart of Autumn in a resplendent suit of bronze, gold, and scarlet. He stilled when you approached, eyes darting to the crown in your hair and softening. His mother only nodded, giving you both her silent blessing.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured as you took his arm.

“As do you.” 

Halvor coughed and Myrah rolled her eyes.

“You also look wonderful, Halvor.” You said, shaking your head with laughter.

He bowed deeply, “Thank you, My Lady.” 

You blushed. With the Lady of Autumn’s crown resting in your hair and the unofficial title rolling off Halvor’s tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world, it all felt like too much. 

Eris squeezed your hand in reassurance, flashing you one last smile before he would have to let the mask of the High Lord slide over his face. 

“Ready?”

You nodded. “Ready.” 

You descended the steps, Aurelia and Myrah (and Bryaxis) to your right and Halvor to Eris’s left. They were the beginnings of a proper court. An Inner Circle of their own. Eris swallowed the emotion, the gratefulness for everyone who stood with him, for another time. 

Still, he was looking at you when you all made your appearance and the Night Court’s conversations died in the air. 

Nesta, Cassian, Mor, Feyre, and Azriel all stood to one side of the table. Cut from the trunk of an ancient elder tree, the rings spoke of the passage of two thousand years. You felt insignificant in the face of all of that history, gripping Eris’s arm for reassurance as you led the way down the last flight of stairs. 

“Welcome to Autumn Court.” Eris said, voice cold and emotionless as he swept his arm out to the side and dipped his head ever so slightly. Everyone in the room followed suit… everyone except you. You weren’t going to waste a single moment on pleasantries when you could drink in the sight of your old family… if they had ever even been your family.

Nesta noticed, never taking her eyes off of you as she searched you head to toe, lingering on the glittering crown on your head with barely concealed surprise. 

The sight of it was a dagger through Azriel’s heart, twisting and turning without mercy as Eris placed his hand at the small of your back. Protective, cautious, and ready to winnow you away at the first sign of trouble. 

It should have been him standing beside you. 

Rhysand was conspicuously absent as you’d expected. There was no way he’d drag the core members of the Inner Circle to Autumn and leave Velaris vulnerable. But perhaps it was better this way.

“Y/n.” Nesta said, breaking the awkward silence that followed. Her voice came out strangled with grief.

You blinked in surprise at the emotion in her voice. There was a hollowness beneath her eyes where dark shadows gathered, thinly covered with makeup to make them less noticeable. 

Your teeth ground together to hide the trembling in your lips. 

Nesta. Beautiful, sharp, and terrifying Nesta. Nesta who you’d dragged home from bars, stumbling and wasted. Nesta who you’d screamed at and cried with. Nesta who would never, ever let anything happen to the ones she cared about. 

“Nesta.” You said carefully. You looked at Eris and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod. 

Go on. This is for you. His eyes said. 

You let go of his arm, stepping forward like a boat slipped off its mooring. 

“Cass,” He smiled at you, warmth flooding his chest when you still used his nickname. 

“Feyre,” Her eyes glittered with starlight.

“Mor,” She let out a shaky breath.

You steeled yourself for the last, familiar face.

“Azriel.” He stood there, still as stone while his heart raged inside him.

“It’s… it’s good to see you all again.” The words flowed out of your mouth more easily than you’d expected and you found there was a great deal of truth to your words. 

The last you’d heard, Feyre was suspected to have given birth to another child - a girl this time. The gentle roundness of her figure and glow of her smile confirmed it. And Nesta and Cassian had married, twin rings of silver flashing on their fingers. Marriage was insignificant in the face of the bond they shared, but you were happy for them nevertheless. And Mor… Mor was as bold as ever, daring to race across the room and gather you up in her arms in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” She gasped, burying her face into your hair and breathing in your familiar scent. 

You stiffened in her arms.

Halvor’s arm shot out in front of Myrah, her hand hidden in the gathers of her skirt and resting on the knife strapped to her thigh. She was a coiled spring, ready to launch herself at anyone who dared touch you. It wasn’t until you slowly relaxed and returned Mor’s embrace that Myrah allowed herself to loosen, flashing a scowl in Halvor’s direction. He only smirked and winked at her.

“We didn’t know. Please believe me. Please come home.” Mor whispered the words for you and you alone. 

Come home.

You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply before peeling the female off of you. You didn’t try to ignore the pain or betrayal that flashed in her eyes when you stepped away and floated back to Eris’s side. 

“Please, sit.” You tapped Eris’s arm and with a snap of his fingers, mountains of food appeared on the table in front of you. Any other day your mouth would be watering at the sight, but today your stomach only clenched with nerves as you and Eris took your seats at the head of the table.

Feyre and Mor sat across from you at the other end, Azriel to their right and seated next to Aurelia and Myrah, and Nesta and Cassian to their left. The Lord of Bloodshed scowled at Halvor, who only smirked and dropped into the seat beside him. 

If anyone wanted to attack their High Lord and Lady, they’d have to tear through Halvor and Myrah to do it.

Aurelia was a blessing as always, pushing the conversation through the usual, pleasant motions even when tension hung thick in the air. 

How do you do it? You wondered, as she managed to draw a quiet laugh from Feyre’s lips. 

The High Lady of the Night Court wore a deep, wine red dress so dark it was nearly black. Only the warm light flickering from the three fireplaces and the faelight chandeliers dangling overhead hinted at the color of the fabric. Somehow you knew it was Feyre’s way of showing her support for you. 

She was shocked, as was everyone, when you’d appeared at the steps looking every bit like a High Lady beside Eris. And the love in his gaze hadn’t been lost on her. He looked at you the same way Rhys looked at her.

“How long have you been living here?” Feyre finally asked gently. 

You’d hardly touched the roasted quail and walnuts in front of you, carefully following the conversation and wondering who would be the first to ask you the questions they were all dying to know the answers to. You weren’t making things easy for them, sitting on your small throne of cedar and gold that was the twin to Eris’s seat and looking as impassible and aloof as a bronze sculpture.

Everyone’s eyes focused on you. Eris shifted ever so slightly in his seat, angling his body towards you and leaning on his hand with a carefully crafted expression of boredom on his beautiful face. 

“Eight years. Almost nine now.” You said, swallowing a bite of food with difficulty. The Inner Circle froze, the sounds of singing cutlery falling silent.

“Eight years?” Cassian said, his face paleing. 

Nesta’s grip on her fork and knife tightened, knuckles turning white as the silverware struggled not to bend. 

“We didn’t hear you were alive until four months ago. If we’d known…” Feyre’s voice faltered.

“You would have visited sooner? Don’t bother yourself with that. I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to be left alone.” 

Azriel seemed to shrink in his seat when you said that. After all, he’d helped set this all into motion. 

“So what changed?” Mor asked, almost accusingly. It was the first time she’d spoken since embracing you and the sting of your rejection hadn’t dissipated over dinner. “You’ve moved into the Forest House. Been seen at court. With him. If you want to be left alone, to stay hidden, you’re doing a terrible job of it.”

Before Eris could spit back a reply, Halvor growled threateningly, banging the table with his fist. “I’d watch my tone if I were you.” He said as smoke rose from between his fingers. 

If it was any other court they were dining with, Eris would have warned Halvor to control his temper. As it was, he only gave a minor nod of approval to his brother. There were many things they disagreed on, but one thing was certain - they’d both protect you to their last breath.

“You’re being awfully silent, Eris.” Mor spit out, completely ignoring Halvor and Eris’s rightful title. 

“Mor.” Feyre hissed in warning. 

Your eyes turned dark.

Eris swirled the wine in his goblet, taking a careful sip and making a point of looking languid and unimpressed. 

“I don’t have anything to say.” He paused, “Actually, that’s a lie. I have much I would like to say to you. Choice words that your precious Inner Circle wouldn’t appreciate hearing.” He looked at you, eyes softening as he downed the rest of his wine, “But tonight’s not about me.” 

“Y/n.” Mor said, half in anger and half in desperation, “Stop this and come home. You don’t belong here.” 

“And why should you have a say in where she belongs?” Myrah said. Her normally soft and lilting voice was low and deadly, “You were the ones who abandoned her in our court to die. Does the story sound familiar to you, Morrigan?” 

“Mor,” Cassian and Feyre both reached for her hands, but she ripped out of their hold, standing up with an ugly groan of her chair as it was sent toppling backwards. 

Her chest heaved with fury, fingers twitching for a weapon that wasn’t there. 

Myrah matched her anger, knife sliding into her hand with ease as she pointed it at the blond-haired female across the table, “Who’s the villain now? Or will you do what you’ve always done and blame it on my High Lord?”

The tension in the room finally snapped.

Mor screamed in fury, launching herself across the table. Before Myrah could land the first blow - a wild glee in her eyes - Azriel leapt up from his seat. He angled himself in between the two females, wrapping his arms around Mor’s waist and pulling her away as she continued to fight back and scream bloody murder. 

Feyre’s jaw clenched, slamming against Mor’s mental shields. Her commands to stop fell on deaf ears.

“You bitch! I’m going to kill you!” 

Myrah beckoned her forward, daring Mor to try. 

At some point in the chaos of it all, Bryaxis had changed form, taking on the shape of a bear and climbing onto the table beside Halvor. Cassian pushed Nesta behind him, his already pale face blanching further as he recognized the monster that bared its teeth at him and his mate. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” You slammed your hands against the table and stood up, your powers exploding outward in a rush of darkness and dampening the powers of everyone in the room. Everyone except Eris.

He stood up slowly and moved to stand behind you, one hand resting on your waist. His touch grounded you.

He’d felt your power before. He understood it. And he would not stand in the way of it. He would not stand in the way of you. 

And he would not let you stand alone.

Mor stilled in Azriel’s arms, gasping as the suffocating nature of your power lifted off of her. Everyone slowly recoiled back into their seats. 

Bryaxis returned to your side, inky eyes surveying the scene like a hawk.

“I invited you here so you would know that I am safe and well and happy. Not so you could insult and threaten my family. If you want to continue like this, you may as well save us the trouble and leave.” 

Mor took in a shaky breath, face hidden behind her golden blond curls, and went silent. 

“You should have told us.” There was no saving this evening, and Nesta finally took the opportunity to say her piece. “You should have told us you were alive. We would never have left you here alone. We would have brought you home.” 

“Don’t you dare, Nesta.” You seethed, “Don’t you dare make me out to be some traitor. I never told Beron anything. No matter what he did to me. No matter what he threatened to do. I never betrayed you.” 

Nesta’s eyes were two thin chips of ice and the knife she’d kept in her hand snapped in two, clattering to the floor. But the cold anger she harbored in her heart was not aimed at you. 

“We didn’t know.” She said, “I nearly killed Azriel and Rhysand when I found out what they’d done.” 

Azriel flexed his shoulders, feeling the memory of Nesta’s blade stabbing through the scar there. She’d aimed for his heart. It was only because Cassian intervened that he’d been spared. Now he wished her aim had been true, maybe then he would have been spared the look of heartbreak on your face now. 

“What kind of an excuse is that?! If Beron had asked for anyone else in the Inner Circle none of you would have dared to even entertain the idea of a trade to get Elain back.”

“There was no other choice.” Mor said weakly, trying her best to defend Azriel as he had always defended her. 

The mighty Shadowsinger looked like death next to her. Still and empty.

He’d never been quite the same after handing you off to Beron. When Elain had been returned to their family safe and sound and curled up in his arms, it wasn’t the joyous reunion they’d been hoping for. 

Azriel had left a piece of himself behind with you, something he’d never managed to get back.

“THERE’S ALWAYS ANOTHER CHOICE!” 

The rage and heartbreak stirred within you. Never gone. Never forgotten. Only contained. 

“You would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect your own. You would have burned the world to the ground rather than agree to a trade of lives.” 

Your eyes narrowed in on the High Lady, someone you’d once respected and would have died for.

“Feyre. What would you have done? Hmmm? What would you have done if Beron asked for Mor, or Cassian, or gods forbid Nyx in return for Elain?”

Feyre’s confidence faltered, the mask of the High Lady cracking and splintering under your forceful gaze.

“What would you have done?”

“I… I would have-” Her voice broke, “I would have given myself or died trying to find another way. I never… I never would have done what we did to you.” 

“I would have done it.” You whispered. “If that’s what you’d asked of me. If that’s what needed to be done, I would have gone to Beron willingly to help you.” 

Eris closed his eyes at the admission. It burned him to see you like this. Pieces of his heart cracking along with yours. He wanted nothing more than to winnow you away from this place. From these people.

“It was my fault.” Azriel said, stepping into your line of sight and hiding his High Lady behind him. His hazel eyes bore into yours, begging you to listen to him. “I was the one who told Rhys to agree to the trade. I was the one who convinced him not to tell anyone until it was too late. If you are to blame or hate anyone, blame me. Hate me.” 

Your lips trembled, eyes burning with unshed tears as you took in shaky gulps of air. You should have hated him. You should have wanted to bury him beneath the force of your power, steal away his breath, and kill him where he stood. And with the way he looked at you, propped up by longing and shame and hope, you knew he would let you. 

If you pulled out a sword, he’d kneel down and bend his neck forward. If you tackled him to the floor and beat him bloody, he’d smile to have you so close to him again.

It was a terrible, unfortunate thing that the fiercest kinds of hate existed only a hair’s width away from the fiercest kinds of love. Because the truth was you didn’t hate him. No matter how much you’d convinced yourself that you hated him, it wasn’t true. You loved him. And that was a far, far worse thing.

The bond snapped into place for you so suddenly, so much like a blow to your chest that you stumbled back, crashing into Eris’s solid form as he wrapped his arms around you. It burned in the deepest parts of your soul, filling you with a warmth and light that should have comforted you but instead only made you cower.

“No.” You gasped, curling into Eris’s chest and ignoring the looks of horror from everyone in the room. 

Azriel was kneeling on the floor, one scarred hand clutching his chest as he felt the fullness of the bond rear its mighty head. 

It was everything that he had ever wanted. He could feel you on the other side of the bond as naturally as he felt his own being and you were bright and warm and lovely and fierce. You were more overwhelming than a winter storm. More devastating than an earthquake.

He thought he was going mad. He wanted to kill Eris for holding you like that - for holding his mate. But… you looked so scared. Scared of him. 

“No. No. No no no no no no.” You repeated over and over again, burying your face into Eris’s shoulder as Aurelia flew to your side, murmuring words into your ear that you couldn’t register.

“Y/n.” Azriel’s shadows were flying around him now, reaching out to you and desperately sliding up your arms and legs. Through the bond you felt it all - his shame, his self-hatred, his longing... His love.

Your power shot out in a wall around you at the same time that your mental shield slammed closed on the bond. His shadows beat back against your power and against the barrier you’d placed around your mind. You could still feel him there at the edges, begging to be let in. 

 The table shook and groaned, bottles of wine tipping over and crashing into waves of red over the floor as Cassian, Nesta, Mor, and Feyre slid backwards. 

Azriel stood his ground as best he could, half-crawling towards you against the whirlwind of your power. You faintly heard him roar your name over the sounds of the room tipping and turning. 

You were afraid to look at Eris. The one who’d given you a home. The one who’d promised you the world by his side. The one you loved and the one who loved you more than anything. 

Eris held your clinging form to him, fire exploding from around him and wrapping around his family members in a protective circle as Feyre, Cassian, and the rest called out to you, begging you to listen to them.

“Get out.” He roared. You trembled in his arms, clutching him tighter, but his words were not for you. “Get out of my house. Get out of my court or I swear to the Mother I will burn you where you stand.” 

His words, dangerous and unyielding, echoed throughout the room. 

Cassian pulled Nesta to his chest. 

“Nes, we need to go. Nes… She doesn’t want us here.” 

Every part of her being screamed at her not to leave you again, but Cassian was right. You didn’t want them here anymore. So after one last look at you, she took her husband’s hand and disappeared without a trace. 

Tears streamed down Mor’s face as she and Feyre shook Azriel, murmuring to him to get up. He stared, slack jawed and unrecognizable as he looked at you with more feeling in his expression than anyone had thought him capable of, silently begging at you to look at him, just once.

Feyre shook her head at Mor, grabbed him by the shoulders, and winnowed them all away. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

This was a really tough chapter for me to write because I wanted to get the nuances of all the characters correct and give everyone their own 'moment' during the dinner scene.

I want to make clear that I really like Nesta and Mor as characters and just because I write them be more 'hostile' towards Reader and just because Myrah attacks Mor and invalidates her past trauma does not mean I dislike them or have any hate for them.

*(And by 'Myrah' I mean me because... you know... I wrote the damn thing)

They're both complicated characters and I don't always condone the actions of the characters/versions of characters I write. It's just part of the fanfiction writing process that sometimes characters you have a lot of love and respect for have to become the antagonist in another person's storyline.

