#Bryce Huff

[mmmancandy]

Who are you going to the gym with today?

[pactheland-at-100]

i drew this thing with the charas cast from @pacthesis ‘s game number days sim date!

ending 08: everyday my beloved

[starryskiesahead]

All the endings are pretty neat but IMO ending 8 is the best/canon ending bc LOOK AT THEM THEYRE SO HAPPY TOGETHER

I LOVE THEM ALL

(thank you so much @pacthesis for this beautiful game. i love it with all my heart.)

[peachesofteal]

MELOS

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist / Melos masterlist

Azriel/female reader Part one of three (part two here) - 8.5k words - AO3

Tags: 18+ mdni. Torture scene, asphyxiation (not the sexy kind), angst. Azriel hates himself. Feelings of despair, fear, panic, longing. Amren uses "boy/girl" so I can too. Mention of spanking. Trauma. Post ACOSF, HOFAS, canon-compliant. Cassian is a meddler. Azriel doesn't like surprises.

In the woods just inside the confines of the Middle, Azriel finds a puzzle.

More aptly, Azriel finds you, bathed in the glow of the sunset, iridescent snowflakes from the first snow delicately falling to your shoulders, your hair, the tip of your nose.

There’s magic on the wind carrying your scent, something different he cannot place, tang of petrichor sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Strange, beautiful creature, the shadows whisper. He’s inclined to agree.

Strange indeed.

For a moment, he thinks of Bryce. He remembers her entrance into this world, her stories of her home, things both he and Nesta have no concept of. The star on her chest.

She is of no threat to us. 

That’s not for you to decide.

He slips into the caliginous wisp curling around his shoulders, a shroud of darkness allowing him a closer look, just as a persistent huff at the edge of his mind pulls his attention.

Where are you? 

Working.

Working where? 

South. There’s a snort.

One-word answers, how sufficient. You’re not a pariah. Come home. 

Once I’m finished. 

The conversation eclipses his focus until you slip on the frozen riverbank and he tenses, gaze swinging to where you’ve caught yourself with a squeak, one hand behind your back, palm slicked with mud. 

His wall falls entirely, distracted, and Rhys' curiosity piques. 

Who is that? 

No one. I’ll report to you later. With that, the conversation ceases, Azriel’s walls of tenebrific smoke rising to block out the irritated hiss of his brother.

The edge of the Middle is considered somewhat safe, though not without risk, a perplexing fact that spurs him closer for a better look as you rise from the river, frozen blades of glass crunching under the sole of your boot. Your ears are pointed, limbs elongated, both markers of High Fae, but something unknown still lingers, a natural, earth rich sillage left in your wake. Your hips swing from the effort of pushing up the bank, backpack in hand, and the sway distracts him. It’s hard to ignore the shape of you, the weight of your breasts, the pert bow of your top lip. Gods, at full height, you barely reach his shoulders, and his body reacts in a way that’s out of his control.

Rhys’ warning is ice between his ears, a wound still fresh even though it's old. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  

He’s long let her go, but the command from his brother still sits bitterly in his stomach, along with untended desire. That's all this is, misplaced salacity.

Still, even your calves draw his eye.

Lovely little female, the shadows croon. He grits his teeth and falls into step behind you, cautiously allowing inky tendrils to sprawl across bramble laced ground. One licks too close, just barely caressing the edge of your heel, and you freeze.

So does he. An unnatural stillness falls over the wood, culminating into a quiet so loud it shatters as you fix wary eyes on the space where he stands. He holds his breath, ice crystal laden cirrus clouds parting overhead, drawing back the curtain on a star filled night sky, silver light shimmering across fallen leaves. 

The night's splendor shines on you like a blessing from the Mother herself. 

You blink, lips parted, quizzical, anxious expression bringing your brows together. “Hello?”

You can’t… you can’t see him, can you?

Your reaction puzzles him. How is it you are out here, in the Middle, so brazenly, so recklessly, calling out to a place filled with such sinister, monstrous magic and monsters?

You tilt your face to the break in the clouds, downy white snowflakes sticking to your eyelashes and dotting your cheeks in such a way it’s seraphic. The shadows, his shadows, vibrate with frenetic, enchanted energy.

Beautiful, they coo as they reach for you, nearly finding the bend of your neck before he snaps them away.

You shift the backpack hung from your shoulders and take one last look around, confused, until you shake your head, spinning on your heel to head into the forest. The urge to follow you is too great, your presence here is now a riddle requiring answers, if not for his own curiosity, then for the safety of the Night Court, his family. Who knows who you are, what you are, what your business is in this place-

Shadowsinger. Nuala’s whisper halts his pursuit. The fox is here with news of Koschei.

With one more long look at your retreating back, he reluctantly steps into a pocket of a shadow, leaving the Middle and its new mystery for another time. Soon.  

Azriel does not like surprises.

In fact, he prides himself on rarely ever being surprised, at least in Velaris.

So to stumble upon you at the Palace of Bone and Salt, to see you in the midday sun, boots and muddied cloak replaced by a plum stained linen dress, hair pinned up in various places off your neck and holding a large canvas bag at your side, stops him in his tracks. He falls behind Cassian and Nesta without a single word, slowing his steps to mimic how you drift through the stalls and storefronts, nodding and smiling to others as if you belong here. As if this is your home. The wary look in your eyes from the other day has been replaced by a radiant, celestial glimmer, one drawing those around you closer, and something squeezes around his heart at the sight.

Our sweet girl. 

Stop it. 

“Az?” Nesta turns, noticing his absence, Cassian following suit almost immediately.

“Sorry,” he replies smoothly, running a hand down the buttons of his shirt. Even from paces away, the scent of your skin fills his nostrils, dampened wood from rain and freshly fallen fruit. Foolishly, his gaze lingers too long, long enough his brother notices, and breaks out a broad grin.

“See something you like?”

Cassian plants himself directly in your path, pretending to look on absentmindedly, perusing a stall piled with fresh cuts of meats. You try to move around him, but the flow of bodies stalls your momentum, and you nearly trip over your feet, giving Cassian an opportunity to reach out and steady you.

“I’m sorry!” You grip the straps of your bag, righting yourself after recovering from the stumble, and Azriel closes his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch his brow.

“That’s alright. I’m Cassian,” he grins, extending his hand. There isn't a male, female, or child in this place that does not know them, but the introduction is polite, at the bare minimum. At its depth, it's a way for his some time insufferable brother to stick his nose in a place it doesn't belong, and when you don’t reciprocate, he breezes right past, ignoring the awkwardness of your refusal. “This is Nesta, and Azriel.” Azriel inclines his head, and you look from Cassian to him, before settling on Nesta.

Most in Velaris look away from Nesta, like they’re staring at a star so bright it hurts their eyes, but not you. You meet her head on, studying curiously, and her lips quirk to the side in a barely-there smile.

“Ignore him. He’s an oaf sometimes.” She playfully nudges Cassian with an elbow, and you relax slightly. His brother doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone however, and clears his throat.

“This is the part where you tell us your name. It’s customary.” You’re taken aback for a second, a micro-expression of unease no one else tracks save for himself before recovering with a tepid smile.

Your name rings like a bell, a chime of music, strings and key perfectly played in harmony. The shadows sigh.

“Do you live around here?” Cassian pushes, and teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Yes, I- I work at Moonflower.”

“The apothecary?”  

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe we’ll see you there sometime. Nesta’s always in need of a new elixir.” She raises a brow at her mate, who flashes Azriel a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I work in the back.”

“You’re the apothecary.”  They're the first words he's said to you, and they're wrong. They slip off his tongue too cold, too calculated, and he doesn't miss the way you frown in confusion.

“I’m an alchemist, but… yes.” Your voice is a shade above a whisper, quiet beneath the bustle of the market, and his eyes meet yours, circling in your inescapable gaze like a spider in a web. Cassian coughs, breaking his reverie. “I uh… I should get going, I’ve got a lot of work to do. It was nice to meet you all.” He wants to disappear into the crowd of the market after you, but he dreads the weight it would carry with his brother, the unrelenting questioning and pestering it would produce. 

“You too!” Cassian hollers, and then faces him with a wide grin. “Well, she’s-“ Nesta smacks the middle of his chest, and Azriel glowers.

“Don’t.”

He finds you again in the Middle, same backpack and boots, diligently picking through a patch of chartreuse moss. He swallows his scowl. Why are you out here alone, again? It frustrates him. Why put yourself in such danger?

He's struck by a fantasy, one of you with your pants pulled down your ankles and bent over his knees, sweet cries filling the room as you take your punishment for such recklessness, his open palm raining smack after smack down onto your ass.

Madness. He shakes the vision away, coming to stand at your side.

“Hello.” You whirl, startled like a rabbit.

Nice, the shadows groan, and his wings flex.

“H-hi.” Music again, a melody on the breeze, and shadows flutter around his shoulders, scrawling across the ground to where you kneel. He orders them back, wielding a sharp-edged command that cuts, but they stray farther, stretching for you, carefully floating across your forearms.  

He’s stunned, briefly, and then gathers his wits, yanking them away. They’ve never, never behaved this way. Born for him from desolation, tamed from darkness incarnate, he’s shaped them into obedient spies, tools spread across Prythian, ethereal wisps capable of things others cannot comprehend. Always in service, always compliant.

You look up with a little bit of wonder in your eyes, pretty little smile tugging at your mouth. He should say something reassuring, something kind or friendly to ease you, but such sentiment fails him, and he scowls, snapping at you instead. “Why are you out here by yourself?” Your face falls, effectively chastised like a child who’s been caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m… I need things. Ingredients.”

“And you need to come out here to get them?”

“The plant life is more vibrant here, more uh, c-concentrated? The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…” 

“The Middle is a dangerous place.” He replies flatly.

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.” You glance at your bag at the edge of the clearing, eager for an escape he imagines, though he’s not willing to let you go.

“You’re quite far from Velaris.” You nod, but offer no explanation, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I winnowed.” You rock back on your heels and stand, shuffling closer to your backpack. He doesn’t move to stop you, just stands in the center of the moss patch, studying your every move. “I've got to get back,” you explain, offering him a nervous smile, one he doesn’t deserve, or return. You wilt. 

It strikes a chord in the pit of his stomach, and in a last-minute moment of weakness, he sends a shadow to ride the coattails of your winnow, issuing a stark warning to reaffirm the mission.

Observe and report to me. Do not make yourself known. 

Always.

Our sweet looks beautiful tonight, the shadows report in a whirlwind of excitement, and he pauses mid cut as the male in front of him whimpers, twisting, trying break free from the chains.

That is not worthy of a report. He blatantly ignores the possessiveness, the pet name. For now.

