#two guards and a lord walk into a bar?

[nottoofondofgaypeople]

The Most Important Polycule

The one that started it all. Irena is a poor girl who has run from everywhere she's known. All that she knows about people and how to be one is from watching, and she's usually content to just bounce around wherever she does, until she lands in Phoenix Drop, a village so down on their luck she can't help but want to help them.

She doesn't officially take the lord position for quite some time, but she starts using her strange random skills she learned from drifters and wanderers to help these people. This naturally brings her to Garroth, the former head guard, who's keen on keeping her safe because she's just a very kind person. Garroth quietly thinks she'd make a good lord, but he never wants to push her to that.

Laurance is introduced in almost the exact same way. I mean it. The full head of hair, obnoxiously green eyes, the so called Cassanova of Meteli. The most flagrantly bisexual man. Laurance is the first person to show outright and very direct interest in Irena, which she's never experienced. Most people are very subtle about it, or don't express it at all because she's well. She's kind of weird. And doesn't always get what they're saying. She's actually just autistic and doesn't know how love works because nobody's explained it in a way that makes sense to her. And Laurance doesn't quite get what her vibe is but she's really fucking pretty, and also not afraid to give him a piece of her mind but in a light hearted way.

A lot of Irena's early interactions have her express herself in rather comedic ways, like she's super witty, because most of the people she learned from were bards and con men. She can be off-putting to some, but to Laurance? A girl who he can say romantics to and she'll respond with some cheeky retort that isn't an outright rejection? And she's beautiful and could maybe beat you in a fight?? Irena is the girl of Laurance's dreams.

And Laurance is always a fiercely dedicated person. He's known Irena for three weeks, and yet he'll still go into the pits of hell by her side. Laurance has read so many romantic poems and stories, I imagine that ancient Greek literature still exists in this universe, and he's read the tragedies of men who thought they could walk through hell and back safe and sound. He knows that Orpheus always turns around to see if Eurydice is there, but he's confident that they won't have to do that. He's confident he'll walk out of hell hand in hand with her.

No, what happens to them is worse. We all know the story. In order to save the life of one of his closest friends and the life of one of the most mystifying people he's ever rapidly fallen in love with, Laurance actively and willingly sacrifices himself. Irena returns to Phoenix Drop days later and when she finds Garroth at the guard station, she just collapses into his arms and begins weeping.

He's caught her crying before, but never like this. She's never completely fallen apart. He doesn't even know what happened, and she's too wracked with guilt to say anything at first. She knows how Laurance felt. She doesn't know what love is exactly supposed to be, but she knows what it looks like. She's seen people fall in love by staring at one another from across a fire pit. She could tell on day two that Laurance was falling hard and fast, and she was honestly scared the same might be happening.

Now she can't even bring herself to admit it out loud because he's gone, and in her eyes, it's her fault. Oddly enough, once she's able to admit some of what happened, omitting certain details about the nature of her and Laurance's relationship, Garroth is actually able to empathize with her. He isn't very direct at the time, but he gives her advice on how to use her grief as a motivator. Laurance sacrificed himself for her sake, and he would want her to keep moving forward.

Content Warning (y'all knew this was coming): Torture

What ends up being a brief period of time without Laurance, only about two months or so for the Overworld, is far far longer in the Nether. Laurance was planning on dying a warriors death, but after he suffered a nearly killing blow, he was kept alive, and dragged back to The Shadow King's castle. The Shadow King is only a phantom at this point, a pitiful version of his former self. But conscious enough to give orders, and to allow Gene to do what he wanted with this Shadow Knight. Let him prove himself.

So Laurance gets tortured. A lot. And is forced to become a shadow knight without dying. Which the Shadow King didn't even think was possible?? How tf did he fuckin do that, fuckin wizard. The entire process is unbearably painful, and Laurance's only solace are memories of Irena, some other prisoner he gets to talk to on the other side of the cell wall, and oddly enough, memories of a guard he hadn't seen in... years. At his lowest moments, Laurance wishes he could see Garroth, wonders where he is, what's happening in his life, if he managed to get the head guard position he rightfully deserved in some thriving village.

It's the last persons name he starts crying that finally breaks him. Laurance starts thinking about his family, about everyone he's lost, everyone he's going to lose is he dies here, and everyone he might lose if he somehow makes it out alive. The existence of shadow knights is contradictory by nature, and it's starting to break Laurance down. He starts to lose his sense of self. It's only when he weeps at the memory of a young boy finding a wounded wyvern in the woods that something finally happens.

Within seconds the wall is broken into, Laurance gets grabbed, and he's suddenly flying through the Nether in his best friends mouth. And going through the open rift between realms? One that was forcibly opened with the life essence of an immortal under dire circumstances? Laurance was not pretty when Irena and Garroth found him. He was malnourished, a little too pale, so many scars, his hair was all fucked up, and when they first found him, he just wasn't breathing.

Eventually Zoey is able to get his condition stable, but Irena refuses to leave his side until he wakes up. Laurance is out for a few days, and she's dedicated to being there when he wakes up. He has to. If he dies, then both his death and Ungrith's are her fault, and she can't let it end like that. He has to wake up. He has to.

When Laurance finally wakes up, he only notices he's blind because he can hear Irena's voice but can't see her face. But he can feel her hand in his. She's alive. His sacrifice wasn't meaningless because she's still alive. This is the point that we really get the ball rolling, and the point that I take the canon story out to the back alley to be violently beaten to death.

When Laurance desperately confesses his love to Irena, she remains quiet. She listens, and only when his breathing starts to even and the panic has subsided a little does she simply mutter the words "I missed you too Laurance."

"Would you say you loved me?" She has to think for a minute. Lots of people have tried to quantify love to her, explain how it feels or what it looks like, and despite best attempts, Irena still struggled with the concept. But when she sees Laurance's beaten form nearly crying, iron grip on her hand, and the weariest smile on his face, she sort of just gets it. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world that she loved him from the first back and forth they had while walking to Castor's house. Suddenly she can see the appeal of spending all her time around another person.

"I suppose I do."

As for Garroth falling for Laurance, I've covered this on my main blog twice before so I'll simplify it here. Laurance has repeated nightmares/night terror related to his experience in the Nether, and when Garroth is comforting him after one, he realizes this fool of a guard he met in the academy all that time ago is still taking up so much space in his mind.

He realizes it's love, and starts freaking the fuck out because Garroth?? Loves two people?? And one of them is a man???? What the fuck is going on??? Unlike my previous musings, there's a lot more time dedicated to this. Laurance's recovery is slow, and while Zane does interrupt this time, when he's gone there's even more time for Garroth, Irena, and Laurance to all just sit with these emotions.

(Trust me I have a lot to say about how I'm handling Zane and what he does to the story in this rewrite, but that is an essays worth of a post unto itself)

Maybe talk about them with their loved ones. Obviously Garroth doesn't talk to anybody at first, but Irena might go to Zoey. Tell her how she's feeling and Zoey has a faint ache in her heart because she still can't bring herself to admit she feels that way about Irena. Laurance talks to Cadenza about how happy Irena makes him, and how much he wants to share that with Garroth. She nearly whacks him over the head and tells him to just fess up to them already, stop talking to her about it when he clearly understands how he feels. Laurance always does, he's just got a lot of room for improvement in communicating it.

And one day when they all manage to have a day off, Laurance sits the two of them down at the docks and the three of them just talk. He spills his guts to them, tries not to be too emotional about it, fails miserably, and they just sort it all out. No need to hold it in, no need for Irena to deny them this time, and even if Garroth faintly thinks this is a waste of time at the start, when Laurance very directly says that he's in love with Garroth, that opinion very quickly changes.

Irena freely admits she doesn't have a lot of experience with love or relationships, but she knows that she feels love for both of them, and she'd like to try something. Even if it's quiet. Even if they have to hide it so Zane doesn't try to use it against them. She wants to try. And well, Garroth really can't say no to them. He's still faintly terrified of being emotional and vulnerable with people, even though he's already been this way with both of them. He's still so paranoid it'll get them hurt.

But he'll learn to let down his guard for them. They're worth it.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Ballad of Lost Souls

Eric Draven (2024) X f!reader

Summary: what happens when two lost souls find each other? Cling to each other? Love could be a very dangerous drug indeed. You and Eric meet during rehab.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, hair pulling, choking, size difference, size kink if you squint, bit of inexperienced!reader, Eric is actually a sweetheart, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of substance abuse, addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, this movie is dark what do you want me to say

Reader has tattoos, but has no further specifications, y’all get to be tattooed girlies today, you’re welcome

WC: 5.7K I’m sorry

Inspo creds @kingkat12, she also posted an Eric fic with the same concept and some of the elements of this story like some of the dialogue bits were inspired after reading hers. Please give her some love! She’s a great writer

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT ME. idc, I love Eric okay, stfu. I just had to write him. He just needs love man. That’s all. I want to give him love. So here you go. I might make a part two if there’s enough interest. When I tell you the Eric fic supply is LOW, I’ve never seen one so LACKING. So I just had to yk? Enjoy and don’t cancel me alright.

You didn’t often dwell on the past. You had a live in the moment kind of mindset. You didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow so you made the best of the moment. But sometimes, you wondered just where your bad decisions were taking you. You didn’t mean to end up here, in this awful bubblegum pink sweater and sweatpants, surrounded by people who didn’t care why you were here, or if you got better or not. The disappointed words of your mother played in your head, and the angry words of your father hammered in the back of your head. You were a fucking disappointment, and that’s why you were here. 

You thought about ending it. This mess your life had become. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a razor around here if you truly tried. Who would miss you anyway? What even was the point of it all? By day two you couldn’t take this shit anymore. And then you saw him in the yard. You were almost entranced by him. He was so tall, he towered over everyone he walked past, you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you would look standing next to him. You could see his ink cover his hands and fingers, and you wondered just how far the ink traveled. You were intrigued by him, he was quiet, morbidly so, he didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much they pressed or tossed him around, he just stared. Whether it was the doctors, the counselors, the guards. He always chose silence. And he always had this look of defiance, of apathy, he took everything with a locked jaw and deadpan eyes. And that intrigued you.

Should you try to entertain anyone in this facility, let alone the loner covered in tattoos? No, absolutely not. But lord, something about him drew you in. 

You caught glimpses of him for a few days, in the cafeteria when you walked past him to your table, maybe he thought you didn’t notice, but you caught him turning his head to watch you walk by. One time, your eyes met, they were a pretty shade of green. It was brief though, as soon as he realized you caught him, his eyes were in front of his plate, but not before you managed to flash him a tiny smile. Welcoming, playful. 

Eric remembered that. 

The next time you saw him was out in the yard. They encouraged exercise in this place, for some dumb reason. The most people did around here was stand in a corner, feeling completely miserable under the scorching sun. But much to your surprise, after some time walking around the yard you found Eric, lingering by the gym equipment. It wasn’t much, just a pull up bar and that was barely tall enough to accommodate him. No weights, of course, because someone could hurt themselves, or someone else with them. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t help but watch as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing even more tattoos going up both of his arms. You stood in a corner like a fucking weirdo, watching as he did pull up’s, as best as he could having to bend his long legs to accommodate the short bar. Why were you just staring at this man you’ve never even spoken to? Of that you had no clue. But you couldn’t take your eyes away. He had his back to you, but even under the material of his white t-shirt you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense, his arms flexing with each pull. And you could only I magine the true sight of him. Sweat dripping down his forehead, lips pulled between his teeth as he did each pull. God, you felt like such a pervert. You shouldn’t be eye fucking him like this, but you couldn’t help it, something about him twisted the most secluded corners of your mind.

Ultimately your trance was cut short, since it didn’t take long for a group of guys to take interest in whatever Eric was doing and went straight to push him around some more. You frowned, almost upset by the sight of him getting tossed around and hazed like this. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but Eric had his head down, chest heavy as he clenched his fists at his sides, but he otherwise did nothing. You didn’t care, any fucks you still had to give were gone the moment your parents and your ex-boyfriend conspired to send you here. You were about to walk over there, not caring about what weird opposite sex rules this place had. But when you started walking, Eric did too, getting shoulder checked as he pushed his way past the group of guys. You felt awful, you wanted to say something to him, but you were frozen when he walked past you, his green eyes shooting a quick glance at you, a bit of curiosity laced in them. But you were more focused on how his shirt was clinging to his sweaty chest. And just like that he was gone.

The next time you saw him was during a group meeting that afternoon. You were almost disappointed at first when he didn’t show. You sulked into your seat for the first minute or two, upset you wouldn’t get to see him today again. And then you saw him. His expression as apathetic as ever, like he would rather get beat up than sit through this bullshit. His hair was soaking wet, small droplets of water still falling from the tips of his raven hair. Great, now the image of him in the shower was ingrained into your brain. As if you didn’t feel filthy enough.

You bit your lip softly, sitting up as he sat across from you, his expression blank with disinterest as his tattooed fingers played with the hem of his pink sweater. You weren’t paying attention either, you were more entertained by the way his long legs spread open as he slouched on his chair, taking as much space as possible. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on his lap. You glanced at his hands, they were huge. How easily he could grab a hold of your ass, or hold you still by your neck. How his long fingers would feel so deep inside you. You thought about how easily he was doing those pull ups, and you thought just how easily he could hold you down, throw you around to as he pleased with you. Truly, you would happily let him use you. You could feel heat rush to your face as you crossed your legs, trying your best to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. Why were you lusting so hard over him? You didn’t even know his name. 

Almost as if he could hear your pounding heart, Eric looked up to find your eyes lingering on him, one leg crossed over the other tightly. He tilted his head with curiosity, and his fingers twitched around his sweatshirt as your eyes met. He didn’t feel like looking away this time. The longer his hooded eyes were on you, the more nervous you became. You could feel your breath hitch in your chest as his eyes burned you. You only looked away when the counselor said your name, followed by stares. 

Shit, were you supposed to say something? 

You opened your mouth, immediately closing it as you had nothing to say. You didn’t even hear the question. You pursed your lips and shook your head lightly. The counselor sighed softly and looked to the girl beside you instead. It was common for most people here to refrain from speaking so he didn’t think too much about it. But when your eyes found Eric again, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes, a ghost of a grin tugging at his plush lips. For the first time since you’ve been here, you saw something other than disinterest on his face. 

Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. 

~~~

You pulled your lips into a disappointed pout as you searched around the cafeteria for his black mullet, not being able to find him. And here you thought today would be the day you finally spoke to him. You were about to sit at the nearest empty table when you found him. Even sitting down he stood out. You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. You looked around for guards, none were paying particular attention to you so you did it. 

He lifted his head slightly to glance at you, a quick second before his eyes were back on his plate. You saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You smiled to yourself.

“I like your ink.” Were the first words out of your mouth. You said them in one breath, afraid he would get up and leave. His eyes lifted from his hands to meet yours, his eyes then fell to your own hands, one of them covered in distinct patterns and colors from your wrist up to your fingers. He wondered what else you were hiding under your sweater, like him.

“Hm.” He gave you a small nod, his plush lips pulled between his teeth in a way that had you clenching your thighs. “I like yours.” 

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’ve gotten here.

“I have more.” You whispered, leaning close to him, like it was some secret only for his ears to hear. His eyes flickered with amusement and he gave you another hum, his eyes now looking everywhere they could in hope of finding said secrets. 

“Me too.” His lips curved up the slightest bit as he lifted one of his sleeves up enough to reveal more tattoos going up his arm. Your eyes lit up as you excitedly leaned down closer with the excuse of getting a closer look. Your proximity was certainly way too close for this facility.

Leaning impossibly close to him without actually touching him, you looked up at him and with a playful smile you pulled down the collar of your sweatshirt to reveal more designs along your collarbone, the rest of the design hidden by your sweater as the colors continued down your shoulder. 

“But don’t tell anyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. He gave you what sounded like a chuckle and he shrugged.

“Who would I tell?” Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes had a glint that mimicked your eagerness, he welcomed your proximity. “Here he comes.”

You were confused by his words and you opened your mouth to question him as he sat back, his head lifting in the direction behind your head. 

“Males and females can’t sit together!” One of the guards, one you had noticed had a particular thing with Eric shouted, roughly grabbing the back of his chair to force him up on his feet.

“Huh? Wait, why are you taking him?” You talked back to the guard. “Hey, he didn’t do anything! I was the one that sat here. I—I’ll move. Don’t be such an asshole! Leave him alone!” You tried to help, even going as far as standing up but the guard was already taking the new owner of all of your attention away. Your heart sank as you watched the guard shout at him as he dragged him away.

He had managed to turn his head back for a second, and when your eyes met, he half smiled at you. He was almost proud of the fact that you tried to stand up for him. “I’m Eric!”

You smiled. 

~~~~~~

“Found you.” You skipped into Eric’s room, finally seeing his door open.

You hadn’t seen him since you got him in trouble at their cafeteria the day before. You got in some trouble too. You had a one on one meeting with a counselor about your choice of words and your “temper” but it was nothing more than just a slap on the wrist. Truly, you felt worse about getting Eric in trouble more than anything. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to talk to him. He must have gotten punished because you didn’t see him during gym hour. You leaned against the doorframe as he turned around to find you. Curiosity filled his otherwise empty eyes, and a glint of amusement replaced the usual apathy in his gaze.

“I never left.” He answered with a shrug as he shuffled through the mess that was made of his artwork. Sketch papers were scattered all over his room, torn off the walls. Perhaps after getting in trouble during lunch they used that as an excuse to go through his room. 

“I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.” You expressed with genuine regret, shooting back a glance to the hallway before inviting yourself into his room. Much to the protest of the rational voice in your mind. You looked at the floor as you almost stepped on a piece of paper, you happily picked it up, admiring the black charcoal coating the page before you set it on his bed.

“Is that why you’re here? To apologize?” Eric asked almost cynically as he glanced over at you, not moving from where he stood.

“Well yeah. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” You said sheepishly, a bit intimidated under his intense gaze. There was always a look of defiance in his green eyes, determination even. He gave you a sarcastic hum, which made you roll your eyes.

“Why did you yell at the guard? You got in trouble too, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, his head slightly tilted as he searched for that little thing you did around him, when you clenched your hands at your sides, or your thighs on your seat. His eyes irked with amusement when your fingers twitched at your sides and your lips parted open.

“‘Cause… You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything, or say anything. And everyone around here always pushes you around. It’s fucked up.” You answered quietly, daring to meet his eyes. He pulled his lips into a small pout and nodded slowly. His silence was always so nerve wracking to you.

“Yeah, so?”

You scrunched up your face, sighing heavily at his questioning. What did he what you to say? You didn’t know why you cared. You shrugged, picking up another piece of paper by your feet. You half glanced at it as you spoke.

“I dunno.. I just.. Oh my—” You cut yourself off as you gave the drawing in your hand a proper look. You narrowed your eyes, giving the drawing a closer look, and your jaw fell open. It looked like you, your hair falling over your face, dark scribbles covering your body symbolizing the unknown designs on your body, the only intelligible one being the patterns on your collarbone, the same one you had shown Eric. But what truly caught your eye was that you were in fact, completely nude. Truly, his imagination surprised you, he had imagined every curve of your body well, despite not having seen any part of it.

Based on your flustered expression, Eric could only assume which drawing you had picked up. He swallowed, his cheeks flushing pink being caught red handed. But he didn’t look apologetic, at all.

“This what you do in your spare time? Draw naked girls?” You asked with big eyes, the still working rational part of your mind screaming alarms, but a part of you also filled with excitement at his perverted mind. Almost as if you were on his mind as much as he was on yours.

He shook his head. “Just one.” He answered with a shrug, a challenging look in his eyes. 

Either you walked out right then and there, and that would be that, or you would go all in. He was trying to figure out which one it would be.

“You are very talented, this is—” You dragged your tongue over your lip as you walked closer to him, catching glances at his other artwork. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached him, his gaze making you shudder. He said nothing as you stooped in front of him, now having to tilt his head down to meet your gaze. God this man was so goddamn tall. “You could totally sell this for some money.”

“But,” you continued, swallowing hard as you looked up at him, and the way his green eyes looked at you made your mind all fuzzy. God, you haven't felt this euphoric since you got here. This rush of adrenaline made you dizzy, but you pushed through it. “I see one flaw in your creativity.”

“Oh?” He bit down on his plush lip, head tilted with curiosity. You hummed and nodded, daring to bring your fingers up his chest. His breath hitched in his chest, but he said nothing.

“I fear you don’t have the full picture. My tattoos are more than just a scribble of ink.” You stated matter of factly, making him breathe out a small laugh.