I just wanted to leave a note about that because I think Nesta and Mor get a lot of unfair hate from readers and I don't agree with that.

Thanks for reading and thanks for listening to my Ted Talk.

Love,

Florence B.

P.S. I know this chapter is pretty long (I think it's 6,000+ words) but I didn't want to disrupt the momentum by breaking up the chapter. Forgive me. Or don't.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters @kalulakunundrum @chasing-autumns-chill

[the-black-manor]

Desperation

Summary: Your master fucks you while you both have very full bladders.

Characters: AMAB Vampire x AFAB GN Reader

Kinks: Oversized cock, excessive cum, cumflation, omorashi, master/pet, bondage, vampire, biting, primal, breeding, bladder desperation, manhandling, cnc,

Words: 2,410

Note: Putting this back on the blog for "advertisement purposes". More writing that's not posted here can be found over on my Patreon.

“Whining already, love? I haven’t even gotten started.”

You let out a whimper as your master chuckles to himself. He tips yet another tall glass of cold water against your lips, and you begrudgingly begin to drink, your bladder screaming in protest more and more each second. You only finish half the glass before you have to pull away to breathe. Your master smiles approvingly at you from his place perched on the bed beside you.

He has you propped up against a stack of plush pillows, your wrists bound to the headboard so that you can’t hold yourself, and your legs spread and bound so that you can’t hide any leaks. You’re naked, save for the collar around your neck, with its soft leather and jingling bell. Your master rests a hand over your bladder and massages gently, and your legs jerk, trying to close to keep from wetting yourself. He grins and presses the glass to your lips once more.

“This is the last glass, darling. You can do it.”

You nod and drink. When you’re finally finished, he praises you with soft kisses to your neck and sweet words in your ear, then sets the glass on the bedside table before he rounds the bed, undoing the ties that bind you and freeing you from your prison. You want so badly to hold yourself, but you don’t move. You know he’s not finished with you. He grabs you by your ankles and slowly drags you down the bed so that you’re lying on your back, which makes the need to pee even worse than before. You look to where he’s standing at the foot of the bed to see his own bulging bladder standing proudly out from his abdomen. He’s as full as you are, possibly more-so, but he handles his desperation with much more grace.

Below that, his large, erect cock bobs eagerly as he climbs onto the bed and settles himself over you. He doesn’t give you any warning before he presses his body against yours and grinds your bladders together. You let out a squeak as a spurt of pee is pushed from you, but he’s forced his legs between yours so that you can’t close them. He doesn’t seem to mind as the warm liquid covers his cock, as he only squishes himself harder against you, grinding and humping.

He presses his lips against your neck as you let out a long moan. Fuck it feels good… It burns like hell, but the bliss that comes with that feeling of fullness outweighs any discomfort. Knowing that his bladder is full and burning just as much as yours is only icing on the cake. He follows your moan with one of his own as his cock twitches and presses against your entrance, and the next thing you know, he’s forcing his girth inside of you.

You cry out in pain as he stretches you open, his cockhead pressing hard against your bladder from the inside as he makes himself comfortable. He gives you only a second to adjust before he pulls out and then pushes back in, setting a steady pace. You clench around him, putting pressure on your bladder and sending electric bliss up your spine.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” your master breathes against your neck before pressing his lips just beneath your jaw.

He peppers soft kisses along the flesh there while he fucks you, and you tangle your hands in his hair to try and ground yourself.

“Hurts…” you whine.

“I know, pet. I know. You’re doing so well.”

It did hurt, but it felt so good, that you didn’t dare ask him to slow down.

“Fuck… Master. Please.”

He chuckles, sending vibrations through your chest.

“You don’t have to ask, darling. I’m going to fuck the piss out of you.”

His words send heat directly to your core, and your eyes roll back as the spring in your stomach tightens, coiling around your bladder. He crushes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, and you open your mouth for his long tongue to slide languidly down your throat. His skin is cold, but you’re burning up beneath him, wound tight and ready to explode at any minute. You let out a long, low moan, and he growls in response. His hips stutter for only a moment, and then he picks up the pace, slamming into you frantically.

Your cry is muffled by his mouth as his cock hammers against your bladder. He slips a hand between your bodies and you jerk against him as it closes around your cock. He strokes you hard and fast in time to his thrusts, massaging you expertly. You can feel yourself teetering on the very edge, and you tug at his hair to try and get him to let you breathe, but he only deepens the kiss.

You don’t get to ask permission to cum. The coil snaps, and your entire body tenses as you crash into your orgasm. Your bladder feels like it’s about to explode, but everything is so tight, nothing is able to come out. You nearly drown in his scent and his touch as he fucks you through your high, marrying pleasure with pain in a heavenly dance as stars burst behind your closed eyes.

It’s when all sensation begins to dissipate, even though you can feel him still, rocking into you, that you realize you haven’t been allowed to breathe. On the edge of your consciousness, you feel his tongue slide out of your throat, and then a sharp slap to the side of the face has you gasping for air. You gaze up at your master with wide eyes as he grins down at you, still moving, grinding, humping, torturing your bladder and your cunt.

“You don’t get to check out just yet,” he grins, sharp teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “I’m not through with you.”

He pauses in his movements just long enough to hook his arms beneath your legs and bring your knees to your head, folding you in half and crushing your bladder, angling your bodies so that his cock is hitting exactly the right button.

“Oh, fuck. FUCK!” you scream as he resumes a steady pace.

The pressure in this position is agony. Just as you think you’re about to wet yourself, however, you feel something else moving between your legs, something cold and thin and slick. You don’t need to look to know that he’s summoned a shadowy tentacle to aid his ministrations. He doesn’t slow as the tentacle presses against your urethra, and it’s too much for you all at once. You clench to try and stop the flow, but to no avail.

As soon as the stream begins, it’s interrupted by a sudden sharp pain, and then ecstasy as that dark tendril forces its way into your urethra, plugging your entrance, and then deeper and deeper to coil inside of your bladder.

“M-master-”

You struggle to free yourself from his grip, but his strength is superhuman. He has you thoroughly trapped, pinned beneath his weight and your own.

“Need me to stop?” he asks without slowing.

“No!” you reply quickly. “I can take it! I want it!”

His laugh is wicked, on the very edge of evil.

“Even if you can’t, I will make you,” he growls. “You will take it and you will thank me for it when we’re done.”

“Yes, mas-”

You’re interrupted by his lips pressing once more against yours. This time, he keeps his tongue in check, exploring your mouth with it, grazing your teeth, curling around your tongue. Your eyes roll back in your head as pleasure builds again, accompanied by that sweet, burning pain. You wrap your arms around him as best you can from this position, digging your nails into the soft flesh on his back. It burns. It burns so fucking bad, but you can’t make him stop. You don’t want him to stop.

The coil tightens quickly once it’s begun, and in only another minute, he forces you once more over the edge. Your muscles clench, body tensing as your climax hits you hard. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, so fucking good you nearly pass out.

But your master is there, gently stroking your face, thrusting slowly, so slowly now, to bring you down from your high. You try to speak, but all that comes out is a high-pitched whine.

“Shhh, easy love.”

Carefully, he unfolds you, allowing you to lie flat on your back once more.

“Hold it,” he orders, and you’re confused for a moment, until the tendril slowly slides out of your bladder. You clench hard, trying to keep it all in, but he’s forced to press his thumb to your urethra to keep you from leaking too much while you get your bearings.

“Hold it,” he orders again, this time more forcefully.

You’re not sure if you can, but you nod anyway. You can’t displease your master. You won’t.

You’re shaking with the effort of keeping your bladder in check as he lies down on top of you, making sure not to put pressure on the bulge in your abdomen. He presses his lips against your neck, just over your pulse point, and peppers soft kisses as he buries himself deep, forcing his oversized cock all the way inside of you. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut.

He begins again, fucking you as deeply as he can, rutting into you like a dog.

“I’m going to breed you, pet,” he purrs into the crook of your neck. “Breed you like you deserve to be bred. You’ve been so good for me.” There’s a pause, and you can feel him smile just beneath your jaw. “But I’m going to fuck the piss out of you first.”

Your walls tighten around him in response, and he groans. His cock is so hot inside of you, and it stretches and fills you just right, as if your body was made to take him. His breathing is heavy and erratic, and a thin sheen of sweat coats his brow. He’s close.

“Cum in me Master. Breed me, please.”

He bites down on your shoulder as his pace quickens, and in only a second, he’s fucking you like you’re the last breath of oxygen in the universe. The bed hammers against the wall with each powerful thrust, and he’s grabbing at you, clawing up your arms, desperate to pull you closer. He crushes your bladders together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he pants.

The pressure of his body against yours and his cock slamming into you from inside finally becomes too much, and despite how hard you try to hold everything in, the dam finally breaks. Each time his cockhead hammers against your bladder, you lose a spurt of piss, until he’s fucking you so fast, grinding your bodies together so hard, that it’s a constant stream. Your scent fills the air as your swollen bladder finally finds some relief, and the release sends you over the edge a final time. Your master cums with you, pushing into you so hard that he forces you up the bed.

Then, as your bladder shrinks, your stomach begins to swell. You’re unable to come down from your high, your climax renewed every time his cock throbs inside of you, flooding your womb with hot seed. The burning pressure from within you gives way to a comforting warmth as you stretch to accommodate the sheer quantity of cum that he’s allowing you to have.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a heavy groan and relaxes on top of you, chest heaving. You can feel his still-full bladder pressed against your bulging stomach, massive and rock-hard, and you grind up against him mischievously. He growls and bites down once more on your shoulder, a warning to behave yourself. You’re exhausted and soaked in piss, and your master is shaking with the effort he’s just expended, but you know he’s not finished. You know what comes next, and you want it.

His tongue slithers over the bite mark he’s given you, lapping up the blood drawn there to renew some of his strength. And then he pushes himself off of you and to his knees. Slowly, he pulls himself out. This is the first chance you’ve gotten since starting that you’ve been able to look down at him, and your mouth begins to water at the sight of his manhood glistening beneath a distended bladder.

“Master,” you breathe as you take in his beauty.

He smiles warmly down at you, then hooks his arms beneath you to raise your hips. You let out a low moan as his cum sloshes around inside of you, and then a hiss as his cockhead prods at your asshole.

“Fuck, yes, Master. Fill me. I want it all.”

Agonizingly slowly, he forces his cock inside of you, and then settles back on his heels. He takes a few breaths as he allows his muscles to relax, and then lets out a long, low moan as you feel warmth hotter than his seed begin to flood your insides. Your head drops back into the pillows and you close your eyes as he relieves himself. He takes one of your hands in his own and rests them on top of your stomach so that you can both feel it swell, bigger and bigger, until it's so big and heavy that you can't move beneath its weight.

His relief goes on for ages. Ten seconds, thirty, a minute, two minutes, until you’re once again so full that you feel as if you’re going to burst. Finally, he begins to rub your stomach, his silent signal that he’s finished. You hum, the ability to speak completely lost, and twine your fingers together.

“Do you want me to stay inside?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You nod. He lowers your hips and helps you roll onto your side, then settles himself behind you and wraps his arms tightly around you in a protective hug, all the while buried deep. His cock keeps you plugged so that not a single drop of his piss can escape. He nuzzles against you, pressing himself tightly against your back and holding you close, and this is the last thing you feel as you drift off to sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 56

Warnings: non/dubcon, child endangerment, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, violence, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You go through the drawers and grab some clothing for Luna. Just enough without weighing you down. Then you take Luna out of the crib. She’s awake but quiet. Almost as if she senses something’s happening. You cradle her against you and move slowly through the space.

You see Andy’s body on the floor. You’re too afraid to even go near him. You reach across the bed to fish out the cell phone on the opposite nightstand. You try to unlock it but don’t know the code. Dammit.

You look down at your daughter and shudder. You lay her on the bed and take the phone. You stare down at Andy and his arm sprawled away from his body. You grit down as you bend down and lift his hand, pressing his thumb to the screen. You watch the screen flip open and you retract, staring at him, expecting him to rise and catch you in your flight.

You gather up Luna again and the extra clothes. You take her to the door as you hug her tightly and keep your other arm around the fabric, thumbing through the phone. You find the security app and after several attempts, you unlock the right door, the latch clicking back loudly.

On the other side of the door, you lock it again. It will buy you enough time. You don’t know exactly what your plan is, your mind just puts one thought in front of the other. Get dressed.

You find clothing from his dresser and pull them on. Loose but it doesn’t matter. You tie the oversized sweatpants over your hips as tight as you can. Shoes… those are another matter. You stuff the toes with socks and double up the pair on your feet. A coat over a hoodie and you should be fine. An extra pair of pants and sweater shoved into the bag you find in the bottom of the closet.

You pack up Luna’s clothes with your own, layering her in a hoodie as well before tying her around you with a sliced pillow sheet. Your work methodically through the dark, the phone your only light. You put your hand on your baby as you go to the kitchen and scour the cupboards for anything you can take with you.

That’s it. You have to go. No more time to waste. You can’t risk it. If he’s alive, if he wakes up, that door won’t stop him forever.

You near the entryway and slow. You stop at the small table and stare at the leather wallet resting next to a key dish. You pick it up and unfold it. There’s a credit card… you might be able to get a few bucks off of that before ditching it. 

You stop at the door and take a breath, the knapsack drooping on your back as you keep a hand on Luna. You flip the lock back and peer out at the night, the sky softening with the early hues of the looming morning. You step out into the world. A new world. Your world.

You’re numb as you come up to the end of the walkway and pause again at the threshold of the suburban sidewalk. You take a breath of the crisp air and shiver. You’re not cold, you’re scared but in a different way. In a freeing way.

You look down the avenue, towards Lloyd’s house, another prison you once knew. You can still go back. You can walk the half-block and just give in. No, you can’t. You won’t settle for that. You won’t let Luna live in your resent.

You turn your back on it, unsure of where you’re going. Away. Anywhere but here.

Your name stops you from taking the first step. No. Please. You should just keep going, act like you didn’t hear them but you can’t. Harlan calls you again, his footsteps shuffling across the road.

You face him as he steps up on the curb. He looks you over, his eyes fixating on your child. You press your hand firmer to her.

“I knew… I been watching,” he says darkly, “what… did you…”

“He might be dead,” you shrug, “Harlan, I’m leaving.”

He’s quiet. It’s tense and full and horrible. He lowers his head and reaches to touch the bundle around his grandchild. He nods and lifts his eyes to you.

“I know. You woulda either way,” he utters, “you’re not wrong for it.”

“Are you going to tell him?” You ask thinly.

“Nah, I won’t do that,” he says as he unzips his packet and slips his hand beneath, “you go…” he takes out his wallet as you watch dumbly. “Take this.” He hands over cash, “he can’t track that.”

“I… thank you,” you accept the money.

“You keep her safe. Yourself too,” his voice wobbles for just a moment, “I looked… I-I did. I was watching that man…”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“You will be. Now, you listen,” he searches in his wallet again, “you take my number. You ain’t gotta call me right away. Just me, not Dotty. The longer you wait, the better, but you let me know when you’re settled. Let me know she’s happy.” He hands over a slip of paper, “you go to the next and you buy yourself a burner. You text me and I’ll tell ya where to go.”

Your eyes tinge. Maybe you could stay. Maybe you should. 

“Don’t you start doubtin’ yourself,” he insists as he shoves the paper into your pocket.

You swallow and gulp tightly. Without a word, you step closer and stretch your arm around him, hugging him as you try not to smother Luna. She coos as you do.

“I love you, dad,” you say as you give him a squeeze.

“Love ya, too, honey,” he pats your back, “and the little one.” He pulls back and looks down at Luna as she wriggles. She’s bigger now, almost too big for the haphazard sling.

“I’ll call,” you promise.

“You’ll go. Now.” He pushes his shoulders straight and lifts his chin, glaring past you to Andy’s house, “I’ll make sure that bastard don’t follow.”

For a moment, you wonder if he means Andy or Lloyd.

You let him past, turning to watch him march up the walk of Andy's house. You don’t move until he’s inside. You reach into your pocket and pull out Andy’s phone and card. You don’t need that. You throw it into the garden and spin back to the street.

The sky brightens as you head down the street, lighting the way as if trying to illuminate the world ahead of you. You’re going to do it right this time. 

You can handle the unexpected, that doesn’t scare you. You fear falling back into the same traps as before. This time, you’re going to do it on your own. And you’re going to show your daughter how to do the same. She won’t be like you, she’ll be stronger.