She’s going to Rita’s with a friend. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Her dress is blue. Cobalt.  

Why are you reporting this? 

We’re acting as instructed. 

This is a futile information, he chastises, and the answer is resounding silence as he shakes his shoulders and turns back to his prey, the crying, bloody Fae strung up by his wrists.

“Where were we?”

Outside of Rita’s, Azriel lurks in darkness.  

His family is inside, unaware he’s in the alley, tucked away from prying eyes. He’s freshly showered, blood scrubbed out from beneath his fingernails, blackened door in his mind firmly shut and locked away, just like its twin in the dungeon.

It’s been too long since he’s gone out, always choosing to slink away just before the conversations turn to plans, separating himself from Mor, and Elain, distancing himself from scrutiny or worse, pity.

Tonight, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t shake the idea of you here, so close, so tangible.

He slides from the shadowed pocket, and Fae step around him, eyes going wide and inclining their heads as a sign of respect. 

Respect. A joke. The city cannot fathom what he has done in his lifetime, and if they did, respect would be the furthest thing from their mind. 

He dons his mask, cold indifference, severe gaze, and slips inside.

Cassian knows he’s here before he’s in view. A brother’s intuition, an instinct that has served them well in battle and elsewhere, since they were young.

Tonight, he greets Azriel with a wide, knowing grin, dragging his gaze to the other side of the room and Azriel has no choice but to follow, spotting the obvious immediately.

You. 

You’re perched at a table, legs crossed, smiling, laughing, holding a too full glass of wine. The dress is cobalt blue silk, delicate lace stitched on the hem, thin straps exposing your neck, your clavicle, your back. For a moment, he imagines his mouth on those places, he dreams about what you might taste like, how smooth you’d be against him, the contrast of his ruined hands and your satin skin.

His cock throbs, sense and composure momentarily slipping away before he regains control.

The shadows sigh. Our beautiful girl. 

Stop calling her that. 

Why? She is beautiful. And she is ours. 

“Az!” Feyre is delighted, trying to wave him over. He’s always had a soft spot for his High Lady, endlessly impressed by her resilience, her love and commitment to both his brother and the Night Court, her kindness. “It’s been so long,” she teases as he slides into the seat at her left, pointedly ignoring Cassian’s smug expression.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with work.”

“We miss you. You haven’t been at dinner in weeks.”

“It’s true,” Mor says softly at the other side of the table, brows creased in concern. He gives her a small, reassuring smile, one he hopes conveys the truth. It’s not your fault. She visibly relaxes.

“So, Az,” Cassian stretches, too big for the booth, arm coming around Nesta and tugging her close. “What brings you out this evening?” Fucking. Hel.

“I’ve missed you all.” It’s not a lie, not exactly, even if he’s been keeping his distance, it doesn’t change how he feels about his family, how he loves them in his own way. How it’s easier sometimes, to love others from afar, how envy has infected his lungs and every time he takes a breath, he wonders why the Cauldron chose not to give him what his brothers have. A bond. Love. 

At night, when he’s alone in his bed, he accepts the truth, the reality of being unworthy, of being a bastard, of being malevolent and repulsive. It was so easy with Mor, to long for someone so beautiful, so close to his heart but still unattainable, to dream of himself as a male one could love, could be proud of, a love who would choose him, again and again, even if it wasn’t true. Even if he knew for a long time, it would never be true. A fantasy like Mor is an easy escape from the nightmare in his head.

And Elain. Elain. A vision with big doe eyes and caramel hair, a beautiful girl whose life was lost, and a new, confusing one was born in its place.

A perfect obsession.

She too, was a dream. Something to cling in the longest hours of the night when sleep wouldn’t come.

But he was a monster, and he was undeserving.

Not true. 

Feyre catches his eye and gives him a warm, knowing look. “I’m happy to see you.”

“As I am you.”

You’re drunk.

He doesn’t need the shadows to confirm it, it’s clear from across the room. You teeter on the edge of the stool, giggling, radiant in the wash of dim lighting.

He’s not the only one who notices. Around you, other males watch from the corner of their eye, letting their gazes sweep from head to toe, lingering too long on your breasts, the curve of your waist. A male brushes his hand across your shoulder, another offers to buy you a drink. Rage curls in his stomach, jealously flooding his veins with vigor.

They’re touching her. The shadows are frustrated, hissing and snapping angrily, rattling around him like a black cloud.

I know.

His teeth might shatter from the amount of pressure coming from his clenched jaw.

The male following you out the side door at the end of your evening is the straw that snaps him in half. He abandons the table, his family, slipping away into the crowd as Feyre calls his name.

“Let him go.” Cassian rumbles on the last wind of a chuckle, and he loses the parting words as he pushes the door wide, cool Velaris air stinging his cheeks.

“No need to run off.” The male’s arm is slung around your waist, your face twisted into a sour swirl of intoxication and discomfort. Incendiary anger licks up his spine, flames violent and desperate to lash out. "Let's go back inside, have another drink." 

“No,” you straighten, but both Azriel and offending male catch the liquored wobble in your voice as you hold your jacket to your chest. “No, thank you.” He tugs you closer.

“Come on, I can-“ It’s all Azriel can stand. He’s gone in one moment and by your side the next, fingers digging into the male’s arm.

“She said no.” You look up into his face, eyes wide and unfocused, but he doesn’t miss the way you relax with relief, like you’re happy he’s here. Happy, an emotion rarely felt by those who encounter the Spymaster, happy like you’re soothed by his presence. It’s unfamiliar to him, just another suprise dealt by your hand. The male’s eyes go comically wide, blood draining from his face, sputtering something Azriel is deaf to. He's too focused on the pulse rapidly fluttering beneath your jaw. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… yes.” You lurch, half stepping back, half stumbling, and he steadies you. When you don't pull away, the shadows chirp. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.” You punctuate the single syllable with a hiccup, inky tendrils curling around your wrist, petting, soothing. He braces for your fear, the uptick in your heartbeat, shallow respirations, but they don’t come.

You giggle instead.

The shadows preen and purr with glee. Our girl.

His shreds of control are slowly slipping away, deteriorating in your presence, and he lets the mask fall away to reveal a small smile. You suck in a sharp breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod rapidly, but your balance is still askew. “You’re too drunk to winnow.”

“I wasn’t going to. I live a few blocks that way.” You nod to the east and then pivot to the west, unsure. “Or that way. I’ll know once I get to the street.” He frowns.

“You’ll walk?”

“Well, yes. That’s what those of us do if we don’t have those.” You point at his wings, gaze lingering before you look away sheepishly.

“I’ll walk you.” You blink, surprised, confused, just as he is. The words were not planned, they appeared, conjured from the cold air, pushed from his mouth by some unknown force.

There’s a twist beneath his ribs, a small piece of him rapidly stretching and spreading, pulling him apart to make more room.

“What? I- I can walk fine, I’m fine.”

“It’s cold.” His voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard, and it must be enough to quiet your protests, because you purse your lips and relent with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

It’s odd, to want to know another, to want to understand another outside his family. This throbbing ache, freshly blooming in your presence, is different compared to the festering desiderium he’s held for Mor, for Elain, the pining turned fetid, foul in its taste across his tongue, infatuation, obsession, anything to avoid focusing on the darkness constantly closing in around him, the black tar filling his lungs, drowning him. He was born, molded, embraced by the bleakest parts of this realm, and there’s not enough water in it to douse the rage and disgust burning in his soul. His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

The shame of it all, punctuated by his infatuation with Elain, the necklace debacle, is fire in his veins, but the iridescent halo shining onto your shoulders from your porch light quells it somehow, gentles the heat. “How often do you visit the Middle?”

You give him a sheepish look. “Often, lately. I’ve lost my main supplier.” 

“Why is that?” The Sidra saturates the breeze, briny and sweet, teasing your dress into a flutter at your knees, his shadows hovering over your skin, craving to cloak you in their darkness, shield you from wandering eyes.

“Most of my plants and powders come from the Spring Court, and I can’t really afford the… inflation.” Inflation is a polite way to put it. Tensions between Spring and Night have resulted in rising costs of goods, and total derailment of trade in some cases.

She’s worried her words offend you. 

“That’s understandable.” He tames his voice, and your shoulders relax by a fraction. “Still, it is a long way from home, if anything were to happen.” An understatement. The Middle holds horrors most cannot comprehend, wicked creatures that would love nothing more than to prey on and devour something as lovely as you. He still cannot wrap his head around the fact that you frequent it in the first place. Even the bravest, strongest of Prythian do not. 

“I can handle myself.”  He wants to protest, wants to ask if you truly know what lurks in there. “Mostly.” You add as an afterthought, little hiccup, little giggle, fingers fumbling for the door handle. The hair on the back of his neck stands stiff.

“Mostly?”

“It’s not like I haven’t run into trouble,” you’re vague, shrugging it off, and his gut clenches.

“What kind of trouble?” The breeze turns to wind that whips, cold with the sting of frost. 

And then you roll your eyes.

It’s so… bratty. His wings twitch, lightning rolling through membrane like a storm on the sea.

Wild one, the shadows chirp.

Too wild, maybe. “How old are you?” You lift your chin with a sniff.

“One hundred and two.” So young. 

The High Lady just turned twenty-three, the shadows remind him drily.

Fair.

“So… did you walk me all the way home to hold me hostage on my front step in the cold?” His laugh is a surprise. It comes deep from his chest, a genuine rumble in his ribs, more authentic than the half smiles and nods he’s been giving others for years.

“If I was holding you hostage, you’d know.” He murmurs, stepping into your space, tracking the dilation of your pupils, the quiver in your bottom lip. Normally, these reactions would insinuate fear, but you don’t smell of it. You smell like desire, like you’d succumb to him, bend for him, arch for him. “Are you cold?” Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders and down your arms, and he dips close, closer than he has any right to. He has no right to you. No right to such a strange, beautiful creature, a mystery by all standards. He who deals in death, who poisons all he touches, would stain you. He'd drag his scarred, marbled fingers under your silk dress and taint you. 

“Y-yes.” He catches the scent then, the damp foliage from fresh rain crushed under heel, soaked moss at the roots of an ancient tree. It jolts him back to reality, mask settling into its rightful place across his face.

“What are you?”

“What?”

“You’re High Fae… but there’s something else.” Hesitance flickers in your eyes, and you pull away, creating distance. Good. He needs it. You confuse him, cloud his judgement, sowing uncertainty he’s not used to.

And every time he looks at you, his chest aches.

“Nothing important.” He cocks his head.

“Is that so?” You shrug.

“I’m a half-breed.” He hides his disgust at the term, but it doesn’t change the rage it ignites, the disdain.