“Sorry. I work with what I have.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling of your hands itching up his chest.

“Maybe I should give you more to work with?” Your hands found the back of his neck and you instinctively stood on the ends of your toes, itching to get closer to him.

Eric glanced down at you, his eyes lingering on your own for a split second before glancing at your parted lips, soft breaths escaping you as you anxiously waited. He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t want to. His mouth was on yours so hard you whined. His large hand found your hair, tilting your head back to meet your lips better. 

You weren’t sure when you ended up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around Eric’s slim waist as he held you up. You were right, he could hold you up like you were nothing. Truly, the oversized clothes you were forced to wear didn’t do him any justice. You wondered what he was hiding under his sweatshirt.

His lips were messy on yours, his heavy breaths joining your soft whimpers. You were so caught up in the delicious feeling of his mouth claiming yours and his hands touching everywhere he could, you didn’t hear the loud voices of guards calling your name and patient number. Reality dawned on you when you heard shouting down the hall for everyone to get out of their rooms. You patted Eric’s shoulder, forcing your lips away from his. 

“Eric—Eric.” You said his name with urgency, making him look at you, eyes filled with greed as he chased your lips. “I have to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.” 

He nodded after a second, setting you down on your feet after pressing one last kiss to your lips. You had a stupid smile on your face as you successfully sneaked out his room, the guards being distracted as they probably ransacked some poor bastard's room like they had done Eric’s. You glanced behind you as you hurried down the hall, catching a glimpse of Eric peeking his head through his door. He smiled. And it made your heart race.

You could not wait to see him again.

~~~~~~

“Eric!—” You slapped your hand over your mouth, attempting to quiet the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. But the way his tongue lapped at your sensitive clit and his long fingers rubbed against that one spot within your walls that had you squirming.

You didn’t mean to end up in this position, ass naked on top of one of the washing machines in the laundry room, with Eric on his knees and his face between your thighs. Truly you didn’t, you knew you would be in a lot of fucking trouble if you got caught. But the way his lips claimed yours, his tongue lacing with yours, his large hands grabbing at every part of your body like he didn’t know which one he craved to touch more. He just wanted you so fucking bad, your kisses and little rubbing here and there for the past few days wasn’t enough for him, or for you.

“I wanted to taste you so fucking bad.” He muttered against your clit, a groan rumbling in his throat when you pulled at the hairs on the back of his head, inadvertently holding his face closer against you. Not that he minded, he would stay here, with his fingers scissoring you open until you dripped on the surface underneath you. 

“Please—fuck. That feels so good.” You didn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good. Not that you had much experience in this area, but this sure felt right.

Eric wrapped his free hand under your thigh, pulling you to the edge, closer to his mouth. He lapped at your pussy like he needed it, like it was the air in his lungs. The sounds leaving his mouth as your juices seeped around his fingers were almost as filthy as yours. 

You felt like such a slut, chasing his mouth with your hips, heaving like a bitch in heat, and quietly begging him to grant you your release, as quiet as you could be with his fingers so deep and his tongue drawing delicious circles around your clit. 

“Just like that baby… Just like that.” Eric mumbled, his fingers slipping and crooking against that perfect spot. 

Your release was so sudden, and it hit you so hard you were shaking, sobbing violently into your hand. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Eric dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you. 

“Shit—Eric—” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face. 

With a grunt he peeled himself from the warmth of your thighs, he stood to his full height before leaning down to capture your lips. The taste of yourself lingering on his tongue made you moan. Disoriented, you reached down to rub where his cock was straining against his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, his large hand flew to catch your wrist.

“It’s okay.” He gave your lips a soft kiss as he pulled your hand away. You gave him an adorable frown, your mind still spinning from your orgasm. 

“But you—” He pressed another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. He moved his lips to your neck, latching on to that one spot that had you whining. Neither of you cared if everyone saw the mark he left. 

“We’ll have time for that.” He mumbled against your skin. The way he slurred the words made your breath hitch. “Right?”

He pulled back to meet your eyes, blinking slowly as he waited for your response. You licked your lips softly, breath soft as you thought, how could he still question it. You were past the lusting. This was something else. You needed more of him, and it wasn't just sex you were craving. You wanted every part of him, even the parts of himself he didn’t want.

“Of course.. This isn’t.. Can’t you tell? What you do to me. I’ve never..” You couldn’t even form the right words, your mind still fuzzy with all these feelings you had no name for. You didn’t need to explain. Whatever it was, Eric felt the same. And he smiled, he genuinely smiled. And what a pretty sight that was.

“We should go.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head, smoothing down your hair and fixing your sweater. “Can you stand?”

You half nodded, gasping when he set you down on your feet and you instantly leaned on him for support. The sly smile on his face made you want to slap him. But deep down, you wanted to smile too.

~~~~~

The next time you saw Eric, he was walking down the hallway, his tall frame towering over the majority of people he walked past. He wasn’t hard to find. You bit your lip, unable to contain your excitement as you hurried after him. Your fingers brushed his, and almost as if he knew your touch by heart, he wasn’t startled, he didn’t flinch either. When he turned his head, his eyes grew big at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curving into a tiny smile. You flashed him a whole smile, unapologetic about how happy it made you to see him. Your obsession with him over the past two weeks wasn’t something you could explain, you knew it probably wasn’t healthy. But when were you ever known for having healthy coping mechanisms? You found something that filled you and you clung to it.

“Where are you going?” You asked him quietly as you walked beside him. He walked slower, but didn’t look at you much, as not to bring unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Laundry room.” He said quietly, his eyes dropping to meet yours. And you shared that knowing and malicious look. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. This time of day usually meant you could sneak off for a little while since most patients were having their once a week visitor, or phone call, which meant less guards were in every corner.

“I’m supposed to be out in two weeks.” You told Eric in between kisses, his lips trailed your jaw as his hands grabbed at your ass. 

“I’m out in four.” He answered as he pressed you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your face between his large hands, pulling you to meet his eager mouth. You whined, fists clenched around the front of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t go two weeks without seeing him, you would go fucking mad.

“I don’t want to wait a month to be with you.” You breathed out, your chest heavy as the words left your mouth. “I’m supposed to go back to my parents when I get out. They agreed to take me in to follow my treatment, but I don’t want to go. They’re the ones that put me here.” 

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” You barely heard him as he spoke, almost as if the words pained him, broke something deep inside him. It broke something in you, too.

“You can come with me. I have a little place and some money saved. It’s not much but.. If you want.. We could.. We could try something for real?” You trailed off, afraid he would reject you. It was one thing to mess around in here, where neither of you had anything else, anyone else to cling to, but this being anything other than a desperate bond by two lost souls was a different story. Outside of these walls, he could find anyone else, he didn’t have to keep the broken girl he fingered in a shitty laundry room.

“I would like that. I would like something real, with you.” His words were soft, as were his hands holding your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed out a laugh of relief. “Fuck this place. We’ll do it tomorrow, during shift change. There’s a vent up here that leads to the yard.”

You pulled him down by his sweatshirt, your lips crashing against his. He laced his fingers in your hair as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You welcomed it, lips parting as you locked your arms around his neck. 

“Eric.” You said his name softly in a quiet plea. He opened his eyes to find your desperate gaze. He told himself he wanted to be better, he knew you deserved better, but when you said his name like that, when you looked at him like that. He was no better. “I don’t think I can wait anymore. Please, I… I need…”

“Need what?” His words were coated with arousal, he knew fucking well what you meant. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Fuck—” You kissed his lips roughly, any sanity and restraint you might’ve once had, completely. You can’t trust an addict to have good self-control, now could you? “Take me. I’m yours, just take me.”

“Fuck.” Now it was his turn to lose his sanity. He gave your lips one last kiss as he squeezed your cheeks between his fingers, licking your lips before he spun you around to face the wall. “You’re a sweet girl, don’t forget that. I swear I will fuck you properly on a bed, with flowers and shit.” 

His words were rough in your ear as he pressed his lips to your jaw, his hands making quick work of pulling down your sweatpants and panties. They pooled around your ankles as he kicked your legs open as far as they went.

“I like carnations.” You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. You heard him chuckle beside your ear.

“Those are pretty. They’re pretty like you.” He hummed as he brought two fingers up to your lips. You happily took them in your mouth. Eric almost moaned at the sight. One of these days he needed to have you sucking his cock. One of these days. 

Eric pulled his fingers from your lips and with a kiss to the back of your head, he sunk his coated fingers into your hole. Your mouth fell open, your forehead falling against the wall. You were instantly chasing his fingers, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you happily rode them. You didn’t know how he did it, how he could have you dripping around his fingers in a matter of a minute or two. You were clawing at the wall, silent moans spilling from you when he pulled his fingers from you. He watched almost proudly as your slick coated your thighs. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, tugging at the hem of your sweater. You made a humming sound, as best as you could. As if he needed to ask. Eric was happy to rid you of your sweater, more happy to find more hidden tattoos going all over both of your arms. He craved to find every single one of your tattoos, and kiss every one. But he knew it would be best to be quick.

His own sweatshirt met the same fate, and with a kiss to your cheek, he grabbed one of your hips as he pulled down his sweats enough to free his cock. A groan left his lips as he dragged his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. You gasped, not being able to see him, but already knowing he was big. 

“Let me know if it hurts, hm? I’ll take it easy, I promise.” He pressed his lips to your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank himself into you. Only his tip was in and you could already feel the sting of his cock stretching you wide open.

“Fuck. Fuck, oh my god—” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers clenching around nothing as he slowly filled your further, inch by inch.

“It’s okay. You want me to stop?” He asked, shushing you softly as he sat still, allowing you to adjust to the burning feeling of his size. Fuck, you should have known someone as tall as him would be this big. Somehow, it didn’t occur to you.

“No. ‘m okay. Keep going.” You reached behind you to touch him, your fingers gracing over the side of his face. He nodded into your neck, one of his hands sneaking to the front of you to play with your clit to ease you as he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. He sat still, speaking filthy words into your ear until you were whimpering, needing to feel more. “Eric, please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up. It was grueling, how he fucked you against that wall. You braced yourself with one hand, the other holding his face behind you as he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“Fuck, I have been dreaming about this since I saw you. You always looked so pretty when you looked at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hand wrapping around your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck. You cried out, his roughness making you clench around him. He cursed, covering your mouth with his large hand. “I need you to keep it down for me, baby. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” 

You shook your head, doing your best to contain the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand slowly left your mouth, trusting you could keep your sounds to a minimum. You bit down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as his cock split you open. You swore you had never been this utterly fucked out, so cock drunk before. You had never needed anyone so badly. You had never felt so strongly about anyone. You had always found something to cling to, pain, tattoos, in your more miserable and recent years—drugs, and now him. But him? This feeling he gave you, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. You wanted to hold on to him until your final breath of air left your lungs.

“I wanted this—you—so fucking bad. I needed to have you.” Eric grunted, lips latching on to that spot on your neck where the previous hickey he had left was starting to fade. “I’m so crazy about you, no amount of rehab could fix me.” 

You moaned at his words, letting them sink in. He was down so bad for you, probably as much as you were. Two addicts, seeking refuge in each other, craving this adrenaline, it was a kick you had never felt before. It was a kick only lust and passion could bring. And he ignited that deep within your soul. 

“Me too.” You panted, lips parting in ecstasy as one of his tattooed hands loosely wrapped around your throat. Fuck, the way his whole hand covered your entire neck made you gush all over his cock. “I’ve never wanted anyone this bad. You—ah!—I need you all the fucking time.”

“Then you can have me,” His fingers squeezed your throat tighter, his thick cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your fucking cervix. “All the fucking time. Forever.” 

Tears filled your ears as you could feel your release near, your thighs shuddering as you felt your legs start to give out. Eric was quick to press you further against the wall, his back flush against your chest, sweaty forehead pressed against your cheek as his cock rutted against you, over and over, until you were chanting a string of uh-uh-uh’s, your mind too overcome with the pleasure he was giving you to even speak. 

“I want you to come on my cock so fucking bad. I need it.” Groans fell freely from his chest as he once again slipped a hand to your swollen clit. The pressure of his rough fingers made you gasp, your throat closing under his grip. Your release hit you so hard you were sobbing, though mostly muffled by his tight grip. Tears fell down your cheek as your orgasm left you a shaking mess. You had never felt this way before—so overcome with pleasure you cried.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Good girl.” The hand on your throat left to wipe at your tears, soothing you as you came crashing down. 

Eric fucked you through your release, frantically chasing his own. His name left your lips with praise, sobs of your remnant pleasure as he pushed you to the point of overstimulation. But it wasn’t until he felt his own release near that he pulled out of you. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of your hands and wrapped it around his thick cock, his own hand guiding yours up and down his slick length, sweet praises leaving his lips until he was spilling himself. 

Heavy breaths and pants of exhaustion filled the small laundry room, the air smelled like sex, and the remnants of your forbidden times were left as evidence. Eric eventually spun you around to face him, a soft smile on his lips. You had only ever seen it once, after he ate you out days ago. It was rare to see Eric smile, but you made it a vow to yourself that you would always make him smile like this.

“How fucked up are we? Finding comfort in each other like this. Did it ever cross your mind?” You said softly as Eric helped you dress. He was bending down to grab your sweater and he stood up to his full height, towering over you, and his eyes were laced with an indescribable feeling.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so drawn to you, I looked for you everyday, and I thought I would go mad if I didn’t have you. And right now, I can tell you it’s not just lust. I’m entranced by you, I need you all the time. And if there’s one thing I learned from this fucking place is that you have to latch on to something, otherwise you’ll drown.” 

You were speechless, nothing but your soft breaths could be heard. A smile fell on your lips and you leaned into his chest. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, he’d be damn if he ever let you go anywhere but here.

“Addicts will be addicts, no matter how much they try to fix us. But it’s not always to drugs we’re addicted to.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you sank into the feeling of his arms. “This feeling? I never want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He mumbled into your hair, in his head reminding himself of your limited time, but he refused to let you go just yet. “Forever, right?”

“Yeah, forever.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i saw your prompt list and was hoping for number 6 with Aegon <3

‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’

Request: Aegon married Rhaenyra's daughter. When the king dies, Alicent lock her in the dungeons so she won't go to her mother and ruin the coronation. Aegon ask where his wife is and get you out himself. Tells the guard that his wife is not to be made prisoner

—

You always knew Alicent had madness running through her blood, but you never thought she would have you taken to the dungeons and imprisoned. 

After dressing in your day dress, you were walking down the corridors, looking for Halaena when you heard voices coming from the small council chamber talking about sending men to Dragonstone to kill your mother and Daemon. Before you could get to your bed chamber and write her a message to send by crow, one of the guards saw you and brought you to the dungeons. 

You tried to scream for help, but the sounds were killed by the stone walls. So you sank to the floor and curled on yourself, praying to the gods that someone would come get you out. Someone must have noticed your absence. 

At his return from the dragonpit, Aegon walked into your chambers and called to you. He assumed you were with his sister, so he went to Halaena’s chambers, but she told him she had not seen you. On his way back from his sister’s chambers, Aegon heard the servants whispering about ‘the blacks’ daughter’ and stopped them. 

With fury in his eyes, the prince stormed down to the dungeons. He didn’t have his sword on him — only Aemond wore it on the daily —, but he had his dagger. Whoever would try to oppose freeing you will end their day bleeding out. Aegon was not afraid of a fight. 

His footsteps echoed off the stone walls and the torches flickered as he passed. As he reached the entrance to the dungeons, Aegon clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tight with determination. Without surprise, two guards were stationed at the entrance. They moved to block the way when the prince approached. 

‘’We cannot let you go past, my prince. Orders of the Queen,’’ one of them said.

‘’The King’s dead, which no longer makes her Queen. And as the rightful heir to the throne, it is my command you obey.’’ Aegon tried to go past them, but the other guard pulled out his sword. ‘’I could have you removed from the kingsguard for pointing your sword at your future King.’’ His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger as he stared the defiant guards.

The threat hung heavy in the air, a silent warning of the consequences should they continue to defy him. After a tense moment, the guard who had brandished his sword reluctantly stepped aside.

‘’My wife is not to be made a prisoner,’’ Aegon declared, his voice ringing with authority, holding his dagger at the guard’s throat. 

The guard gulped. ‘’Yes, my Prince.’’ 

Aegon walked past them, wondering how his own mother could do this. A part of him was not surprised, though. Her determination often goes too far. 

Finally, he reached the row of cells. All were empty, except one. His heart was pounding in his chest as he saw you sitting with your knees pulled to your chest on the cold stone floor. He said your name and you looked up, tears welling up in your eyes as you stood and reached out to him. You knew he would come for you. 

‘’Aegon!’’ Your voice held relief. 

He grabbed your hand through the bars, cold from being down here, holding it. ‘’Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’’ Aegon reached out to caress your tear-streaked face, his touch a tender reassurance in the midst of chaos.��

Using the keys he stole from the guards, Aegon unlocked the door, a harsh creaking sound echoing in the silence of the dungeon when it opened. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if afraid to let you go. 

‘’Are you alright?’’ he asked, stepping back to look at you. 

You nodded. You were cold, and very thirsty, but not hurt. ‘’I heard your mother and her father speaking to the Lord Commander. They sent men to murder my mother,’’ you said, a tear slipping down your face. ‘’I was sent here so I wouldn’t write to her and risk ruining your coronation. I need to get to the dragonpit. I have to go to Dragonstone and save my mother.’’ 

—

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[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men React to Seeing You in Armor for the First Time

AN: Am I writing the same thing again and again? Yes. Does this please me? Very much.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 75% drama, 25% fluff. 100% cannon divergence

My Fav: Xavier and Zayne's

Xavier:

In a tournament against the knight to whom he had given a favor, he saw you.

His knight in shining armor, from some backwater village.

You defeated his champion in two effortless moves. He watched in fascination as you dismounted your horse and retrieved the handkerchief he had given to Ser Vance of Gor.

Then, catching him in the act of staring, you turned toward him. Pressing a kiss to the handkerchief, you made his heart shudder.

"Favors are to be won, not trodden on," you reasoned with the guards as they dragged you from the arena for stealing the royal favor.

From winning the tournament, to spending a night in prison, to kneeling before him in an oath. Xavier did not know when you became his dark knight.

Not until he realized you had stolen more than just a favor.

Rafayel:

He heard you first, the clash of swords and daggers, the thud of bodies hitting cold, hard ground.

And then he was blinded. After days of darkness, light flooded in, making him recoil into himself.

It had been weeks since you left for the campaign. Weeks since he had been captured from the shallow shores and thrown into the unlit cells that stank of death and fear.

Fighting the stinging pain in his eyes, he looked up, and there you stood. In all your glory. In your kingdom's armor, holding your sword- eyes wide with battle's fury.

He reached for you, though his tail, torn and raw, stung against the floor. They had not allowed him to shift. Still, with a thousand grievances, he reached toward you.

"Rafayel," you whispered, kneeling beside him and pulling him into your arms. "I am here." You murmured as your sword shattered his chains.

Your words made the bond thrum with joy despite the pain in his body.

"I am sorry it took so long," you said, wiping the gash above his brow. "But I’m here."

And that was when he cried. Shedding pearls his captors would have killed to possess.

Never before had waiting been so painful. But in every lifetime, a union with you was worth the suffering.

Zayne:

He had been an apprentice in Astra's halls when he first saw you, the herald to the God of Time itself. You stood proud at your lord’s side.

How you shone brighter than Astra himself was beyond Zayne. How could a mere herald possess such light?

But you were beloved. Rescuing disciples from Astra's wrath, smoothing over mistakes, appeasing Astra's tantrums. You were the calm in his halls.

Yet, you were also his sword, leading sparring sessions with the students of fate.

Zayne learned the way of the bow from you. Steadying his hands, you taught him the exact points to strike while he spoke to you of anatomy and healing.

He had always been a thorn in Astra’s side, a healer who fought to give life where there was none. Perhaps that was why he had been barred from battle.

Forced to tend to the wounded, far from the battlefield, so that his kindness would not extend to the dying on the other side.

On the eve of battle, you handed him your bow. "This is for your defense, and for the people around you." You fixed the quiver around him, the head of the healing halls.

As the herald leading the assault, your presence was a surprise to many, especially next to Zayne, the one who had angered Astra.

"And this," you said, handing him a satchel, "is for anyone who needs help. Friend or foe. We deny no one aid." You smiled.

And then you walked into the battle of time. Your armor burning bright as any star even as you fell.