🍑🍑🍑

End

[muntitled]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

Summary: "Kylo was nothing if not a sadist,"

Warnings: Language, WarPrisoner!Reader, Toxicity, Weaponizing Hux, Humiliation, God Complex, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut +18 (Minors DNIA, DEAD DOVE FIC, Dark fic, Sadism, Masochism, Inexperienced!Kylo, Ownership Kink, Dry humping, Forced sex, Spitting, CNC, Dubious Consent, Massive Degradation Kink, Inappropriate Use of Force, Choking Kink, Size Kink, Impact Play, Groping, Breast Play, Premature Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dom/Sub themes, Dom!Kylo, Sub!Reader, Brat Tamer!Kylo,;Bratty!Reader, Slight!Exhibition Kink, Humiliation Kink, Inappropriate Mind Reading, Overstimulation, Dirty Talk, Mentions of Rape, Fingering, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Gagging, Subspace.

Do not read this if you're incredibly sensitive to violent imagery. If this doesn't make sense don't say anything or i'll cry <3

As Hux walks diligently ahead of you, you could not tell by his tense shoulders and his palms clasped behind his back that he was following the duties of a madman.

While he escorts you, Hux thinks back to his slip-up with Ren.

The way he shouldn't have mentioned your name in a comprehensive report about the overall running of the Starkiller. The way he should've known how dangerous Kylo is when it comes to anyone taking even the vaguest of interest in playing with his toys.

"Despite having the accolades of an established pilot for the resistance," Hux had said moments earlier when Kylo was pacing up and down his private chamber, "Your prisoner refuses to put any of her skills to use aboard the Starkiller. She's essentially useless dark matter," He uttered his words rather clumsily. As if forgetting he was reporting to a beastly excuse of a man.

Hux only realises his mistake when Kylo stops his various pacing to turn slightly. His unmasked head tilts to the side as he advances on Hux in a low, large gait. Everything about the boy being so unnaturally large.

"My prisoner?" He steps closer, "Or the First Order's?"

Kylo's laugh appears unnatural without the mask. Not any less intimidating but certainly, frighteningly human.

"You act as if my will is not synonymous with that of the First Order, general," Kylo's blood runs fucking cold at the thought, "You insinuate that I keep her here out of my own free will,"

"Well, we all know how much a boy fancies his toys," Hux's degradation causes Kylo's Adam's apple to bob and a deep frown settles over the boy’s face. Whatever weakness Hux was accusing him of, it rattled the foundations of his already fragile ego and Hux smirked.

"Go tell her I wanna see her," the first command left Kylo's lips in a fairly controlled and monotonous manner. The second however... "FUCKING NOW!"

Robotic inclination bleeds from the mask of the stormtroopers “Yes Sir-”

Without sparing the stormtroopers so much as a single glance, Kylo spat, "Not you, fucking degenerates," Kylo stares Hux down as he steps towards him. His voice is ice cold. "I want you to summon her," he takes immense pleasure in the way Hux's smile drops.

Kylo has observed the glances Hux throws your way and it makes his fucking stomach turn. He's seen the uncomfortable leering and the lecherous thoughts. Kylo was nothing if not a sadist. Humiliating Hux using the object of his desires.

He wants you and that makes Kylo want you even more... Violently so

"Where are you taking me?"

You could feel the rest of the crew watching your every movement as you trailed behind General Hux like you were compelled to do so by some unseen leather leash. You cannot help but feel as though you have done something very bad and very naughty.

You try to rid yourself of these thoughts immediately.

Perhaps he was taking you to see the vermin underneath the mask.

That thought should not sprout such a deep desire within you. Kylo was your captor and yet, he fascinated you more than anything ever could.

"At least slow the fuck down," You breath out, trying by all means to evade all eye contact with curious onlookers.While you walk you try to keep your head high and appear unaffected by their piercing glares. Every stormtrooper, navigator, pilot- even down to the measly technicians all keep their eyes trained on you and you glare back. Leering your head forward with narrowed eyes because being held captive on the Starkiller was punishment enough. You would never allow yourself to be intimidated by the judgemental stares.

"Do you ever plan on disclosing our destina-"

You're interrupted by a sharp and loud hiss before two doors part. Your eyebrows furrow before you're dragged into the chamber, quite literally against your will. You did not wish to get acquainted with any more rooms on the Starkiller. Hoping that one of your comrades in the resistance might have saved you long before you ever had to make this ship your dwelling place. But you've only crawled deeper into the Starkiller's core and you find yourself here, standing before him in his black cowl with his hands clasped behind his back.

The room is as lifeless as the rest of the vessel. The bed, colourless and hard. The only signs of vibrance is the east window depicting a slab of stars in hyperspace.

"I am told you've made yourself fiercely unlikable in the flight deck.” Kylo says, completely ignoring your slightly shocked experience at seeing him without his helmet.

“That's what this is then?” You turn briefly to make eye contact with Hux before turning to Kylo with one arched brow, “I'm being scolded now?”

“You're insolent when given any orders,” he oaces before you while Hux stands behind you by the door, “You disobey at every given turn and you're resistant. Vexingly so.”

“How clever of you, it seems as though you'd only just discovered a key characteristic from a member of the resistance.” You say with a smirk, “Clever, Clever boy."

“It's that mouth of yours that's gonna get your head slain from your very shoulders.” Kylo advances you like a midnight storm and you fight to stand your ground.

“I have grown terribly bored of this place,” You say, “Perhaps even death might be more eventful then whatever you are, Kylo.”

Before Hux is able to make his escape Kylo grabs at your throat, encircling his hand around your skin like a vice until he is forcing you to look at Hux ahead of you.

"This is what you want?" He isn't speaking to you but to Hux, pushing your cheeks together in a painful display of humiliation. "This is what's been plaguing that mind of yours-"

"I've no time for this-"

The very last thing Hux is able to see before he leaves Kylo's quarters, is your frightened eyes and Kylo looming behind you. A mere mouse being imprisoned by a God.

You make the mistake of thinking that Hux's absence might soften Kylo's resolve, but your time as his captive should have let you know that there was nothing soft about this man. Nothing at all.

"You should be grateful, you know that?" His lips graze your head and you're suddenly hyper aware of his proximity.

You're hyper aware of the closed metal doors that were probably being guarded by a pair of heavily armed stormtroopers. There is no escaping the clutches of this monster behind you.

And yet; you still find yourself scoffing, "I should be grateful?" You ask, hoping to assimilate every shred of confidence you had left, "I should be grateful to be your prisoner-" you wince when his grip on your jaw tightens and he's wrenching your face until you're craning your neck backwards to face him.

Large, looming, and completely fucking livid.

"You should be grateful that you're still fucking breathing, you brat-"

And then, a very strange thing occurs.

Since the moment Kylo had wrangled you off your home planet, you had sworn to be nothing but defiant. In honour of everything you stood for, you would never let him see you weak and yet here you are, carelessly allowing the faintest of whimpers to slip through quivering lips.

The sound confuses Kylo initially. In fact, he cranes your head back further, not caring whether you were comfortable or not as he bends down, appearing to inspect your mouth for that peculiar sound further. He squeezes your cheeks lightly, prodding the round tissues of fat as if fervently trying to search for whatever button might allow for that little sound to spill from your lips again.

"How completely and utterly curious-"

"You're fucking hurting my neck-" the fire returns and with it, comes your will to wrench your face out of his grip. You're only able to get free because he lets you and you know this.

"What..." Kylo bends even lower towards you and you turn your head to face the blank wall ahead of you. Evading eye contact with this man was nothing if not crucial. "What was that sound you just made-"

"It appears as though hearing nothing but the cries of utter doom and damnation has defamiliarized you to the sound of pleasure, Ren-"

Your breath is wiped clean from your throat not even a second later when you steal a look downwards at a gloved hand interlocking itself around your throat once more. Seemingly his favourite place.

"All the praises that could fall from your mouth..." Kylo drawls before pressing himself firmly against your backside, "All that you could say to worship the hand that feeds you and you still choose to be insolent-"

You try to escape his death grip but he doesn't let you out this time around. All you can do is be thankful that he had the decency to allow you to breathe.

"That's all you fucking know how to do right," Kylo's lips are at your ear and your knees buckle. "Insolence. Insolence. Insolence." Your legs give out, but before you're able to topple to the ground in a puddle of your own lustful perversions, his other hand curls around your waist, keeping you firmly pressed against his front.

“Today's the day you fucking obey," he whispers, "Understand?"

"I-I-”

Kylo is not sure how he does it, or why he does it, or where he got the understanding to do it, but his hand makes its very slow descent from your collarbone, to the spot right above your pillowy breasts. Clad in nothing but your knee length tunic, a garment stitched with fibres indigenous to your homeplanet, you suddenly feel incredibly naked and incredibly exposed. What was once an act of rebellion, is now your undoing.

"There is a way to make you disobey isn't there?" You can hear him becoming excited. "Every cattle has their price. What's yours?" Before you're able to turn and possibly beg for some sort of mercy, he's already in there. The stuff Kylo sees digging around in your mind, is enough to have him staring off into hyperspace. His eyes are trained on nothing at all as he rapes your most memories and most private desires. All while drawing you impossibly closer, until his mouth was buried in your hair and his hand was closing around your left breast. You squirm underneath him until finally, he's released from your stupor.

You did not dare turn around to look at him, in fear of seeing his dark eyes dilated with enlightenment.

"How barbaric." He whispers. "That's what I have to do in order to get you to listen to me,"

"I-I don't know what you're-"

"Open your mouth." Before you're ever able to interject even a single word, Kylo's hand is digging into the skin of your jaw, "Do I have to do it for you- open your mouth-" He wrenches your mouth open and cranes your neck back once more.

"That's it," You're absolutely frightened to see the violence that has darkened those irises. This is the look that's shielded behind the mask during times of battle. This is that look no one got to see.

Yet here you were.

"You're so fucking filthy, you know that?" You're nodding before your brain is aware of it, "You're a filthy, perverted little creature," one by one, your inhibitions slipped away from you until you could feel yourself become completely and utterly dumb for him. Your mind becomes a tabula rasa as Kylo bends his heavy frame downwards, spitting directly into your open mouth. There it is. That whimper he wanted to hear so badly.

You're not even aware of his hand reaching around your front until he's parting your legs with determination. "Is this where you want me?" Your mouth hangs open and you look up at him glassy doe eyes as he cups your drenched heat. Kylo locks his full lips and presses his front impossibly closer to your backside. "This whole time I've needed to get you in line, and the answers been here this whole fucking time?" A gloved hand swipes your underwear to the side and the wind is completely knocked out of you when Kylo pushes his fingers in immediately. He fucks his fingers into you with zero restraint and zero preparation, and the roughness has your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your skull as you grow limp in his grip. Lucky for you he's so large, lucky for you he might as well be a stone wall behind you, letting you lean against him with your long legs spread wide for his absolute assault.

"Look at me." He says, holding you against him by your throat while his index and middle finger violate your soaking cunt. Despite his orders you're still a drunken, blundering mess with half lidded eyes, promising to keep you locked away in your pleasure.

"If you don't fucking look at me, I'll stop and you'll suffer." He squeezes your clit quite painfully, immediately bringing you out of hedonistic stupor-

"FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK-"

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks, with a note of cockiness that had your brows furrowing.

"Are you stupid?! Of course I don-" before the curse could even escape your mouth in its entirety, Kylo's blocking out your airways. You fight to scratch at his gloved grip around your throat but his grip is fucking metallic.

"Look at how docile you look when you're not running your mouth,"

Your insides were screaming for oxygen, yet your hips rut against his hand. Kylo slyly adds a third finger inside your slippery cunt. "What a whore," he whispers, causing you to fuck forward against his hand, nearly humping yourself to completion as the blood flow to your brain seems to stop completely. You need oxygen and you need to cum. You just don't know which you need more.

"You're nothing but fucking filth-"

Your mouth opens to let a moan escape but it never does, and Kylo watches your struggle with a pained expression of his own.

"F-Fuck, I've never seen anything so vile-"

You were slipping. Whether it was into unconsciousness or an orgasm you couldn't tell. "If you pass out I will fuck you," he whispers, "There's not fucking escaping me-"

And in that very moment, Kylo unlocks the invisible grip on your airways and suddenly you can breathe and cum. Almost immediately you're slipping into a violent, damn near supernatural orgasm that has you seeing every star in the known galaxy.

"F-FUCK- oh my-" You're rutting against his hand, tongue lolling out all while Kylo continues to fuck his fingers into your cunt.

"That's it," He whispers, "Cum for me, you useless fucking whore-" Every vile sliver of degradation causes a fresh wave of pleasure to roll through you until the first droplets of tears are rolling down your cheek.

"Don't fucking do that," he whispers, pulling you closer than ever, "Don't fucking do that unless you want me to fuck you right now-"

He watches the tears roll down your face and absolutely loses it. Now suddenly aware of his own cock aching in his pants.

"K-Kylo please-" You try to push his hand out of you but to no avail. "It's too much-"

But his eyes are shut, and your body is overcome by wave after wave of electrifying shivers. The pleasure quickly bleeds into the pain of being so heavily overstimulated but Kylo is lost in his own world now. He clutches you impossibly closer, mumering obscenities into your hair as he ruts against your ass and you fucking pray for it to be over. Your pussy is fucking spent and yet he's still keeping his hand there, as if driven by his own need to cum.

"You stupid fucking slut- look what you made me do-" He's rutting against your ass, eyes squeezed shut as his hips stutter, "F-Fuck-" the whimper that breaks his voice is utterly intoxicating and you find yourself slipping into another dry orgasm as Kylo pushes against you, cumming in his pants with various expletives falling from his pillowy lips. When your orgasm falls you beg him to let go of you and when he does, you topple to the floor.

Never in your life have you felt so weak. So spent. So utterly used.

Kylo does not spare you a glance when he turns around. "This is where you will reside from now on," he says with finality. Careful to let his voice relay how utterly broken he feels. Just as broken as you.

[charliemwrites]

I had a BRAIN BLAST on the way home today. So!

In the category of Readers Who Get To Do What They Want:

(CW for dark Simon, johnny, and “reader” with unhealthy relationship dynamics, gaslighting - not from who you suspect - and threats of violence)

A pair of identical twins who are basically opposites from birth. Twin 1 is obviously favored by their parents for being the “easy” twin that tries to appease them and keep the peace. Twin 2 a little hellion from birth, they think this kid is basically broken. Try to test for psychopathy but nope, their own kid has just picked up on the accidental favoritism from birth and just seems to dislike their own parents. But they still love their twin.

The twins grow up as complete opposites. Different social circles, hobbies, interests, clothes, attitudes. They’re incredibly close, but twin 2 will (and has) gotten violent on twin 1’s behalf because their parents are raising them to be “well behaved”.

By teen years, twin 2 is being sent to the countryside most summers to be handled by the grandparents. (Jokes on them, farmlife is nice and the grandparents aren’t exactly strict - mostly because twin 2 actually likes them and doesn’t see much need to rebel).

Meanwhile twin 1 is doing summer programs and learning arts, developing this intense aversion to conflict and has trouble standing up for themself. Especially without twin 2 there to lean on.

Come university, their parents insist on twin 1 staying close by for uni, essentially make the choice for them. Twin 2 decides to ship out of the country and plans on breaking off all contact. (Maybe due to some sort of unforgivable drama at the grandparents’ funeral?)

Before leaving, twin 2 gives twin 1 a burner phone with one number programmed in. Promises that if twin 1 ever needs to disappear, to be free of it all, they can call and twin 2 will be there in a heartbeat with bolt cutters for those chains. And then they just sort of… disappear.

Twin 1 doesn’t see them for *years*. Never uses that phone but keeps it.

So twin 1 lives their quaint pre-determined life with their acceptable job and it’s all mostly okay. Not bad at all. Quiet, if lackluster.

And then Simon comes along. Simon, who takes one look at this little angel and decides they have to be his. Theyre too good, too soft, unable to take care of themselves properly in this big scary world. And after all he’s suffered, doesn’t he deserve something sweet to protect? And hell, Johnny could use a kind touch every now and then too.

So he “seduces” twin 1 (aka, the dark!Simon move of just deciding someone is his and acting like it whether they like it or not). Manipulates them into stepping right into their own collar and leash, with him at the other end.

It’s too late by the time Twin 1 realizes what they’ve become - this man’s pretty pet. An agreeable little doll for him and his teammate to play house with. It’s not always bad, but it’s suffocating and scary. They feel trapped; they are.

It takes months until they get enough privacy to dig the old phone out of the place they nearly forgot about it.

Twin 2 picks up on the third ring.