“Half what?”

She barely knows you; she has no reason to trust you, the shadows sulk, unhappy with the turn of events as you take the last stair and open your door, turning to for one last look at him. 

“I’m not a threat, Azriel.”

Truth. 

“Any news?”

“No.” The silence is long suffering, and after he offers nothing further, Rhys sighs.

“Azriel-“

“I have work in Dawn this coming week, leaving tomorrow. I expect to be gone for a full seven, even eight days. I’ll report back once I’m home.”

“Okay.” Azriel’s shield is wall of shadow impenetrable by most, and even though the relationship between them is strained, his brother would never force his way into his mind.

If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  Or maybe be would. 

He was given an order; orders are meant to be followed, something Rhys’ own father instilled in him early on, and though it's been months, it's still too bitter in the back of his throat. Rhys’ father ordered him. Often. Treated him as one would treat an object to be used, a weapon to wield. Azriel was defined by the shadows, for his usefulness, not for who he truly was. 

He had never been on the receiving end of this manner of treatment from Rhys, and he could not deny that he had trouble stomaching it. 

“Where have you been staying? Your townhouse?” He schools his features, smothering the annoyance at what he knows must be common conversation between his brothers.

They’re worried about you. Cassian misses you at the House of Wind. 

We’ve cohabited for over five hundred years; some distance is not going kill him. 

“Yes, wanted to give Cass and Nesta some space.” The lie is as flimsy as they come, because he doesn’t care. He needs space. “They’re quite loud.” That isn’t a lie, at least. Rhys studies him.

“Where are you, Az?” It's not a literal question. He and his brother share many things, but the strongest strings are knotted tight around each other’s darkness, bonds forged in agony, in rage, in revenge. There are parts, pieces of each other that match, heinous, wrathful pieces hidden away but never healed. When Rhys asks where he is, it’s to know how deep he is in the gloom that never leaves.

“I’m here.” It’s short, be he cannot give anything more. Cannot give more to the High Lord, Rhys, his brother, the one he has given everything to. The one he has been most loyal to above all. The one who would treat him now, as his father did. 

He pities Rhys, in a way, something he’s never held for him in the past, but now… now is different. Rhys is different, his stakes have never been higher. A mate, a son, a realm on his shoulders, he's struggling, in his own way, and the collected High Lord is few and far between these days, in his place a reactive, high-strung male he doesn’t always recognize. He’s not sure Rhys recognizes himself either. 

“You won’t get too far?” At the root of it, no matter how turbulent this time between them may be, the bond of brotherhood is the strongest of them all, holds them fast to one another, keeps them close, even if one strays.

And so, Azriel assures him, the words gritted through his teeth. His rage is a tangible thing, a living breathing thing but no matter how angry he may be, Rhys is still his brother, even in these iterations. The realm changes, scales tipping back and forth, but the brothers remain steadfast through times of peace and battle.  “I won’t.”

He’s to leave for Dawn this afternoon, but for some reason, he finds himself at Moonflower’s front door.

It’s early, half of Velaris still waking up, and the shop is clearly closed, though it doesn’t matter to him. He knows you’re here, sodden gorse and peeled bark drifting on the morning breeze from a large back window. For some unknown reason, it soothes him to know it, to be able to account for your whereabouts.

He pulled his shadows back from surveillance, convinced he would leave you alone, let this rest-

but he still flew here this morning.

It bothers him, this magnetism, the draw towards your presence.

You’re a mystery needing to be solved, that’s all.

“Shadowsinger,” your head cocks. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to ensure you won’t be visiting the Middle this week.” Your brows knit together.

“I uh… no. I won’t need to go for another two weeks, I think.”

“I’ll accompany you next time.” His patience with this situation is wearing thin, but his agitation with himself spills out onto you. 

“That’s not-“

“It’s not a request. You’re endangering the Night Court.” You smother a flinch.

“I’m not, I swear, I’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“That remains to be seen.” He’s the Spymaster now, cold and unfeeling, but you’re still not scared. “Your refusal to disclose what makes up the other part of the half-breed in you is reason enough.” He uses the term as a weapon, and it hits his target, as always. Azriel never misses. You wince, glancing down at the floor, shoulders slumping a tad before you right yourself. The barb stings because like Rhys, like Mor’s mother and countless others, you’ve faced the abuse, the vitriol, the torment from those who would crush you beneath their feet if they could.

It hurts, a whip lashing across his cheek, bleeding him for the pain he’s causing you. A consequence, another mark on his soul. You lift your face again, the emotion gone, and you nod.

“Okay then.” An overwhelming urge to reach for you comes over him, to tug you into his chest and shield you with his wings, hide you away from all the ugly, terrifying things in this world-

Including himself.

He shoves it to the side, buries it where it belongs, where the light doesn't touch, and nods. “I’ll be away this week but when I return, I’ll come by.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, and smothers the urge to get one last glimpse of you, even though he wants to. 

There’s dirt beneath your fingernails.

You’ve been digging around in the same riverbed for almost an hour now, rifling through rocks and silt, bottom half of your body soaked and muddy, again. “There we are,” you murmur plucking an iridescent onyx stone from the marl and placing it in your bag. 

He has… so many questions.

And he’s afraid to admit to himself he finds you… enchanting. Clever, beautiful, kind. He wants more, wants to soak you up, dance to the harmony of your voice.

Ask, the shadows encourage. Talk to her.

He’s been standing on the bank a few paces away for some time now, leaving you to your foraging, but never letting you get too far away. You haven’t said more than ten words to him, and he hasn’t pushed you. The disgrace of the last time the two of you spoke still weighs heavily on his shoulders, another tally in a long list of transgressions. 

Try. 

“How does it work?” Your head snaps up.

“What do you mean?”

“Your work. Moonflower sells elixirs and potions, but they’re an apothecary, and you’re an alchemist.”

“Well, I am an apothecary too. Contraceptive tea doesn’t make itself,” you give him a mischievous smile before turning serious. “Magic binds better to precious metals. I transmute and mix them together, then pair them with salts or chemical compounds found in herbs and plants. One complements or enhances the other.”

“You’re putting metal in them?” You shake your head.

“No, I extract the minerals from the metal after transmutation and infuse the elixirs. I can make everything from contraceptive tea to…” You trail off, lips pressing into a thin line.

“To?”

“Poison. Faebane.” He hears your heart flutter, pulse ratcheting upward as you give him a cautious look, and every muscle in his body tenses.

“Who do you make it for?”

“I’m not sure, I received an ongoing order request signed and sealed by the High Lord years ago, and I’ve been producing it ever since.” You stand, brushing your hands off on your thighs, mud caked in the lines of your palms, head tipped back to peer at him. “It’s picked up by one of the Wraith sisters each month.”

Does she know? The shadows don’t answer.

“I like them,” you continue, making your way up the bank, “Cerridwen even gifted me a hooded shawl last Solstice. It’s beautiful. I wear it often.”

“I see.”

“I think the Faebane is for the Spymaster,” you peek at him coyly, mouth quirked to the side in a small smile. “Who is also the Shadowsinger, right?” He fights to his expression neutral. 

“You know.”

Of course she does. Our sweet is very clever. 

“I thought… maybe. I wasn’t sure.” He’s beginning to worry about your instincts. First, he discovers you’re spending time out here in the Middle, alone, and now, he learns you’ve suspected he’s the Spymaster, Rhys’ torturer, this whole time.

“It doesn’t concern you?” He blurts, incredulous. You should fear him. You should be terrified and disgusted. You should be smart enough to recognize his rotten, tainted soul.

“No. I make poison, after all.” You shrug. “I don’t make judgements of others.” Guilt twists like a knife.

“What I said the other day, about being a half-breed…” You wave your hand, trying to brush him off.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not, the shadows hiss. You hurt her.

He pulls up short, turning to face you. “It was cruel, and I am sorry for it.” He’s locked in your gaze, the rest of the woods, this place, Prythian disappearing as he loses himself in you. He hears it again, the mellifluous harmony of a grand orchestra, notes and chords playing together in an intoxicating paragon, richer, more potent than any wine, each one building upon the other, creating a song that draws him in, urges him to reach for you, cup your face and hold you there so he can memorize every refraction of light in the kaleidoscope of your eyes. “I-“

“It’s okay,” your hand brushes his, and he tenses, preparing for the recoil, the disgust, but it never comes. Your touch is gentle, fingers slipping between his, silk on scars sliding together seamlessly. He wants to push you away, wants to tell you not to touch him because you’ll dirty yourself. He’s a monster and you’re something else, something winsome and full of wonder, something not for him. “I forgive you.” You forgive him. He almost laughs at the absurdity. Forgiveness, as if that’s something he could ever earn, as if there was a way to seek and find it. As if he even wants it.

From many it would mean nothing but from you… it’s different. It's a balm, cool water over a burn, sunlight shining down on him in a dungeon. 

You don’t look away, and you don’t let go. You hold him there, in front of you, gentle and patient, but unyielding. The throbbing ache that’s become ever present beneath his ribs grows, and it drags him close, a magnetic pull he can’t fly away from leading him straight to you. It’s a power strong enough it could bring him to his knees at your feet, his entire existence whittling down to the sound of your breathing as he carefully cradles your face.

“Azriel,” your whisper is music, heartbreakingly beautiful, a hauntingly familiar melody he may have been hearing all his life and had been none the wiser to. A siren's song on the sea. Captivating. Intoxicating. He strokes his thumb across your cheek and falls away into it, pressing his mouth to yours, drinking you in. The kiss is careful at first, a delicate question posed between two with one waiting for an answer, and when it comes, it comes with a symphony, ambrosian and endless, unleashing a warmth unlike he’s ever felt through his chest.  He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be marring you like this, staining you, but he cannot stop, and when you tug him close, lips parting to allow his tongue past your teeth and find yours, you cling to him, the purr of a whimper building in your throat. 

What is he doing? He's snapped out of the spell. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you turn your attention to your bag, mindlessly fidgeting with the collection of flora and rock in the bottom, avoiding his eyes. Embarrassed. Shamed by him, rejected by him. 

No! the shadows lament. “We should keep going, if you have more things to find?” You nod, looking past him towards the woods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Your dagger is loud, by the way.” It's the first thing you've said in thirty minutes, and it's strange, like you. 

“What?”

“The dagger,” you motion to where Truth-Teller is strapped to his thigh, “it’s magic is loud. I can’t imagine what I’d find if I-“ Something cracks in the woods to the north, far enough away to echo, close enough to raise his hackles, spread his wings, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his side. The forest groans, turning malicious, wicked power crawling through the brush towards the river.

Leave. He curls a wing around you as a shield.