Sylus (Angel x Demon au):

You were chaos. The bloodthirsty bane of heaven. He found you in the battles of men, the brothels of night, the tears of mothers.

You prowled the fields with plague and ruin dripping from your fingertips. Your crimson eyes burned with madness as you swept through the carnage with a scimitar. Blood clung to you, from your hair to your eyes, flowing like a river.

A terrible sight to many. Damning to him.

He had been sent to capture you, to deliver justice for the humans who prayed for help. He who had once beheld your unmarred form.

And when he pressed his sword to your throat, you had only laughed. A low, broken sound.

"We meet again," you had grinned, guiding his sword to your chest. Wrapping your hand over his. "This time, I shall have you forever."

You steadied the sword and pulled it into your heart.

Your breath ghosted over his ear as you whispered the prophecy of your shared fate. "Let this be a debt we shall settle for eons."

Your curse settled upon him. Dragging him down. Twisting him into a reflection of you in his soul, in his crimson eyes, and last of all, in his heart.

Unleashing upon him the wrath of unending time. Truly making him yours forever. Stealing him from the heavens, you won.

Caleb:

He hadn't seen you in your gear until the end. Not until you stood before him, pointing your gun at his chest.

"Colonel Caleb, you are under arrest for working with EVER. You will be detained until the trial." Your voice was devoid of emotion.

"Drop your weapons and step back."

You turned him around, folding his hands behind his back. The handcuffs snapped shut with cold finality.

"You have the right to remain silent." Your touch did not linger.

Your uniform was not unlike his. But he had never known. Not until now. There, on your lapel, was the badge of intelligence.

All these years, you had both managed to keep the most dangerous of secrets.

Despite himself, he smiled.

It vanished when your knee struck the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel.

Leaning down, you yanked him back by his hair. "Expect no mercy," you snarled before leaving him kneeling on the cold floor, surrounded by your officers.

tags: @mentaltrouble2201

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bitter

Azriel x Reader - One Shot - Angst

Elain orders a couple shots. Azriel’s ex serves her.

“Now I’m sick in the head and it’s not even my fault”

She laughs as she approaches the bar. Lovely, beautiful, kind. Gods, she smells like honey and roses too. She even says “please” as she orders two shots of Patron.

I’m almost surprised, Patron for such a flowery thing. The most girls like her typically order are Lemon Drops. A sugar sweet rim with a bit of sour beneath.

I’m sure he encouraged her. Tequila, his drink of choice for the ladies. The clothes fall off easier that way.

I’d know.

Four years, four years I’d worked here and never gone home with a customer.

Until the Shadowsinger.

He had those sad brooding eyes that you can’t help but want to fix. Hazel irises that seeped into the marrow of your bones like a cancer, seeking out the guarded depths of the soul.

“He’s been gone for nearly fifty years now.” He’d say as he threw back another two finger pour of whiskey - neat.

“The court isn’t the same without him. Even from a business standpoint, our imports are lacking. Which is fine, but it’s a testament to the effect the High Lord has on this court.” I’d reply as I poured him another.

“Yeah…..” he’d trail off. My heart clenched at the emotion disguised by a stoic facade, the slight feathering of his jaw before throwing back the next shot.

I’d take care of a few other patrons, returning back to the Shadowsinger with another round from the occasional guest who’d send him a shot. Despite the “Illyrian bastard” reputation he blasted, he’s revered in Velaris, he fares quite well in the bedroom. What’s the classic phrase? Tall, dark, and handsome? Yeah, he’s got all that. That and a tragic backstory, a perfectly symmetrical face, and the highly gossiped about wingspan.

Females and males alike line up for a chance to have those scarred hands wrapped around their throat. A chance to win his heart through sexual prowess and witty one liners.

I didn’t even want him. Perhaps that’s what caught his eye. A customer who tipped well? Of course he was that. I gave him a free shot once for being patient while an influx of customers waved dollar bills at me desperate for their next shot in advance of the rest of the queue.

The nights that he sat at the bar extended later and later until it became routine for him to pop in, take a seat, and shut the place down- all from the shroud of wispy shadows.

When was the first time he fucked me in the alley? The first night he walked me home? The first night my cat curled up behind him as my head rested in the crook of his arm?

“It’s not serious.” I told myself as I came to depend on him like heroin. He sure as shit didn’t make it feel that way.

There were plans. Plans for what we’d do together when things settled down.

Rosehall was beautiful in the spring but a winter wonderland in December. Even the Illyrian Steppes had lovely secrets if you knew where to look. He couldn’t wait to cradle me in his arms as those membranous wings took flight to all the wonders he’d share with me.

There was the attack on Velaris. My apartment building was wrecked. He never came to check in.

Then the war came and I understood.

I was certain he was busy.

But I didn’t see him again.

Until tonight.

And here she is. Warm and lovely, she tipped well before walking back to the table with those two shots of Patron. I told her they were on the house.

I want to hate her. I want to loathe him. It would make me feel better, right?

But being bitter leaves the soul weathered, so I pour another shot, serve the next customer, cash out, and saunter home.

And if a stray shadow lurks in the dark as I wander, that’s not my business anymore.

—————————————-

Tags:

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @ahaha0246

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

◇ SWINDLED 1 [TFA Swindle/Reader]

I've been thinking about Swindle lately and now this ridiculous scenario is stuck in my head. Pre-Decepticons losing. High Ranking Decepticon Reader. before Swindle's business hits big. THIS IS CRACK!!!

(im pretty damn sure this is an official comic panel, tell me if it isn't so i can credit the artist)

You're a loyal Decepticon, as loyal as they come. So loyal that you're one of Megatron's personal guards. Now, you normally wouldn't encourage violence against a fellow Decepticon who hasn't done anything against the Cause...

But right now, you want to rip Swindle's frame apart as you sit in a high-end energon bar somewhere in upper Kaon as the waiter-bot covers behind his tray, servos trembling as he notices your cold stare at the screen displaying the bill. Swindle said he had some grease on his servos and went to go clean himself up at the washbasins of this establishment, he's yet to return.

"...we had only ordered two glasses of high-grade and copper powdered parfait with chromium dressing. Why is the bill for a 10,000 shanix?"

This was atrocious. The waiter is trembling even more as he can hear the teeth in your tone, thinly veiled frustration as your cold crimson optics stare into the smaller bot's.

"Uh.. Uhm... W-Well, Commander... it's wartime and there's issues with our supply and the rations aren't making it a-any–" He stammers out, fearful of you. Knowing he's addressing one of Lord Megatron's personal guards. It would've flattered you had it not been in this situation. Even when seated, you're still taller than this Decepticon waiter.

"Just spit it out properly." You command, frowning. Gaze softening slightly. You won't take out your anger on some random Decepticon worker drone. The sheepish waiter bot calms himself down, realising you're not going to eat him. His meek demeanor doesn’t repulse you, it amuses you if anything. A small smile tugging the corner of your dermas. What a coward, you think... but again, you liked them pathetic.

Its why you went on this date with Swindle anyway.

"The mech you were with.. he said you'd pay and you'd pay off his tab as well."

What.

Upon seeing the expression your faceplates contorted to, the waiterbot couldn't help but going back to cowering and shaking with his tray. Your derma twitching, crimson optics widened and there is a seething, quiet rage circulating through your frame. There's hints of steam puffing out from how you might've busted a fuse from nothing more than rage.

You and Swindle didn't exactly have the most stable relationship per say, it was more like an on and off thing but even then...

How DARE he.

He's leaving you with the bill AND his tab after you sacrificed your precious time from guard duty for him? After you struggled to find time for him? After HE asked YOU out and you agreed? Swindle should feel honored that you, one of Lord Megatron's personal guards even agreed in the first place! This ungrateful little—

You take a deep vent to calm yourself before you make a scene in this place; you wouldn't want to do such a thing in front of others in a reputed establishment.

Perhaps this was your fault for even agreeing to be courted by a mech named 'Swindle'.

The waiterbot continues to stand there, waiting for your decision (and money) as you come to the realization you're wasting a random minimum wage worker's time.

"...I'll pay."

The waiter stands there for a moment, watching as you pay up. It's a large sum but thankfully, you have your transaction card.

You're never going on a date with this mech ever.

Meanwhile, Swindle walks out onto the nighttime streets of upper Kaon without a care in the world as he hums a tune, feeling smug at his 'genius' if anything. Swindle never regrets any of his decisions, unless it's the type to get the digits in his account lower. And with your selection of energon-bars, he might’ve had to sell his T-Cog to make the bill. Definitely a bad choice for his metaphorical pockets. Alas, he is but a small business owner dealing with illegal smuggled arms as his side gig. What is he to do if his sweetspark wants a fancy place to fuel at? Being a Combaticon doesn't pay you that well.

But... The thought that you might hate him hits. Making him pause his steps. Thinking for a moment. The idea of losing his Personal Guard lover that was at least a whole helm taller than him with a frame and face to kill for was not a great outcome. Swindle remembers how all the other Combaticons were practically seething with jealousy. Swindle doesn’t want to lose that. He ponders for a moment.

Nah, you wouldn't hate him. (delusional)

Besides... even if you do hate him, he could just charm you up again. Like this evening. The laughs, the compliments, the fuel. Swindle was used to this, used to appeasing the authority. Weaseling his way through. It's how he's got here, a small arms business that Swindle is sure will expand with his less than ethical business tactics.

Swindle will just come back to you soon enough and he's confident enough to know you'd be charmed by him again.

Wait. What if you go with someone else to get back at him?

Now that thought does worry him.

"Frag."

The self proclaimed small business owner turns his heels right around and heads straight back into the energon bar.

You, on the other hand, cannot wait to see him again to throw some very colourful words at his faceplates.

[slytherin-pen]

Season of Shadows I

A/N: My first fanfic and specifically my first time writing on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to comment suggestions or recommendations! I wrote this with an OC, but I love x reader fics too so I might give it a try in the future.

Ivy joined the Inner Circle six months ago, just before they went to war with Hybern. Now, a few weeks later, after wounds are healed, the Night Court is ready to celebrate their victory. All but one, one who thought everyone was blind to her fake smiles. She clearly underestimated the ever-observant Spymaster.

warnings: mentions of past death

pairing: azriel x oc

word count: 2.4k

all acotar related credits go to SJM

banner credit to @cafekitsune

series masterlist

The music at Rita’s reverberated in Ivy's ears as she observed her friends on the dance floor. Feyre, Rhys, Cassian, and Nesta moved sensually with their partners, while Mor attracted numerous admirers of both genders.

Ivy remained at their table alone nursing her third glass of wine. She wasn’t much of a drinker but taking a sip seemed to be her nervous tic at this point. Amren was spending the night with Varian, and Elain had stayed home as usual. Azriel had walked off to the bar shortly after the group's arrival. The Inner Circle had endured a lot. After the war with Hybern, several members suffered from significant injuries. Although wings and bones could be mended, the invisible scars often proved more challenging. This was Ivy’s current predicament. No amount of wine could erase the memory of witnessing her childhood best friend perish on the battlefield.

Hybern had infiltrated their village in the Spring Court, demanding the villagers either join them or die. Ivy had already left the village, following her now High Lady during her final escape from Spring. Ivy’s father, a guard for Tamlin, had been left to die for a High Lord who cared little for his people. When Ivy spotted Lucien and Feyre fleeing through the woods, she pleaded to join them, offering her powers in aid. She realized that to help her people, she needed to escape the Spring Court and align with those taking action.

Ivy’s ability to manipulate plants proved invaluable when, minutes after finding Lucien and Feyre, two Hybern soldiers emerged from the trees. Although she was not a fighter, she used the vines on nearby trees to restrain the soldiers, allowing Feyre to finish them off.

Now, as she sat in Rita’s, she reflected on every letter exchanged with Wells during Hybern’s reign over Spring, questioning when exactly she had failed him and her village. Upon joining the Inner Circle, Ivy had hoped to return and help her people, but she had not arrived in time. Wells had joined Hybern, believing it was the only way to save his family, but Hybern did not honor their agreement. Wells became a traitor in many eyes, dying in vain, and now his family and he were both gone.

Ivy could not share her grief openly. Not only was she the only one who knew Wells, but he was also deemed a traitor. Sympathy was scarce for those who had sided with the enemy. Her attempts to speak on his behalf were swiftly dismissed. Most believed that he should have died with honor alongside his family. It wasn’t that simple; he was just a kid, not a soldier. Her efforts felt futile, leaving her to mourn alone, bearing a heavy heart.

She slid out of the booth after finishing her wine. The two couples and Mor continued dancing as she made her way to the back door. She needed a moment to breathe. Being surrounded by joy while she crumbled inside was overwhelming. Stepping into the night, she took a sharp inhale, the chilled air biting her nose and cheeks, flushing her pale skin. A few paces from the bar, she sat on a bench facing a pathway through the town.

Ivy often distracted herself by imagining the lives of strangers based on their appearance. One couple that passed had clearly argued; the female stomped ahead while the male trailed behind, head down like a chastised child. Another female seemed to have just finished work at a bakery, given her tired demeanor and the white powder on her shirt.

Just as Ivy began to analyze a passing man, she sensed a presence beside her. Azriel sat down, his shadows lingering near his shoulders, with a few tendrils curling around her feet. He remained silent, staring straight ahead. Ivy accepted his company and resumed her people-watching.

A few minutes passed before Azriel spoke. “He’s a farmer.”

Ivy turned towards him. “What?”

Azriel nodded towards an older man with mud-stained knees and a tan stopping at his short sleeves. “That male, I bet he’s a farmer.”

“Oh,” Ivy murmured. “How did you-”

“I’m the Spymaster,” Azriel replied, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you.”

“Right,” Ivy said, wringing her hands together. Unlike Azriel's leathers, she wore a dress that ended at her knees and a thick wool cardigan. She still wasn’t accustomed to the Night Court’s weather. While it experienced all four seasons, unlike the Seasonal Courts, she thought she’d always miss eternal spring.

“Why are you out here instead of inside with the others?” he asked. His wings were tucked in, and Ivy swore she could see the moonlight streaming through the membrane. This, she thought, is a creature meant for the night.

“I just—” she took a deep breath, “needed a minute. It’s hard to hear your thoughts in there sometimes.”

“I understand,” he said. His hazel eyes searched her face. “Do you want to talk about it? I promise I’m the least likely in the Circle to interrupt you.”

Ivy chuckled at the jab at his more boisterous family members. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear it. No one else does.”

A shadow gently pushed strands of her blonde hair behind her pointed ear, giving Azriel a clearer view of her face. “Try me.”

She looked at him through her lashes and sighed. “My friend Wells. I miss him, or who he used to be, I suppose.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as if sifting through his memories. “The friend who joined Hybern?”

“Yes,” she said, a tear sliding down her face. “That friend. And honestly, Azriel, if you’re just going to tell me to forget about him or curse his grave, I really—”

Azriel took her hands, forcing her nails to release the skin they had been piercing in her tight grip. She could still feel the warmth through his leather gloves. “That’s not what I was going to say. Your friend faced a terrible choice. A choice that none of us have faced nor can we predict how we would’ve reacted. He was your friend, and you’re allowed to mourn him as such,” he said softly.

More tears clouded her blue eyes. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she rasped. “I visited our village a few days ago to see how the repairs were coming along.” Her gaze dropped to her hands still held in his, and he gave a comforting squeeze. “They wrote ‘traitors’ on the door in red paint, meant to look like blood, I’m sure. And the looks I got just for being there... I didn’t even dare try to clean any of it up.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “You went to Spring? With who?”

Ivy did not look up from their hands and bit her bottom lip instead.

One of Azriel's shadows crept under her chin, tilting her face towards him. His pupils flicked between her eyes before he asked incredulously, “You went alone, didn’t you?”

Ivy nodded, removing one of her hands from his grasp to wipe her tears with her knuckles. “I had no choice. Do you think if I asked, someone would’ve taken me? Your whole family hates the Spring Court.” Azriel clenched his jaw, swallowing the urge to correct her. They are her family too now, but her not viewing them as such was just a small piece of the puzzle he planned to solve.

“I would have.” He grabbed her hand again and scooted closer until their thighs touched, the leather of his pants grazing her bare skin. “I would have gone with you. Crossing borders alone is dangerous, no matter who you are. Besides, I would have supported you. You didn’t need to do that alone, emotionally either.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” she sniffled.

“Would you like to go home? To the House of Wind, I mean. Everyone else will stay at the River House tonight. Depending on how you want to spend the rest of your night, we could raid Rhys’ wine cellar or ask the House for tea.”

Ivy smiled slightly at the offer. “I’d like to go home. And have tea. I’m putting on a brave face right now, but I rarely drink, and I am feeling it.”

Azriel chuckled as he stood, gently pulling her up with him. “Would you like to fly or winnow?”

Ivy looked up at the sky and then back to Azriel. “I’ve never flown with you before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he smirked. He guided her arm around his neck before lifting her, one hand looping under her thighs and the other around her torso. “Hold on tight.”

An hour later, Ivy and Azriel finished their second cup of chamomile tea, courtesy of the House. Azriel had changed into a black tunic and sleep pants, while Ivy had replaced her dress with a nightgown under her cardigan.

The fire in the hearth provided some warmth, but Ivy's fingers and toes remained slightly numb from the cold. Lucky Illyrian, she thought. They were built for this climate. Ivy felt like a snake trying to survive in an igloo. She had settled in front of the hearth with a blanket in her lap, while Azriel sat in the armchair to her left. Some of his shadows slithered across the floor, into her lap, and curled around her hands. As she lifted her hands to observe them, she realized they had formed into glove-like shapes over her fingers.

“Are you still cold?” Azriel asked. Ivy had half a mind to tell him he already knew the answer. He didn’t need to be the Spymaster or use his shadows to notice the shivers she was trying to conceal.

Ivy smiled sheepishly. “A little, but it’s alright. I’ve lived here for six months, and hypothermia hasn’t claimed me yet.”

Azriel smiled as he stood before sitting on the floor next to her. “Well, I’d like to keep it that way.” He stretched his legs out alongside hers, pulling some of the blanket over himself before curling his wings around them. “Better?”

The view of the rest of the room was blocked by his wings, trapping the heat from the fire and directing it back toward him and Ivy. She could barely suppress the shudder of pleasure at the newfound warmth. She hadn’t realized how much of it had been wasted filling the rest of the room. “Yes, thank you,” she replied with a small smile.

Azriel put an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “It’s alright to miss your home, you know? Our family might not like Spring, and its High Lord even less, but we understand.”

Ivy sighed and played with a loose thread on the blanket. “I’d just rather not bring it up. Of course, I sympathize with what Feyre went through, not just the day I found her but before too. I just can’t stand to hear how they talk about it. The Spring I grew up in was nothing like she described, and now it’s all destroyed. It’s not like I could take everyone there now and show them how beautiful it was.”

Azriel was silent for a moment, pondering her words. She was right. The Inner Circle would never understand the beauty she claimed for the Spring Court, and with Tamlin as High Lord, they might never see it until someone else took over, which could take a millennium. “Cassian and I get into fights over Illyria sometimes.”

Ivy frowned as she faced the Shadowsinger. “About what?”

He shifted slightly and stared into the fire. “It’s no secret that Cass and I had our…misfortunes in the camps we called home. The difference now is Cassian still sees Illyria as his home. He still has hope it could be a better place someday.”

“And you don’t?”

Shaking his head, “No, I don’t.” Ivy reached over and grabbed his scarred hand, giving it a squeeze as he had for her. “Here is my home now. Rhys and Cass know that if I weren’t the Spymaster with duties requiring me to visit the camps, I’d never set foot in Illyria again. Aside from all the bad memories, the males don’t respect us, and they never will. It’s very difficult to change a place that sees you as dirt under their boots.”

Ivy fiddled with his scarred fingers in her lap. “So you and Cassian fought about what to do with the camps?”

“Not exactly,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “My point is that having disagreements about our homes is nothing new for us. Cassian and I see Illyria differently. Even Mor battles with herself about the Court of Nightmares. She hates her father and Hewn City, but it was still her home. No amount of hatred, even on her end, will change that. The same way none of our opinions about your home will change the fact that you grew up there. It will always have a piece of you.”

Her lips quivered before she turned her head away. “I wish I— I couldn’t help them in time. I left them alone thinking I was going to be some hero, we both did, and we both failed.” The tears rolling down her face reflected the flames in the hearth. “How am I any better than him? We both thought we were doing the right thing.” Instead of a shadow again, it was Azriel’s thumb that wiped her cheeks gently.