In the intervening years, twin 2 has gotten into all sorts of trouble and mayhem. Become the demon their parents always accused them of being. Has, somehow along the way, joined up with KorTac and gotten all their files scrubbed. “Twin 2” no longer exists to the world at large. Nothing that anyone, even Kate Laswell, could dig up.

They get the call from their twin and break their contract on the spot. Get on a flight within hours. Sneak their twin out of the homey prison they’ve been locked up in.

Take twin 1 to a sunny, public cafe and get the story through their sibling’s nervous stuttering. Gets angrier and angrier with the more they hear, eyes fixated on the thin leather collar around their twin’s throat.

“Please just… I know it’s selfish and I’m sorry, but-”

Twin 2 already has a plan. They have a quiet, cozy cabin with comfortable funds in a rural part of Canada. Twin 1 will go there, rest and recover and be free. Twin 2 will take their place with Simon and Johnny to throw off suspicion and searches.

The scars from living the life they have? No worries. twin 2 will stage a car accident, reopen some of them to make it seem legit. Lie about head trauma to account for any lapses in their twin 1 act.

It’s decided within three hours. Twin 2 sends their sibling off to the airport and sets everything into motion. They’ve been dying to do something like this for years, after all the times their sibling stuck by their side and tried to stick up to them, to no avail.

Twin 2 instantly hates that fucking collar. Lets Simon put it on but not without the most dark look at the wall, thinking of all the ways to break his hands. Fingers twitching by their side.

The boys sit them down to watch scary movies because they always think it’s fun to spook twin 1 and fuck them while they’re all tense and shivery and but twin 2 is just watching, almost bored. Makes a few attempts to fake jump but keeps forgetting because all their focus is on not slamming a hand into someone’s dick for grinding on them.

Pretends to be asleep in the big bed they’ve been herded into when they kick Johnny or Simon off in the middle of the night. Purposefully aims for soft spots and bruises.

They try to act like twin 1 for a bit but the persona is so difficult to keep up when every little condescending comment from Simon or Johnny makes them want to start stabbing. The inside of their mouth is all torn up from biting onto their cheek and running their tongue over their teeth to resists snarling and snapping.

One day they’re going to snap… and it’s going to be so good to see these bastards bleed.

[cambion-companion]

Aemond and the trope "Reluctantly has a crush on his favourite weirdo and hates that he's soft about it but damn they're cute" gives me life

"I hate that I'm in love with you, what no I didn't say love, shut up" vibes

'Y/N, try to act like you're enjoying this."

"Bite me, Aemond."

haha this was the perfect ask for my newest enemies to lovers oneshot.

Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | light smut at end

“In public, we’re in love. In private, we are in a civil war. Remember that, or we’re fucked.”

Aemond stifled a snort of derision at your terse whisper, turning it into a polite cough as he nodded at a group of huddled onlookers.  You shot him a sidelong look, quickly looking away to smile at a pair of elderly women who were clapping for you.  “This isn’t going to work.”

“Hush, we can air our grievances once we get someplace with less listening ears.”  Aemond’s arm around your waist tightened, almost painfully, as he steered you through the crowded hallways. “Besides, I am madly in love with my betrothed.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to work on that.”

“Hmm.”

The stone corridors Aemond and you now walked through were empty, he led you to a set of great oaken doors that swung open on silent hinges.  A darkened arched space and smell of many old books greeted you beyond them.  “The library, how romantic.”

“Private is more what I was going for.”  Aemond pushed the small of your back and you stumbled into the room, shooting him a withering glare over your shoulder.

“You know, I’m not pleased about this either.”  You snapped, smoothing your skirts haughtily.

Aemond quickly closed the doors and scanned the room with his violet eye, making sure you two were alone.  A fireplace flickered in the hearth, the only source of light in the spacious library.  “You are from a house that openly declared for Rhaenyra.”

“Yet…” You had walked over to the mantlepiece by the hearth, running a finger along it and looking in distaste at the dust you gathered. “I find myself suddenly betrothed to Aemond Targaryen who, if I remember correctly, is not on her side.” You let your gaze wander to where he stood stiffly, eyeing his leather jerkin tied at his trim waist with two buckles and sporting intricate dragon fasteners.  His sword was at his hip, a small sapphire gemstone inlaid upon the pommel.  “Your mother, or rather her father, stole me and are now forcing us to get married so as to ensure my house’s allegiance.”

“They hardly stole you.”  Aemond defended, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  “You were handmaid to my sister.”

“Am I allowed to go home?”  You asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.

“No.”

“Then I am a prisoner here.”  You turned your back to him, looking into the flames.

“With our union, we gain a key asset to our side.”  Aemond said bluntly, his footsteps muffled on the stone floor as he approached you slowly. “The support of your house is instrumental in winning the coming war.”

“Will you stoop so low?”  You whirled on him, anger pulsing in your veins, jabbing a finger at his chest. “First your family declares Aegon king against Viserys’ wishes, now you take political hostages!”

Aemond caught your wrist, holding it firmly and jerking you closer. “King Viserys’ last wish was for Aegon to be named his heir.”

“You cannot believe that.”  You looked aghast at him. “Surely you’re cleverer than that, Aemond.”

“It matters little what I believe.”  The prince released you, shaking his silver head. “I serve my family.  A member of which you are soon to become.”  A rueful smile pulled at his curved lips. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“Hmm.”  Aemond rolled his eye, running a hand through his long hair. “Perhaps in time you will learn to.”  He turned from you, walking crisply to the door. “Don’t stray too far, Y/N.  At my behest, you are to be treated with the dignity of a guest.  Yet you are not free to leave the Keep.”

“A prisoner.”  You muttered again, watching Aemond leave the library, closing the door behind himself.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Don’t you think you’re holding me a bit too tight?”

“Well, do you want this to be convincing or not?”

“I do, but a little looser than this would still be convincing.”

Aemond acquiesced. Loosening his grip on your waist as you both slowly swayed on the dance floor.  The two of you were having a terrible time.  You were barely managing to keep a convincing smile on your face, feeling much more like you were about to begin crying.

“Try to look less like you’re about to vomit, Y/N.”

“Maybe the soup was off.”  You smiled sweetly up at him. “Why does it matter whether I appear happy or not?  Surely the commonfolk don’t care…maybe they’d like it more if I were wailing and thrashing.”

“There are houses allied with your own who would not be so pleased.”  Aemond murmured, bringing his mouth to your ear under the pretense of wishing to hold you closer.  “If they saw you were…so unwilling they’d declare against us, and we would be forced to take drastic measures.”

Your stomach clenched. “I’d rather not know what that means.”

“Indeed.”

A ringing of metal on a crystal goblet halted the lilting music, you dropped your hands immediately from Aemond’s shoulders, but he tactfully kept hold of your waist.

“A toast!”  It was one of the nobles, his face flush from many cups of wine. “To the two lovebirds!  May your wedding day be festive!”  Cheers rose up around the room. “And may your wedding night be productive!”

You ducked your head into Aemond’s shoulder, hiding the grimace you couldn’t keep off your face. Clapping and laughter echoed all around you followed by the scrape of goblets against the wooden tables as people toasted your happy union.

“Kiss!”  Shouted one drunken reveler.  “Give your love a kiss!”  Cried another in agreement.

“Oh no.”  You murmured into the leather of Aemond’s tunic.

As the crowd took up the chant of “kiss”, clapping their hands in encouragement, you felt Aemond’s finger slip under your chin.  He pulled your face up to look at him, his lilac eye sparkling with something akin to mischievous mirth.  The sound in the hall grew louder as the two of you hesitated, inches apart. You bit your lower lip, drawing Aemond’s gaze to the movement.

He looked back into your eyes. “May I kiss you, my lady?”

You couldn’t speak, settling for a curt nod.  Aemond smirked, bringing his lips to yours with a smooth duck of his head.

A pulse of electricity shot to your core as Aemond’s warm mouth moved against your own.  A small, pleased sound escaped your throat, despite your attempts to regain full capacity of your faculties.  You had not expected your body to react like this, and it was with surprise you found yourself tangling your fingers in Aemond’s silken hair as he bent you backwards. The crowd laughed, pleased at the show you’d given them, as Aemond pulled away.  You avoided his eye as it roved your features, very sure your red cheeks shone like beacons.

You spoke very little the rest of the evening, the feeling of Aemond’s lips on yours thoroughly distracting you; to the point you almost poured gravy into your cup instead of wine.  Thankfully, Aemond saved you from that embarrassment, looking at you with mild concern as he poured your wine.  You looked away from him quickly, hating yourself for the burning in your cheeks and erratic beating of your heart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“The boat awaits, my lady.”

“Thank you.”  You gathered your skirts, moving to collect the few bags you’d managed to pack for your escape from King’s Landing.

Your waiting maid curtsied, a small frown upon her face. You looked at her, briefly wondering the reason for her mood before a rapping knock at the door sent your adrenaline spiking.

Your maid hurried to the door, opening it a crack, before curtsying low as Aemond pushed his way into your room.  He was fully dressed despite the late hour, his coat and gloves of deepest green, contrasting with his silvery hair.  His violet eye snapped to focus on you with dangerous intent.  “Leave us.”

The maid curtsied again, looking terrified at the ground.

“See my mother in the morning for your coin.”  Aemond dismissed her, not breaking his gaze from your face.

You watched the traitorous girl scurry from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

“My brother may be incompetent and unaware…”  Aemond took measured steps toward you. “I am not.”

Tears welled behind your eyes, anger and frustration mixing in your chest. You moved to stride passed the prince, but he caught your arms, spinning you to face him. You fought against him, useless as it was, the tears falling freely down your cheeks as he held you firm, unflinching as your fists met his chest.

“Y/N.”

“Let me go, Aemond!”

“Y/N-”

“I cannot be kept here like some prize animal!”

Aemond moved with you until your back hit the wall.  Your fists on his chest flattened as you pressed your palms against his coat, your eyes puffy as sobs racked your body.  Aemond made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as you leaned your forehead against his chest, beneath his chin.  His other hand rubbed the small of your back soothingly.

“There is little I can say to make this easier, Y/N.”  Aemond took your shoulders, encouraging you to look at him. “I am truly sorry for your distress.  I do not wish for you to suffer.”

“What do you wish for, Aemond?”  You sniffled, feeling his fingers lightly brush your tear-stained cheeks.

“A great many things.”  Aemond’s gaze, so cold with anger a moment ago, had softened as you looked up at him with watery eyes. “War not being among them.  Nor wedding a woman who despises me.”

“I don’t despise you, Aemond.”  He stilled at your words looking at you with a guarded expression as you continued. “You’re a pawn in this as much as I am.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”  A wry smile curved his lips as Aemond continued watching you.

“Will I ever be able to see my family again?”

“After the war is over, and the threat to Aegon’s rule is removed.”  Aemond smoothed your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear. “It won’t be long, Y/N.”

“How do you know?”

Aemond sighed, unable to answer, his eye searching your own.  Silence stretched between the two of you, heavy with unspoken words.

“Don’t try leaving again.  I might not be the one to catch you next time.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Aemond?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m observing.”

You rolled your eyes, quickly schooling your fond smile into a more neutral expression.  “What do you see?”

Aemond didn’t answer, a small smirk curling his lips as he continued to observe you over his book.  

“What?” You snapped your own book shut, rising to your feet, your brow arched.

Aemond methodically marked his place, shutting his volume of philosophy and setting it aside before standing to meet you.  “An infuriating woman, is what I see.”  His reached out to knead the fabric of your skirts with his fingers, his gaze lilac intent on your face.

“I’m flattered.”

“You are something, Y/N, that much is certain.”

“You’re a royal pain in my-” Your words were cut off in a gasp as Aemond swiftly pulled you to him, capturing your mouth with his own, drinking down the gasping moan that escaped your throat.

You felt his hot breath fill your lungs, your hands wandering the planes of his back, curling in his hair, tugging the silver locks to make him hum in pleasure like that again.  You felt his knee part your thighs, his touch tracing lines of fire along the exposed skin of your throat and chest.  You lost yourself in the feel and taste and smell of the prince as he deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth.  You arched into his hand, pressing into where he palmed your breast through the velvety bodice you wore.  

“Aemond.” You breathed, your lips brushing his as he made to pull away from you. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this.” Your hands tugged at his trim waist, urging his body to press back against you.

“You want this?”  He asked, his eye hooded as he looked down into your flushed face, his own cheeks faintly pink.

“I want this.” You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your throat. “I need-”

Your words cut off in another heady moan as you felt him mark your skin, sucking trailing kisses down to the swell of your breast straining above your corsage.  

“Hmm?”  He murmured against your flesh. “What do you need, my love?”

You felt his hands bunching the fabric of your skirts, the heat of his fingers finding the inside of your thighs.

“Aemond-”  You gasped, his exploratory hands dipping beneath your smallclothes.

“Ah.”  He chuckled low, kissing the corner of your panting mouth. “I see.”  He looked at your wanton expression with a dilated eye. “In that case, let me give him to you.”

You ground yourself against his hand, your lust taking full control as you kissed Aemond roughly, pulling his hair so that his head tipped back, exposing his throat to your own bruising kisses.

“If it is within my power, I will give you all that you desire.”  Aemond promised, his voice husky with want. He lifted you into his arms, you wrapped your legs around his torso as he backed you against the wall, his lips descending hard upon your own once more.

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 10

Goddess In Distress | Loki x Reader

With the help of the Avenger's intel Loki is able to find you, but is rescuing you too easy? And why do your captors wear such a familiar sigil?

Warnings: 18+, violence, suggestion of drugging/medicating the reader, death (no main character deaths), bamf Loki taking no prisoners.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

It felt like an eternity had passed before the jet finally touched down on the rugged coast line, below the silent engines the waves crashed into the cliff face sending fine sprays of salt water up into the sky, dancing on the slick rocks and making rainbows dance even in the grey light.

“This is it,” Tony lifted his hand to flick a few switches above his head, the jet slowing to a dull hum as the wheels met the soft grass and Loki jumped from his seat to look out through the cockpit window, hoping to see some glimpse of you, a suggestion that you were still okay. 

He knew it though, deep in his soul something thrummed, a power that was not his own, it called to him, seeking his support, seeking his own sedir to lean upon. But he couldn’t see you. 

Set back from the edge of the cliff face, all he could see was a ruined tower, a majestic swirl of pale white stone weathered with age and veins of lichen. Across the remaining intact walls were a series of high narrow windows, anything larger than an arrow slit was also adorned with rusted metal bars spoiling the Romantic aspect with the knowledge that this was no defensive position, this was a prison. 

Whoever was behind this had either little imagination of they were truly ancient, for it was clear the castle hadn’t even been inhabited in centuries, although Friday told them it had once been a stronghold protecting the coast Loki was concerned that a stiff breeze might finish it off, judging by the tumble of rocks at its base. 

“Where is she?” Thor looked at Loki, expectant. “What is the cunning plan, brother?” Thor’s hand clapped Loki on the shoulder. Loki was taken aback, it was a rare day that Thor would defer to him. “We have a castle to storm, but it’s your Princess we’re saving.” Thor gave Loki’s shoulder a squeeze, his eyes glinting with the anticipation of battle.

Loki reached his hand out and gripped Thor’s forearm in thanks, a silent conversation between the brothers. The moment was spoiled only by the sound of Tony’s suit whirring to life behind them and his sharp cough. 

Loki rolled his eyes, addressing Thor and ignoring the Avenger and the crass clanking of his outfit. 

Instead he allowed that ancient feeling to once more well inside of him, to guide his thoughts, it washed over him, picking him up like a summer wave and pointed him towards you. The tower, how cliche. Thor followed his gaze and grinned, he had no doubt that Loki would set you free, but how amusing that you were truly locked in the tower. He wondered what kind of dragon would be guarding you. 

“She’s high,” Loki stated, he could feel the brine in the breeze that chafed your cheeks, so there was a window at least. “Probably the tower, but perhaps the battlements.” 

Loki allowed his magic to eddie around him as he spoke manifesting his Asgardian leathers in one golden swirl. The weight of his broad sword a sudden and reassuring presence.

  “She’s trying to get her thoughts through.” He squinted against the pain piercing his skull, each throb of your telegraphed magic like the beat of a heart, making light dance in front of his eyes. He pushed back, sending hope and calm down whatever bond your magic had formed, and the throbbing dulled. 

“Brother?” Thor looked concerned and Loki realised he’d been pressing his hands into the sockets of his eyes to try and alleviate the pain. 

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” Loki brushed a hand through his hair and surveyed the castle again. “We should circle the walls, find a high room, we have the element of surprise, but we don’t know how many guards we might be facing. 

“Three,” Tony said, tapping the faceplate on his suit. “Two  in the main courtyard and one up there.”