“What-“

“We’re leaving.” There have been lesson learned here, too many times, and he’s not about to risk you. He conjures a pocket, a corner of star flecked shadow, and tugs you into it, leaving the Middle behind.

He decides to sleep at the House of Wind.

It’s a shield, a technique to combat his desire to be close you. If he’s close to Cassian, to Nesta, if he’s here, he’s not there, with you, where he dropped you off at your doorstep, where the two of you lingered before you disappeared into the house. He’s not battling his instincts, his need to sit on the roof and keep watch.

He’s here instead. Where he should be.

Cassian grins from his spot on the couch at the sight of him, Nesta casually looking up from her book. “Out with your witch again?” He pulls up short, blood turning frigid, freezing through the veins in his wings all the way to his heart. “You didn’t know?” Cassian’s head swings towards her.

“I thought we discussed waiting for proof, Nes.” Azriel shoots him a murderous glare.

“Having discussions about my life, then?” It’s a small rock in an ocean at this moment, but it adds fuel to the roaring fire of rage curdling his stomach. Nesta raises an eyebrow. 

“No,” his brother protests, “I thought- Nesta suspected something, but I didn’t want to tell you until we knew without a doubt.” He emphasizes the last few words, and she shrugs.

“She’s a witch, or at least, partially. The power is unmistakable. She has that smell, too. Old trees.” She's lost for a second, in a memory, silver fire crackling and then gone, and he knows she knows, where you've been, where he's followed. You don't just smell of old trees, you smell like the Middle.

The shadows coil around his shoulders, peeking out at Nesta like she’s personally offended them.

It’s not what you think. 

You knew? And kept this from me? 

He’s rarely, if ever, is so irascible, but this information ignites an anger so fierce his siphons hiss and glow cobalt blue, power straining against his control, desperate to be unleashed.

“What are you going to do?” Cassian shouts at his retreating back, and he caresses Truth-Teller’s hilt.

“Find out for myself.”

Your words pound in his head like a drum.

“The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…”

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.”

His mind spins as he flies through the night, shooting across the sky fast enough for the wind to prickle at his cheeks. A witch. 

Witches are dangerous creatures. They’re power hungry, desperate to collect as much magic as this realm will allow, and then use it as they see fit, whether it be for good deeds, or evil ones. This unpredictability combined with their thirst for young blood, a compulsion fueled by the corrupted core of their stolen magic, makes them a threat.

Makes you a threat.

Your house is small, but comfortable. A narrow townhome nestled in a row of others with wide plank wooden floors and variations of dark colored paint on the walls, cozy and calm. Bookshelves overflowing, large worn velvet couch, bundles of herbs on your living room table, in your kitchen. You have an assortment of mugs, mismatched wine glasses and china, clothes haphazardly draped over chairs. To someone who doesn’t know you, it would seem messy, but to him, it’s fitting. It makes sense.

It's the only thing that makes sense in this moment. The rest of it, his ignorance, the disobedience of the shadows, his blindness, all bear down upon him. He failed to recognize a threat to this Court, his family, he allowed himself to be distracted, again, by a female, he succumbed to an enchantment, a bewitching. The strange pull he felt towards you, the music in his head, the throbbing behind his ribs, all a spell set upon him, by you.

You’re stunning in your sleep. Wrapped in sweet dreams, lashes feathered against your skin, rolled onto your side. You’re only wearing a nightshirt and underwear, the curve of your hip visible from where your sheets are half kicked off. Lovely.

He lets you linger in a last moment of peace. If you wake before he’s ready, he doesn’t know what magic he’ll face, what creature he’ll truly encounter, and he wants to hold onto to this, to you, before it all changes.

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and that thing inside him weeps, something agonizing trying to claw its way forward, but he buries it deep.

By the time you’re awake, it’s too late.

“Azriel?” Your voice is weak, confused, and you blink blearily at your surroundings, stone wall, stone floor, small light at the roof of the chamber that’s too far away. He keeps the space lit by fae lights instead, flickering and low, illuminating the space just enough to see him, and a table in the corner.

You're trapped in Faebane cuffs and chained to the floor. Fragile, weakened by your own creation. 

When you become fully aware of your surroundings, you thrash, fear thundering in your heart. “What is this?”

“Thought you might like to see how the product of your hard work is used.” You tug at the cuffs to no avail, and then look up at him with eyes so sad, so frightened, it stops him in his tracks.

Why does this feel so wrong? 

Think, Shadowsinger. The shadows beg but he banishes them, still enraged by their betrayal.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He shrugs. Casual indifference, cold regard. The Spymaster, the torturer.

“No?”

“I haven’t done anything, I haven’t, I swear.” He bends shadow over your eyes, marring your sight, plunging you into darkness and you gasp, twisting and turning, looking for the light you won’t find. “S-stop.”

“You’ve been keeping something from me, haven’t you, little half-breed?” He mocks you with it, drenches it in disdain, and you shake your head weakly.

“I haven’t… I swear, I ju-just wasn’t ready-“

“To tell me you’re a witch?”

“I’m not!” You cry, and he covers your mouth with insidious tendrils, cutting off your airway. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and your panic is ripe, flooding the room, its acrid scent making him nauseous.

The gag holds for a minute or two, and when he releases, you slump over, gasping. Truth-Teller burns in his hold.

“Tell the truth, and it’s over.” Please.

“There’s n-nothing to tell.” Frustrations mounts and he cuts you off, this time for longer, long enough he registers the slowing of your heart, the lack of tone in your muscles. Shadows wrap around your throat, pressing on your windpipe so hard you’re whistling, slow leak of air turned tea kettle as you try to breathe.

He allows you a moment, and then resumes, pushing you to the edge, walking a slow, measured circle around you like a wolf stalking prey. There’s a pull deep inside him, something tugging at him, a desperate plea he does not understand.

Please. Stop this. 

He releases, you relent. Finally. “It’s my mother,” you rasp, tongue darting out to lick your lips, “she- it was her. She was a witch, and my father is Hi-gh Fae. He had an affair, and then banished her to the Middle. It’s wh-where I was born. Everyone would b-be so afraid of me if they knew, but I’m not- I’m not a witch. I’m ju-ust a half-breed." You’re sobbing now, each heave increasing the agony inside him, broken, raw sound echoing throughout the chamber. His mother’s face flashes in his mind and his stomach flips as he breaks out in a cold sweat. “I use that side of my to make things. Th-the alchemy, that’s all it’s good for. It’s not even that strong, I swear.”

Truth. 

It’s all truth. Every word. Every broken, desperate, frightened word.

He is a fool. 

He pulls the shadows from your face and you stare at the floor, small against the stone until you finally look up at him, cheeks soaked, eyes-

Something snaps.

Threads of brilliant cobalt blue spin from him, each string plucked in celestial succession to create perfect harmony, and the shadows sing. They sing for you, they sing to you, they sing the song he should have known all along. They sing of the path laid before him, the bridge that would carry him to you, the chords and notes coming together in a crescendo of souls, a blazing bond sealed by fate.

Mates. 

The threads stretch and strain, the music rising, but your side, your part, is missing. It’s dark, thickened by bramble and bracken, sharps and flats, lost to him in this moment.

This moment, where he has broken you. Tortured you.

He feels it all. Your terror, the agony. The sense of hopelessness overflowing and soaking the threads. 

“I-“ He falls to his knees, shadows twisting around the cuffs to unlock them, “I’m sorry.” You’re trembling, curling in on yourself and he wants so badly to pull you into his arms, to hold you close, wrap himself around you and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he’ll protect you; he’ll care for you; he’ll keep you safe. He’ll be worthy of you. He’ll fix this.

But how can he after what has been done. After what he has done. 

“I w-want to go ho-ome.” The words are covered by sobs, and his hands shake as he gently takes hold of your shoulders, pulling you out of the dungeon and back into your bedroom.

He stands there, helpless and lost as you crawl away from him into your bathroom, the handle locking with a resounding click. The bond is alive and open on his side, your distress and fear and despair radiating down into Azriel, the strength of your emotions ripping him apart.

You don’t want him here, that much is clear.

Cassian is still awake when he returns, and his brother ripples with shock at the sight of him.

He knows how he looks.

Crazed. Devastated. Possessed.

“What happened?” He lurches forward, still dressed from evening training, siphons gleaming, scanning for a threat, a fight, a reason for Azriel’s agony.

He’ll find none. Only Azriel is responsible for this horror.

As always. 

“She…” He can’t say it, can’t force the words. Can’t accept the truth, the terrible, painful truth. “She’s mine.” The blood drains from Cassian’s face. “She’s mine.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t get very far but I still… I still-“ He chokes on it. “She was so scared, Cass. She never… she was never afraid of me; from the day we met. She always, she looked at me differently. She trusted me. She… held my hand.” Cassian’s eyes slipped close. When they reopen, they’re determined. Strong.

“You’ll fix it. I know you will.” Azriel doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t deserve her, or this bond. When she realizes, she will sever it, and she’ll be right to. I have never been worthy, and the Mother knows. That’s why this happened.”

“That is not true. You made a mistake, and you were trying to protect your family, your court. She will understand… in time.”

“How?! How could anyone understand this? Excuse it?” He yells, and a door down the hall opens, Nesta appearing in the room, sharp and assessing.

“What’s going on?”

“Go back to bed,” Cassian growls, and though she glares, she listens. “Az, listen to me. It will be alright. You can fix this, you can.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You will figure it out, and we will support you, we’ll help in any way we can. It will be okay.”

“She will never forgive me.”

“And you’ll never know that until you try.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair and then fisting it at his side. “This is Nesta’s fault.”

“Cassian,” Azriel snaps, patience shredded. “Not everything is your mate’s fault, for fucks sake. Stop projecting your guilt over your own transgressions onto Nesta. I’m sick of it.” Silence falls between the brothers, and after a long moment, Cassian nods.

“I deserved that,” he eyes him cautiously, “what do you want to do?” He needs silence. Solitude. Cassian knows, but he’ll still say it out loud, if only to make it clear. Don’t follow me. Don’t send others to check on me. 

“I need to be alone."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 18

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: It's Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Another day brings you just short of the mountain peak. The pace of the train is ragged as they come to a halt and murmurs crawl up and down the lines. You slump against the frigid wind, nestling your chin into the fur of your cloak as you keep your eyes on Daisy’s neck. You yawn as Bryce reaches over to fix the reins as they almost slip from your grasp. 

“You well, mouse?” He growls. 

You nod. You haven’t spoken much in the last days, not since your first night on the mountain pass. You haven’t known what to say. You know he must have seen the king and yourself, how close you were, and you feel his judgment. You just don’t know how to say it isn’t your want. It would be improper to blame the king. 