“And you weren’t wrong,” he whispered. “Just because things didn’t go as planned doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth trying. I have failed hundreds of missions in my lifetime. I don’t regret all of them. Some just didn’t go my way.”

“I regret this one,” she sobbed. “He’s dead. It’s all my fault!”

Azriel quickly brought her into his lap and tightened his wings around them. He cupped her face with his free hand as he spoke. “Ivy. Ivy, look at me.”

She continued to sob and gasp but looked at him nonetheless.

“It’s not your fault.” He rested his forehead on hers. “It’s not your fault. And I will take you to the Spring Court if that’s what you need. To help with repairs, say goodbye, pack— anything.”

“Thank you,” she rasped. “I appreciate that.” She attempted a small smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

Azriel smiled softly and kissed her head. “Why don’t we get you to bed? You’ll have a busy day tomorrow. You’re planning our itinerary.”

Ivy managed a laugh and nodded. Azriel easily stood with her in his arms and walked toward the stairs. “Thank you, Az. It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he whispered as her head rested against his chest and her eyes closed.

[muwapsturniolo]

✯EX For A Reason✯

summary: y/n realizes that Chris still has feelings for Dessi despite being in a relationship with him for two years

warnings: cheating, lying, fighting. auto vandalization, blood.

PT1 MWW1

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

"Lord you know how hard it is, dealing with the pain day to day over one man." y/n mumbles to herself as she lifts herself off the wall. She was currently at a party with her boyfriend of 2 years, and his brothers.

It was one of the triplets' close friend's birthday parties, meaning people she didn't know were there. The one person she does know but has never talked to is Dessi.

Chris's ex.

Currently, Chris was in the corner talking to Dessi, laughing as if the girl had never done him wrong. Y/n gives him the benefit of the doubt. Like she said, Dessi had done Chris dirty, dragged him to hell and back. Y/n was the one that had to lift him up and show him love again. Instead of being dramatic and popping off, she decides to get another drink. She knows Dessi will never amount to her, Chris would never leave her for Dessi.

A few days later, Y/n was lying in Chris's bed, waiting for him to get out of the shower. As she was waiting, Chris's phone was blowing up, ringing back to back with calls and texts.

"Who the fuck is that?" She mumbles in irritation. She snatches the phone from the nightstand. Looking at the notification bar, she sees Dessi's name with a heart next to it. She wants to go through the phone so bad, wanting to know why his ex is blowing up his phone. She eyes the bathroom door before unlocking the device. She goes to the messages and she's in disbelief.

Chris and Dessi have been texting.

For weeks.

The shower stops and she quickly puts the phone back where it was, relaxing back into the bed. Chris walks into the room, sweatpants hanging low on his waist. He's quick to lay on the bed, cuddling up to Y/n.

"You ever think about Dessi?" Chris snaps his head up, the question catching him off guard. "What the hell? Why would yo-Is she ever on your mind? Be honest." She watches Chris with hard eyes as he sits up. She knows he's going to lie to her like every guy does when they get caught up.

"N-No! I never think about her! Why are you asking me?" She notices how his eyes dart towards his phone. She scoffs and picks up the phone slamming it to his chest. Chris winces at the impact, wishing he put on a shirt. "Don't fucking play with me Chris! I'm not playing any games! Why the fuck are you texting and calling that bitch?!"

"S-She just wanted to tal-I don't give a fuck!" By now Y/n is yelling, leaving Chris nervous and concerned. "That bitch treated you like shit and broke you down! She's your ex for a reason, I give absolutely no fuck about what she wanted to talk to you about!" Chris has never seen Y/n this angry, it's honestly scary.

"Y-You're right! I'm sorry! I'll tell her to leave me alone." He attempts to calm her down, not wanting this to blow up more than it already has. "You fucking better! Cause if yall keep trying me I'm beating everybody's ass! Tell that bitch she better understand the consequences 'cause I'm not above spinning the block Chris, I'm not fucking playing!"

"Ok, ok! I'm sorry! Please just calm down! I'll tell her tomorrow let's just relax." He pleads, rubbing on Y/n's arms. It works, she calms down and settles back into the bed.

But little did she know, he was lying.

The calls and texts didn't stop, in fact, Chris never told Dessi to stop.

"That Bitch is just mad because Chris moved on and you got him in the end," Lani states firmly

"I just don't understand why he even bothered to speak with her! Like does he not know you don't play that shit and never have? I remember when you popped off on Jason!"

"I'm trying not to act like that with him. I don't like acting out, but I swear he's going to bring it out of me." Lani shakes her head, not liking what her friend is going through at all. Suddenly Y/n's phone rings and she picks it up.

"Hey Ma- Oh fuck..." Y/n frowns hearing Matt's words. Lani turns to her and mouths "Who is it?"

Y/n puts the phone on speaker and answers Matt, "Matt what's going on?"

She hears shuffling before Nick's voice is heard, "You know you're like a best friend to me right?" Lani and Y/n look at each other before she answers,

"Yeah?"

"Ok well me and Matt came home and saw a car parked in the driveway. We thought you got a new car, but you would never get a bright red car, I know you too well! So we come through the front door and we hear moaning..."

Y/n's heart falls to her stomach, not believing the words.

"And like, not to sound like a fucking creep, but I've heard you moaning and your shit is not that high pitched. Whoever it is could break fucking gla-Yall still at home?" Y/n cuts Nick off, her hands clenching the phone tightly.

"Yeah, we are outsi-I'm on my way. Don't go in that fucking house." She hangs up the phone, demanding Lani to drive to the triplet's house.

As they arrive, Y/n sees the bright red car in all its glory, sitting in the driveway. She recognizes the car from the party,

It's Dessi's.

She's hurt, feeling betrayed by the actions of Chris. She poured all this love and affection into him and this is how she is repaid?

Everyone gasps seeing her grab a rock and smash the windows of the red car. The car alarm goes off as she keeps vandalizing the vehicle. "Y/n stop!" Matt yells in panic, he can't believe Nick and Lani are laughing at this. Suddenly the front door opens, Chris and Dessi running out.

Chris stops seeing everyone in the front yard.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Dessi screams seeing her beaten-up car. She moves forward and pushes Y/n away. The two girls get into a screaming match, pushing each other. Chris snaps out of his shock and runs towards them, pulling them apart and holding Y/n back. "Don't fucking touch me!' She screams pushing him away, not wanting his hands that were once on Dessi to touch her.

"Y/n calm down! You're being unreasonable!''

"I'm being unreasonable?! ain't no motherfuckin' to be reasonable! You decided to lie to me, and fuck your ex! I should slap the fuck outta you Chris! I should actually slap the both of y'all!" she barks.

"You're not gonna do shit to me!" Dessi screams back.

Y/n snaps her head back to Dessi, "bitch keep playing with me and imma snap!"

"You're just mad that he was texting me and fucking me while you two were toge-"

Y/n blacks out.

She rushes forward, throwing a punch to Dessi's jaw. She falls to the ground and Y/n stands over her, throwing punches left and right. Everyone but Lani stands there in shock, they have never seen Y/n act like this. She's usually sweet and goofy, never this angry and aggressive.

But Lani knows how Y/n gets down. She's not the type to let anybody or any bitch punk her.

Dessi tries to fight back but it's no use, Y/n is overpowering her in every way. She grabs a handful of Dessi's hair and drags her across the driveway, landing palmed punches to the girl's face, "Stop fucking playing with me bitch!"

By now Dessi is crying, blood dripping from her nose.

Matt and Chris dart forward, finally having enough of this fight. Chris wraps his arms around Y/n's waist, trying to get her away as Matt tries to get Dessi away. Y/n continues to hold on to Dessi's hair, screaming profanities left and right.

They eventually separate the two girls, but not without Y/n ripping out some of Dessi's hair.

Dessi stands up, tears running down her face, "I'm pressing charges!"

"Do it then bitch! Ion give a fuck!" Y/n shouts back as Chris drags her inside the house. He slams the front door and holds her against it, preventing her from moving.

"Y/n stop ple-" Chris's head whips to the side.

Y/n had slapped him.

When he lifts his head to look at Y/n, he sees the tears forming in her eyes.

"I deserved that," he mumbles softly.

"You're damn right you did! You fucking cheated on me, and according to that bitch out there, it was more than once!" Chris says nothing.

"Why did you do it?"

silence.

"Fucking answer me Chris!" She screams.

"I-I don't know." His voice cracks. Y/n laughs, throwing her head back in disbelief. "I'm sorry ok, I really fucked up and I'm going to do my best to make it up to yo-You won't have the chance to make it up to me." She says with a straight face.

If it didn't already, his heart drops to his stomach. "W-What? Y/n please," he begs. He knows he fucked up big time, but he thought he could fix it. He thought he could make everything better.

"Come on, Please? Don't- don't do this." His hands begin to shake as his eyes burn from the salty water forming. "You made your bed, and now you're lying in it. I'm done. I have zero tolerance for it."

"Please Y/n, I-I love you!"

"No you don't. You love that I look like her."

Chris's mouth runs dry as she states a thought that has run through his head multiple times.

"You think I'm stupid Chris? The first time we met and fucked, you moaned her name. And you want to know the crazy part? You continued to do it!"

He looks away from her out of guilt.

She was right.

There were multiple times when the two were having sex he would accidentally moan Dessi's name. He tried to play it off, acting like he never said it. He thought it worked, Y/n never said anything.

Until now.

"And the crazy part is, her and I are vastly different! So no, you don't love me. But it's fine. I'm not going to give you any type of ultimatum, because I'm done."

She goes to open the door and leave, but Chris stops her, pulling her into a hug. "Y/n, please! I'm sorry I'm so so sorry!" Chris pleads, tears finally running down his face.

"Please, it won't happen again I'll make it up to you! I'll block her, I'll tell her it was a mistake! J-Just don't leave me!" Y/n gives him a look of pity and opens the door, walking out of the house and Chris's life.

Nick and Matt watch as the girl they started to consider a sister walks out of the house with a stoic face that doesn't match the tears in her eyes.

"Let's go Lani"

Lani throws a glare toward Dessi, before getting in the car with Y/n, and driving away.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

2nd post for muwap week !!!! kinda wanna make a part 3 but idk!!! let me know what yall think!!!

the next fic for muwap week is.......

✯bestfriends brother ft nick sturniolo✯

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3 @mattslolita @j3tblackt3ars @ilovestarz @lustfulslxt @soimightlikeoldmen69 @tastesousweet @slut4sebastiansallow @whicked-hazlatwhore

[mxtantrights]

ordinary human

a/n: I can't believe this is my third fic for this fandom. I can't believe it. But I figured I would put my words down and get it all out. I don't think I'll make a part two to this, but we'll see...and with that, I hope you enjoy.

Eris x fem!reader, Azriel x fem!reader

Tiny sharp nails and needles all over your body. That's what it felt like every time Beron questioned you in your cell. It was hardly even that. more like a corner of a room with a rusty and eroded gate.

But you didn't know the reason why. And you couldn't tell Beron that because he didn't take no for an answer. He never takes no for an answer.

You don't know how long it's been now. But a while ago you managed to appear into the fae lands. Not on purpose either. One night you were working a late shift at the tavern. You finished and took the trash out into the alley and then everything went black.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were someplace different. The air felt different against your skin, it felt different in your lungs. You knew you weren't home, but you didn't know exactly where you were.

Until you were captured by the autumn court guards. They took you to the high lord, Beron, and asked what he wanted to be done to you. And he smiled and said he'd think about it.

It's been hell since then.

Every few days have been a new type of torture. Mind games, where he'd leave the cell door open and lure you out. Or he would crowd you in the cell and force you to answer questions. Or he would only offer you fae wine over water, which you couldn't drink without it altering your mind.

Today, though, is new. The guards took you out of your cell today a bit gentler then usual. And then they threw you into a room. A room with a bed and a bathroom, things you haven't seen in a while.

The guard told you to clean yourself up. You wasted no time following orders. One because you felt filthy, and two because you didn't want to defy them and earn new bumps and bruises to your body.

The only way you know time passes is because when you were thrown into the room, the sun was still up. The barred windows told you as much. And by the time you finished cleaning yourself up and waiting for the guards to return the sun set and the sky was turning dark already.

After you cleaned yourself, you looked around the room for anything to help you escape this nightmare. The window wasn't an option. But in between rummaging through the drawers of the bathroom you found a sharp blade. You tucked it into the sleeve of the plain and sheer white dress you were given.

You were laying on the bed when you heard the door open. Your flinch and crawl up further on the bed, pleading and begging the guards to just let you stay inside the room. But they don't speak to you at all.

They grab you by the arms and drag you out of the room. Seeing as you haven't eaten in a long time, you have no energy to fight back. You try screaming but your voice dies out in your throat. And your body lulls as they drag you down a hallway and then another, and then another. You drop your heavy head as they do.

Faintly you can hear a door opening. And there is a plethora of voices. But you can't pick your head up to look. You're tired. So tired. You wish you had lied to Beron and said something, anything, to get him to just end it in your cell.

-

"And now I present to you, my newest experiment." Beron's voice fills the dinning hall.

The doors open and in comes two guards and a woman. She's being dragged in by her arms. Her feet not walking on their own, and her head bobbing with every motion the guards make.

Rhysand looks at Beron in fury. A human in Prythian was rare, until Feyre that is. But this is different. Feyre agreed to a deal to save her family. This woman doesn't look like she came here on her own.

"You've taken a human captive?" Rhysand asks.

Azriel looks your form over twice. You look pale and weak. Like if the guard were to let go of you, you would fall to the floor. And you wouldn't be able to get back up. He knew Beron to be cruel but this is something wicked.

Beron grins and stands from his seat. He takes his chalice with him and walks over to the woman.

"Hardly. She appeared here out of thin air it seems. Can't recall how she crossed the border. A foolish lie, I surmise." Beron says.

Beron snaps his fingers and the guards lets your arms go. You don't have enough energy to catch yourself. You land on your knees and fall flat on your stomach. Unmoving.

"You should have sent her back." Feyre says.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Your body was so still. And your heartbeat so slow. She was human once. It's hard to not see you and think of how she could have been in the same predicament. She's in a position of power now, and she wants tot help you desperately.

"Well I've just about exhausted my patience with her. That brings us here," Beron begins and drinks the rest of the wine from his chalice, "I figured you'd have a soft spot, soft belly."

Rhysand slams his hand on the table. "You will not talk to her like that!"

Beron hands his chalice to one of the guards who takes it without another word. He uses his foot to roll your body over. You slump to the ground again, eyes closed.

He leans in closer to get a look at you.

Feyre can hear it now. How your heartbeat is beating. Adrenaline.

-

When he turned your body over, you slide the blade down your arm. You could fake it for a while, but this was your shot. If you couldn't escape, then he would surely execute you for attacking him. Beron doesn't strike you as the type to forgive and forget.

The moment you feel his breath on you is when you do it.

You launch up and swipe his face with the blade. He goes flying back, his hands covering his face. You can't see the damage you've done but the blood seeping through his palms is enough to know there is damage.

It's like all the fear is rushing out of you. You get on your feet after a few stumbles, with the blade pointing out in front of you. You turn this way and that, not daring to trust anyone in the room.

"Either you let me go or you kill me!" you shout.

Beron looks at you in pure rage. His hand juts out from his side. And you know what the means. It means he's going to use his powers against you.

The first time he did it, he just lightly burned you. But after what you've done now? There is no way you don't turn into ash. You take a staggering breath.

"That's enough!" Another voice shouts.

You whirl around to them. A male fae. Dark hair. Purple eyes. Purple eyes, you think to yourself. You were very far from home. That much is clear.

"She'll come with us." The female fae next to him says.

You start to shake your head. You don't want to go anywhere but home. You weren't going with another fae. You can't trust any of them.

"That little whore just attacked me, I'll kill her!" Beron shouts.

All of a sudden darkness clouds your vision. But you know it's not your head this time. This is a tangible darkness, shadows. In front of you materialized is a man with wings. Your eyes go wide at him. A different type of fae.

He holds out his hand, "You'll come with us if you want to live."

You don't waste any time. You put your hand in his. For the first time since you got here, the touch is friendly. You can feel the adrenaline coursing trough you start to slow.

Without another second the scenery around you changes. You go from one room you didn't know to another. You feel sick too. In the pit of your belly. It feels like bile.

"You're gonna feel-" the male in front of you says.

But he doesn't get to finish. How could he when you bend over and let out the bile you felt in your belly. The feeling is exhausting. But it doesn't last long.

You pick yourself back up and look at the male. It's then you realize that he's still holding into your hand. You should let go, you really should. But with how weak you're feeling, you cannot. You might fall to the floor if you do.

"We have rooms here, if you want to lay down for a moment." he speaks.

You shake your head over and over. Your eyes beginning to water up. You slowly hold out the blade.

"I want to go home. Take me home." you say, voice cracking.

There's an uneasy silence between the two of you. He doesn't say anything for a few moments. And you feel like you might have to attack him too in order to be taken seriously.

But then a gust of wind is felt across your cheek. You look in the direction of where it came from. There standing a few feet away are the two other fae you saw besides Beron in that other room.

The female takes a step closer to you and you take a step back.

She raises her hands up in defense, "We're not gonna hurt you."

"Please let me go home. Please." you whisper.

"We will, we will. I promise. But you should eat something, and get some rest." she offers.

Eating sounds good. Sleeping too. But how could you trust any of them. How do you know they aren't working with Beron. Maybe this is just some elaborate trick? Fae are tricksters.

Tricksters.

But you can't live like this anymore. You can't live if you don't eat. You can't live if you don't sleep. You can't make it home if you don't live.

You lower the blade and nod you head, "I could eat."

The woman smiles at you. Then she introduces herself as Feyre. The male beside her is Rhysand, her husband. And the other male with the wings is Azriel.

-

After you ate the first plate of food you were taken to a nice room, with a bed. Feyre told you that you could sleep there for a few hours while they worked on getting you home.

Well, a few hours turned into a full day. No one bothered you. You went a full twenty four hours of sleeping. It felt good, it felt like stillness.

You didn't really dream that whole time. Or if you did, you can't remember what you saw. If you had nightmares you can't remember that either.

All you remember as you wake up to dimly lit room is that you need to get home. That is what gets you out of bed and out of the room. Luckily not without your blade.

When you walk down the hallway you notice noise coming from further in the house. You walk towards it and keep your blade tucked inside of your sleeve.

At the door you realize there are more people inside than you anticipated. But before you can even try to turn back the noise stops. Fae have good hearing. They can hear you from inside.

"Come join us." a voice says.

It's speaking to you. There is no other person it could possibly be speaking to. You wearily move in close to the door. You peek your head inside.

There at the table are faces your recognize. Feyre, Rhysand and Azriel. And a few that you don't recognize. You gulp down the fear in your throat and take a few cautious steps into the room.

"There's no need to be scared. This is my family" Feyre speaks to you.

You look at her, "I don't mean to offend you but I would really like to go home now."

"That's easy." Rhysand answers.

He snaps his fingers and the space on the table in front of him is cleared. Then a scroll of paper lands on the wooden table. You watch as he rolls it out.

"Show us where your home is and we'll take you there." Rhysand says.

You quickly walk over to where he is seated at the table. Your eyes glance over the food, once and then twice, and you can feel you stomach begging you to eat. But you would really want to go home over eating another meal here.

On the map you don't really recognize the lands. You have only seen a map when you were younger. And you weren't really paying attention.

You look the map over again. Nothing looks familiar to you.

"Do you have another map? I don't think I see it on here." you speak quietly.

Rhysand nods his head, "Of course."

All of a sudden five scrolls of paper appear in front of you. Rhysand unfurls one of them and shows it to you. Your eyes scan and scan but you can't find anything that reminds you of home. You shake our head.

This process repeats four more times. Four more maps. Four more pieces of paper that don't tell you where home is. You begin to grow weary each time you open a map.

"Hey, it's okay. Maybe you could just tell us where in the mortal lands you call home." Feyre speaks up.

You let out a strangled breath. "The Canary Isles."

The room is silent. You feel it then and there. You feel it as you look around the table and their faces don't change. They all look at you like you've grown another head.

"No worry, I can ask the priestesses for a map from the library. Surely there will be something there." Rhysand says.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Your home isn't on any of their maps. They won't find it. Maybe, because it doesn't exist here. You're not sure how you got here, but you know it was a power beyond you.

"It doesn't exist." a voice says.

You look around the table, and sure enough the only woman looking right back at you is a small one. Black hair. Pretty. But you can sense right off the bat that she isn't like the others. She seems like...more.