Tony pointed at one of two remaining towers that flanked the corners of the otherwise ruined castle. Like its counterpart, it was roofed with grey slate and wooden batons. Trying to send that same hum of calm towards you, Loki focussed his thoughts. You were praying again, chanting his name quietly and like a siren you called to him, he took a few slow mesmerised steps forwards before Thor slapped a hand on his chest. 

“That doesn’t seem a lot?” Thor looked confused, “it looks like a trap.” Loki gave Thor an incredulous look. Concerned as he was, Thor was still grinning, positively giddy at the thought of a fight.

“She’s definitely in there, she’s alive, she isn’t hurt, but her vitals suggest she’s been starved and there’s something in her system. A sedative maybe,” Tony kept reading from Friday’s scans. “And it really is just the three of them.”

“So she doesn’t have her magic?” Thor looked between Loki and Tony, “but Loki, you could feel her?” 

Loki rubbed his temples again, the headache was back. The pressure of you trying to reach him pressing down like a lead weight.

 “She’s trying, she’s fighting it. If they’ve managed to control her magic, stop her accessing it somehow, it doesn’t mean it isn’t still there. It’s searching for her, I can feel it pulling at me. She is strong, but she is unarmed against three suspected Asgardians. One of them has some sort of magic, that must be how they left Norway. The other two are at the very least cruel, if the machine’s statistics are to be trusted.” Loki waved his hand at Tony’s suit and earned himself a raised eyebrow. “We must be quick and fast, we can not risk them moving her again.” 

 We must act with the element of surprise. Quick, fast.” Loki’s twin daggers flashed in his hands and he gave them a theatrical twirl before placing them in their scabbards. “I will find her.” 

Tony and Thor took guard positions, the God paced the outside of the walls while Iron Man hovered around the empty battlements. 

Tony had wanted to blast in and out but Thor stopped him, hand on his chest “let him do this. Let him be the hero for her” and Tony, to his own surprise, softened. Maybe he was getting romantic in his old age, maybe he couldn’t be bothered with arguing.

“Fine. 10 minutes then I blow a hole in the wall and get this over with.” 

“Stark you cannot blow a hole in the wall, if these are Asgardian men…” Thor’s protests faded in Loki’s ears as he took his opportunity to sneak away, swift and sure across the  grass he made his way to the base of the tower and peered around into the open courtyard behind it. 

There was a single guard seated by the wooden door at the base of the tower, slumped forward in his seat, his arms folded. 

Loki frowned, it was almost insulting, the man was asleep. With another look behind him to make sure that Thor and Stark were still occupied with their squabble Loki crept closer, running his hand over the guards forehead to try and encourage a deeper sleep, but he felt nothing. Instead only an odd, empty sensation was returned, but the guard slept on. 

Ignoring his suspicions, Loki picked his way across the courtyard, the nagging sense that this was all too good to be true nipping at his heels. 

The door creaked open, its heavy hinges straining on the hard, frozen ground beneath. The stones that should have paved the interior were worn and had been taken over by writhing tendrils of ivy and moss making his steps softer but the tread slippery. 

A heavy footfall told Loki there was another guard above, so he paused, listening to the rhythm of their boots descending the stairs and biding his time. With a flick of his wrist he sent out a bolt of magic, hoping to disable the guard and merely saunter past him but there was no flicker of gold or hum sedir in the air. 

The steps echoed closer. 

Loki shuffled on his feet, fading back into the shadows with his stealth and experience alone, waiting for the guard to pass before, slowly, carefully, he pounced. 

He held his sword aloft and, with a swift swing of his arm Loki brought the pommel down onto the back of the guard’s head. He crumpled instantly, and Loki lowered him to the ground as quietly as possible, regretting the promises he’d made during the flight. 

Loki had promised to play by the Avenger’s rules, no unnecessary casualties, no avoidable deaths, but he’d seen them drop buildings, even whole cities, what was one guard. Especially one who had given his ásynja such terrible, awful pain, swirling nightmares and torturous days. 

There was no time for regret, he could feel your magic tugging at his chest. 

Loki didn’t look back at the blood soaking into the dirt, only up into the dim grey light of the tower trying not to think about the sigil he wore. The Vanir. 

It was another day in the tower, another day waiting for torture and another opportunity for you to irritate your capture. You had begun spending your days recounting your favourite TV shows which had the dual purpose of being entertaining and distracting, making the long day just a little shorter, as well as annoying whoever was placed as guards. 

Through the metal bars of the window the weak afternoon light cast a shine on the ridiculous material of your outfit, shiny and satin today. 

“And then Nick pulls her back by her sleeve and kisses her. Don’t you think that’s romantic?”

“No,” the man flicked his knife and let it land, point down, in the table again before yanking it back out with a creak of splintered wood.

“Really? Well. It is in the show. But her boyfriend, sort of boyfriend, is still there. So it’s awkward, you know?” You sat back down on the bed, the skirts of your dress parachuting around you. 

“No I don’t know,” flick, thunk, creak, repeat, the knife twirled in the air. 

This one never manifested the vision of Loki, he used only the knife to intimidate you with. 

“Maybe you’ve never had a romantic kiss. A good kiss, is that it?”  You taunted, staring at the ceiling and conjuring memories of Loki’s lips on yours, insistent but soft, coaxing them apart until he slid his tongue against yours -

“I’m finished with this conversation now. Shut up.” The knife made its final exit from the table and lay flat on the guard’s lap, his hand curled around the handle. 

“Okay what about Jake and Amy, have you seen Brooklyn 99, when he proposes and…”

“I said shut up,” the knife flew across the room, the point embedded into the wood of your headboard, mere centimetres from your cheek. 

You took a breath, slow and steady and collected yourself. You wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t be upset. 

“Unnecessary. Arsehole. I’m bored, I’m trying to entertain us.” You snapped, angling your hand up to pull the knife out, hoping to get a good grip before he realised that he’d handed you a weapon. 

“How about I just shut you up,” he stood out of the chair and took two long strides across the room.

You flinched, pressing your back further into the headboard, your heart hammering and fear brimming. So far he’d only threatened you with the knife, your torture had been purely psychological. You assumed because whoever was keeping you wanted you alive and well eventually, but now you weren’t so sure. 

“Nothing to say now?” He snarled, yanking the knife out, his knuckles brushing your cheek. You flinched again, turning your head away and closing your eyes, expecting a blow.

But it didn’t arrive. Your breathing was loud in the room, your chest heaving. 

Then you opened your eyes slowly and met Loki’s stormy gaze as he towered in the small doorway. He put his finger to his lips and winked, the picture of calm and control to anyone else, but you could see the tick of his jaw as he surveyed your room.

“It’s time someone taught you a lesson, Estrid.” The guard growled, “you’re supposed to be behaving, if you and that conniving mother of yours just followed the plan then we wouldn’t have to be here. This is your fault.”

Your mother? What did your mother have to do with this? Surely he was the one keeping you here, no one else. Your mother had wanted to keep you safe, surely she wouldn't have been involved with anyone this cruel?

You didn’t have time to question the man’s words further. Loki strode into the room, instinctively putting his hands, palm out, on either side of his body expecting his short swords to appear. Nothing. 

Torn between keeping your eyes on your captor and trying to make a run for Loki, you squirmed on the bed. The guard grabbed at your ankle, yanking roughly until you cried out, and dragged you to the end of the bed where your legs dangled from the tuft of your skirts. 

Loki swallowed down his panic again, he’d been relying on his magic to get you both out of the tower easily and safely. But there was something holding it back, stopping him from accessing his weapons, keeping his sedir at bay. His eyes roved the room, searching for whatever poison they were using on you, perhaps he’d touched something when he’d crossed the courtyard, the plants maybe, his mother had been able to do the most incredible things with plants. 

But then his eyes lit upon a series of runes etched into the wall. They were faint now, worn down with age, but clear enough. There would be no magic here. That’s why the guards were so confident, that was fine by him, if he couldn't use his magic he'd just have to get his hands dirty instead.

“Get a move on,” Tony crackled in Loki’s earpiece. 

The god watched as the kidnapper leant down to whisper in your ear and Loki reached, silently, into his boot and pulled out the dagger he had hidden there, clenching his teeth. He’d regret threatening his Asynja.

Before the man could act any further, Loki’s  arm was around his throat, the other around his middle pinning his arms to his sides. The golden dagger between his fingers pressed into the guard's neck, bobbing imperceptibly along with his quickening pulse.

“You’re lucky you’re in front of a lady or I’d paint the walls with your blood for your insolence alone.” His voice was like lava, all the anger of the last week bubbling over, fierce and red hot, stalling anything in its path and holding the guard still with fear. Loki’s gaze moved to yours, slowly, checking for injuries before settling on your face, his eyes softened and those plush pink lips you’d been dreaming about parted. “My darling,” he cooed, “what would you have me do with him?” 

The way his tone changed was frightening and you felt your heart race at the sound of it. The Princely command dropped to his more familiar lover's call, to the voice he used just for you, a shiver ran up your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. It should have been horrifying, to see your lover transformed like this, but you couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through you at the sight of his wrath. 

You lounged back on the bed, allowing the chiffon and silk to surround you, every bit the Princess contemplating her next command, surveying the men waiting before her, friend and foe. 

“Don’t hold back on my account.” You smiled, looking at your guard one last time before allowing your eyes to meet Loki’s, focusing on the blue grey swirl around his pupil while a speck of blood appeared beneath the sharp tip of his dagger. 

“Are you sure, my darling?” Loki knew what it was to kill, to watch death. It was a hard thing to come back from, he was already concerned about you being trapped away for weeks, he didn’t dare think of the damage this could do to you wellbeing. 

Ignoring the man writhing in Loki’s grasp, you continued to get lost in his eyes, the nightmares and hunger that had consumed you fading away at the sight of him, the bruises on your legs and arms no longer sore, just a passing feeling, as long as he carried on looking at you like that, like he would burn the world and hand you the ashes on a silver plate if you wished it. 

“I’m sure.”

You tried to trick yourself into thinking that your smile was because you were free, and not because Loki had kept his eyes locked on yours the entire time. 

In the blink of an eye, Loki shifted his dagger to the other hand, sliding it in and out of the guard’s back without a blink. Loki pushed him away, ignoring the heavy thud of his body when it hit the hard floor.

Heat pooled in your belly, your eyes following Loki’s hand while he wiped the blood from his dagger on the guard’s cloak before sheathing it back into his boot. 

“Princess,” his voice was low, some might even say nervous, but he never took his eyes from you, afraid to even blink lest someone steal you away again. He dipped slowly, bowing formally and taking your hand.

“My Prince,” you curtseyed, squeezing his hand and a flash of a memory returned to you both, of Asgard, of so many dances, so many formal introductions.  

“Your Prince, is it?” Loki allowed the spell of formality to break, his smile wide as he scooped an arm around your waist, moulding your bodies together. 

“Always.” you whispered in return. And then you were kissing, his taste so familiar and lips so comforting, you allowed yourself to fall into his embrace, leaving all of the loneliness behind in favour of the adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

“You came for me,” he could feel your smile against his lips and couldn’t help but return it, “I’m so glad.”

“I could hear you calling for me, how could I resist the prayers of my Goddess.”

Your smile grew wider, your hands at the base of his neck flexed, pulling him back for another kiss as your cheeks warmed at the thought, you were his Goddess and he had come for you, despite what they had all said. He had killed for you, just as you knew he would. For as much as you were his Goddess he was your God and would answer all your prayers if you just believed. 

The feeling welled inside of you, bright and brilliant, as hot and bubbling as your magic had ever been and you could feel his sedir returning its call, building and building, silver and gold and green and blue filling the room with light until…crack. One of the runed stones above the door cracked, splinters of rock raining down on you both. 

“Please, let’s get out of here,” you begged, your lips only as far from his as they needed to be to form words, brushing against his with every syllable. “I miss my magic and I’ve missed you.”

Loki looked up at the broken stone and down at the golden magic curling around his fingers, “it should start coming back to you, now that the spell has been broken.” He pointed at the hairline crack travelling through the stones. “But Stark has also suggested that you may be drugged or poisoned and as much as I think the man is an idiot most of the time, those scans of his have proven very useful. So we should ensure one of his Midgardian doctors looks at you as well as an Asgardian healer.” Loki’s face was full of fury at the mention of you being poisoned, he’d come so close to losing you that the thought of reliving your pain in one of the Avenger’s horrid little hospital rooms was making him sick. 

Loki turned you towards the door, supporting you through your many layers of fabric, but you pulled away. 

“I can’t go out there like this,” you gestured at your torn dress, your knees below speckled with grit and softened by bruises.

“The depths of my magic haven’t returned yet, my darling, we have to conserve our energy for our escape.” 

You bent forward and ripped the bulk of the pillowy petticoats from the bodice before testing your magic. That bubbling sensation hadn’t faded and, sure enough, when you focussed hard, your bare legs became covered by Asgardian leather, tall, boots encased your feet, a navy blue tunic replaced the satin and silk. 

Loki marvelled at the silver shimmer of your magic, so strong even when poisoned and held back with ancient spells. He couldn’t help but notice that your clothes were Asgardian, a mirror of his own with a hint of both emerald and the midnight blue that you favoured.

“You, my asynja, are incredible.” He took your hand again, “and when we are safe I promise you all the care you need, whatever your beautiful heart desires.” 

You smiled, glad to be free of the restrictive dress and looking forward to requesting another one of Loki’s luxurious baths, perhaps he’d join you this time instead of sitting by the side. You could almost feel the hot water running over your skin, slipping against his own bare chest. 

Loki released his cloak from the gold epaulettes at his shoulders and swung it around you, pulling it tight over your chest against the cold. 

“Warm enough, my darling?” He smoothed his hands down the buttery leather, willing it to become softer, warmer, lined, anything to stop the imperceptible shivers that you were trying to hide.

“Yes, thank you.” You smiled, but couldn’t help but look at your wrist sadly. It shouldn’t matter that your bracelet was lost, you had Loki and that was all that truly mattered. 

Noticing your glance, Loki reached into his breast pocket and pulled the delicate gold chain out, taking your wrist gently in his hands and fastening the bracelet again. The movement made the matching ring on Loki’s finger flash in the pale light and it filled your heart with happiness.

“I didn’t mean to lose it, I was trying to drop my glove or something but -” 

Loki cut you off with a quick kiss and, as your eyes met again, you suddenly felt shy. “I think we should definitely leave now,” Loki whispered into your ear and kissed your forehead, “can you walk?”

“I can walk,” you  muttered,  “I’m just, I’m tired.” You lent your weight into Loki’s side and allowed him to wrap an arm around your waist again.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe”

<< Chapter 9

Chapter 11 >>

A/N:

Loki sees a sigil for the Vanir and I deliberately didn't describe it because I don't think that's really a thing, please chalk it up to artistic licence.

The Vanir: giving their name to the realm Vanaheimr, the Vanir are a pantheon much like the Aesir. They're associated with fertility, wisdom and prophecy.

[astridthevalkyrie]

The heroes have been through shit. They've been brutalized, to put it mildly. All of them have seen better days, and everyone who remains doesn't even get the chance to rest. With all the high security prisons being broken into and chaos littering the streets, healing and relaxing couldn't be farther from their minds.

But you'll be damned if you don't take advantage of every free second Keigo has for you.

And is it childish, to make out with him in an apartment that's messy from all the blankets tossed here and there, your laptop tossed aside on a chair with a half-written but scathing article on Stain's ideology, seated on your boyfriend's lap while he lounges back on the only free space available on your couch?

Yes, yes it is. You can't bring yourself to care.

"Ten more minutes," he mumbles into your mouth, but you bet you can make it eleven. The wet sounds his lips make every time they pull away from yours only to dive back in drive you absolutely insane in the best way.

Because you're trying to be sweet, because you're trying to be mindful, you finally pull away, gazing at him with a soft, appraising look.

Time is precious. You can't have him leave thinking that the only thing you miss about him is how good of a kisser he is.

So you press your lips to his forehead, and Keigo sighs, hands sliding down from your hips to your ass, squeezing to pull you in closer.

"Only ten minutes," you remind him in a whisper, licking your swollen lips before kissing a newly formed bruise on his cheek. You'd told him not to fight up close, to leave that to the pros who aren't trying to literally regrow their limbs. But Keigo's the hero. He's always been the hero, probably always will be. So you just try to keep the chiding to a minimum and focus on bandaging and soothing the injuries he comes home with.

Home. Home is here, you hope. This is where Keigo comes back to, and he's as greedy as you are, stealing moments that could definitely be spent doing other, more productive things. What's love if not an absolute waste of your time?

Your fingers ghost over the scar on his face, the one that starts above his mouth and travels well down to his neck. Keigo grunts as you press a kiss to that part of his skin too.