“We’re almost there. Castle’s just ahead.” He looks up at the dark shapes soaring through the skies. He pointed out the vultures a while back, inferring there must be carrion near to bring them out. “You’ll have a warm place to lay your head.” 

You hum and offer nothing else. As you think of staying still, your stomach storms as violently as the skies. At least when you have a destination, when you are moving, you can make yourself elusive. Once you’re still, you don’t quite know what you’ll do. 

“Daisy will be relieved to rest, the old beast,” he chuckles, “she’s had quite the campaign.” 

You pet the horse’s mane, your hands mittened in strips of wool the grey soldier wrapped around them. 

“I know what the matter is but if you’re not gonna say it, I won’t neither,” he grumbles. 

You dip your head, hiding under the hood. You come to a halt behind the rest of the party as it stalls completely. You lean and peer over the edge of the horse. 

“Aye, you just wait,” he swings off his horse and lands easily on his feet. The snow dusts up around his tall boots. He comes to help you off the horse, your legs as snugly bound in wool. “We’ll find ya some proper clothes for the road at the castle. You’ll need all your toes.” 

You sigh and cross your arms. You look ahead then behind you. You cough and turn to touch Daisy’s soft neck. 

“I didn’t...” you begin. “I wouldn’t betray the queen. Or the king.” 

He huffs and moves closer, blocking the wind as Daisy nuzzles his shoulder, “I know ya wouldn’t, mouse. Is that why yer so meek? You think I judge you?” 

“What happened--” you voice piques and you nearly choke on it, “sir,” you throw your hands up, “I swear, I didn’t ask for it. The king...” 

“Kings do as they will. It is in their nature, it is their right,” he shrugs, “I am not a naive lad no more. You mightn’t have noticed how my beard matches the sheen of my sword, but I’ve seen many things. The old king... he had a few loves. None of them his wife.” 

“Love? Sir. It was a mistake, surely.” 

He is quiet as he shifts his soles. He turns one way then the other, “do you really believe that?” 

Your heart swells so big your ribs hurt. You cross your arms, hooking your hands over your shoulders. You chew your lip and look up at the tall grey man. 

“I don’t know what to believe. I thought I came to serve the queen. I thought... I don’t know, sir. I don’t. I wouldn’t ever hurt anyone. I wouldn’t want to.” 

“I know it,” he affirms, “you are the gentlest soul I’ve met. Well, since my own wife. Certainly, the king is taken with a summer soul like yours. How could he not be?” 

“Taken?” You utter in horror. “I am a maid. That’s all I am. It’s all I ever needed to be.” You sniffle and bring your hands to the edges of your hood, pushing it back to see him clearer, “sir, it keeps me safe.” 

“It did. It kept you safe when it could but that shield has broken.” 

“And what about you?” You murmur. 

He averts his gaze guiltily, “what the king does behind his own walls, I cannot stop. That night, he was unsafe. He threw caution away. For your sake, I deterred him. Reminded him of his duty.” He shakes his head and frowns at his boots, “you came to serve the king, you said, and that is what he intends.” 

You whimper. How can it be? He is wed. He has beautiful wife. And a throne. And an heir on the way. You’re just the maid. Just a maid. Not... that. 

“So, you would let him?” You challenge, a surge welling up your throat, a heat unlike anything you’ve felt before. 

“I serve the king too,” he mutters. “Though I do care for you, little mouse, how could I not? But I was commanded to see to you. To keep you unbothered. Unsullied.” 

Your legs wobble beneath you and you nearly fold over. You can’t stop the rush of emotion that overcomes you, the fire that burns in your veins and makes your vision bleary. You throw out your arms and shove Bryce. Once, twice, three times. He doesn’t budge, taking each in turn. 

“How dare you, sir! How dare you!” You hit his chest with your fists and collapse into him. “I never wanted it. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.” 

“I know, sweet mouse, I know,” he curls an arm around you and sways, petting your hood, “you’ve every right to despise me. I will take whatever you have for me.” 

You heave and tamp down a throttling sob, “why, sir, why?” 

“It is... my duty.” 

You hear the strain in his voice, you feel the tremor that rolls through him, and how he clings tightly as if he fears you’ll push him away. You can’t. Even if he's hurt you, he is all you have. 

“I won’t beg forgiveness, I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, “but I’ll always be here for you, mouse, so long as you need.” 

You stay again him, silent and weak. You’re angry. You’ve never felt this sort of way. You’ve never felt as if you could tear your flesh from the bone just to let the tension out. You hate it. You’ve never hated anything but that feeling, you loathe it. It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever known. 

“I’m so sorry, mouse,” he continues to rock you, “so very sorry...” 

⚔️

You cannot blame your daze for nearly missing the castle right before you. The dark exterior blends into the rock face, set into the side of the mountain so that an untrained eye might not pick it out. The part splits into several streams, those for the stables, some soldiers to keep watch over the pass, and many more waiting to enter the great castle of Vulture’s Peak. 

As if to proclaim their name right, at least a dozen of the long-necked scavengers perch upon the towers. Bryce keeps you close as you keep astride. You peer toward the front of the crowd. The king’s white hair defines him among the bodies. He speaks with several black-garbed soldiers as Jazlene is helped down from the cart. Neither husband or wife acknowledge each other. 

You sit back and hang your head. Bryce breathes in through his nose and clucks, “right. Let’s get you to the queen.” 

You glance over, numb from more than the cold. He dismounts and brings you down to ground level. He fixes your cloak as it opens and lets in the stirring bluster. He finds a post to tie the horses to before he herds you towards the castle. 

You approach with your head down. The queen stands with a hand on her lower back though her bodice remains snug and flat to her unchanged stomach. The fur cloak drapes from her shoulders majestically as she stands with her head high. You stare at the hem of her skirt and await your orders. 

“Let us see to our host,” the king declares as he offers his arm to his queen, a stiff and despondent gesture.  

You keep your eyes down. You would rather wait without. You sense him pausing, looking around, and he turns to face the facade. He huffs. “Right, Sir Bryce, until I give the signal, you will keep all without.” 

“Your highness,” Bryce agrees and moves closer to you. 

King Geralt stalks through the snow with his wife in tow. Her words drift back behind her, “... so bleak. Is this how they receive a king and queen?” 

The king grunts but gives no answer as he pulls her onward, climbing the steps one by one as she slows him with her odd lean back. You turn to Bryce and tuck your chin down. Neither of you have said much since the pass. 

You wait, blowing into your hands and mulling back and forth. A restlessness stirs through the bodies around you, an uncertainty as you await the king’s confirmation. The lull carries on until the sun shifts into a new phase, or rather, the sky changes hue. 

The doors of the castle creak open and a slender woman descends the stairs. Her skin is smooth like polished brass and a similar hue, her hair is a shade of straw and her eyes are an eerie shade of jade. She wears a plain cloak on her shoulders and a square cap on the crown of her head. 

“Lord Vesemir welcomes the king’s company,” she speaks boldly above the din of curious murmurs. “Please come.” 

She beckons with her gloved hand and turns back to the castle. She walks forward without waiting. Bryce tuts, “typical.” He spins and waves, “you heard her, let’s go. Servants to the east, soldiers find your stations, lords and ladies, the west wing.” 

He spins and grabs your arm, ushering you ahead of the scrambling masses. You let him lead you on, though you might have preferred to stay in the gales.  

Inside, the walls are lit with mounted lanterns. The flames glow along the spacious hall and corridors haze amber to each side of you. Bryce keeps you close as he steps out of the way of the flood of bodies. He stops several other soldiers to direct them on how to accommodate the party. 

“Right,” he peers up the central staircase, with posts like spears, and he points you up it. 

“You know this place?” You keep your voice low as you come to the top. 

“Aye, been here now and again,” he says. “Vesemir isn’t the most hospitable. Not beyond a few, but the king does hold a special bond with the old bear.” 

“Oh,” you peer around at the plain tapestries, no patterns, just cut fabric to warm the walls. There is a single marked banner with symbols you do not recognise. 

“Do not fear. He is harmless. He puts on a mean snarl but he isn’t so mean as he pretends,” Bryce explains. 

You nod and skid to a halt in fright. A large bear stands by the wall, arms raised in attack, it’s great teeth bear in a growl. You squeak and knock into the soldier beside you. It’s white fur reminds you of the king’s tresses. 

“Oh, mouse, it’s long dead,” he pats your shoulder and laughs, “Vesemir claims to have killed the beast with his own hands. He doesn’t mention that no sound or wise man would be so far north as to meet a white bear such as this.” 

You gulp and gape at the large beast. 

“Stuffed. It’s hide preserved,” he points as he gets closer to it, unafraid, “when I first came, I had my sword drawn at the sight. It’s a cruel trick by the castle lord.” 

He touches the bear’s large claw and gestures you forward. You move forward and he takes your hand, putting it to the beast’s large paw. You feel the dried pads and shudder. He lets you go but you do not rescind your reach. You feel the fur of the creature, softer than you imagined. 

“Suppose we should get you where you need to be,” he exhales, taking out his sweet leaves to put some in his mouth. 

You pull back and face him. You wait for his guidance and he presses on. He pauses to ask a servant where the queen’s chamber lays. With his answer, you continue on. 

The two guards stand outside the doors. You recognise the one that is often there, with the coppery hair and sparse beards. The other is not familiar to you, though you’ve seen many faces on the road. Bryce nods to them and they let you through. 

“Don’t trouble her maid, she is in sensitive condition,” the orange-haired guard warns. 

“Eh,” Bryce growls, “mind yer business, she’ll mind hers.” 

“Don’t get your hackles up, old man,” the guard scoffs and you stop to look back. 

“In,” Bryce demands and points you through the door. 

You enter and the door closes out the voices, muffled by the barrier as their argument continues. The confrontation is most unexpected. You don’t recall either of the queen’s men ever speaking to you before. Most times, they barely took notice. You’re only happy Bryce was there to bark back at him. 

The queen is at the foot of her bed. She looks unhappy. You glance around the chamber, for a moment expecting the king to be lurking there with her. She is alone, holding her stomach as she breathes slowly. 

“Would you stop staring like a dolt and fetch a pail?” She garbles behind her hand. 

You grab the clean chamber pot from the corner and bring it to her. She seizes it and spits into it, though she hardly spits up more than saliva. She grumbles and shoves it back at you. 

“This place smells like cinder and dust,” she complains as you return the pot to its place. “And the snow is repugnant. To think, I am to be queen of ice. How dull. We should make our thrones in the summer lands.” 

Her gripes ease you. Those are expected, almost a comfort. 