"Amren!" another voice says.

"You're willing to string her along? I'm telling you you'll find nothing in any of the maps." Amren, the voice from before, says.

"Why?" you ask, voice shaky and unconfident.

You don't want to hear the words. You don't want her to say what you're thinking. But you need to know the truth. You need to understand your place here. You couldn't do that in the cell with Beron. And it seems like if you left it up to Rhysand you wouldn't do that here either.

"The Canary Isles are no longer." she answers.

You shake your head, "No, no that can't be. I just came from there. I was brought here! It exists!"

"Not for a long time. The Isles were overcome by powerful tremors that sunk the land into the ocean. Then that land reemmerged as the court of nightmares." Amren explains.

You can't help the feeling of bile in your stomach. Or the fear that is catching your breath. You take out the blade and back yourself up. At your action everyone in the room stands up.

Feyre takes a step closer to you but you raise the blade in her direction. You see Rhysand wrap his arm around her waist.

And that's about all you see before your eyes get wet, and you realize that you've started crying.

"I told you I wanted to go home. And now you're telling me it doesn't exist." you shout.

"I know, I know, but if you give us some time-" Feyre starts.

"You promised!" you cut her off with a yell.

"Stop lying to her, you can't promise something that doesn't exist." Amren keeps going.

"I need you to put that blade down." Azriel says.

You shake your head and try to wipe away the tears in your eyes. With a rough swipe of your palm over your face you do as much as you can.

"I just want to go home. Please let me go home. Please, I'm begging you, just let me go." you sob.

You don't even know what you're asking at this point. If home didn't exist how could they let you go there? No matter how hard you beg they could not bring you to a place that no longer existed.

You don't notice the feeling of something snaking up your legs. You don't notice until it's too late and it binds your wrists together. The blade clatters to the floor loudly.

"I got her," Azriel's voice sounds.

You fall to your knees all at once. The hunger and desperation getting to you. You can hear all of them walking away, almost all of them. You lift your head up to see them. Azriel and Rhysand.

"I am so sorry." Azriel says.

You don't quite understand what he's apologizing for. You look over to Rhysand who looks just as remorseful. You can't understand why, you were a human. Nothing to them.

As you stare into Rhysand's eyes your vision becomes spotty, until it becomes dark all together. The last thing you remember feeling is falling to your side.

-

Azriel and Rhysand watch your unmoving form on the floor. Rhysand didn't want to put you to sleep but he had to. It was the only way to get the situation under control without hurting you physically.

Azriel's shadow lets go of your wrist and they fall apart.

"This doesn't make sense brother." Azriel says.

"I know, but she's been through a lot since her arrival." Rhysand admits.

"An ordinary human girl from a place that no longer exists? We've never delt with this situation before."

Rhysand hums, "Agreed. Maybe we should talk to someone who knows more than us."

"Beron?" Azriel asks.

Rhysand shakes head head. "The other Vanserra."

Azriel sighs, "Mor's not gonna like it. Neither will Cassian."

"Right now he might be the only chance she has. I'll send for him."

-

For the first time you feel at ease. You can picture your dreams so clearly. Your house, filled with your family. Your job filled with your friends and the nice customers. Real. All of it is real.

So why did something feel off?

You can't remember what you were doing before this. Were you sleeping at your house or were you at the tavern? You don't think you were at either one of those places. But if you weren't, where were you?

This is a dream, but the question is, are you going to wake up and like what you find?

-

Eris takes in your sleeping form. He couldn't believe when Rhysand had the nerve to ask him to come over. Of course he know him to be smart and quick, coming up with an excuse to appease Beron.

Officially he is in the night court to negotiate some gifts his father is to recieve on behalf of being attacked. By you.

You.

Unofficially, he is here because of you. For many reasons, and Rhysand seems to only know of one. That's his problem.

Eris knew the moment he saw you, you were someone special. He couldn't show it, lest he have you killed right then and there. But over the course of your stay in his court, he grew quite fond of you. Even if you never knew it.

The way you stood your ground when Beron played and tested you was remarkable. It reminded him of himself and the ever-going game he's been playing with his father. And it renewed his patience. If you could do it, so could he.

Now here you were.

"What did she call it again?" he asks.

Rhysand and Azriel share a look between each other. Then Azriel clears his throat.

"The Canary Isles." he answers.

"Otherwise known as the court of nightmares." Eris finishes off.

"How did you know that?" Rhysand asks.

Eris passes a smirk over his lips, "My father can be quite banal about things. As you know."

"Okay but do you know anything that can help her?" Azriel asks this time.

Eris looks at them now. If his father caught wind of this, Eris doesn't even know how to complete that sentence. Surely he'd be beaten by his own father's hand. Maybe exiled.

"I cannot turn back time, shadow singer." Eris answers carefully.

"We're talking about how she got here." Rhysand clarifies.

"She doesn't know that information, nor do I."

"This was a waste." Azriel says suddenly.

"I agree. Eris you're free to go." Rhysand adds.

Eris sighs, "Wait."

Both of the males look at him. A couple of choice words on their minds. They don't speak them just yet, in hopes of what he might offer them and you.

Eris looks at you once more.

"Beron thought she appeared a couple of weeks ago. But that isn't true." Eris admits.

"Go on..." Rhysand trails off.

Eris cross his arms against his chest. With his brows settled and his face neutral, he schools his shoulders back.

"I found her almost two months ago. When she first appeared in our court. She was laying there on the ground, unconscious. I helped her." Eris confesses.

The room is silent between the three males. Rhysand can't believe the words coming out of his mouth at first. Eris? Helping someone? Surely he is lying and working an angle.

Bur Azriel, he believes him. There is no reason for Eris to play hero. Not for anyone in the night court, and not while you were knocked out. This doesn't benefit him.

And then there is the looks he has on his face. When he looks at you. For the first time in forever Azriel sees this look and thinks that Eris might be capable of emotion behind the mask he wears.

"And if I wake her up, she'll remember that?" Rhysand asks.

Eris shakes his head, "No. I subdued those memories deep in her mind, once she got caught."

Rhysand scoffs.

"So you left her to Beron to fend for herself?" Azriel asks.

"It was the only way she would make it out of there alive. Or at least until I could come up with a plan to get her out of the autumn court." Eris replies.

"Eris, the hero." Rhysand comments.

"You don't understand." Eris quips.

"Enlighten us." Azriel says.

Eris is still for a moment. Uncharacteristically still, even for his own standards. Rhysand doesn't like it one bit, but he'll allow it if he can get some answers from him. This visit has yielded much of them so far.

Then he does something that shocks both males. Instead of answering with words, he lets his shields down. Invites Rhysand into his mind. And enter he does.

But there is only one thing for him to see.

Eris, stood over your body, in the woods. The leaves of autumn beneath you. In this memory, he took a step back. He took several steps back and placed a hand over his chest. A gasp.

Eris puts his shield back up. Rhysand looks at him now.

"She's your mate." Rhysand states.

The three words hung heavy in the air as the three males weighed their options then and there. All the while you lay in a deep slumber none the wiser.

-

You wake up to the feeling of someone touching you. At first you don't quite understand. Who could be touching you right now? Why would someone be touching you?

Then your mind fills in the gaps. You weren't at home. This wasn't your bed. You were in a fae court. Stranded. Being held against your will. Not by the cruel high lord of the autumn court. But of the high lord of the night court.

You lurch out of your sleep. Your eyes fly open.

"Calm down, you're safe. It's okay."

You take him in. Ginger hair. Freckles. Beautiful by your standards and probably fae standards. No. He probably exceeds all of them. You ask yourself who this male is. But you know you don't have the answer to that question.

"Who are you?" you ask quietly.

He smiles for just a sliver of a second. You know you're not imagining it. Or maybe you are. After all you've eaten fae food, you can't trust anything right now.

"A friend." he says.

He takes his hand way from your cheek. You miss the warmth that was there. But you don't dare ask for him to return it.

"I don't have friends here." you reply.

"Maybe we can be friends then. If you'll have me." he says.

You look at him for a moment. His face looks passive. Like he doesn't want to have this conversation. But his words and the way his voice sounds, tell you a different story.

"Can you take me home?" you ask a bit louder this time.

He clears his throat, "I'm working on figuring that out. It's no easy task."

"Impossible things are hardly ever easy." you answer.

He cracks a smile, "I agree."

"You look familiar." you say suddenly.

His eyes widen a bit. He tries to school his face back to neutral but it's too late. You've seen it already. And if he looks familiar, maybe he does know a way to bring you back home. Or it's something more sinister.

"My name is Eris." he greets you formally.

After stroking your face in your sleep. Fae were weird. He holds out his hand for you to take. You move to sit up on the bed. From underneath the covers you take out a hand and shake his with it.

You give him your name. He nods his head once.

"I hope to be of service." he says.

-

It's been weeks of silence. You don't understand it. The fae say say one thing and mean another entirely. Maybe it was the human part of you that took people at their word.

You're learning that won't work here.

Eris wasn't much of a help. You don't even know how to contact him. Even if you could you doubt he'd be able to do something to help you. If he did, he would be here.

And you weren't going to ask any one here. You couldn't trust any of them. Except for maybe that one who told you the truth. No matter how hard it was or you to hear.

You open the door to the room. Your room, you suppose it is now. Slowly you peek your head out to get a glance down the hallway. There's no one there, not even the other creatures that live here.

With bated breath you take careful steps outside of your room. Not like it would really be of nay use, with their hearing abilities and all. But it would show them that you weren't interested in talking.

Walking down the hallway is the easy part. When you get to the staircase is when you begin to doubt yourself. You take the steps two at a time, being barefooted meant less noise against the marble floors.

When you reach the bottom you look both ways. To the left was the dinning room. You would definitely not go in there. To your right was another room. One you hadn't entered before.

You tiptoe over to the door and press your ear against it. The wood is so thick you can't hear anything but muffled voices. You can't tell who is who.

There's a sound and then another. You move to back up but the door flies open before you can get far enough.

It's her.

She looks you up and down. Sizing up her prey no doubt. You don't flinch or shy away from it.

"For a human you're very brave." she says.

You swallow, hoping it isn't loud enough to be detected.

"I wanted to speak to you." you respond.

She nods her head, "Very well, little human."

She turns on her heel without another word. Meaning you were to follow. You take after her, a couple of steps behind. She walks down the hallway on the first floor and out the balcony doors.

You don't have to keep up for too long because she stops and takes a seat in the chairs placed outside. You take the one beside her.

"What did you wish to speak about?" she asks.

"Out of everyone here, you know the most about the Canary Isles. Can you tell me more about what happened?"

She looks at you. Like really looks at you. Maybe she can't believe that you want to hear more about how your home no longer exists. You shift under her gaze.

"I don't think it'll do you any good to hear about it right now. Not when they are working to get you back." she answers.

You shake your head, "You said that was impossible."

"To my knowledge. But I have been wrong before."

"Do you honestly think you're wrong now?" you ask her.

She is silent for a moment. A moment that is riddled with tension and worry. You want her to be wrong. But you get the feeling that she's rarely ever so.

"For your sake, I hope I am."

"please, tell me what happened." you plead.

"It was recorded a long time ago that an ancient creature created the tremors that sunk the island. And it remained underwater due to a powerful spell that was only broken by the first high lord of the night court." she explains to you.

Ancient creatures. Spells. High Lords. All of this seemed like a fever dream. Yes fae existed where you came from, or you should say when, but they weren't the rulers of courts. They lived amongst humans.

But maybe all of that changed.

"This sounds like a long time ago for you." you comment.

"I was not alive when it happened. And I am older than everyone here, so it was a long time ago." she responds.

She's not about to tell you how old she is. And you're not about to ask.

"You're name is Amren, right?" you ask.

She looks at you softly and nods her head.

"Thank you, for talking with me. I really appreciate it."

-

Later that night you are going back to your room. You stood outside after Amren left. She had things to do, but you didn't. You figured you would just sit and try to understand things. Which turned into you taking a nap on the chairs.

The only reason you woke up was because of the change in weather. The night time hit and you felt the cold breeze against your skin. Your mind was fuzzy as you picked your head up. So fuzzy you thought you saw leaves on the ground.

But when you stood up, barefooted on the ground, you realized there were none.

So you shook it off as exhaustion. And you decided to get to bed.

You were walking up the steps when you heard another pair of footsteps. You halted all at once. Then the footsteps stopped. You looked up to see who it was that you couldn't avoid.

Azriel.

"I was looking for you, your room was empty." he says.

You start to question to yourself why he was looking for you in the first place. It's not like the two of you were friends. Neither could he tell you anything about how to get back home.

"Why?" you ask him.

"I wanted to apologize for binding your hands at dinner. That was wrong. I wanted to make sure you didn't hurt yourself or anyone else. But I should have thought of another way." he explains.

You watch him closely. From here, it seems like he cares about you. And you don't have the faintest idea why. You take an apprehensive step up, and then another. You meet him where he is, at the second to last step at the top.

He watches you as you do.

His wings moving behind him. His shadows unruly.

"Why are all of you so intent on keeping me alive?" you question.

He looks take aback that you would ask such a thing. His jaw clenches and you take that to mean you've upset him.

"We would do this no matter who you were." he answers.

And there it is. Those words, were so specific. No matter who you were? So you were someone of importance to them? How? How long will you be important before they discard you?

You can't help the inquisitive look you give him, "So I am someone important? You need me for something?"

Azriel doesn't spare you another look. He walks right past you. His arm brushing yours as he does. You stay right there on the steps. Unmoving.

You look back just in time to see him disappear into his shadows.

-

a/n: annddd that's all I got! sorry this was sitting in my drafts and I wanted to just get rid of it so bad. idk how I feel about it. send me a message in my inbox if you want me to keep going.

[oceansssblue]

Silco x Male Reader, Silco hires him as a bar assistant, after a while he can't imagine life without him

Not a lot of Silco x male character out there, so happy to do this request! Mentions of reader having "messy" hair and big eyes (otherwise neutral). This is just a little cute one!

Xx, Blue.

"EXTRA ICE" – SILCO/MALE READER 💖

WARNINGS: mentions of poverty and alcohol. this one is mainly fluffy.

It's winter. It should be cold as fuck this far down the Underground; and yet, the green, toxic fumes makes the air feel warm and charged.

You try to take the minimum breaths necessary while you walk through this part of Zaun. You've got your bandana drapped over your nose and mouth, knot tightened up at the base of your head. Though you're aware it won't save you from one type of lung afliction or another in the long run, you'd like to delay it as much as possible. You'd like the chance of growing old.

The Last Drop feels almost as a relief by now. The floors are somewhat sticky, the wooden countertop and the few chairs scarced around creak an old tune, and every once in a while a few unsavory incidents happen here and there; but with Silco's goons around it's a safe place as any, and the work brings you money –more than you've ever earned in the Underground–.

You're used to the rutine by now. You've been working as a bartender in The Drop for a year now; quickly adjusting to your new job without flinching, knowing this kind of oportunity only comes once in a while. You'd ducked your face down, focusing on the cleaning-serving drinks part of the job and ignoring the rumours and fights that seemed to become inherent to the place. It's not your business –rather Silco's–, and you better not get involved in that. For your sake.

You serve drink after drink for hours with little rest. Your own throat feels dehidrated; your hands are stinging with the effort of too many glasses cleaned, skin raw. It's almost sunset; almost time to make the finest whisky with extra ice.

You shoot more tired smiles and toss comments here and there and signal Thieram you're going up after a while. He nods and you leave him at the bar, making your way through the stairs onto the second floor. The private one. Silco's.

The guards outside don't even bother asking and they step aside. They know your rutine by now as well.

You step inside, humming lost in thoughts at the sight of small scraps of metal and wood scarced inf the floor by the sofa. Looks like Jinx has been entertaining herself here. Between that and the hundred things on Silco's desk, the place is a bit of a mess.

You set things into order in a handfull of minutes. You organize Jinx's stuff into neat piles, depending on the material or it's function, putting everything in a box and leaving it back in the floor for her. You take special caution with the desk; making sure no paper is altered in its order and just cleaning a bit around. You make space for the alcohol; and you make your way down again with two empty glasses in hand and a bag of garbage to get rid off.

You give Thieram a pat on the shoulder to let him know you're back and get back to bartending. Your individual private task of the day is done, and soon, you'll be heading home.

You welcome the night with a big, tired smile on your face. Your hands and lower back hurt, your mouth feels dry and you're plainly exhausted. Your stomach has been making noises for quite a while too; reminding you that you can't go on and on without eating something. Gaining some strength back.

The bar is almost empty by now; just a few regulars lingering around. Thieram is the one tasked with closing this month, though; so you say your goodbye and walk out of The Drop.

It's nice to breathe "fresh" air now, after hours spent inside the bar. You close your eyes and take a few seconds to relax.

The voice by your side almost makes you jump.

After a stressfull afternoon –he never would have guessed being a crime lord would mean dealing with this many problems– Silco's hair is untidy, just like the way he left his desk. His desk is surprisingly organised and clean now, though; which can only mean the new bartender had been here.

Silco calls him "new" in his head because he's still not used to him. He's still searching for him every time he enteres the room as if it were the first day. He still finds himself surprised when he sees he's still there, soldiering through the long hours and the dirty fights and the dangerous stories. He had given him a month max.

Yet, you had done everything right. You didn't complain, didn't pry, just sid your job precisely like you should and left. On and on and on for daya that turned into weeks that turned into months. At some point, you had started to do all this little –but heartwarming– details for him –the organising, cleaning, bringing something to eat, or even things for Jinx to built with–; and now... Now it was not "new", because Silco had definitly grown used to them, but not to his feelings for you.

You were a simple guy. And perhaps that was what made you special; you hold no lies, he felt safe around you, no need to pretend or shield himself. No more than he did unconsciously, at least. Although you could hold yourself on a fight –he had watched that unfortunate incident happen twice–, you weren't violent, or cruel, or any of the things most of the zaunites had been forced to fall in shape with. You weren't naive, but you were... That, normal. A good guy with a good heart and just the necessary touch of Underground sharpness.

Silco blows the smoke of his cigar away, studying the way you close your eyes and drop your head back to close your eyes at the –very far away– sky. You seem relieved now that the day is over; probably glad to be able to go back home and get some well deserved rest. Silco knows where you live –too close to the Lanes to his liking–; it's still quite of a walk from here.

He doesn't want you to go yet.

"How do you memorize every single order?" He asks, hiding his amused smile at the way your body tenses in surprise, at how your big eyes widen even further.

"Shit, you scared me boss" you chuckles, bringing a hand to your chest and shooting him a bright smile –is someone ever that happy to see him, besides Jinx?–. "I give funny names to the patreons, so it's easier to associate it with their drink".

You don't seem to be too fased to know that this question means Silco has been watching you. Paying attention.

Silco wonders if you like that attention.

"For example" you continue. "The old guy with the gap between his teeth?"

Silco nods quietly, and you grin proudly.

"I call him Whistle".

The way you proclaim it almost makes Silco laugh, but instead, he smiles. A side one, a small tug of the corner of his lips that seem to make you even prouder.

You chuckle and shake your head, making the mess of your hair even messier. He likes that about you too, the way each strand seem to follow it's own direction. It's kind of endearing, he thinks. He has never told you anything similar.

"What did you name me to remember my order, then?" he asks, somewhat curious, yet somehow fearing the answer.

You take a few seconds too long to respond, which makes Silco think it is nothing but a lie.

"I didn't... You're the boss, and whisky is pretty simple to remember, so..." you shrug, smiling hesitantly.

Silco can see through your nervousness easily.

"I sugest you try again, with the truth this time" he gives him another chance, taking another breath from his cigar.

You sigh in defeat, smiling apologetically.

"I, uh... Icy Fire. You know, because of the extra ice to your whisky and..."

"The red eye" Silco ends for him.

You must interpret his silence for discomfort or anger, because you quickly jump to excuse yourself.

"I promiss yours is not a mocking name though, boss! I actually like the dual eye thing, you know..."

"Ah, you do..."

He could stop you now, but it's fun to watch you squirm.

"Yeah, yes, I mean, it's kinda' scary but hot at the same time" you blurt out, insisting inmediately, just before realising what exactly have you said out loud.

Silco chuckles this time, he can't help it. The wide eye expresion on your face... Priceless.

"Tell me" he takes a few steps towards you, before you're able to try to make your way out of it. "Is it just the eye you find hot about your boss?"

Your jaw drops, probably not expecting the seductive tone on his voice, the intention hiding beneath it. You doubt, not sure if you want a real answer or if this is all a joke, a way of having a laugh at your comment. You answer, however, if still unsure.