The two of you haven't discussed it. You didn't have anything to say, and if Keigo needed to confide in you, he would, just like he does with everything else.

And, it seems, this is the moment for it to come up. "Ugly, isn't it?" he jokes, bringing his hand up to slide his fingers against yours, pulling it away from the scar. "No more modeling for me."

A nasty feeling rears in you. It feels like hearing someone else insult him, and the defensive roar in your chest makes you want to fight fiercely, even if he himself is the offending party.

He notices it, your scowl. With a lopsided grin, he asks, "What?"

It's like he doesn't even know. How gorgeous everything about him is, his pupils that expand and slit depending on his mood, the burn marks still scattered on his face, and even his teeth, slightly crooked but white and sharp.

You hold his face in your hands and kiss him again, rough this time. Demanding. Angry.

One of his hands palms the side of your neck, reciprocating the kiss the best he can before pulling away, slightly breathless. "What's—"

"You're the most handsome guy in the world." Your cheeks burn a little saying something so openly, so bluntly. With a groan, you bury your face in his chest to conceal your embarrassed expression. You mean every word you say, but it doesn't mean you have to look him in the eyes for it.

Keigo laughs, actually laughs, mouth on your temple where you can feel his lips curve into a smile. "Glad you think so. I knew you were into the rugged type."

Sure. You appreciate ruggedness. Who doesn't? But you're not letting him escape the point so easily.

"If you wore glasses," you huff, "then I'd be into the nerdy type. And if you wore leather jackets, then I'd be into the biker type." Summoning up your courage, you heft yourself back up, stubbornly glaring into his eyes. "And if you liked straw hats, then I suppose I'd be super into cowboys."

Normally you'd see his feathers fluff up, but in their absence you pay more attention to his face, which freezes at your confession. His pupils dilate and his mouth falls open just slightly, staring at you like he can't fully believe that you're real.

Instead of backing down, you stare back, fists clenched into his shirt. The past few weeks have been so difficult for him, name, actions, secrets and faults exposed to the whole world. No wings. Keigo is changing, you know it. Experiencing a taste of freedom for the first time, as bitter as it may be. He might not be sure if you like this new version, but that's what you're trying to tell him—you like every single version of him, and you're going to prove it whenever you need to.

"Those are," he croaks, but his voice is choked up, "really outdated stereotypes."

"Yeah."

"And I love you." His heart is beating so fast under your touch that it speeds up your own. "Like, really fucking love you."

He meets you, this time, lips crashing onto yours as you kneel down. With a trill, he leans forward, letting you topple onto the couch, luckily not on top of anything but scattered cushions, as his body covers your own and his lips press kiss after kiss to your lips, your jaw, your neck.

"How much time do we have left now?" you wonder, breath caught in your throat.

"Dunno." He doesn't even bother looking up to check. "Forever, for all I care."

[ghouljams]

My dear, so sorry but allow me to brain root this idea here. Feel free to delete it or just kill me for bothering you.

Street race!au

All of the boys work on cars after deployment as a hobby. Maybe Alex or Gaz open a mechanic shop just to have something to do in medical leaves. Their first contact with street race was in a small car gathering, one guy got too cocky about his Bugatti and shit talking the other till Soap got enough. After winning with his Dragster project, people keep inviting them for other races.

Price and Laswell are against it in the beginning. If police ever get one of them it's game over, Martial court and prison. Definitely something they don't want to have to report on, but after some persuasion (it's good to keep the reflexes going, Gaz said, and Ghost can finally learn how to drive better. Much to Ghost protests, it actually helps him understand that scratching the car only means he will be the one paying and fixing it, so he started to avoid getting too close from guard rail or other cars, curbs and signals.) They finally give in, with only a promise to not get near civis! Only empty streets, roads or particular sites or Price himself will skin them.

None of them really buy brand new, no they got to auditions selling broke down cars, going in places with abandoned car bodies. You know seeing something broken and thrown away coming back to life by their hands always brings a smile to their faces.

Price with a Rolls Royce, liking to run on long and straight roads. Gearbox is as stiff as his neck. Break lights blinking as if passing a Morse code. He is better at calibrating things, tried once to work on the electric part and now his radio always turns one whenever he goes left.

Ghost with a GT- R Godzilla, hating curves and dirt roads. Has a skeleton keychain on his rear window gifted from Soap. Likes to work on motors and such. Once have fallen asleep under a project and Gaz and Soap thought it was going to be a great idea to wake him up by smashing an empty cane on his feet. One bruise later, the two of them will work on his car for free to pay the headache.

Soap with a Dodge Challenger dragster, Loves to pop his exhaust to challenge people. More than once his tires explode when burning tires, has to take a lift with Gaz. Do bodywork in the office but prefer to paint and custom.

Gaz with a supra, confident in curves and sew. His car has a generic green plastic soldier hanging on the rear window, Soap gift. The only one with actual patience to do electric work and welding. Once was convinced by Soap to try and use the solder to heat up hotdogs, Ghost swears that the smell of it hunts the place.

(wanted to write more but I think it's alright a small bible.)

Thanks for letting me bored you. Hope you have a wonderful month. 💕🌹💕🌹

Ok, I'm not a car guy (except the dodge challenger, fuck I love a hellcat) but I have watched a lot of Initial D so... I'm basically a drag racing expert.

First thing's first I firmly believe Ghost does not have a license, this man is driving so fucking illegally it is unreal.

Second, headcanons:

I love Soap in a muscle car, it fits him like a glove. He's pulling up with a worn out leather jacket and a sandwich from tesco, late for the race because he knows he'll win. Loves corners. The thrill of seeing how close he can get to the rail is almost as good as watching a bomb go off. He's got those good precision fingers too, I bet he does a lot of filigree and line work on the cars he paints. Probably has a signature style to it that people pay through the nose for. Price has told him multiple times to stop upcharging, he is not going to. Also feels a lot like a trick driver. Driving backwards, lots of donuts and super quick drifts to whip his car around. I think electrical would also be his thing, again it's those precision fingers. He already does wiring for demo work why not cars?

Gaz on call for pickups every time Ghost or Soap fucks up their car. Ghost is in the passenger seat all the fucking time because he stalled his car and it won't start again. Gaz has literally never seen a car stall as much as Ghost's car stalls. Gaz is point man for setting up races, he knows everyone who has a fast car, knows what streets will be empty, knows where the cops will be, he's calling flag girls just to keep this shit classy. You will not catch him slipping. He's an all around-er. He's got the curves, the straight aways, he can do it all and he does it with a smile. He's having the best time. If you ride with him you will be holding on for dear life because he is not slowing down for that turn. Ghost nearly pisses himself the first time he catches a ride home from Gaz, Soap throws up. Price will not get in the car with him.

Price strikes me as a coach type, he's attempting to manage the team Gaz has put together, but he's really just there to watch. I agree I think he's best in the straight away. He's definitely suped up his rolls, and can blast through any competition, as long as he doesn't have to do too much drifting. Gaz attempted to drive his car once and learned the hard way that the gear box cannot handle curves well. Price doesn't care, he likes to go fast so he doesn't need to do much else. He's in the shop every other month staring at the engine while Soap and Gaz hover. He will not take suggestions, eyes on your own work soldiers.

Ghost doesn't like to drive as much as he likes working pit, hard agree. He's a real black thumb, engines are his bread and butter. I want to see that man in coveralls, wiping his oil covered hands on a rag as he inspects his work. Lowkey hates driving. Gaz and Soap are insistent that he knows how to race, because there's nothing more terrifying that having Ghost pull up to a race in his blacked out Godzilla. Definitely gets pulled over all the time for having his windows tinted too dark. I think his engine is loud once it gets up above 140 kph, by design not because there's anything wrong with it. Stalls his car all the fucking time because the man cannot drive if he's not racing. Certified passenger princess. Soap makes him a shitty pink glitter t-shirt that barely fits and Ghost wears it all the time around base. Pisses Price off to no end, have some goddamn self respect.

[444rockstargf]

"whistle at me as my hips sway." | dan cooper

every man gets his wish. - lana del rey

summary: tying up dan and teasing him.

dom!female!reader x sub!dan

contents: bondage, dry humping, slight overstimulation

you ordered dan to sit in the little armchair in the corner of your room, and he obeyed your command, as he always did. once he sat down, you pulled out a bundle of silky red ribbon, immediately grabbing his attention.

you took his wrists and started tightly binding them together, tying a cute little bow on top of the tight knots. dan looked up at you, a somewhat pleading expression on his face. he thought that you were going to fuck his brains out like you usually did, but you had something else planned for tonight.

you sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. he gasped softly at the feeling of you on top of him, and at the sight of your short leather skirt riding up your thighs just a little. you shifted a little so that your clothed pussy was right on top of his already hardening cock.

dan bit his lips, trying to stop himself from becoming that whiny mess that he always was, but he failed miserably as soon as you started slowly grinding your hips onto his cock. he was already straining against his pants, his cock so desperately wanting to be let out of its prison, but you were only getting started.

you lifted your skirt up just enough so that dan could see your red lacy panties underneath. he so badly wished that his hands were free so that they could rest on your hips as they worked against him. you sensed him becoming needier by the second, making you pick up the pace, trying to get more of a reaction out of him.

dan threw his head back, whimpering and moanings softly as his boner became too much to bear. he wanted you to let out his cock and ride him until his brain became a fuzzy mess. but you just kept on teasing him. it didnt take long for precum to start leaking out of his throbbing cock, completely soaking through his pants as your motions became more intense.

you ran one of your hands down his body, stopping right above his dick. you moved your hand underneath you to start gently rubbing his aching cock as you continued to move your hips on him, keeping a steady rhythm. dan fell into a hypnotized state as he watched your body moving against his, the sight of your thighs, hips, and ass only making this even more unbearable for him.

he started whimpering and moaning as he bucked his hips upward, trying to get some more friction. he felt blood rushing through his entire body, feeling your hand rubbing on his swollen bulge. he strained against the ribbon around his wrists, trying to break free so that he could guide you onto his cock and finally be able to feel you around him.

as you felt him getting frustrated at your speed, mumbling slurred curses under his breath, you lifted your hips off of him for a moment so that you could remove your soaked panties. you grabbed his jaw, opening his mouth and stuffing your panties inside of it, finally getting him to be quiet.

you lowered yourself back onto him, your bare pussy making contact with his clothed bulge. you started moaning softly as you ground on him, now doing it for your own pleasure. dan could feel the wetness of your pussy soaking through his pants, making him even more desperate.

his whimpers came out as muffled little noises, becoming louder and more frequent as the moments passed. you started speeding up even more as the pleasure grew. his boner only got harder by the minute, turning him into a whiny mess.

his hair fell into his face and his eyes began to well with tears as he watched you getting yourself off on him. you started to pity him a little, seeing how hungry he was becoming for skin-to-skin contact with you. you unbuttoned your white shirt and threw off your bra, releasing your tits.

you took your panties out of his mouth, allowing him to suck on your tits. he happily took one of them into his mouth, biting and swirling his tongue around your hard nipple. you started moving your hips in a way that gave dan as much pleasure as you were getting.

a low groan escaped from the back of his throat as he felt his cock starting to twitch. his pants were stained with his precum and traces of your cum. you both were getting closer to your climax.

dan wished he could grab your hips and move himself against you, but you were in charge here. he harshly sucked on the skin of your tits as his breath came out in short, quick gasps. his body started shaking as the sight and feeling of you became too much to bear.

his mind wandered to his cock being buried deep inside you, him sloppily thrusting into your tight little cunt. drool started dripping down his chin and your tits as he started losing control of his body.

you saw him become a whiny little mess underneath you, so you started grinding on him at an unearthly pace, making him tiss his head back as a high-pitched moan emerged from his mouth.

you felt his pants fill with his warm, sticky liquid. you continued to ride him until he was crying and sucking on your tits for dear life. you made sure he came at least 3 more times before climbing off of him and untying the ribbon around his wrists.

you gave him a soft kiss on the nose before taking him into the washroom for a nice warm bath and telling him what a good boy he had been for you.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part eight - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: dub con ; slightly nsfw

All she can think about right now is how much of a dumb decision this was. 

Michael disappears with a guy onto the dance floor, leaves her with his two friends who she has nothing in common with. She’s already three shots of tequila in.

No, she doesn’t want to dance, she wants to go home. She sips her drink, leans against the booth, and watches people in shiny clothes writhe under chaotic lights.

Michael’s friends - she forgets their names - get up and go to the bathroom. And now she’s completely alone, sitting in the sticky leather booth, uncomfortable and underdressed and trying to seem very interested in a phone with nothing on it. She pulls up Michael’s number to text him that she’s going to head home, but knowing him he’ll insist on getting her back safe, and then she’ll be ruining his fun. She shuts her screen off and shoves it back into her pocket. 

She looks up to scan the crowd. Her eyes catch on a familiar face glowing in neon lights. Her heart stutters like it’s taking a picture then jumping off a cliff. He’s shaved the scruffy facial hair into a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His black hair is thick silk framing the sharp angles of his face. He sits alone at the bar, dressed in a casual midnight suit, sipping a dark drink out of a crystal glass that looks small in his hand.

He doesn’t notice her, so she stares at him. Long legs, heavy shoulders. The tapered waist of his jacket flows elegantly from his hips. His tie is neat, and not a piece of him is out of place. He is John, but not the one she knows. Not the one handcuffed to the bed and smiling at her. She feels, for sure, that this John is the one who spilled all the blood that day in the prison - this is the grim reaper.

He feels eyes, looks up, and it’s not the person he expects. His nurse immediately averts her gaze, shy. His mouth ticks up. Fortune has smiled upon him. Here she is on a silver platter. He takes the last sip of his bourbon, leaves the glass on the table, and walks over.

He slides into the booth across from her. She looks up.

He greets her using her name. She’s surprised he remembers it.

“Hello, John.”

His fingers itch to grab her chin and make her eyes look at him instead of darting around for an escape route. That is his fault, that she thinks she can run. He should have shut that inclination down the moment he started to admire her.

He is so much different now. Taller than she remembers. Well fed. The suit clings to his biceps. She watches the muscle shift under the fabric while her mouth fills with saliva and her brain screams at her stupidity. She doesn’t bother asking him why he’s in a club looking regal the day after he escaped prison, mostly because she can’t think rational thoughts while he is sitting across from her looking like he is.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asks, his deep voice never failing in making her fingers and toes ache.

“What?” She says. She really can’t hear what he says over the booming music, and she was only half listening to the question while preoccupied with drooling over how fucking good he looks. The alcohol is a big perpetrator for how feral she feels. Here he is, out of handcuffs and free to a good home, and her brain is malfunctioning.

He gets up, sits next to her, pushes into her body and puts his lips close to her ear. She grips the table violently. “Can I get you a drink?”

He smells like a hint of musky cologne mixed with clean shaving soap. The heat and bulk of him intoxicate her more than the alcohol ever could. Everything is sharp and blurry at the same time. She is both too sensitive and too numb for his touch.

He has a lot to say for once, and the irony that he can’t because of the loud music isn’t lost on him.

He talks with his body.

John brushes her hair behind her ear, admires the velvet plush of her face and neck, the plump breasts hidden under her shirt. Every spot that she is soft and pillowy he wants to bite and suck. His cock agrees vehemently with this urge and thickens on his thigh.

She squirms, flustered but terrified.

The Baba Yaga likes both. The Baba Yaga likes her . John likes her, too. Finally something they can agree on.

“Can I?” John presses, mouth so close to her skin she can feel the damp heat of it.

“Wh-“ she clears her throat “-what?”

“Buy you a drink?” He repeats, patient with her because he knows that her body is coming to terms with him invading its’ space.

“Yes.”

“Excuse me, then.” He is gone faster than she can look to see which direction he goes in. She takes this moment to loosen her grip on the table because her fingers have been drained of blood. Now that he’s gone, she can think a bit clearer and the one reasonable thought she has is that this man, while being irresistible, can also easily kill her. She could leave. Walk out. Avoid whatever this is going to turn into, which probably does involve her dead. She’s a witness to what happened in St. Mercy’s - maybe one of only a few left to his DIY blood bath.

She can’t remember specific parts, but she does recall his rough hands on her body, bruising and tearing, screams, and the vivid color of crimson. She remembers dying eyes, the fear in them so real she could feel it for herself.

Before she can decide to run, he’s back. He sets a glass of clear, bubbling liquid in front of her.

She takes a sip before she can really think about what she’s doing. Her brain regrets drinking, but her taste buds do not. The delightful mint flavor mixed with tickling carbonation is delicious. It’s too late now, so she takes another drink.