“Hardly matters where I go, does it? The king never comes anyhow,” she whines and lays back across the mattress, “I carry his child and he doesn’t seem to care. Do you know what he said when I told him?” 

You don’t reply. She doesn’t want to hear more than her own voice. 

“He says, ‘see your duty done before you boast,’” she kicks her legs as they hang over the edge, “see it done? I have his seed in me and he is still distant. Will he see his child in my arms then command me see it to adulthood before my duty’s rewarded?” 

You stare at the wall. Her account of the king’s neglect sickens you, so much that you could spit up in the same pot as her. Is it you? Are you the reason he does not tend to her? Perhaps you do deserve her wrath more than you know. You wish in that moment that she would let it out upon you. You have earned any lashing she may give you. 

Though you may not have chosen your path, not as maid, not as traveler, not as the king’s desire, it does not matter. You will pay for the whims of your masters. As Merinda predicted, though not as she might have dreamt it, they have drawn you into great danger. 

[starboye]

Addicted

pairing: bryce mckenzie x male reader

warnings: smut, somnophilia, spanking, aftercare, overestimation, crying from pleasure, cursing

summary: from this

"bryce please i need a break" you brokenly beg as bryce pounds into you at an unrelenting pace "i cant stop when i have such a nice hole around me" bryce grunts gripping you hips tighter with each moan you let out "we've been going for hours" you whine "which means you could go for one more" bryce cheerily says smiling wide "how are you not tired" you ask huskily "because this keeps me going" he says stopping his movement momentarily to admire the mess he's made in your hole.

"yeah but we've been going for hours" you say as a small tear drops down your face from pleasure "just think of it as an early honey moon" bryce says "i wont be alive to see it if you keep fucking me" you yell before letting out a moan to the feeling of bryce cumming for the 7th or 8th time, you couldn't really tell anymore because all of them just blended together in your mind.

"you always were a little dramatic" bryce chuckles "finally we're done" you huff moving to get off the bed "ah ah where do you think your going" bryce tuts as he grabs you weak leg "bryce please no im tired" you whine "c'mon just one more time" bryce pleas "you said that an hour ago" you huff "please" bryce begs with puppy dog eyes before kissing you deeply.

you never could resist when bryce gave you those kind of kisses its like your brain just shuts down and you'd do whatever he tells you too "fine" is all you manage to get out before bryce is pushing you back onto the bed and thrusting into you again with a slew of curses falling from his mouth "i promise this is the last time babe" bryce said admiring the way your face scrunched up with every movement.

"you there y/n" bryce chuckles as he slaps your ass harshly "ngh" you whine gripping bryces wrist "someones sensitive" he smirks groping you ass "im so tired" you moan as more tears fall from your eyes "well if you do fall asleep can i keep going" bryce asks slowing his pace for a moment, all you can do is nod as you slowly pass out.

"damn your still squeezing even after passing out, you're one hell of a slut" bryce says holding your ass "you just needed a good fucking huh" bryce asks tilting his head slightly, he feels up and down you body as you lay there mouth agape and looking as beautiful as ever.

as bryces thrusts into you deeply he notices how your belly bulges with every move upward in you, he grabs your hand and lays it over the bulging spot "you feel that baby, thats me deep in you" bryce whispers as a grin creeps across his face.

you writher in your sleep as bryce quickens his pace and the thrust become deeper and harder "i know baby im almost done" bryce apologizes "nghhh bryce" you moan in your sleep "that's right y/n its just me" bryce reassures interlocking his fingers with yours.

with a couple more thrusts bryce cums in you as he huffs loudly and you calm down before going back to sleep, he pulls out of your hole after hours of fucking his dick twitching lightly "you really know how to make a guy feels special" bryce pants kissing your head lightly.

"now lets get you cleaned" bryce grunts picking you up and taking you the bathroom, he holds you in his arms as he waits for the water to heat up, when the water heats up he puts you in before sliding in behind you, you now resting on his sweaty sticky chest.

"br-bryce" you softly say waking up "im right here dont worry" he sweetly reassures wiping the cum off you body with a rag "thanks for this babe" you say nuzzling into his chest "you're welcome" bryce whispers kissing the top of your head before dozing back to sleep.

"such a cutie" he chcukles washing the soap off your body "now lets get you to bed", bryce picks you up out the tub and dries you off before dressing you up in one of his shirts and your shorts, he lays you in bed and pulls you into his chest as he wraps you both in a blanket.

"goodnight bryce" you softly speak before finally going to sleep "goodnight y/n" bryce say tightly hugging you.

[janeyseymour]

Far From Home

for @jeridandridge

Summary: you're far away from home when you meet another Phillie's fan.

WC: ~3k

It’s just Melissa’s luck that her flight would get cancelled because of a hurricane sweeping over the Atlantic at this very moment. After a near brawl with one of the attendants because she insisted that it’s safe to fly (and it very much is not safe to fly), the redhead finds herself lugging her carry-on over to the restaurant bar with a huff.

“Whiskey, neat,” she sighs as she hands her card over to the bartender. “Please.”

“Flight get delayed?”

“Canceled,” she huffs. “They said they’d put me on the next flight out to Philly.”

“You’re a long way from home,” the bartender states softly. “Why you come all the way out here?”

“To Italy?” Melissa chuckles softly. “Because it’s Italy… and I was visiting my nonna.”

“So then why are you in such a rush to get back?”

“My baseball team is playing, and I have real nice tickets for tomorrow’s game,” the redhead explains. “Damn… they’re playing right now too. Any chance you get American sports to play over here?”

The bartender shakes his head. “But if you got an iPhone and can pull it up on there, I can cast it to the television so you can at least watch on the big screen while you figure everything else out.”

Melissa looks impressed and pulls out her phone. After a bit of work, the Phillies game is up on the screen, and the redhead is cheering along for her team with a beer now in hand.

Your flight from Italy back to the States was canceled. Of course it was. After a more than disastrous trip to Italy with your now ex-girlfriend, all you want to do is be in your apartment and curled up in your bed with a tub of ice cream and a glass of wine in hand. But now… you’re sitting in a restaurant bar while you wait for confirmation that the airline has put you on another flight home and seeing if they can put you up in a hotel for however long it will take to get back to Philly.

You have half a mind to go try to sleep off your exhaustion and anxiety, but something catches your eye. There’s a Phillies game on the big screen… in Italy? So, instead of finding a deserted corner, you sit down at the restaurant bar and pull out your phone. The bartender comes your way and pours you a drink when the Phillies are able to pull ahead of the Mets- the rival team.

“Hell yeah!” you raise your glass in the air with a smile. Schwarber was able to deliver again.

“You a Phillies fan?” the bartender chuckles.

“I bleed Philly,” you smile as your eyes stay trained on the screen. “Why do you even have this game playing? I didn’t think the Italians cared about baseball the way that Philadelphians do.”

“You aren’t the only Philadelphian in here,” he laughs as he points down towards the redhead at the other end of the bar, eyes also glued to the screen.

You cock your head to the side. “Wow.” She’s… really, really pretty. But you’re able to cover up that little gasp with the afterthought of, “Two Philadelphians in one little bar across the ocean.”

“She’s casting it from her phone right now,” the man tells you. Then he slides his way back down the bar to check on that beauty.

There’s something inside of you that wants to go over and talk to her- let her know that you think she’s beautiful. But… then you remember what you’re doing here. You just got dumped, and you don’t want to be that asshole who uses someone as a rebound. Especially not someone as stunning as her. So, you keep to your end of the bar while she keeps to hers. You don’t know it, but while you’re entranced by the screen and watching as Bryce Harper hits a ball that goes flying and Johan Rojas goes flying around the bases, she looks down to you, licking her lips subconsciously.

Your cheering at the screen as Rojas comes home and Harper slides into second pulls the redhead’s eyes from you and back onto the screen. Damn, she missed how that all went about.

She glances back in your direction, and your smile warms her heart. Deciding to take a leap of faith, she picks up her drink, gathers her bags, and makes her way down the bar.

“I missed what was happening,” you hear a voice. “Tell me what happened?”

“Rojas was on second, Schwarber and Realmuto struck out, and Harper hit a ball that found its way through. Rojas scored, Harper’s on second,” you recite the play, eyes still trained on the screen as Bohm tries to further the inning.

“Bohm’s gonna strike out,” the voice tells you.

“How do you know?”

“Just a hunch,” the woman sighs. The truth is that she got the notification on her phone that he struck out and the inning was over.

She’s right, and as a commercial comes on, you finally turn. You don’t expect it to actually be that beautiful woman from the other end of the bar to be sitting next to you now, eyes watching you with wonder.

“Wow,” you whisper softly.

“What?” she asks you.

“I saw you from across the bar and thought you were pretty, but,” you cough awkwardly. “You’re more gorgeous than I thought.”

The woman smirks, and her eyes sparkle. She sticks out her hand for you to shake while saying, “Melissa.”

“Y/N,” you tell her as you shake her hand. “The bartender told me you’re the one casting the game right now?”

“I am,” she tells you. “Born and raised a Philly fan from South. You?”

You break out into a smile. “Born and raised in the ‘burbs of Philly, moved to Center City Philly a few years ago for work… I’ve been cheering for Philly teams since I could talk.”

“Yeah?” Melissa chuckles.

After a few taps on your phone, there’s video of you at the age of two dressed in an Eagles cheerleader outfit and singing the fight song playing.

The redhead next to you grins as she watches. When it’s finished, she hands you back your phone. “That’s fuckin’ precious.”

You blush. “It’s… definitely something.”

She goes to say more, but the Phillies broadcast comes back on, and you’re both taken to the screen. The two of you cheer together and boo the other team together as the game continues. 

In between innings, you chat and get to know Melissa more. You come to find that she’s a second and third grade teacher at a public school in center city- one that you pass by on your walk to work almost everyday. You find that she knows a lot of people. You also find that she’s somewhat of a legend when it comes to the casinos down in Atlantic City- as it turns out, she’s the ‘Red Hot’ that you hear people talking about as you would mill around the casino floor. But you also learn that her eyes sparkle when she talks about the things she’s passionate about. You discover that her laugh is a source of happiness for you. You’ve also learned that her smile is something that could light up Center City Philadelphia all on its own. She has you absolutely enchanted with her being.

It isn’t until the bottom of the ninth inning when you recognize the fact that she’s holding your hand in anticipation, and she has been holding your hand since… since the first full inning that you watched together. 

When it’s announced that the Phillies won, she’s jumping up out of her seat and hugging you tightly. You of course embrace her back with the same ferocity.

But now that the game is over, nothing is keeping her from sitting next to you. And you feel… disheartened by that? Upset that she’s probably going to leave and you’ll never see her again? You don’t know.