"I, uh... Nah, boss, your fine all around".

This time Silco is the one surprised. He hadn't expected you to give in; to tell him that plainly and directly. You seem hesitant, wary if you had over stepped or not; but he just hums pleasantly.

Ah, so he really does have a chance with you.

Silco stands closer and carefully drapes your well-used bandana over your nose, caressing the skin on the way. Studying the way you seem to tremble at the touch.

Perhaps he'd get the chance to see more of that soon.

"The next time you bring me my drink, stay".

He's back inside The Drop before he has given you time to answer.

He can't imagine his days without you by now... but perhaps he could start with a small personal conversation first.

THE END.

Hey, two in a row! I just got one more silco x male request and I'll jump back to star wars clones. See ya around!

[samazing0831]

Take Me Back to the Night We Met - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky Barnes x Reader // Song Lyric Challenge

It's been five years since Bucky vanished. Five years since he turned to dust in the middle of an argument and took your heart with him. Left behind with only memories and grief that refuses to fade, you've clung to anything that makes him real - his hoodie, his side of the bed, the sound of his laugh echoing in your dreams. But grief doesn't play by rules. And neither does fate.

When the dust begins to settle - literally - Bucky returns, just as the world begins to put itself back together. But what happens after the happy ending?

1.2k words

I still wake up on his side of the bed.

Every morning, I roll toward the ghost of him, hand searching in the quiet. And every morning, I only find the cold.

I used to think grief came in stages. That once you made peace with one step, the next would come easier.

But that was five years ago.

And I still haven’t moved past that moment.

I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

I felt so lost when he left.

And it’s selfish to say I was heartbroken - everyone lost someone that day.

Technically, I didn’t even have a reason to be - we broke up two weeks before the blip.

But how else could I explain the gaping hole in my chest?

Knowing he was gone, and there was nothing I could do to bring him back?

We were fighting.

Not about anything important. Something stupid.

Like who left the coffee pot on - again.

He laughed when I snapped at him.

He always laughed when I was irritated.

Then he pulled me into his arms anyway. Whispered, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

I rolled my eyes.

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

People vanished mid-sentence.

Screams split the sky.

Dust danced through the air like ash from a war I didn’t understand.

And Bucky - my Bucky - just disintegrated.

I didn’t even get to hold him.

I tried everything to repent.

Like I could trade my soul for his.

I walked the streets feeling like the only one left breathing

Sometimes I’d catch my reflection and swear it wasn’t me anymore.

He died fighting for us. Again.

And I stayed.

Sometimes I dream of him.

Not as he was at the end, but as he was when we met.

It was a rainy night in Bucharest.

He was quiet. Guarded.

Eyes like storm clouds.

He asked me if I wanted to get a drink.

I said yes, even though I hated the bar.

That was the first time he touched my hand. Not romantic. Just a brush of fingers.

By accident.

And it was like something clicked into place.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I’m supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

I wish I could go back there.

Before he let me in.

Before I let him fill my lungs and take root in every part of me.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

Because maybe if I could return to that moment, I could stop myself.

Maybe I could be smarter. Safer.

Maybe I could survive this.

But then what?

Live without him, and never know what it felt like to be loved by him?

No.

I couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

I talk to him sometimes. Out loud.

Like he’s just in the other room.

I lie to myself a lot.

Pretend I’ve moved on.

Pretend I don’t stare at the door every time it opens.

Pretend my heart doesn’t ache when I see couples holding hands.

The truth is, I’m still here. Still waiting.

Because that was the last time I remember who I was.

Who we were.

Before the terror.

Before the fight.

Before his eyes filled with tears he wouldn’t let fall.

Before he turned to dust in front of me.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

Maybe one day he’ll come back.

Maybe one day, the dust will settle in reverse.

And his body will reform from the pieces.

Maybe I’ll get to hear his laugh again.

Until then, I’ll keep waking up on his side of the bed.

He came back in the spring.

I heard it before I saw it - rumors, headlines, whispers of people appearing out of thin air.

Then Sam called. His voice cracked when he said, “He’s asking for you.”

It was raining the day I saw him again.

Fitting.

It had rained the day he left, too.

He looked the same.

Maybe a little thinner. A little tired.

But those eyes - they found me instantly.

Like they’d never stopped searching.

He stepped forward.

I didn’t.

Couldn’t.

I’d imagined this moment a thousand times.

But none of my fantasies prepared me for how it would actually feel.

Not joy.

Not closure.

Just the overwhelming weight of everything we lost in between.

His voice was hoarse when he said my name.

Like he had to fight through the dust of five silence years.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

That’s what he had been.

All of him. Then most. Then some.

Then dust.

Then silence.

Then nothing.

And now?

Now he stood in front of me like time hadn’t chewed me up and spit me out.

Like the last five years hadn’t been a slow unraveling of every piece of my soul.

He reached out, like I could just fall back into step with him.

Like I hadn’t tried to bury the memory of tracing the lines of his metal hand in the dark.

Like I hadn’t sobbed on my bathroom floor, whispering into the silence, Take me back to the night we met.

The moment passed slowly - thick, heavy, full of everything unsaid.

His eyes glassed over.

I knew he was crying before I saw the tears.

God, I remembered that night too well.

I remember how terrified he was that he wouldn’t come back from that fight.

I remember holding his face and telling him we’d have time.

That time was the one thing we’d always have.

I lied.

Now he was here. And time felt like a cruel joke.

I wanted to run to him. Wrap myself around him and never let go.

But I also wanted to scream.

To punch him.

To ask him how it felt to leave me behind with an apartment full of memories and a heart full of ash.

Instead, I said, “You left.”

His head bowed. “I know.”

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t get to.”

Silence.

The wind blew. The rain softened. Somewhere in the background, the world kept turning.

But we stayed still.

“Do you still love me?” I asked.

He blinked. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“I never stopped.”

And suddenly, I remembered the first time he kissed me.

How careful he was.

How his hands trembled like he was afraid he’d break me.

How I had whispered, “You’re safe with me,” and meant it with every atom in my body.

I took one step forward.

Then another.

And when I reached him, I pressed my forehead against his chest.

Just to make sure he was real.

Just to feel the thump of his heart beneath my fingertips.

He wrapped his arms around me like he was afraid I’d vanish next.

I whispered into his jacket, voice cracking:

“Please, don’t leave me again.”

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 4

Shadow

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Bastards

Word count: ~6k Warning: None [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. This is a half-baked version which I may edit later. This was supposed to be two separate chapters which I compiled into one. So the style difference may come off a bit strong, my apologies.

The gelding, as dark as midnight sky, stood with an unearthly stillness under the shade of the stable. Its beady eyes followed Mor as she circled the building for the second time. Grateful for the boots she exchanged her sandals for, she stepped along the edge of the bank. Soil crumbled under her feet setting off ripples in the shallow waters. Pushing the hair out of her face, she peered around. Her fingertips trailed along the stone wall allowing the ragged surface to chip at her skin. No trace of magic. No hint of a hidden room. Not an inch of window on either side. 

Sensing its unwavering stare on her back, Mor turned to the horse with narrowed eyes. She teased the ends of her braid between her fingers. ‘You wouldn’t know of a secret room back there, would you?’ 

The beast didn’t even breathe in response. Mor let out a long sigh.

The meadow stretched for miles in every direction with nothing in sight except for the smithy. Gentle breeze chilled the sweat coating her neck. Thunder clapped at a distance and the scent of impending rain sweetened the air. A single droplet fell on her cheek and she looked up at the darkening skies. Maybe a summer drizzle would be a blessing. It would save her the effort to cloak what she had been up to before Ayla returned.

As she walked back, Mor studied the closed doors again. Painted in blue as bright as the ocean in the west, the carvings seemed to blend and merge into waves, chaotic and restless, as though the rustle of Sidra poured life into them. The longer she stared, the harder it was to break her gaze.

Then she felt it—a quiet call beckoning her forward, promising her. . .something she couldn’t name.

In that moment, Mor knew only one thing. She had to own it.

She inched ahead, and a low grunt warned her. The waves froze. So did Mor’s breath. The horse now stood at the doorstep. She hadn’t seen it move.

‘Hey,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘I don’t want to do this either.’

. . .

Her cousin’s smile vanished as soon as Feyre left the room. Alone in his study, Rhys finally turned to Mor. 

Ever since the three brothers returned from Mother knew where a week ago, none had been the same. Only when Rhys found his mate in front of a fire cradling their babe in her arms that night, his love for them chased the darkness away from his eyes. Creases marked his tunic and his usually impeccable hair was dishevelled. Az didn’t enter past the foyer while Cass stood guarding the door after him. The two stared at each other. Az waited for another minute before he stepped to his brother and hissed under his breath. Shadows wreathed around him. But Mor caught glimpses of his leathers ruined with dirt and splattered blood.

‘It doesn’t feel right, Rhys.’ Mor found his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Perched on a simple leather chair, Rhys radiated the power of a High Lord making a throne for himself no matter where he was. He fixed her with one of his rare stares that left no room for argument. ‘We don’t have the luxury to discuss what’s right.’

Mor didn’t need a reminder of what entailed when Az wanted something. She had seen it for five centuries—the ruthlessness behind those kind eyes, the raging fire behind the cool facade.

‘Do you think she’s dangerous?’

Rhys paused. ‘I don’t know.’

Mor couldn’t tell if he meant the mystery woman or Ayla. Perhaps, both. ‘Let’s wait a couple of days. See what happens.’

There had been no news of a missing fae or attack anywhere in the city. Somehow it didn’t offer comfort to either man as she had expected.

‘Would I be asking this if we could sit and wait?’ His shoulders drooped as he heaved a heavy breath. ‘I can barely hold him off from tearing Hewn City apart.’

‘Then let him,’ Mor shrugged. ‘He’d be doing us a favour anyway.’

She would have done it herself, she should have done it herself centuries ago. But she was a coward. The thought of returning to that place even to reduce it to rubble and dust made her blood run cold.

Rhys dismissed her. ‘She was intent on making a bargain. Sounds like an awful trouble for a simple bladesmith, don’t you think?’

Mor gaped at him. He never ignored her whenever that hell was involved. Never. Not only did he speak the city’s name with carelessness, but his eyes lacked the softness they always held when he approached her on its matters.

She squared her shoulders. Her cousin had a point, though she wouldn’t admit it yet. ‘We shouldn’t be making assumptions. It could be nothing.’

But Rhys pressed on, ‘We were in the next room. She wanted the fae. She hurt Ayla.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘I’m not willing to gamble with their lives.’

Mor hated that Az was caught up in it. She hated it more that she was dragged into it. Az hadn’t been himself the past few days. Damn, he hadn’t been himself for the past few months.

At first, Cass and Mor bet how long his affair with Ayla would last. Az rarely ever shared more than a night with one woman. A few hours at her place, but at the end of the night, he always returned home. Ayla was supposed to be one of his blow-off-the-steam flings. Mor claimed it so, a phase. But Cass was certain it was a mild attraction. I’d never seen Az smile like that at a woman who drew blood from a man, he had said.

Then he returned to the bar again and again. It was a jolt to both of them—at least Cass ended up five gold marks richer. If Ayla had such a hold over Az, if she had meant anything to him, one expected him to tell his friends about his budding feelings. But he kept his escapades a secret, kept her a secret.

Ever since the night, Az had been more distant, more aloof. When everyone went out, as far as going to Ayla’s bar for his sake, he wished to stay home. When everyone stayed the night in River House, he preferred his room in House of Wind. No amount of coaxing convinced him to stay longer than dinner. Nothing satisfied him anymore. 

Since he wished to be anywhere but Velaris, Cass and Mor had planned a whole weekend in the mountain cabin. Yet, Az declared he was going to Day Court on a mission, and Rhys refused them specifics. 

That was before the bond snapped for him. Mor didn't blame Ayla. Still, she couldn’t stop the resentment festering in her heart either. The man she knew all her life, her friend who saved her and brought her back home, was being ripped away from them. Slowly and steadily. She wanted him to be happy. But what if the price was to lose him to a woman they barely knew, to someone who stood to break their family apart? Or worse, break his heart? One day with her had left Az a wreck. What would a lifetime with her do to him? It almost happened once. But Cass and Nesta were one thing.

This was Az.

Getting up from the chair, Mor turned away from Rhys and his hard stare. ‘Didn’t you say the wards are ancient magic?’ Her fingers tugged at the gold chain around her wrist, ‘And Ayla can fight. It will be fine.’ 

She couldn’t go down that road, not even for Az. Let him deal with Ayla and the danger surrounding her. If the worst came to pass, she couldn’t bear to watch it destroy him. She couldn’t get in the middle of his love affairs. But it wasn’t an affair, was it? No, this was his mate. His one true match.

‘Mor,’ called Rhys, kind and gentle that it stopped her pacing. ‘He’s waited long enough. He deserves better.’

There it was, the jab she had been waiting for. Mor kept her breath and voice steady. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means we look out for our friend.’

A lie. A pathetic one at that. She knew what he meant. They blamed her for breaking Az’s heart. They believed Ayla couldn’t do worse than what she did to him. It wasn’t her fault Az held onto hope. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him the way he wanted her to.

‘It’s a mating bond,’ she stated calmly, ‘We shouldn’t be meddling.’ Maybe rationality would earn a sway with Rhys. He always put reason first anyway. ‘Besides, Az wouldn’t appreciate you scheming behind his back.’

‘It’s for him I’m asking.’

. . .

‘I only need a peek inside,’ Mor said.

She revealed her open palms to the black guardian in a peace offering. But it stood unmoved. She took a careful step towards the door—that unknown magic summoning her again. 

Another grunt, and she halted.

Damn you, Rhys!

A gentle murmur closed in on them. Mor looked over her shoulder. She had lingered for too long.

‘Don’t tell on me,’ she whispered to the beast and hurried to the stable.

Ayla wore a ridiculously large shirt that swallowed her frame. The fabric swayed in the breeze and clung to her toned thigh and the graceful swell of her hip. Every inch of her body—except for her face and hands—was hidden. She lovingly looked at the mare limping beside her. As it slowed, Ayla grazed her fingers along its neck and followed its gaze. Her pretty, serene smile faded.

Daylight did her justice, unlike the dim glow at the bar. Ayla was attractive, criminally so. But she wasn’t Az’s type—so simple and. . .forgettable. She was beautiful, and yet her face barely left a mark on one’s mind. As if she merged with the very air surrounding them, invisible and intangible. Unless one knew what they were looking for, they wouldn’t spare her a glance.

The night they found Az in the bar alone—Ares or Larus, all Mor remembered was the ugly creature and her incessant knitting—none of them suspected his reason to be a woman, let alone her. 

One had no say in how Mother chose their mate. Still, Ayla was a far cry. Az instead liked women who were. . .Mor frowned. She realised she didn’t know. Her friend was cryptic about his partners, especially with her. Did Rhys or Cass know of his preferences? Something worse dawned on her. Would he have told her about his mate if Cass hadn’t blabbered in his drunken haze?

Without breaking her stride, Ayla walked past the blonde ignoring her friendly wave and smile. She smelled sweet—like cardamom and something exotic.

The gelding finally moved from its spot and approached her as she reached the stable. It stood by the entrance even when its companion sought the shade inside, its beady eyes only on Mor. 

‘You need anything?’ Ayla peeked at her visitor before crouching by the door. Lustrous strands slipped loose from the messy knot at the nape of her neck. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and reached inside a bucket on the ground. She tossed something at Mor, ‘It’s clean.’

Mor caught it before it hit her in the face. Rude!

It was firm and cool and. . .red. She threw an apple at her.

The mare trudged back to Ayla, looking down over her shoulder. A leather brace encased its right forelimb, winding up from hoof to knee. When Mor moved closer, drawn by its beauty, it whipped its head away and backed into the shade. 

Ayla got to her feet with a dancer’s fluidity, an apple in her hand. ‘I got you. You’re safe now,’ she cooed. ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’ 

She hushed softly. The mare stilled under her touch. She brushed her fingers through its mane, the hair shifting like spun silver. As she breathed, the horse breathed with her.

‘What happened to her?’

Mor couldn’t take her eyes off them. Over the centuries, she had witnessed many fae and humans alike attempt to tame a beast and waste years to earn its trust. She had never seen anyone so in tune with a creature before. Or rather, a creature in tune with a fae.

‘Her owners weren’t kind to her,’ Ayla held the fruit out. The mare caught a sniff before sinking its teeth into its flesh. ‘When she couldn’t breed anymore, they worked her until her leg gave out. They ignored her when she started showing signs. She was in much pain.’

The creature shuffled closer, eager for her touch and words.

Ayla smiled, ‘But that’s the past. She’s making a recovery now. Brave girl, aren’t you?’

Something deep inside Mor cracked and ached. She swallowed, turning to the male horse. It bore no sign of illness or injury. ‘What about him?’

The silver one wearily made its way to a corner hiding from the stranger. But the darkness couldn’t hide the glow in its watchful blue eyes.

Ayla cared neither about Mor nor the threat her horses seemed to sense. She inspected two more apples between her slender fingers as she carried them to the gelding. ‘You’re not here to discuss horses with me. I know who you are, Morrigan.’

A chill went down her spine. No one called her that anymore, at least not in Velaris. She was Mor—Mor who escaped her father and her fate. Mor who freed herself from the darkness from which she was born.

She opened her mouth, unable to resist the urge to correct the woman in front of her. Distant thunder rumbled above the mountains like a warning. A reminder from Mother herself to speak true. Her words halted. It wasn’t the name that unsettled her. But the way Ayla spoke it, the quiet command in it.

Mor mustered the smile she reserved for the courtiers and nobles. ‘Then I guess it makes this less awkward. Tell me about the fae.’

‘What fae?’ Ayla petted the dark coat of the horse. It shimmered like starry smoke under her fingers, and Mor longed to feel its softness on her skin.

‘The one you’re hiding in a secret room back there,’ Mor pointed at the smithy, though Ayla didn’t bother to look at her, unlike her horses who wouldn’t take their eyes away from her.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Seriously?’ Mor snorted, ‘Is this what you want to lie about? Rhys was inside that room.’

‘There’s a room, but it’s no secret.’

Mor rolled her eyes. She regretted not asking Rhys about her first. ‘Fine. Why don’t you tell me about this not-a-secret room and the child you’re harbouring?’

‘She’s not your concern.’

‘Of course, she is. She lives in this court.’

‘No, she’s not.’ She smiled, a twitch of her lips in mockery. ‘Despite what your High Lord believes he heard, that child was never in danger. Regardless, she can protect herself.’

‘Mine?’ Ayla’s chin dipped ever-so-slightly, her gaze shifting. Mor pressed, ‘You said my High Lord.’

‘I’m not mistaken.’

‘Where are you from?’ 

Ayla stayed silent. Mor studied her. Her hair, lighter than a raven’s, a deep brown shone with a tinge of coppery sheen in the sunlight. Her eyes matched her hair, deep and intense. Her skin had a golden hue to it, not tan like the three Illyrians she knew, and not fair like the Archeron sisters. Somewhere in between. Her body showed no hints of other courts’ blood.

Right when she was about to press again, a cool calmness that was the essence of her cousin nudged her mind. 

He’s home.

Keep him busy, she told him. If Rhys were to be believed, Az clung to a delicate thread of restraint from shadowing Ayla day and night. And when that snapped, she wanted to be as far away as possible.

Mor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘So, Rhys says you’re a weaponsmith.’ 

Ayla pursed her lips, resisting a smile. She petted her gelding, running her nails over its glossy coat, and coaxed it to accept her offering. It hung its head low, careening into her hand.

Mor sucked in a breath. ‘You’re going to ignore me?’ 

‘It’s pointless to state the obvious when you came here knowing who I am. And,’ Ayla drawled, ‘you’re standing in front of a forge.’

Mor snapped her mouth shut at the sound of her cousin’s chuckle in her mind. She almost forgot he was witnessing her trial. What did you do to her that day?

I can’t take credit for this. It’s all her. His amusement was loud and clear. Did you get anything yet?

Mor looked down at her hands. She gave me an apple. Does that count? He laughed again.

‘I understand why you won’t work for other courts. But why refuse your own High Lord?’

Ayla shrugged, ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Mor tugged at the bracelet coiling around her wrist, almost as tight as the words in her throat. ‘Would it hurt you to give me one straight answer?’ 

Ayla didn’t utter a word. Her gaze drifted to the mare at the tone only for a minute. 