His liquor is caramel colored with a strong aroma. He holds it in his mouth before he swallows it. She can smell it sweet and bitter on his breath while he talks in her ear like they are good friends.

He plants one heavy arm around the back of the booth, turns his body toward her, and lays his other arm on the table in front of her.

Trapped, she panics. He feels her body tense like a spring, but he doesn’t like that. He wants her soft and pliant. He likes her clinging to him as if he’s the only thing that can keep her stable.

“No,” he chides, “it’s okay. You know who I am.”

That’s the problem, she knows exactly who he is.

Heat radiates from his body onto hers. Sweat pools between her breasts and trickles down her belly. She takes another drink to cool down.

“You are scared of me,” he sighs.

She nods, so easily admitting fear, and he simultaneously hates and loves this. He hates it because she can’t be wholly his while a large part of her is terrified of him. He loves it because in that fear lies the admittance that she is completely engulfed by his presence.

“Oh, honey.” It’s such a strange thing coming from his mouth. She feels like she is being chastised by a teacher rather than cornered in a bar. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Because he’s an honest man, he amends this with, “not in a way that won’t make you feel good.”

She really wants to believe him, but she absolutely doesn’t.

She doesn’t seem to relax at all. In fact, her shoulders get tighter as she leans away from him. Part of it is that her cunt throbs when he tacks on that last part, and it’s so violent and sudden that she’s afraid he can feel it resonate in the air between their hips.

“Please talk to me.”

She looks at his face. He wears big puppy eyes and a soft, sad mouth. That look makes her heart pause in its panicking to ache instead. He is close enough that she can kiss him again.

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Her voice is timid and small. He has to read her lips to pick up what she says. “But.. thank you.. for.. saving me.”

There she is, the selfless heroin here to make sure his feelings aren’t getting hurt.

“The pleasure is all mine.” John rests his fingers on top of her own. It’s meant to soothe, but all she can think of is how long his hands are and how capable they would be of snapping her pinkie in half or reaching places inside her that she can’t find on her own.

She knows Michael’s friends don’t like her, but she wants them back. Her eyes scan the crowd for the two women.

“Why are you so terrified of me?” It’s a manipulative question, and he knows it. He’s had people be terrified of him for less than what she’s seen. But he wants to hear her say it.

She looks at him, incredulously, her expression calling out his bullshit question for what it is. “You killed a lot of people.”

He thinks for a moment, trying to choose the right words to say. “I did it to get us out.”

She can’t argue with this. His explanation makes sense and fits with her memory of that scarlet day.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks him, shrinking. A flash of blue light catches her eyes and paints them glassy and beautiful.

His response is inappropriate, but he can’t help it. He chuckles, although a bit annoyed he has to repeat himself. “No. I said I won’t hurt you.”

“Then what do you want, John?” Her voice is high and tight.

He wets his lips, deciding to err on the side of simple and candid. “You.”

There are a couple possibilities:

He’s lying to get to her.

He’s telling the truth, which is unlikely. 

He can use her somehow to reach a goal.

Instead of killing her, he’s appeasing her so she won’t tell on him. Which is ridiculous. Who would she tell? The cops? If she hasn’t told them yet she’s definitely not going to. 

Honestly, only one of these options appeal to her, and it’s the one that’s far fetched. A fever fantasy dream. John wants her? That makes her want to scream, tell him to compare the two of them and then look into her face and honestly tell her that he desires her and then expect her to believe him.

He rolls his thumb under the smooth skin below her ear and earns a full bodied shudder. “Let me kiss you. Again.”

Her heart flutters, blushes, squeals, acts like it belongs to a 16-year-old girl in the height of puberty. One thing she does remember - vividly - from the prison riot is him kissing her. Her body yearns for that feeling, teetering on top of the rollercoaster drop, and not sure if it has a choice whether to fall or not.

“Here?” She gestures to the club around them.

“Anywhere,” he says, “take me somewhere. Let me take you somewhere.”

He watches patiently as she fights with herself. He wants her to say yes without persuasion, but the thought of her saying no is the opposite of appealing. It’s so unappealing, in fact, he just might have to drag her out of here anyway if she decides to decline.

To save her the trouble, he helps make the decision. “Yes,” he answers a question she never asked out loud, “if you say no, it will hurt my feelings.”

He knows it’s fucked up, to do that to her. She’s proved that she can’t put her own feelings above someone else’s - even if that someone else is scum - and he knows she won’t turn him down if she thinks it will upset him. But, the other option is to let her go, and that’s not going to happen. He’s a man of goal and focus, after all, and he prefers the easy way when he can get it.

“Where are we going?” She asks, trying not to sound defeated.

He takes the last sip of his bourbon. “Your place.”

“Just let me text my roommate,” she says

“Of course.”

She opens up the text chain that her and Michael share, unsure of what to say. She settles on telling him she’s getting a ride home with an old, good friend.

Is the old friend hot? 😉

She tilts her phone screen so John can’t see what she’s typing.

Yes.

Once she’s satisfied that Michael isn’t going to be concerned, she sticks her phone back into her pocket. “I also have to close my tab.”

He slides her credit card across the table and pushes it under her hand. “It’s on me.” 

She feels her pocket for money. “How much was it? I’ll give you the cash-“

He rests his hand on her own, stilling her search. His hot skin sears her hip. He sounds amused when he talks to her. “I said it’s on me. That means I’m paying for it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She feels a bit irked that he’s talking to her like she’s dumb, but, then again, she probably is acting really stupid right now, and she can’t be too annoyed with a person that just payed for her drinks.

She tries to wave him away when he offers her his hand to help stand from the booth, but he takes it anyway and pulls her up. She’s unsteady, swaying. Her body has just realized that it’s drunk. He helps her navigate through the crowd, arm wrapped securely around her back. It’s easy for her to start hanging onto him again, almost as if she’s done it a dozen times. He asks her if she has to use the restroom before they leave, reminding her that her bladder was full thirty minutes ago.

He waits outside, leaning on the wall, watching the door, nervous that’s she’s going to try and get away from him. He is so relieved when he sees her come out of the bathroom, he immediately pulls her back against him.

She grips onto his jacket to keep upright, unsurprised by how sturdy he is by now. He can hold her easily while walking them through the chaos of the club. He doesn’t stumble or falter even once as he ensures they both make it out the door. The outside air is cold and bitter, but John is warm. She huddles a bit closer into his side. It’s so strange, having someone that can handle her weight easily - very much something she’s not used to.

He wraps tighter around her, reassuring and solid, happy to provide shelter.

“My house is three blocks away,” she says, and it’s nice to hear her voice clearly. Snowflakes fall onto her pretty skin and melt away.

He shakes his head, pulls keys out of his pocket with the arm that’s not secured around her.

The vehicle he leads her to is old, fancy, sleek. Shiny black-grey and unique compared to the other cars parked along the street.

John leaves her on the sidewalk while he opens the door for her. Carefully, she cuddles into the icy leather seat, bundling her jacket closer around her shoulders.

The inside of his car smells like gas fumes and leather. It’s pleasant, and reminds her of the good parts of her childhood. She remembers loving the smell of burning diesel while taking long car rides with her friend’s families.

He slides in beside her, turns the rumbling engine on, and flips dials on the dash. Cool air blows from the vents. She shivers. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over her, leaving him in only the silky black dress shirt and tie underneath.

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she tells him.

“I like the cold,” he argues. “What’s your address?”

He seems to have no problem finding her apartment complex. She’s disappointed that he didn’t take at least one wrong turn because she likes watching him drive - it’s 100% the hands - and she wants to delay her possible death for a little while longer.

She grabs the solid metal handle to open her door, but he stops her.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Opening my door.” She doesn’t bother keeping the obstinance out of her tone.

“Let me.”

Reluctantly, and with an eye roll, she releases the handle and lets him open up the car door for her. He reaches for her hand and helps her step out of the vehicle. His arm is around her again before they walk into her building and up the stairs to the second floor. She pulls out the key, but he takes it, unlocks the door, and guides her inside.

Now he’s just being ridiculous while he finds and flips the lights on in her apartment and then pulls out a kitchen chair for her to sit in.

“Are you like one of those ladies shouldn’t have to use their muscles dudes?” She asks, scowling. She tries to say it jokingly but really she’s a bit annoyed that he thinks she’s too weak to open her own doors and pull out her own chair.

He will butt heads with that maverick attitude. “You mean a gentleman?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” 

An adjective comes to mind here: Brat.

Despite her protest, she drapes his jacket over the back of the seat and then lets him help her push herself up to the table.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, opening up her fridge.

“No, I’m fine.”

He looks doubtful. “Have you eaten today?”

She laughs. He sounds more like a concerned parent now. “We ate McDonald’s before we went to the club. But if you’re hungry, help yourself to anything. There’s also soda in the mini fridge.” She thumbs to the living room.

He shuts the door of the fridge and takes the seat across from her, eclipsing the little budget friendly and thrifted chair and kitchen table. He looks like an elf in a house meant for dwarfs.

John starts in with asking her about herself. She tells him what’s she’s comfortable with and leaves out the gory details. Most of his inquiries are simple: “how old are you?” “What do you do for fun?” “Where are you from?” 

It gets a little dicey when he asks about her family.

“Uh, I don’t have one,” she tells him, looking down at the table. “I was in foster care for a while then got out as soon as I was 18.”

“No adopted parents?” He asks.

“Some.” She rubs her cheek where her bruise is all gone now. “A lot. Never any that I stayed with.”

He hums, rubbing his fingers over the grooves in her table and wishing it was her palm. “Are you lonely?”

She stiffens, looks up at him. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Friends?” He asks.

“Michael,” she says, “the roommate you told me to adopt. Really, thank you for that.”

He smiles. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Your turn,” she says, tilting her chin at him. 

He opens his arms up. “Ask away.”

She does not ask him what he expects her too. She wants to know his favorite color, favorite animal, his birthday, why everyone likes him so much.

He grins at the last question. “I guess I’ve just learned from experience how to charm people. Much like yourself.”

She snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re very kind. Brave.” He looks sincere while he elaborates this.

She tries not to be overcome with embarrassment and flattery while waving him off with a scoff. Him telling her that, whether he means it or not, makes her confidence turn from shriveled to swollen and leaking and she needs to displace some of the feeling before she gets addicted to it.

His eyes narrow at her inability to take the compliment.

She changes the subject, nervous. “Where’d you get that nice suit?”

He raises his eyebrows, allowing the deflection, but counting it as strike 2. “It’s custom made by a friend.”

Her eyes widen. “Fancy.”

“Something like that.”

“Can I guess your favorite drink?” She grins.

“Go for it.” He sounds amused.

“Scotch.”

“Close. Bourbon.”

“Damnit!” She cries. “Should have gone with my first guess.”

He makes a face at her that says ‘ yeah, sure.’

“So, you’re Russian, you have custom made suits, you are… good at fighting. You’re like.. James Bond?”

His smile wriggles into a grin. “If that’s what you want.”

She shrugs. “I’m more of an Indiana Jones gal’, to be honest.” Her grin matches his own.

He hums. “I can work with that.”

She raises an eyebrow, lips pursing as she rubs her hands together in uneasy gesture. 

“Do you still think I’m going to kill you?” He’s nothing if not blunt.

She thinks about it for a minute. “Honestly? A little bit. Can you blame me?”

“No, but why am I in your apartment if you think that?” He asks.

“I’ve come to terms with my death,” she shrugs.

“Have you?” He muses.

“Yes, we all die. I’m a nurse, I know that. If I die, I die.” Really, she’s terrified of that unknown darkness that waits after her heart stops, but she doesn’t want to seem like a pussy in front of him.

Also, she’s grown more comfortable with him now that they’ve been talking again. It’s like he’s John in the infirmary bed sans handcuffs. Just like at the prison, she doesn’t want to be afraid of him, even though he’s scary.

“How do I convince you I don’t want to kill you?” He asks, face serious.

“I don’t know.” She gives him an apologetic look.   

He sucks his teeth. She watches his mouth and jaw move. Her lower body reminds her that it likes him, too, and is not afraid of him at all.

“Then I’ll just have to use trial and error,” he reasons.

She wonders what he means, but doesn’t have to be confused for very long.

He pushes his chair back, leans himself at an angle, and pats one thigh, motioning for her. “We can start with the kiss.”

Her heart pulls at her nerve endings like it’s trying to stop a wild horse in sprint. Her pupils get wide and her mouth scrunches like she’s trying hard not to make some kind of embarrassing facial expression. She looks at him, but it’s hard to keep his eyes in line with her own when his are dark and lowered at her like this.

“You don’t have to.” She tries one last bid to save herself from being completely obsessed with him - to let him back out and decide she’s not worth the effort. She doesn’t want him to force himself into doing this just because he thinks she’ll tell on him or otherwise. She doesn’t want to feel like she’s manipulating him into kissing her.

But every part of her body, besides her rational brain, wants to kiss him. Desperately.

His patience has run out. He gets up, grabs the back of her neck and threads his fingers through the sensitive baby hairs at the back of her scalp. He tilts her face up.

He’s rough, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s an unyielding pressure that resonates in her cunt. He muffles her distressed grunt with his mouth.

He’s teeth, tongue, saliva. It’s hard to breathe with him in her throat. Her hands grip his nice shirt. He pulls her up by the back of her neck, and her moan dies in their combined throat.

The wet connection of their lips has her hips grinding into his thigh and his hands imprinting her scalp. She burns from her head to her toes. He struggles to get closer, use the blanket of her body to try and smother his own tumultuous fire.

Her phone rings, and she has to ignore it while he pulls at her hair and backs her up into the fridge. The cool at her back feels nice mixed with the heat of his body. She’s on her tiptoes, gripping his arms to let off some of the pressure in her scalp, trying to chase the ache between her legs with the sturdy muscles in the thigh he has pressed between them.

He pulls away with her bottom lip captured in his teeth, and she only has a second to whine about the sting until he’s back on her.

Her phone rings again. She has to try and push him off because twice means it might be an emergency.

He doesn’t budge, and if he knows she wants to stop then he doesn’t care.

Text message dings, phone ringing again. His lips move from her mouth to her jaw, nipping and laving at that delicate flesh. His scratchy facial hair tickles and chafes her skin.

She tries to form a coherent thought and translate it into a sentence, but all that comes out are wet mewls. Michael might be in trouble . She pushes harder against the solid rock of his body.

John takes the hint, but not very well. He releases her neck with a low gravelly sound that translates to a growl. His self control, usually unbreakable, fissures. He glares down at her, breathing deep and loud.

Reluctantly, he lets her push past him and look at her phone.

He leans against her fridge and watches how her eyes grow wide and worried in the bright light of her screen. The anxiety on her face turns his annoyance into concern.

She pulls up her phone calendar. Saturday. The weekend. The day that Benny invited her camping. And there he is; five missed text messages, 4 missed calls. Two voicemails.

John watches her skin drain some of its lovely color.

She reads the texts. They start off nice, then turn into vulgar threats.

The last one is him sending her a copy of her own address.

She slams her phone down, free-falling into the verge of a full blown panic attack.

She had forgotten to erase and block his number after he forcefully put it in her phone. While he was in her messages, he must have gotten her address off the text chain between her and Michael. He knows where she lives, and even if he doesn’t have the passcode to the front door and a key to get into her apartment, he can easily wait outside for her. Or around the block. She tries her best to not start hyperventilating, but her eyes inevitably swell with stinging fluid and her lungs constrict like snakes are wrapping around them.

“What? What’s wrong?” She feels John’s hand on her shoulder. It brings her back down to earth. The serpents twisting her insides coil away, hissing in fear. Her breathing gets easier. He wraps his hands around her waist softly, says her name. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urges.

She’s so tired of protecting this asshole, but the two possibilities that will come from telling john are equally unappealing. The first one is that he doesn’t care and leaves because he thinks she’s a whore. The second option is that he kills or injures Benny, and that would mean blood inadvertently on her hands.

She doesn’t know if she should be grateful or terrified when he grabs her phone, types her passcode - how the hell does he know that? - and opens up Benny’s voicemail.

“John, stop - “

But the angry voice is already coming on over the speaker. “Hey Darlin’. I’ll be over in a few minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m dragging you out of there.”

He holds the phone out of her reach and plays the next. “I’m five minutes away from your house. You better be outside or you won’t enjoy yourself tonight.” Benny sounds drunk in this one.

John flips to the text messages once he’s done with the voicemails.

By the time he’s done reading them, his eyes are drained of light. Not even the bright phone screen casts a reflection in the pools of black matte. He looks up at her and presses the power button.

“Did he hit you?” He grips her chin and his big hand is wide enough to cover the entire bottom of her face.

“What are you going to do?” She whispers. He feels the vibration in the air from her quivering body, but can’t find it in himself to feel bad, especially when she’s committed to keeping a bastard protected.