It doesn’t matter though, because she’s sitting back down on her barstool, taking your hand again, and sipping her beer. “So…”

The two of you continue to talk for hours. It isn’t until both of your phones ping that you look away from each other.

“Uh,” you sigh. “They put me up in a hotel room, so I guess I should head out.”

“Me too,” the redhead breathes quietly.

“I had a really nice time watching the game with you,” you tell her softly. “Like… it made me feel like I wasn’t stranded in the middle of another country without a way to get home for who knows how long.”

“Where did they put you up?”

You rattle off the name of the hotel, and her eyes light up. “That’s where I am too. Should we split a cab to get there?”

When you do get there, she checks herself in and then helps you check in. It’s a sweet gesture, and your rooms are next to each other as luck would have it.

“Would you want to come in?” she asks you as she unlocks her own door.

You smile. “Just give me a few to settle in, but then I’ll be over.”

Melissa and you spend the rest of the day together, walking around the little city that you find yourself in, picking up beer and wine, and then spending the rest of the time in her hotel room drinking and talking about everything. It’s not anything like what you expected being stuck in another country alone would be like. You’re not alone now though, Melissa is keeping you company. A small part of your mind wonders what your ex-girlfriend is doing… because she’s stuck in Italy now too- probably finding the first woman who was gay and throwing herself at her.

You’re in a tipsy haze as the two of you lounge on her bed watching whatever show in English you can find. And then… her lips are on your own. Oh god. She’s kissing you.

You pull away gently and sigh. “Melissa, I-”

“I read the situation wrong,” she says immediately and pulls away. “I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t read the situation wrong,” you promise her. “I just… fuck. I just broke up with my girlfriend, and as much as I am attracted to you, I don’t want to use you as a rebound.”

“Oh,” Melissa’s mouth forms into a small ‘O’. “Oh.”

“I don’t want to be the jackass who uses someone as beautiful and as sweet as yourself to rebound,” you say again. “I just… I’m not like that.”

She sits up just slightly. “I respect that. Thank you for… for not doing that.”

You just nod. “I suppose now that I made it awkward, I should see myself-”

“Stay,” the redhead tells you softly. “Just because we aren’t going to hook up doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your company- as a friend.”

You settle back down onto the bed.

That was two days ago. In the two days since that kiss, you’ve still spent all of your unexpected time in Italy with Melissa. She’s… if you weren’t in the situation you’re in, you would be all over her. Maybe… maybe once you get back to the states and a respectable amount of time has passed. But for now, the two of you are getting ready to get on the flight back to Philly.

You’re not sure what strings she pulled, but you’re seated next to each other for the nearly nine hour flight. The two of you are already seated when your ex-girlfriend passes by, arm linked with a very pretty girl. She sneers at you.

“That her?” Melissa asks.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Already moved onto the next.”

“You could do better,” the green eyed woman smirks. “And you’re a better person for not doing what she’s doing to me.”

In your own dozing state, you feel Melissa’s head drop down to your shoulder, and it brings you a small sense of happiness. You let her continue to rest that way until you know her neck is going to be paying for it if she sleeps that way any longer.

“Mel,” you shake her gently. “Mel, you gotta wake up, or your neck is going to be killing you when we land.”

She blearily opens her eyes and looks at you, confused. Right… she’s wearing earplugs and headphones and can’t hear you. You type out on your phone what you’re trying to convey, and she nods. ‘Thank you,’ she mouths. It’s only a few minutes later that you feel her head again, although this time she’s laying across the middle seat and has her head in your lap. You just smile to yourself as you close your eyes again, a hand draping itself gently over her hip.

The next time the two of you wake up, the flight attendant is looking at Melissa very unhappily. The seatbelt light had gone on while you were both asleep, and you were beginning the descent. With a frustrated huff, the redhead sits up and buckles her seatbelt.

Once the plane lands, all hell breaks loose as it always does what with everybody in a rush to get off the plane and home. And in the chaos, you lose sight of Melissa. You go to text her or call her before you realize that you never actually got her number. The time that the two of you spent together was constant, and there was no need to be able to contact each other over the phone when she was always right next to you. Exhausted and frustrated, you let out a groan.

Deciding that you should probably just get your belongings and try to hail a cab to head home, you make your way to the luggage carousel. You wait for what feels like forever- hoping that Melissa will make her way over to you. Only once you’re positive that there is no more luggage on that particular belt do you give up and go home. You don’t know that she’s doing the same thing on the other side of the loop. There’s a pole blocking your sight. 

You think about her on the Uber ride home, you think about her while you eat dinner, you think about her while you’re preparing for bed and when you’re crawling into bed. You dream of her. You can’t believe you were stupid enough to not get her number after spending three entire days with her.

Similarly, in a townhouse not too far from where you reside, Melissa is kicking herself. She knows that you’ve just broken up with your girlfriend- she knows that you don’t want to use her as a rebound. And somehow, she’s still mad that she didn’t get your number. She… she wouldn’t mind being your rebound, and she doesn’t have a doubt that it would turn into something more than just a rebound… if she had your number to contact you. She supposes what happens in Italy stays in Italy. 

On Monday morning, you still can’t get that redheaded beauty out of your head- you can’t even why you try to busy yourself with literally anything else. So… you take fate into your hands. You know she works at the school down the street from your office, so you take it upon yourself to call in late to work, explaining that you have a few personal things to take care of as you pull into the Abbott Elementary school parking lot.

You see her pull in, and after a quick glance at your appearance in the rearview mirror, you deem yourself put together enough to face again. You slide out of your car and call her name.

She looks… shocked. Her jaw drops open as she watches you step out of your car.

“Y/N?” she calls out.

You jog up to her car. “Listen, I know I’m probably coming off as a stalker right now, but 

I just… I couldn’t shake you from my thoughts as we lost each other in the airport. I wanted to call or text, but I didn’t have your number. And then I remembered you work here, and I literally work right down the road, and my boss is probably going to kill me for being late on my first day back in two weeks, but-”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either,” she cuts you off as she reaches for your hand.

You pull her into your arms gently before pressing your lips to hers. “Look, I’m… I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I knew I couldn’t let you go that easily, and I don’t want to be a jackass and use you as a rebound, but-”

“I’m here,” Melissa whispers to you as she pulls you back in for another kiss. “I’m here when you’re ready for whatever you think this might turn into. For now though, we can be friends… we can hang out like we did in Italy.”

“Yeah?”

The teacher smiles at you. “Of course. I actually have two tickets for tomorrow’s game if you wanted to come with me?”

“I thought you had tickets for the game while we were Italy?”

She shrugs. “I told you, I know a guy… I was able to contact him while we were there, and he just exchanged my tickets.”

You grin. “I would be delighted.”

Her smile matches yours. “Wonderful. If I could just get your number so we could arrange to meet tomorrow? And then I really do have to get into my classroom… prepping a science lesson.”

“Yeah, of course,” you fumble for your phone in your bag and hand it over. She texts herself with a smile.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” you ask hopefully.

She kisses your cheek. “For sure.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[danikamariewrites]

Can you please do a jealous possessive Ithan in love with the reader who is his mate?

Alphahole

Ithan x reader

A/n: Honestly I never really paid attention to Ithan but with CC3 he’s growing on me. Also I made this spoiler free and left out anything new from CC3.

Warnings: possesive Ithan, suggestive at the end

Since the bond snapped between you and Ithan nights out had become rare. You traded in partying for TV nights cuddled up on the couch. And you wouldn’t change a thing about your life now.

Your phone dinging pulled you from your thoughts. Tapping the screen you see a text from Bryce that has you squealing with excitement.

We miss you and wolf boy, wanna meet for drinks tonight to celebrate you two. Meet us at the Raven at 7🤩

You immediately thumbs up the text rushing to type out your very excited reply. Hitting send you jump out of bed, barging into the bathroom to interrupt his shower. It has been forever since you two went out with the group.

Telling Ithan the plan for the night was easy. Getting him to actually commit and leave the house though? That would be the real challenge. Your boy is too stubborn for his own good.

Putting the finishing touches on your makeup you hear Ithan growl from behind you. You meet his annoyed gaze in the mirror, giving him a taunting smirk.

“It’s just a few hours,” you drawl. He groans again. This time turning to dramatically rest his forehead against the door frame. Sometimes you don’t know who’s worse, him or Tharion.

You turn to face him. Arms crossed as you tap your platform boots against the tiles. “I know you want to see them, don’t make this painful.”

“Fine,” he huffs out. You giggle, moving to hug him tightly. Ithan runs a hand through your hair. He would much rather keep you to himself at home. At home Ithan gets all your attention and doesn’t have to share you with anyone.

Letting go you hold his hands, lightly swinging them back and forth, smiling up at him. Ithan’s eyes roam over body. A low growl sounds from his throat as his eyes move from your low cut tank top, stopping on your tight leather pants that accentuate your curves in all the right places. It was going to be a very long and painful night for the wolf.

As soon as you stepped through the doors you were swept away from him by Bryce and June. He let out a sigh, heading over to the other males at the table. Flynn handed him a beer jokingly saying, “Lost your mate pup.” Though his tone was light Ithan took the statement as a threat and gave the fae lordling a look to tell him so.

Ithan was getting more and more annoyed as the night went on. Every time he had you in his arms or tried to dance with you, you were taken from him. When he came back from getting you a new drink you already had one! Ithan just couldn’t win tonight.

He really hit his breaking point when Flynn pointed out a male flirting with you on the dance floor. Slamming his drink down Ithan stormed over to you. Fury was trying to diffuse the situation as you and Bryce glared at the male.

Fury spotted your mate first, pushing male into Ithan. His insult for you and Bryce died on his tongue when he came face to face with your mate. Letting that deadly predator show in his eyes the male cowered before Ithan. “You have one chance to apologize and leave.” He said in a low and commanding tone that could be heard over the loud thrumming of the music.

The male quickly and shamefully apologized running off as soon as Ithan’s iron grip was off his shoulder. Before you could throw yourself at your mate, the bond aching in your chest to be close to him again, Ithan pulled you into his side saying goodnight to the girls the two of you rushed out. Bryce’s laughter followed by a loud, ‘Alphahole’ reached your ears.

The two of you were silent on the very short ride home. Tension being pulled taught between the two of you. You wanted to put your hands all over Ithan. To reassure the stubborn male that you only had eyes for him. You could tell from the way his jaw was clenched that Ithan was thinking the same thing.

Back in your apartment Ithan picked you up, pining you to the wall. His mouth immediately on your neck leaving love bites and wet open mouthed kisses. You moan at how good his mouth feels against you. Ithan squeezes your ass, pulling you closer to him. “Mine,” he breathes out against your neck. “All yours. Always.”