Even as a courtier, it had been a while since Mor had to strain every nerve for a simple conversation. Why would Az lose his mind over her? He wouldn’t want her without the bloody bond. For a moment, she pitied her friend. He waited centuries only for Mother to bind his fate with this infuriating woman. 

Then she remembered her thoughts weren’t secure. She took a breath, ‘Fine, hate Rhys all you want. Why do you hate me?’

‘I don’t have a reason to hate you or your High Lord.’

I tried, Mor sighed.

Try harder. Rhys’s response was instant.

Get down here and do it yourself.

Mor, he warned, his power radiating even through their minds. Then his voice was gone, and so was his commanding presence. Mor inhaled deeply at the emptiness, as if her cousin had taken her thoughts along with him. Come home. I think he’s onto us.

You think? She surveyed their surroundings. Lush plains stretched in every direction, providing no cover for a particular shadowsinger if he chose to stake out. Give me another minute.

When she turned around, she met the coal-like eyes of the gelding that peered into the depths of her soul. It watched her like it sensed what she had been up to, that Rhys was watching it back.

Mor knew such beasts well. So she matched its stare. Tiny drops of rain hit her skin, but she refused to bow down. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the mare edging close to the entrance. Its steps were as quiet as the one challenging her. Neither made a sound with Ayla around, only their breaths a sign of their attention when she spoke to them.

‘I know you’re hungry,’ said Ayla, twirling the apple between her fingers. ‘We’ll go for a ride later if you take one bite.’ The beast nuzzled against Ayla’s neck, but it didn’t relent. She tipped her head and a thin veil of her hair blocked its view. ‘For me?’

Mor shifted her weight to her right foot, and it whinnied out a hoarse breath. Its forelimb twitched, muscles pulling taut along its length, warning her of what it wouldn’t hesitate to do if she made one wrong move.

The Truth-Teller strapped to Az’s thigh flashed in her mind. Or was it Rhys?

Ayla spoke softly, ‘I won’t let anyone touch you. You’re safe.’ She smoothed her palm between its eyes, down its neck, through its mane. ‘Easy now.’ 

The horse blinked. Ayla repeated her affirmations. It slowly turned, leaning into her hand, an eye watching its foe. The crunch of the ripe flesh between its teeth echoed in the air.

Mor shuddered. Yet, she couldn’t mask the smile on her lips or her thoughts. Tell me you're seeing this.

Ayla rewarded the gelding with a kiss between its eyes. ‘Good boy,’ she held out the other apple. But the beast pressed its forehead to her cheek and nuzzled, backing her towards the stone building, away from the stranger. Ayla chuckled as she steadied herself. ‘Come now. Don’t be rude.’

Mor ached to winnow back and tease her friend about his mate and her territorial pet. It wasn’t just her who felt that. 

Does Az know his mate already has a shadow? 

Oh, he won’t appreciate this competition. Rhys laughed.

Mor snorted. The beast stilled, its ears perked up. She cleared her throat, ‘He’s adorable. What’s his name?’ 

A minute passed and another. Well, Rhys would have to find some other way to get his answers. 

Mor sighed, though a little of the guilt and doubt in her chest had dampened. ‘If you ever need help, you can come to me.’ 

To her surprise, Ayla looked at her and nodded.

.

.

.

Seven days. Two cities. One woman.

Some spy he was. For five centuries, Azriel hunted men and women across lands. Never had he felt as useless as he did in those seven days.

He scoured every inch of Velaris for the woman who hurt Ayla. Day and night he searched every inn, listened to whispers in the streets, and sent his wraiths to gather news about foreigners. He searched for her in expensive bars and restaurants, to the theatres and landmarks. He went as far as to look into the seedy taverns on the other side of the city, just to be certain. If she had known they were inside the room while she threatened Ayla, she should have been smart enough to keep to the shadows. Even Hewn City wasn’t spared. He spied every courtier who set foot inside the mountain city in the past two weeks to ensure none of them knew of Ayla’s existence. 

He found nothing. It wasn’t a question of how, but who stumped him. All his efforts were futile, for what did he know of this mysterious enemy?

Azriel played the events of that day in his mind over and over again. His instincts had set in the instant he walked out of the hidden room. His shadows crept along the floor and writhed at his feet like serpents waking from each step. There was no trace of that woman—not her magic, not her scent. The only sign of the ordeal lay red on Ayla’s tender neck. He combed through every spoken word, every moment to find one clue that could lead him to her. A name. A court. But all it yielded was the churning rage in his gut at the voice that rang in his ears—her mockery, her threats, her laughter. 

I don’t work for any court , Ayla had said.

His brother wasn't beyond sending someone to test Ayla, but taking him to the smithy on the same day? Rhys could be cunning, but he was no fool. 

The woman didn’t belong to Night. But she knew where to find the city. She walked past the wards unhindered. She recognised them from their scents alone. She had met them before, at the least, been close enough. Why did she want Ayla? Was it to spite him? No, she mentioned Rhys only when she was denied what she came for. She wanted Ayla. And the girl. 

Azriel found only a mild comfort in all this—if she knew them, they knew her.

From the constant fussing and wary glances between the two, he knew his brothers sensed his desperation. So he went to work and pretended to be past it. He employed every spy of his all over the court, but he kept the details to himself. Every crossing past the borders of the two cities and the court was reported to him, irrespective of who and why. It was tedious work and inappropriate use of resources for his personal matters. He had never done that before.

And yet, it didn’t feel wrong.

Fourteen days. Three brothers. One woman.

Azriel needed answers. But he had no leads. Not true, he had three—none willing to help.

Confronting Ayla would be easier than chasing a phantom around the court. She refused to make weapons for her High Lord—fine, Azriel didn’t care. But as citizens of Night Court, she and her friends were their responsibility despite what she thought. If one of them was in danger or involved with other courts, he had the right to demand answers from her. She wouldn’t have a choice but to comply.

Mother above, he sounded like Rhys!

Ayla hated him. Azriel remembered the way she stepped back from the threshold when he reached for her. Her hand remained on the doorknob, but her back pressed into the stone wall with each step he took. Her breath stilled in her lungs as though she couldn’t bear to breathe the very air that touched him. Once he and his brothers were a few good feet away, she released a breath, and it was enough to crush his heart.

Her naked observation when she had him pinned to the floor was lost as soon as she realised who they were. Emotions flickered in her eyes—deep and haunting. They were nothing more than a threat, worse than the woman who almost killed her.

His brothers promised to protect Ayla. They reassured him her feelings would change with time, as they did for Feyre and Nesta. 

But Azriel wanted to disappear and never to return. He might as well do that. Leave her alone and never intrude into her life, even if the bond killed him.

After he found the woman and skinned her alive. 

Each wasted day chipped at his sanity. The horrid mark on her flesh was seared into his memory. Branded on his soul—a reminder of his incompetence, how he had failed to protect his mate. Not with his sheer Illyrian power, not with his shadows.

It was hard not to imagine, not to see so clearly. Shock and panic flooding her eyes before the fear settled in. Or her fingers clawing at the hand to savour one more gasp of air. Or her legs scuffing on the floor as she fought to level herself. Or her head hitting the wood hard to rattle the wards within, her eyes pinching shut at the impact. Every rasp of hers, every strained breath echoed in his ears—the little choke escaping her lips as the hand enclosed around her neck. 

There was no escape, not for him. Not when he had witnessed many in that position—put many in that position.

It was a twisted joke Mother played on him. A fitting punishment for what he had done over his lifetime for his friend and brother, for his High Lord. A punishment for who he was. To stand helpless and hear his mate endure what he had inflicted upon many without mercy. 

She was his mate. She was so close. She was scared and confused. 

And he couldn’t help her.

Twenty-one days. One shadowsinger. One woman.

Stop.

His shadows hissed as Azriel stared at the worn-out door from across the street. He couldn’t bear to face her again, but he couldn’t stand failing her more. One conversation, he told himself, just one.

He wasn’t afraid. He longed to see her face. He longed to hear her voice. Maybe even a touch, if he was lucky. Yet his body wouldn’t move.

Home.

The one time he wanted assurance from his shadows, they disagreed with him. Azriel balled his fists and turned away, only to meet the very eyes he had been running away from.

Ayla looked at him, the bar, and then back at him. A mere second. That’s how long it took for her to decide to ignore him like he meant nothing to her. She walked past, opening the lid of a brown box she carried in her hand.

‘Wait,’ Azriel said. When she didn’t stop, he called out. ‘Ayla.’

He hadn’t spoken her name out loud before. Not with Uri, not with his brothers, not in the privacy of his room. It had always been her. And now that he had spoken it, it was the only word he ever wanted to utter. The only word that held any meaning.

She came to a slow halt and looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Azriel held his breath waiting for her to return to him. Instead, she walked to the side of the building and leaned a shoulder against the wall facing him.

Azriel waited a moment before he approached her. For an alley, it was too clean, even in the dark. Behind her stood an iron door leading directly to the office inside. The only shred of light poured down from the streets. And the faelight next to the inscribed plaque of the bar cast an iridescent glow on part of her face.

The usual sternness she carried herself with was replaced with a casual ease. Her legs crossed at the ankles. Her hip jutted out, revealing that sensuous curve of her waist through that large shirt. Locks of hair that never seemed to stay held in her braid spilled around her face. The high collar hid her neck from his eyes. Azriel knew he would only find her flawless skin underneath. Still, he ached to pull her shirt down and see for himself.

The golden rings on her bracelet glinted under the faelight as Ayla reached into the box. Her fingers hovered over the crisp layers of pastries that sat inside. Scratches and cuts littered her knuckles. If the flex of her fingers were any indication, she was in pain.

One made his breath hitch in his throat. One too deep that it split the skin open between and around her knuckles. 

‘Those are fresh,’ he said quietly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dried blood. What did she do? Did that woman return? Did Ayla have to fight her alone?

‘Yes,’ she hesitated, ‘I just bought them.’

Azriel looked at her. As confused as he was, she was staring down the street where she came from, at the bakery she went to every week. The worry that nagged at him day and night lost its hold in a heartbeat. He bit the inside of his cheeks and tapped the back of his hand with his fingers, suppressing his urge to hold her hand and inspect it himself.

The little frown between her brows disappeared. She nodded at his face—his broken nose. ‘So is that.’

Courtesy of his brother during their morning training when he was so distracted that he practically threw himself into the punch. But she wasn’t interested in it. 

Ayla picked up a pastry. The sweet fragrance of chocolate and butter filled the air between them. Better than her scent, for he needed to think straight if he intended to find simple words around her. Her hand froze close to her mouth as she held out the box to him. 

Azriel’s heart stopped. He was sure of it. Did she know what it meant? Did she know how she was tormenting him?

He gawked at the flaky shell of the dessert. He could do it—take a bite, make her his. 

No!

The weight of his shadows curled around his hands and pulled him back. He shook his head, smiling.

‘Let’s hear it then.’ She returned the pastry with a sigh. 

‘And,’ he started carefully, ‘what is that?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Who is the child? Where is she? Why are you hiding her?’ 

Voices floated towards them. A band of faeries headed for the bar, giggling and stumbling before they caught sight of him. Their pale skin shifted and glimmered like fish scales under the faelight. Glancing between his wings and his face, they blushed and whispered to each other. Until his shadows wound around his shoulders and chest. And they hushed into silence. 

Ayla watched them rush through the door.

‘Are you safe?’ The words left his lips in a whisper.

Her eyes snapped to his face. The calm ones, yet so terrifying in the way they unravelled him every time she looked at him. Slowly, she graced him with a smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I know you were holding back that day.’ He took a step closer, drawn in by her gaze. ‘You could’ve stopped her. Why didn’t you fight?’

‘There was no reason to.’ She shrugged a shoulder, her shirt shifting over her breast with the movement. ‘She can’t hurt me.’

‘But you let her.’

‘She wasn’t there for me.’

‘Hamra.’ Ayla hesitated at the young fae’s name, still nodded. Azriel asked, ‘Why does she want her?’

‘It’s not my story to share, shadowsinger.’ 

With one simple statement, she quashed the only excuse for a conversation he had. They stared at each other. One more minute of silence and she would walk through that door. One more minute of silence and she would leave him. Azriel couldn’t find any words. But then, he didn’t have to.

‘You need to stop harassing her,’ she said.

Azriel narrowed his eyes. ‘I met with her once. That’s far from harassing.’

‘So you’re telling me,’ she arched a brow, ‘the shadows following her around is not you? Hmm, must be another shadowsinger I’m not aware of.’ 

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? That one seems to attract a lot of trouble.’

‘And how would you know that?’ She clicked her tongue, ‘You only met with her once.’

Azriel chuckled, and her eyes flicked to his lips. ‘How much do you know?’

‘Your brother came by the shop exactly when I was away. You’ve been asking Uri about my whereabouts. And Hamra threatened to stab you if she saw you again.’ She missed nothing. She continued, ignoring the dark gleam in his eyes, ‘Those are loyal to me, you know? What made you think they would tell you anything?’

If only she knew loyalty had nothing over pain and the will to live. 

Uri was prone to talk, but he swore to secrecy as Ayla's safety was concerned. Orvin was fiercely defensive to let Ayla know the High Lord she despised and his brothers took an interest in her. Azriel only worried about Hamra, but he trusted her to be smart, especially after his warning veiled as a lecture. He sensed wrong.

‘We believed they cared about you. Besides,’ he crossed his arms across his chest, ‘I can be. . .persuasive.’

Idiot.

His shadows flittered over his shoulders. They were right. What was he trying to do—scare her away?

She watched him in silence. His eyes, his lips, his face. His crossed arms, his body. And finally, she stopped at the knife strapped to his thigh before she met his gaze. She leaned her head against the wall and smirked, ‘Not enough.’

Gods, what did she think of him? Nothing good, he knew.

Her eyes burned with challenge, daring him to hurt the ones close to her. She lived in the city long enough to have heard of the rumours about the shadowsinger—Night Court’s torturer. They weren’t rumours if they were true.

‘I don’t intend to harm them.’ Azriel tried to salvage his dignity, ‘I was trying to find some truth.’

‘Is this your High Lord’s way of protecting his civilians?’

Closer.

Azriel wanted it too. But he stayed still.

‘It’s not him,’ he said quietly.

Her smile faltered.

Silence stretched long and tense. His shadows swirled over his arms drawing her attention. When she blinked at them, they skittered between them, daring to reach for her. Azriel took a sharp breath, and they withdrew.

‘Next time, shadowsinger,’ she pushed off the wall holding his gaze, ‘I find any of you following one of us, I will hand over a dagger to Hamra myself and she will keep her promise.’

With that, she left. And Azriel stared at the closed backdoor with a grin on his face.

Next Chapter: Relic

Someone tell me Azriel came off as a drama queen.

[0rainy0muses0]

@waveobeans asked:

"So, we do have your next mission ready... kinda." Komui was ushering Allen through the halls as he briefed him on the next possible innocence location, talking faster than usual. "We have the location, but getting you in is a different story. It's a big factory, and nobody is allowed in. At all. Nobody even sees workers going in and out, but it's still sending out product all over the world. Even more suspect, is that several people have gone missing after supposedly trying to break in." He was pushing him along faster now, towards the cafeteria. "But! But but but! The owner of said factory is running a contest. Six tickets to tour the factory, and get a reward. We reached out to try and secure a ticket directly, but no luck. He said it would 'ruin the fun'. So. We have to do this the old fashion way." The doors were swung open, and on every table were boxes stacked several high, each with the word "WONKA" on the side. At the tables were many, many finders, busy at work unwrapping chocolate bar after chocolate bar. "The ticket is golden. Hope you like chocolate. Best of luuuuck!"

🞠~☔︎~🞠 Unprompted 🞠~☔︎~🞠 Always Accepting 🞠~☔︎~🞠 Allen Walker

    Being called to Komui's office is nothing unusual, Allen just figures that the man has a mission for him. A quick call for Timcanpy and they're off, only to see him coming out of his office and speeding walking towards Allen. Slightly less usual, but he can roll with it. That is, until Komui starts talking in a fast, almost nervous sounding way while practically pushing him to the cafeteria. Something about this background information is so familiar soundings as well--

    ( He's nine, crowded around with other children and peering into the window of a candy shop; brightly wrapped bars of chocolate on display along with other sweet treats. The money is burning a hole in his pocket and he wants it so bad--but forces himself away from the window to go and buy proper food for himself and Mana. )

    Allen is taken off guard by the high stacks of boxes, all of them bearing the same name that he recognizes from his childhood. Wonka bars, hundreds, possibly thousands of them--all being opened by Finders who aren't currently on a job. Several of them whip their heads around to glare death at Komui, no doubt pissed off that the mindless busy work they've been assigned to.

    "Wait, what?" Allen asks, his brain finally catching up to the here and now. But then Komui is gone with those last few instructions and Allen is left to stare at the space he occupied just seconds before...then sighs and starts looking for a place to sit.

    As it turns out, he doesn't have to look long; waved over by Toma to join him and his small group. "Lord Walker, over here!"

    "Hello, Toma, everyone." Allen introduces himself politely, taking a seat next to his Finder friend and grabbing an unwrapped bar. "How...how long have you all been at it?"

    "We've been doing this for two days." Toma responds with an exasperated sigh. "Working in shifts, looking for this golden ticket. Jeryy's gone on strike, refuses to accept any more chocolate into the pantry."

    That seems like a waste to Allen, who learned to like any food at a young age--lest he not eat at all. "Well, I'm here to help now. I'm sure we'll be able to find one soon." He reassures the others at the table, and unwraps the first bar. It's quickly devoured, a smile on his face as he does so. It's his first time eating a Wonka bar, and they're just as good as everyone says they are.

    The wrapper is added to the growing pile and Allen reaches for another. It's not healthy to fill up on chocolate...but it also can't be that bad, not when it's this high of a quality.

[scotianostra]

On January 14th 1872 Edinburgh’s world famous dog, Greyfriars Bobby died.

On 15th February 1858, in the city of Edinburgh, Scotland, a local man named John Gray died of tuberculosis. Gray was better known as “Auld Jock”, and on his death he was buried in old Greyfriars Churchyard. Bobby, a wee Skye Terrier, belonged to John, who worked for the Edinburgh City Police as a night watchman, and the two of them had been virtually inseparable.

Legend has it Bobby led his master’s funeral procession to the grave at Greyfriars Cemetery, and later, when he tried to stay at the graveside, he was sent away by the caretaker.

But the little dog returned and refused to leave, whatever the weather conditions. Despite the combined efforts of the keeper of the Kirkyard, Auld Jock’s family and some of the local people, Bobby refused to be enticed away from the grave for any length of time, and he touched the hearts of the local residents.

Although dogs were not allowed in the graveyard, the people rallied round and built a shelter for Bobby and there he stayed, guarding Auld Jock.

As the firing of the one o’clock gun sounded from the castle each day, he would leave his post, and run to the eating house which he had frequented with Auld Jock, and then he would return to Jock’s grave. The news of Bobby’s loyalty soon spread, and people would travel from far and wide to see him. Crowds would gather for the firing of the gun, to see him run for his midday meal. After the town council ordrered a crackdown on unlicensed dogs in 1867, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh presented Bobby with a new collar, which is now on display. The collar has a brass plate inscribed with the words….

“Greyfriars Bobby – from the lord Provost, 1867, licensed”

Bobby was well cared for by the people of Edinburgh, but he still remained loyal to his master, and he continued to stay faithfully guarding Auld Jock’s grave for all those years, until he died on January 14th 1872, aged about 16 years.Bobby was also buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard, just seventy five yards away from his masters grave. He has his very own red granite headstone in 1981. The inscription on it reads………

“Greyfriars Bobby – died 14th January 1872 – aged 16 years. Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all”

Over the years films and videos have been made about this remarkable story, including a Disney movie, and an Edinburgh toy company came up with the popular Greyfriars Bobby toy. Guided tours of the kirkyard are given by a number of groups, including the Greyfriars Bobby Walking Theatre and the Greyfriars Kirkyard Trust.

The statue of Bobby, beside the pub named “Bobby’s Bar”, is a well known tourist attraction, with visitors from all over the world coming to Greyfriars to learn his story and have their pictures taken beside him. (Some people rub his nose for good luck, but are now being asked to do it gently, as it has had to be restored twice).

There is now a second statue of Bobby inside the Kirkyard, it marks 150n years of his passing.

Please note photos of Bobby are from an age when people did not touch his nose, it was never a tradition and the only luck it brings you is I was not there to tell you to leave it alone.