He loved how altruistic she was when they first met, the care that she showed for everyone - especially he himself - was endearing and sincere. But now he knows he has to break her from that senseless kindness because she is too fucking nice for her own good.

“I’m going to kill him,” John tells her, words piercing like needles and threading her wild anxiety tighter.

She doesn’t like Benny, would even go so far as to say she hates him, but the thought of him dying because of her confession turns her stomach with guilt. And maybe not believing John would absolve some of that foreshadowed liability, but he had killed countless grown men with a bed rail in front of her, so she knows he’s more than capable of keeping his word and becoming the reaper.

She won’t condemn someone, even if they are a scumbag. He catches the look in her face that tells him just that.

And he does something that she doesn’t expect and doesn’t want to see cutting his usually serious face: He smiles, genuinely and viciously.

He is physically bigger than her, that much is true, but nothing makes her feel as small as that smile. It reminds her of someone who knows what they want and how to get it, consequences be damned.

Fear is like electricity in her veins, so cold it burns.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, now actually crying.

She watches his jaw grind, backs away from him.

He catches her shoulder, pulls her into his chest so that he can talk into the top of her head.

“If you leave this apartment,” he tells her, “if you get in my way.” He pauses to collect his anger and let it echo in his voice. “ After I kill him, I will make sure you can’t sit for a month.”

She squirms, blinks up at him. Her mind is afraid but her traitorous cunt is not.

The reaction of her body to his words doesn’t surprise her that much: pain has always excited her, and in past relationships she sometimes found herself wishing for a little more of it.

She hates that now is the time this side of her decides to rear its ugly head. This is really the worst possible scenario she can think of and her libido is through the goddamn roof. Something fucked and broken inside her wants to watch Benny die. She pushes it under the chaotic sea of her brain to let the thought drown.

She wonders if she’s turning into a monster, or if she’s always been one and just has had no one to nurture and rear that side of her until now.

John lets her go and he’s gone before she can ask him to stay. She slumps into her kitchen chair, puts her head in her arms - dizzy with a mixture of arousal and alcohol and confusion - and waits while hating herself more by the second.

[musicallisto]

Hi! Could you do a Drabble with “Wait, you think I’m cute?” with Kaz please?

: ̗̀➛ 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐝𝐨𝐠 (kaz brekker x gn!reader)

a/n: i had something much more fun in mind idk what this is im sorry features: 3rd person gn!reader (they/them) wc: 700

˚ ༘✶ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST || TAG LIST ˚ ༘✶

𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 worthy of the name must have among its ranks a master of disguise. A shadow who glides through the crowds in broad daylight, who can be grafted onto any skin and fills it seamlessly. Kaz Brekker knows this—and he knows even better that as far as Ketterdam's camouflage swindlers go, Y/N Y/L/N is the very best.

And Kaz Brekker only surrounds himself with the best of the best.

Once again, he called upon his favorite actor to play the role of the inside connection. It's almost too easy for them, and they play it up; Y/N watches their nails nonchalantly, then Kaz with feigned disinterest, and purrs that it looks like Dirtyhands can't get enough of them.

But Kaz knows that Y/N's arrogant indifference is only a facade, and that they will always come back with haste to work at his side. By lure of gain, by love of adrenalin, or by, and he shudders to think of it, but does not allow himself to consider it too long, sincere affection for his company.

"What am I to do this time?"

"Obey orders."

A click of the tongue. "That's not what I'm used to doing."

"Not mine."

"Even worse."

"I need a pair of eyes inside the Exchange, and an unassuming, docile runner to gain the trust of its merchers. Your papers are already done—you are Ghezen's newest little recruit. You will pass on everything you see, everything you hear, the slightest crack in the floor to me through Nina Zenik."

Y/N's ears perk up at the outline of the plan, curiosity piqued and shameless grin creeping on their lips.

"The Exchange? You're either planning the heist of the century, or the remainder of your life in prison. Kerch will never forgive you for the affront to her idol."

"I have no forgiveness to ask of anyone. Are you in?"

Y/N's entire frame sizzles with ardent greed. They already imagine the riches with which they will cover the sills of each of their windows and pave the crumbling stairs of his building, the hot, mold-free meals they will be able to share with the Dregs; the spark of pride they will read in Kaz's eyes as they faithfully report each piece of information in the palm of his glove.

"When have I not been in?"

Y/N spots a flame of esteem dancing on Kaz's beaming face. He doesn't try to hide it at all, for once. He surrenders himself completely to the glory of a dream, of a smile, of a hand that he unintentionally extends. Toward Y/N.

"Perfect. There was no one better suited to play the role of a mercher's cute little lapdog."

"I'll take it as a... wait, you think I'm cute?"

When Y/N's head shoots up at Kaz, they find him chuckling to himself, casting glimmering lights onto their every pore. He is a sight to behold, unabashed and drenched in careful humor, something like an eclipse.

"You only ever hear what you want to hear."

A joke falling from his lips, effortless and candid, is like discovering a speckle of pure gold in a mountain of rubble. By Ghezen, does it drive them crazy.

"Isn't that what you hired me for? To hear the secrets that the unwary drop?"

Like a scene lost to Ketterdam's smoky haze, Kaz swats Y/N's shoulder lightly, stifling a laugh, and the leather of his glovers glides on their forearm without care, halting their heart for a split second. The next, before they can catch a glimpse of Kaz's earnest gaze, the touch is gone, and so are the sparks.

"Nina got you the guards' uniform. You start tomorrow morning. Don't disappoint me."

"I never do."

Kaz nods, the ghost of a memory tugging at the corner of his eyes. Then, like all that is worth saving in Ketterdam, it is gone, swallowed by the mist and soot.

tagging: @softeninglooks @maybanksslut @alexxavicry (all my writing) @retvenkos @lettersoftroy @janesofia7 @swanimagines @sassyscribbler @noesapphic (grishaverse)

[hd-junglebook]

From Beyond The Wall

Part 1

The wind begins to howl mournfully, swirling snowflakes dancing in the air like lost spirits. The mountain remained still as night began to fall, leaving the brothers of the nights watch in the darkness of the north.

The fire crackles weakly, struggling against the encroaching cold, casting long shadows that flicker and dance across the frozen ground.

"Can you feel it, Jon?" one brother mutters, his teeth chattering as he huddles closer to the feeble warmth.

"A storm's coming. I can smell it in the air." Jon, his cloak pulled tight around him, nods solemnly. "Aye, a blizzard's upon us. We'll need to find better shelter if we're to survive the night."

In the cover of darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Y/n and her group lurk like shadows, their breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Ygritte, her fiery hair barely visible in the dim light, leans in close to Y/n, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We strike now, while they're weak and unprepared," she says, her blue eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll catch them by surprise, before the blizzard engulfs us all."

Y/n nods, her fingers tightening around the reins of her white horse, its breath steaming in the cold night air. "Agreed. Move on my signal.”

Y/n continue to watch in silence, glancing between the brothers and the free folk. She nodded to Ygritte, grasping her bow from the leather pouch. Y/n and her group emerge from the darkness, the crunch of snow beneath their boots muffled by the howling wind.

The brothers of the Night's Watch startle at the sudden onslaught, scrambling for their weapons as Y/n's group descends upon them like a winter storm unleashed.

"Take no prisoners!" Ygritte's voice rings out above the chaos, her bow singing as she looses arrow after arrow into the heart of the fray. the blizzard finally descends in full force, swallowing the scene in a swirling white blanket of snow and ice.

After a few minutes of the bloody onslaught Jon realizes his efforts were pointless as he is now surrounded.

Confused and heaving out heavy breaths he looks around to grasp his situation. He pauses mid turn at the sight of Y/n dismounting her horse gracefully, still holding her bow.

“Hold.” she raises her hand, signaling for them to hold their fire. The clash of swords and the cries of men fade into the background as Jon's gaze meets hers, his eyes locked on her figure clad in a fur cloak and a dress as white as the snow.

She approaches Jon with purpose, her footsteps leaving shallow imprints in the fresh snow. The wind tugs at her cloak, sending strands of hair swirling around her face like tendrils of shadow.

“Who are you?” he mumbles out, trying to find the words. He raises his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and the members of her group surrounding him.

Y/n's lips curl into a confident smile as she keeps her arrow trained on Jon. "I am Y/n, Princess of the Free Folk," she declares, her voice ringing out clear despite the howling wind.

Jon's eyes widen in surprise at her proclamation, a flicker of realization dawning in his expression. He lowers his hands slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/n's face. "Princess of the Free Folk," he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Y/n nods, her grip tightening on her bow. "Indeed. And now, I command you to throw down your weapon and stand," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jon hesitates for a moment, his gaze darting between Y/n and the looming figures of her group. But then, with a resigned sigh, he unclasps his sword belt and lets it fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He stands tall, meeting Y/n's gaze, she studies Jon Snow intently as he stands before her, his demeanor composed despite the circumstances. "And who are you, truly?" Y/n asks, her voice softened but still firm.

Jon's gaze remains fixed on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask of snowflakes that cling to his beard. "I am Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch," he replies. A laugh escapes her at the name. “Mhmm snow. You’re a Stark. Ned Starks bastard son.”

Hearing her call his name and addressing him as a Stark made his heart skip a beat. Yet he remained cautious, seeing how easily the wildings obeyed her. “I am…How did you know?” he asked, as he slowly took a step back.

“It’s not me who knows, its my brother. what business does the Night's Watch have this far beyond the Wall? Us wildings? White walkers?” He nods to both causing her to sigh.

Y/n turns to her companions, her gaze sweeping over them with authority. "Tie him up. We're bringing him home," she commands, her voice firm and resolute.

He is stunned by her order, his body freezes still where he stands. The wildlings nod in silent acknowledgment, swiftly moving to obey Y/n's orders.

They bind Jon Snow's hands tightly with rope, ensuring he poses no immediate threat as they prepare to escort him back to their camp.

Y/n's eyes then find Ygritte, who stands nearby, her bow at the ready. "Ygritte, you'll watch him from now on," Y/n instructs, her voice carrying a note of trust.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything foolish." They hand the rope to Ygritte, who accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

With a swift motion, she mounts her horse, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner of authority. As she settles into the saddle, her eyes meet Jon's, and there's a flicker of something unspoken between them, a tension that crackles in the frigid air like lightning.

"Let's go," she commands, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "We have to make it back before dawn."

Jon's heart races as he watches her, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. A sudden chill runs through his back, he struggles against his restraints, approaching your horse slowly. “You really won’t say anything, huh? Just going to tie me up and drag me with you.”

Y/n meets his gaze, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s how I like my men, Snow.” She stated with a devious grin. A cold look appears on his face immediately realizing what she meant by those words. Yet all he can do is be silent and follow behind you, keeping up as his body is pushed every which way by the pelting snow.

…

They finally reach the Wildling camp, Y/n dismounts her horse with a graceful ease and gives her horse a gentle pat on the neck, murmuring words of gratitude as she glances toward the towering big tent that serves as the heart of their encampment.

The women of the camp emerged from their makeshift shelters, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they danced with their children under the fading light of the day.

Giants lumbered about, their massive forms silhouetted against the twilight sky as they worked alongside the Free Folk, tending to the needs of the camp with quiet efficiency.

With a nod to Ygritte, who stands by Jon Snow's side with a watchful gaze, Y/n orders, "Bring the crow with you." she takes hold of Jon's arm, guiding him towards the tent alongside her.

Pushing open the flap of the tent, Y/n steps inside, the warmth of the fire within enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Ygritte and Jon enter behind her, Y/n's gaze sweeps over the assembled group, taking in the familiar faces of her companions, as well as the curious glances directed towards their captive.

“Oh dear brother. I have a gift.” Mance, ever the troubadour, sat in a corner, his fingers strumming a haunting melody on his lute, the notes drifting through the air like whispers on the wind, weaving a tale of a Dornish woman's forbidden love.

He departs from his pregnant wife’s side. "What's this?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over Ygritte, Rattleshirt, and the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "A crow?"

“Ygritte found the crow, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell!” she introduced. “Release him.” With a collective nod, Ygritte moves to obey, her hands deftly untying the ropes that bind Jon's wrists before pushing him forward.

Mance's piercing blue eyes fix on Jon, assessing him with a shrewd intensity. "A crow," he remarks, his voice low and measured. "What brings you so far beyond your Wall?"

Jon meets Mance's gaze with a steady stare, his jaw set with determination. "I seek answers," he replies, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "Answers about the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."

Mance nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what answers do you hope to find here, among the Free Folk?"

Jon's gaze flickers with resolve as he speaks. "I seek allies," he declares, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "Allies in the fight against the true enemy, the Night King and his army of the dead."

A murmur ripples through the gathered Wildlings at Jon's words, their faces reflecting a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Mance, however, remains impassive, his gaze fixed on Jon with a calculating intensity.

"Allies," he repeats, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the tent. "The Night's Watch and the Free Folk, united against a common foe. A bold proposition, Jon Snow. But one that may yet prove to be our salvation."

…

The conversation with Mance concludes and the orders are given, Y/n watches as Ygritte leads Jon Snow and his direwolf away from the tent.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n turns away, her steps leading her back to her own tent. She sheds her fur cloak with a weary grace, allowing it to fall to the ground as she settles onto the floor, her legs crossed beneath her.

Closing her eyes, Y/n takes a deep breath, centering herself before allowing her mind to drift into the depths of warging. As her consciousness expands, she feels the pull of the nearby animals, their instincts calling out to her in the darkness.

With a gentle push, Y/n's spirit leaves her body, merging with that of a nearby fox. She feels the rush of freedom as she darts through the snow-covered landscape, her senses heightened by the wildness of her new form.

She approaches the bodies of the fallen Black Brothers, a sudden movement jolts her back to reality. The fox springs back in fear, its eyes locking with those of a figure rising from the snow.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she stares into the ice-blue eyes of the reanimated corpse. The corpse lunges forward as it reaches out with cold dead hands.

With a burst of speed, the fox races southward, its breath coming in ragged gasps as it flees from the looming threat. Y/n's eyes snap open abruptly, her breath coming out raggedly as she sits up. She dons her fur cloak once more, the fabric billowing around her like a protective barrier against the biting cold.

Rushing from her tent, Y/n heads straight for Mance, her footsteps quick and purposeful in the snow. She finds him surrounded by his advisors, deep in conversation about their next move. "Mance, we need to leave now," Y/n declares, her voice urgent as she approaches him.

Mance turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We've just arrived at our camp. Surely we can afford to rest for a while."

But Y/n shakes her head adamantly, her eyes flashing with determination. "No, Mance. We can't afford to stay here any longer, thinking about Dalla" she insists, her voice unwavering.

Mance studies her for a moment, weighing her words carefully. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nods in reluctant agreement. "Very well, Y/n," he concedes, "We'll leave in a few days."

…

Y/n stood before the gathered clans, her hair blowing in the biting gusts as she surveyed the uneasy faces staring back at her.

"As you know, the white walkers arise once more from the dead," she called out, her voice carrying over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "As your Princess, I swear to lead you safely to the Wall."

She continued, her tone firm, "My brother has brought together the Free Folk like no one has before." Gesturing to Mance, who stood with his wife behind her, she emphasized, "But winter is coming—the harshest in memory. The dead will rise to join the White Walkers' army. They will not wait for spring!"

The truth of her words sank in among the Free Folk, glances exchanged as the severity of the situation settled upon them. Mance stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The princess speaks true," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "The Wall is our only refuge against the storm. We must begin the march at once... before it is too late."

Agreement murmured through the clans, and Y/n nodded gratefully to Mance. Drawing her furs tighter against the cold, she caught sight of Jon Snow, his gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flickering away.

…

In the wake of her stirring speech, preparations for the journey to the Wall began in earnest. The clans bustled with activity, packing supplies, sharpening weapons, and tending to their families in anticipation of the arduous trek ahead.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light over the rugged landscape, and the distant howls of wolves echoed through the valleys.

It was there, in the quiet stillness of the night, that Y/n encountered her brother's pregnant wife once more. She stood alone, her silhouette outlined against the moonlit horizon, a solitary figure in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Y/n asked softly as she turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Y/n walked closer to where she was standing, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. "I'm fine," she replied curtly.

Y/n studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of her burden in the lines of her face and the tension in her shoulders. There was a distance between them, a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

"I wanted to thank you," Y/n said earnestly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "For standing with me back there. Your support means more to me than you know."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in the depths of her eyes. "You don't have to thank me," she replied, her voice gentle. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of quiet understanding between them as they stood together beneath the starlit sky.

…

give me some feedback, i'd like to know if this sucks lol