[archangeldyke-all]

Halloooo

For cowboy!Sevika I had an idea about Sev just being a terrible bartender after retiring constantly fucking up drinks, scaring customers and in general can’t do the job. Perhaps angsty, where she feels a burden to you or unhappy she can’t reintegrate back to normal life or very fluffy where reader tries to show Sev how to actually do the job and makes Sev do a different job after she still doesn’t get it

Or maybe cowboy Sevika acting as a guard for the bar and she protects you from the handsy and aggressive customer for you or perhaps some young outlaws wink wink (Vi and Jinx could make an appearance) try and steal from reader bar and Sevika shows them either who’s boss 🤭 or how to steal and get away with it !

LOVE ALL YOUR WRITINGS btw your doing the lords work for the Sevika lover community 🫡

love you <333

the second one???? genius... omg...

read part 1 of cowboy sevika here!

men and minors dni

sevika's been settling into the rancher life pretty easily. at sunrise, you both wake up in each other's arms. you start your rounds around the inn, delivering fresh washed towels to your guests, and then heading out to the garden to weed and water before the sun gets too high. sevika dresses in her rancher get up and makes the two of you breakfast, and if you're not too busy, you guys eat together in the tavern, sitting curled in each other's arms, chatting over coffee and eggs.

after breakfast, you walk sevika to the small stables, greeting shimmer and helping her get all saddled up. sevika always gives you a breathtaking kiss before she jumps onto shimmers back, tipping her hat at you and then taking off for the ranch a few miles north of town.

she works until sunset, and comes home at dusk, where you serve her a big bowl of dinner and a tall glass of whiskey, between tending to customers and doing chores. after she unwinds from work, sevika helps you close up the tavern, then the two of you retire to your quarters on the third floor, falling into each other's arms and chatting about your days, before making love and falling asleep against one another, excited to repeat the routine again tomorrow.

it's winter now, and with the shortened days, sevika's got much more time to spend at home with you.

when you're not busy, she spends her evenings in her stool at the bar, watching you work, flirting with you like you aren't already married, and intimidating any men who come in looking for trouble. when you've got lots of guests, sevika's a great help, doing chores without you even having to ask, helping you cook and clean, pressing kisses to your cheek when there's a lull.

you're happier than you've ever been. sevika is too.

tonight, you've got a fire roaring in the fireplace, trying to chase away the chill of the harsh cold wind blowing outside. you've only got two guests, and they both retired to their rooms early. it's just you and sev in the tavern, dancing slowly to the music playing over the gramophone.

"i'm so cold." you whisper against sevika. she chuckles, tugging you closer to her swaying body.

"you've got ten layers on." she says, pressing a kiss to your temple. you giggle.

"yeah, but it's no help. if only there were some other way to warm me up..." you say, suggestively blinking your eyelashes at your wife. she laughs, her head falling backwards.

"you're a minx." she says, shaking her head at you. you smile.

"that's not a no." you point out.

"i'll never say no to an offer like that, darlin', you know that." she says. you grin, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips.

"one of the many reasons i love ya." you say. she hums.

"what're the others?" she asks, as she slowly twirls you under her arm then tugs you back to her chest.

"i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." you say. sevika smirks.

"deal."

"your smile." you start. sevika's smirk grows, her cute little gap in her teeth revealing itself. your heart melts. "there it is." you say, raising your hand from her shoulders to cup her cheeks. she nuzzles against your hold.

"hmm, that's funny. 's the first thing on my list too." she says. you laugh.

"you can't just copy every one of my answers."

"i'm not!" she insists. "c'mon, gimmie another."

you roll your eyes. "your voice." you say honestly. sevika raises an eyebrow at you.

"really?" she asks. you nod.

"my favorite sound besides your laugh." you say with a shrug. sevika melts, her arms pulling your impossibly closer to her swaying body, her head falling forward to press your foreheads together.

"sap. i like your ass." she says. you burst into laughter.

"perv!" you accuse. sevika just shrugs.

"still remember the first time i saw it. walked in here lookin' for a drink, and you were bendin' down behind the bar, getting some potatoes for the stew. think i fell in love right then." she says. you snort.

"real romantic, baby." you chastise her. she laughs.

"c'mon, 're we takin' this party upstairs or what?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows at you. you smile.

"go tuck shimmer in for the night and i'll put out the fire." you say, swooping forward to kiss your wife. "i'll meet you upstairs." you say. she grins.

"deal." she says.

she twirls you under her arm one final time before stepping away from your body, giving your ass a little pat on her way out of the tavern to check up on her mare.

you take your time wandering around the tavern, sweeping up the floor and putting chairs up, turning off the oil lamps, before grabbing a quilt and tucking it over your shoulders and wandering out to the water pump, filling a bucket of water to douse the fire with. you can hear sevika in the stable, the sounds of shimmer snorting and hay rustling, the sound of a brush as sevika tends to her horse. it makes you smile, your heart warming in the cold, cold weather.

you quickly dart back inside the now darkened tavern, desperate to get out of the cold.

something feels off.

the fire's low, and there's barely any light, but there's a shadow behind the bar you don't recognize. you freeze in the doorway, squinting your eyes at the shadowy figures. you gulp.

"hello?" you call out. nobody answers. just before you shake it off and return to the task at hand, a coin clatters to the ground behind the bar, and a voice whispers, 'shit!'

you gasp. someone's fucking robbing you!

you spring into action, throwing the bucket of water in your hands at the bar, soaking your intruder. two voices gasp, and you sprint over to the bar. "get the fuck outta here!" you call, your eyes adjusting to the two tiny figures ducking behind the bartop. they scramble, and you chase after them, screaming. "think you can fuckin' rob me?! you stupid fuckers, you got no idea who the fuck i am do you?!" you scream as you chase them out of your inn. as the tiny robbers take off, a trail of coins follows their path.

they spring out of the parlor doors, taking off down the dirt road, the moonlight illuminating their soaking wet bodies. they're kids!

they're not just kids, they're fast little fucks, sprinting away while you stumble down the front porch after them. "fuckin' stop!" you call.

it's no use, and you feel stupid chasing after kids, so you just sigh as you watch them run away.

suddenly, a gunshot rings out. the kids freeze and you jump, turning around to find sevika standing in the road behind you with her shotgun in her hands. "the woman said stop!" she shouts.

both kids raise their hands in surrender, and you smirk.

"get your ass inside now!" you shout at your robbers. they don't move. you glare at them, and behind you, sevika cocks the barrel, and aims it at them. "unless you want me to send for the sheriff." you add on.

the taller kid's shoulders fall, and then the two of them slump forward, slowly approaching you and sevika.

you both gasp as they get closer, realizing just how young your thiefs are. the oldest, a girl with a choppy pink haircut, is no older than ten. the girl beside her with two tiny pigtails looks like she's still too young for school. sevika scoffs.

"unbelievable." she mumbles. you chuckle.

you grab the collars of their shits, dragging them back inside the tavern, sevika following behind you.

you throw them in some chairs and glare at them. "stay." you command. they guiltily keep their eyes on their feet, and sevika sits across from them, her gun resting against the table, as you turn on a few lamps and round the bar for some towels, bread, and a bottle of whiskey.

when you return, the shivering girls quickly wrap themselves up in the warm towels, and tear into the bread like they're starving. some of the anger in your chest melts, pity taking it's place. you sit down beside sevika, studying your prisoners as you take a long sip from the bottle in your hands, before passing it over to her.

"do you know who i am?" you ask. the older girl blinks up at you. "do you know what this place is?" you ask. she shrugs.

"an inn?" she asks. you snort.

"the last inn on earth you'd ever wanna rob." you say, nodding.

"why? we almost got away with it." the younger kid asks. you snort. sevika huffs beside you.

"because criminals stay here. actual criminals, not wannabe fuck ups like you two." sevika spits out. the oldest rolls her eyes.

"we're criminals!" she defends. sevika chuckles.

"you stuffed your pockets with coins and left a trail behind you. by the time you got away, you'd have had fifty cents left, at best. you robbed us before we were even closed! you're what, five years old?" she asks. the girl scoffs.

"i'm eight!" she exclaims. beside her, the younger girl huffs.

"what's wrong with bein' five?" she asks.

you chuckle. "where're your parents?" you ask, no longer upset about the attempted robbery, ready to get back to your night alone with your wife.

"we don't have any." the younger girl says. the older one stares down at her lap, biting her lip.

you and sevika shoot each other a look. fuck.

"what're your names?" you ask, rising from the table to round the bar again, pulling out two bowls and filling them with some stew.

"i'm violet. this is powder." the oldest replies. "we're sisters." she says.

you return to the table, and pass a bowl of stew to each girl. the youngest looks at you with stars in her eyes, while the oldest glares at you.

"thanks, miss!" powder says. you smile at her.

"don't eat that powder." violet whispers. "could be poisoned." she says.

sevika snorts. "if we wanted you dead, i'd've shot you. fuckin' eat." she says. violet glares at her, but picks up her spoon nonetheless.

after the first bite, the girls' eyes go wide, and then they start shoveling the food into their mouths like animals starved. your heart breaks again. sevika elbows you, knowing that you're softening to the girls. you look back at her. the two of you have a silent conversation. it goes something like this:

absolutely not.

they're kids, sev!

fuck no. you already fed 'em. they tried to rob us!

they're orphans! they're starving, and soaking wet, and freezing cold!

they. tried. to. rob. us.

we're rich, we can afford a little robbery from time to time! you're wanted in twenty three counties for the same crime, and i still married you!

...fuck.

you smirk, and sevika huffs and rolls her eyes.

"look." you say. the girls look up from their bowls. "you can stay here for a while, i got some vacancies upstairs. if you try any funny shit, you'll be out on your asses again, understand?" you ask. the girls blink at you.

"what?" voilet asks. "why?" she asks, suspicious. you shrug.

"i'm a nice person." you say.

"she's a saint." sevika corrects, glaring at the girls.

"and if the two of you are gonna try 'n make it out west as thieves, you gotta learn how to rob properly." you say. "luckily for you, i know someone who can help teach ya." you say, nudging sevika. she huffs.

"only if they help with the chores around here." she says. "shovelin' shimmer's shit. cleanin' the outhouse. the nasty shit." she says. you nod, then look at violet.

"deal?" you say. she blinks, then looks at her sister. powder shrugs.

"deal." violet says, reaching forward to shake your hand.

your days look a little different now. you and sevika never wanted kids, and your motherly instincts aren't exactly up to par, but the four of you figure it out as time goes on.

in the mornings, you still wake up at dawn. but instead of getting to work on the chores, the two of you get to slowly wake up together while the girls take care of the morning rounds.

you all eat breakfast together, powder usually providing the entertainment with wild re-enactments of her dreams from the night before.

during the days, sevika goes to the ranch, and you stay back at the inn, teaching violet how to cook and powder how to read. when she returns at night, the girls join her in the two stools beside her designated spot, chatting to you behind the bar and teasing you while you work.

the three of them help when you're busy. vi's got a knack for people, charming the pants off of any patrons who come in. powder is a wiz behind the counter, great with numbers, obsessed with the fun noises the register makes each time she pops it open.

when your patrons retire for the night, sevika gives the girls robbing lessons. she tries to pretend she hates the kids, but you see the grin she wears when she teaches them how to ride horseback, or when they master a new slight of hand trick.

you're both growing attached to the girls.

the first time violet sees you and sevika kiss, she trips over her own feet and falls face first onto the floor. every time after that, you catch her gawking at you and sevika, a look of wonder and shock in her eyes. it's cute. you remember the first time you saw two women kiss; the shock that flooded your body, quickly followed by the warmth of a new realization about yourself.

one night, as you're saying goodnight to the girls, violet tugs your hand before you can leave her bed. you blink down at her.

"what's up, kid?" you ask.

"you and sevika... you guys are married?" she asks. you smile and nod. "...like, the same way men and women are?" she whispers. you giggle.

"yeah." you say. she blinks.

"how?!" she asks. you shrug.

"bribed a pastor." you say. she smiles.

"oh." she says. you nod.

"y'know... the west is different from the rest of the world. people out here are a little more... open minded. and if they're not, you can always just shoot 'em." you say. "you can be anybody you want to be."

violet bites her lip as she considers this. "like... like a retired bandit/rancher who lives in a tavern?" she asks. you laugh and nod.

"who lives in a tavern with her wife." you say. violet blushes, and you ruffle her hair. "goodnight kid."

sevika's particularly fond of powder. when they're not bickering, they're getting into trouble with each other. you've found them in the cellar 'sneaking' scoops of jam out of jars while giggling mischievously with one another.

powder is shimmer's favorite person in the world, you swear the little kid can telepathically communicate with the horse or something. you've found her asleep in shimmers stable on warm evenings, sevika just rolling her eyes as she refills the troughs. you know she's not really annoyed, though. not when powder's got sevika's red poncho tucked under her chin as a blanket.

your customers get pretty used to the presence of the girls too, greeting them with fist bumps and noogies, bringing them trinkets from their travels and adventures.

by the time spring rolls around, the room at the end of the hall's been permanently taken off the roster for outside customers. powder and vi customized the little white door to their room with bright blue and pink paint.

as the days grow longer again, sevika stays at the ranch longer, and she comes home more and more exhausted.

one night, she's laying on her stomach in bed, groaning as you massage her sore back. you lean down to press a kiss to her neck.

"i love you." you say. sevika hums.

"i love you too, darlin'."

"how were the cows today?" you ask. she huffs.

"fuckin' crazy. they're all excited about the warm weather."

"powder missed you today." you say. sevika sighs.

"little fucker." she says fondly. you laugh.

"you love her." you say. sevika groans.

"i guess. they're not that bad. they're a big help around here too." she says. you smile.

"yeah." you say.

"you think they're ever gonna leave?" she asks, turning over to flop on her back and look up at you. you settle down on her chest, listening to the steady thump of her heart.

"no." you say honestly. "at least not for a long while."

"i thought we didn't want kids." she says. you laugh.

"we didn't. we don't. just think of 'em as permanent residents." you say. sevika groans.

"i thought i was teachin' 'em to rob so they could go out on their own."

"oh please, you'd be heartbroken if they left."

sevika chuckles beneath you. "i guess." she says, a little smile on her lips. you grin. "they're lucky, y'know." she says. you furrow your brow.

"whaddya mean?"

"that they robbed us. that it's your inn. that you like takin' in strays." she says. you giggle. "they could be in a jail cell. or livin' with nuns at an orphanage." sevika says, a shiver running down her spine. you press a kiss to her neck.

"i'm lucky too, you know." you say. she hums a questioning sound beneath you. you grin. "all the strays i took in ended up bein' sweethearts." you explain. sevika laughs beneath you.

"whatever." she says. you giggle and kiss her neck again.

"you're still my favorite you know." you say. sevika chuckles.

"i better be."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess

[lunarmoonanons]

Fire and Salt chp 14

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

YN sits at her mother's council

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN always enjoyed seeing the map table lit up. Watching the fire below light up the pieces and places like flowing fire enchanted the girl whenever she saw it. YN knew this wasn’t an occasion to enjoy the lit table, but she still admired it nonetheless. YN rested one hand on the table and looked up from it to see her mother walking into the room surrounded by her guards. YN smiled at her mother for a brief moment as her step father announced her to the room of people her mother would call her court. 

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” Daemon announced and everyone followed with a bow to the rightful Queen. “Your Grace.”

YN was in between her two brothers, one hand on the table and the other resting on Luke’s nervous back. She knew he would feel overwhelmed and inadequate at an official meeting of mother’s court so she offered her touch to comfort him. YN looked around the room and saw that her grandmother and Baela stood next to each other. 

Rhaena came up to Rhaenyra and held a cup out to her. “Wine, my queen.” 

Rhaenyra took the cup and thanked the girl, offering her to come up to the table with her, also signaling Baela to come with her to seat at the table. There was an air of silence in the room as everyone looked to Rhaenyra to do something. YN watched her mother with questioning eyes and wondered what she was to do first. YN wanted to call out for an attack on Kings Landing, they had the greater dragons, save for Vhagar, and the more support for the queen. YN knew what the common folk thought of her mother. What they thought of her. Many wanted YN to be heir instead of Jace but she stood firm in her decision to place Jace on the throne. 

“What is our standing?” Her mother started. 

“We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms,” Daemon explained. “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.” 

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon,” The Maester spoke. 

“My lady mother was an Arryn,” Rhaenyra spoke up. “The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“River run was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

That did not seem to sate Rhaenyra, YN swallowed her tongue at what she wanted to say about their position and what she thought they should do. Knowing her anger and want to burn Kings Landing was mostly from her anger at Aemond’s betrayal of her once again. 

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war,” Rhaenyra said. 

“I’m going to treat with him myself.” Daemon explained. 

Steffon Darklyn spoke up next, “What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” 

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And as I hear it he has sent a betrothal request to Princess YN. If she accepts we have a stronger claim with them beyond us,” Bartimos spoke, looking at YN who stared at her mother. “And with House Stark the North will follow.”

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father’s promises,” Rhaenyra explained. Watching as one man placed a figure on the table then as YN handed Jace a figure for him to place on Duskendale. She then turned behind her to look at Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?” 

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” Rhaenys spoke up for the first time. 

“To declare for his Queen.” Daemon loudly said. 

“The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke,” Rhaenys explained. “He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet,” Rhaenyra said before turning back to the table. “And our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters. Thailand served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.” YN watched her mother’s expression as she listened to Daemon . 

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” Rhaenyra responded. 

“No,” Daemon paused for a moment. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

There was a pause in the room, YN wanted to speak about the common folk, how she could rally them against the greens and take Kings Landing back. She knew many of the small folk looked to YN for many things and many would do anything for the Princess. But she held her tongue. There were not many on the court who thought of the small folk and did not see their value. But YN did and when she had the time she would tell her mother that she could rally them for her. 

“Pray forgiveness for my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.” One spoke up making the room think of the power of the dragons. 

“The greens have Dragons,” Rhaenyra explained but she was cut off by Daemon. 

“They have three adults by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons and daughter have SeaSmoke, Vermax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” Daemon listed. 

“Daemmon, none of our dragons have been to war.” Rhaenyra countered. 

“There are also unclaimed dragons. Verminthos and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless,” Daemon continued. “Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Rhaenyra asked. YN looked behind Rhaenyra and noticed someone coming in. She wondered what could be needed now. 

“Dragonstone has 13 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont,” Daemon said, then walking around the table. “Now… we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround Kings Landing with the dragons. And we could have every green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” 

YN never usually agreed with Daemon but she was pleased to hear what she wanted. She wanted to surround Kings Landing call the smallfolk to rally against the greens, have place each of their traitor heads on spikes. 

“Your Grace…” Ser Erryk came back in. “A ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon flying the banner of a three headed green dragon.”

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.” Daemon demanded and grabbed his sword. 

YN saw her mother leave the room with Daemon. She knew the greens were sending someone to demand her mother and them all bend the knee to Aegon. She would never, not for anyone. Lucerys turned to YN, but she never betrayed a look of worry. She merely brought a hand to his cheek and rubbed her thumb up and down. She knew her family would call to war and they needed all the allies they could get. So she made up her mind as she looked in Luke’s eyes that she would send a raven to Cregan Stark and accept his proposal. 

~~~

When her mother returned, YN had already sent the raven to Lord Stark. She now waited for the right time to tell her mother. Now she stood near her mother as they discussed the terms the greens had sent. Her mother declaring she would not rule over a kingdom of ash and bone. No matter how many times Daemon had said they had the greater number of dragons. 

“My father’s dead. And he chose me as his successor, to defend the realm not cast it headlong into war.” Rhaenyra said, countering Daemon’s claim. 

“Well, the enemy have declared war. What are you gonna do about it?” Daemon demanded. 

“Clear the room.” Her mother ordered. YN looked to her mother with questioning eyes. Rhaenyra gave her hand a squeeze before whispering for her to leave, that it would be alright. 

Rhaenys came up to her granddaughter and guided her out of the room. YN spared one last look at her mother before leaving. She knew her mother and Daemon would have this fight. Her mother was not as hot headed as Daemon, and not as blood hungry for war. 

YN did not want to seem blood hungry. She did not want the smallfolk to suffer a war caused by them. But she was so angry. She wanted revenge for this slight against her mother, for the betrayal of Aemond once again. Her friend, the one whom she still cared about no matter how angry she got with him betrayed her. He was planning on usurping the throne. And he had the nerve to pretend he wanted her. Maybe he did but she was not someone you crossed. YN spared a look to her grandmother before walking toward her brothers.