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Boston Bears: Off-Limits - Rugby Player!Chris x Reader (Part 6)

Summary: You go out on your first girls night since moving to Boston, but instead of a fun night out, you end up with the cast of Mean Girls

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Fluff! Angst! Talk of Nepotism! Slut-Shaming! Alcohol Consumption!

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Chapter 6

You sighed as you assessed your outfit in the mirror. This was the first time you were going out drinking in a very long time. Even back in LA, you didn’t go out often even though you loved dancing, your friend Tommi preferred chatty drinks so you often went out for a meal instead. So it had been a little while since you had gotten dressed up like you were now and it wasn’t filling you with the confidence it normally did.

You’d picked a sparkly black mini-dress which looked like the night sky. The last time you wore it you felt like a boss, like someone out of a fantasy novel that was a queen or high lady and commanded an entire court. Now it just felt off, you couldn’t stop fiddling with the hem and adjusting it. It felt like it was wearing you instead of you wearing it.

You nibbled your lip trying to determine whether you should change, not that you knew what you’d change into. You needed a second opinion, someone to reassure you that it was fine and not as bad as you thought it was.

You grabbed your phone, took a quick mirror selfie and sent it to Tommi, asking what she thought. You could have just face-timed her but you didn’t want her to do her empath superpower and pick up on how uncomfortable you felt causing a mini therapy session that you didn’t want right now.

Tommi: Looking hot! You’ll be pulling all the guys tonight!

You rolled your eyes knowing she meant you could pull someone other than Chris. You had told her about your agreement and how Chris definitely wasn’t like Bryce but she still wasn’t convinced.

Y/N: I’m not looking to pull anyone tonight, just a girl's night with some of the office staff

Tommi: well have fun anyway and stay safe, share your location and text me when you’re heading home

Y/N: will do, love ya wish you were here

Tommi: love you too, wish you were here

You smiled softly to yourself as you put your phone away and looked back in the mirror. You still didn’t feel like a boss bitch, but you felt better and more confident. You could fake it until you make it until then, plus you were already running a little late.

You grabbed your bag and did last looks in the mirror before making your way out of your apartment to go meet the rest of the girls. The bar you were meeting at wasn’t that far from your apartment, only about a twenty to thirty-minute walk, but the girls were already inside when you got there.

“Hey sorry I’m a little late” you smiled as you sat down at the bar table with them.

Sam gave you a smile that you could tell was insincere “No worries” she said as her eyes scanned your outfit “You look… nice”

You forced your own smile to hide your reaction from the backhanded compliment, noticing how the other girls were also assessing your outfit which was more out there than theirs “thought I’d bring some LA glamour to the east coast” you smirked as you flagged down a bartender to order a drink “love the east coast but I think it could use it”

Sam’s smile became more forced and tight as she gave you a quick nod “Right”

You flashed her a winning smile before turning your attention to the other girls, starting a direct conversation with them instead of Sam. She did an unimpressed huff which you caught but ignored, you knew the game she was trying to play and you could play it too.

An hour into the ‘girls' night’ you decided you needed a break from them. The conversation had become less awkward but there was still the air of animosity. Tommi came to your rescue though when you texted her asking her to call you.

“Oh I better take this, I’ll be right back,” you said sliding off your seat.

You didn’t wait for them to reply and walked straight to the door to step outside.

“Hey is everything okay?” Tommi asked as soon as the line connected.

You let out a long sigh “Yeah, just needed an excuse to get a break for a bit, I thought I’d left all the LA bitches in LA” you grumbled.

Tommi snorted “There’s bitches everywhere” she chuckled “What’s so bad about them?”

“Urgh well two of them are fine, Sophia and I’ve forgotten her name, but Sam is the queen bee and the problem” you explained.

“Oh, the peaked in high school kinda person?”

“Yup, instantly judged me as soon as I walked in, I don’t even know why she invited me out” you huffed.

“Maybe she just didn’t expect the medic to also be a sexy bombshell, those girls hate competition” Tommi suggested.

You laughed and shook your head “I wouldn’t say bombshell but maybe… I think I might just cut my losses”

“No don’t give in, you said the other two are alright so stick with them and you never know they might feel the same as you” Tommi told you “Remember when we found out we both hated the same person?”

You recalled that time in college and laughed, the two of you had been studying in the library when the popular know it all girl had swanned past making you roll your eyes before you could check your expression. Tommi had caught it but instead of calling you out on it she let out a massive sigh of relief and told you she found that girl just as annoying as you did. The two of you became inseparable after that.

“That definitely brought us even closer”

“Exactly so just stick it out for another hour or two and you might make a new friend, just don’t go replacing me,” Tommi said and you could practically see her pointing her finger at you.

“That’s impossible no one can replace you” you smiled.

“Exactly now go have some fun, you deserve it,” Tommi told you.

“Will do, love ya” you chuckled.

“Love ya!” Tommi shouted down the line before the call disconnected.

You slid your phone back into your purse before taking a deep breath of the cool night air. You could do this. You stepped back inside the bar looked over towards the table and decided you needed just a few more minutes so went to the bathroom. It didn’t seem like they cared, they didn’t seem to notice you hadn’t come back yet.

Inside the toilets, you only just shut the door to a cubicle when you heard the bathroom door open and three people walk in “Urgh I wish I hadn’t invited her, do you think we could sneak out before she comes back?” you heard Sam say.

“Oh um, I dunno she’s probably stood right by the entrance” Sophia muttered.

You held back your snort, you were much closer than they realised.

“Well, she’s clearly a slut” Sam scoffed “I mean did you see what she was wearing? She may as well have written fuck me on her forehead”

“I thought it was nice, it reminded me of-” the other girl whose name you couldn’t remember said before Sam interrupted.

“No it’s slutty” Sam fired “I bet she isn’t even a trained a medic and is just in the job because her dad is the coach, typically nepo baby”

Your fists clenched, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. While it was getting better it was pretty unusual to be a female medic in the sports industry. But you worked damn hard to get your qualifications you did everything you could to make sure you were where you were because of your merits and not because your dad was a coach.

“Maybe” Sophia sighed “The guys like her though”

“Of course they do, she’s a female medic with the prime access to touch them up” Sam pointed out “I bet that’s why she decided to be a medic, she’s a slut who wants easy access to hot rugby players, I mean have you seen her with them, especially Johnny and Chris!”

That made your stomach drop. You were used to the other comments but the slut shaming and the insinuations were too much. They clearly didn’t know what was going on with you and Chris if they thought you were after Johnny too but did it really matter? It brought back the memories of what you hear in the LA changing rooms which made you feel sick.

Thankfully the girls didn’t stay in the bathroom much longer and you were able to step out of the cubical. You looked at yourself in the mirror and tried to see what Tommi saw but all you could see was what Sam saw. You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from crying, taking a deep and shaky breath.

You grabbed your phone and sent a text to Tommi ‘they’re all bitches and I’m going home, I’ll call when I’m home”

Chris let out a big yawn as he leant back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head “I think I’m gonna go into a food coma” he groaned, his belly completely full of food, some of which wasn’t diet-compliant but he was celebrating so it was fine.

Chris was out with Johnny, Jensen, Curtis as well as a few other teammates to celebrate Ari’s birthday. Since they had a match tomorrow they couldn’t go out drinking so had settled for a meal out. But they might have overindulged on food instead of booze.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite” Johnny complained as he put another spoonful of dessert in his mouth.

Chris snorted and shook his head at the winger. Things were good between them again now, Johnny had proved to Chris that he wasn’t gonna say a word and the team had been on a winning streak the last few rounds so Johnny was definitely right.

“I think I ate too much” Jake admitted as he wiped his brow “I might struggle tomorrow”

The rest of the guys all hummed in agreement, Curtis had a deeper frown on his face than he normally did.

“I dread to think how much this bill is gonna be” Ari sighed as he ran his hand through his long brown locks.

“We’re professional sportsmen, you can afford it” Johnny pointed out.

Ari shot him a look “Yeah rugby player, we’re not in the NFL or NBA” he argued “and some of us have other things they have to pay for besides fancy clothes and girl’s drinks”

Chris arched a brow at the nerve Johnny had seemingly unknowingly pressed, he wondered what it was that Ari had to pay for that meant he was more frugal than others.

“We’ll all chip in and cover it” Chris stated “It’s your birthday Ari, you don’t have to pay for anything”

Ari shook his head “No it’s fine I can pay” he stated.

“No it’s you’re birthday so we are gonna treat you aren’t we?” Chris argued sending a pointed look around at the rest of the guys who all murmured in agreement.

Ari still tried to protest but Chris made sure to take the bill from him when it arrived and ensured that everyone paid their fair share. Once the bill was paid the team made their way out to the fresh air.

“Thanks for that man” Ari said to Chris quietly as they walked out.

“No worries, it's not fair to pay on your birthday” Chris smiled as he clapped Ari on the shoulder.

“Thanks, it’s not like I couldn’t afford it, I just try to be careful with my money that’s all,” Ari said.

“I get it, don’t worry man, it's good to be frugal instead of materialistic, especially when our careers could be over tomorrow” Chris shrugged.

Ari snorted with laughter and shook his head “Great pep talk for tomorrow cap”

Chris threw him a lopsided grin “It’s what I’m known for”

“So what’s the plan, are we hitting a bar?” Johnny called out.

“Storm we have a match tomorrow” Chris reminded him, all of them already had one alcoholic drink they couldn’t go out for another.

“I know but it’s not late, we could still hang out” Johnny points out gesturing over his shoulders to the bars on the other side of the road.

Chris sighed considering it, looking across the road at all the bars they could head to. His attention was then taken by a short black shimmery dress. Chris’ lips parted as he watched you step out of a bar your head low, arms wrapped around your body tightly. You looked stunning, Chris felt an electric current run through him as he looked at you, the same one that he felt last weekend at the BBQ when he couldn’t help but seek you out to just get a kiss. But there was also something wrong, he could tell that much from here.

“Hey isn’t that Y/N?” Jensen said pointing across the street to where Chris was already staring.

“Yeah, looks like she’s alone, I’m just gonna go make sure she’s okay,” Chris said barely taking his eyes off you, watching as you walked away from the bar alone “Text me what you decide and I’ll catch up”

Chris didn’t wait for their responses before he checked there were no cars coming before jogging across the road. You seemed to be in a hurry because you had already gotten a good distance away from the bar. Chris had to keep jogging to catch up, something that didn’t sit particularly well with his full stomach.

“Hey,” he called out when he was close enough.

You instantly spun around, your eyes wide in fear. Chris held his hands up in a defensive manner as you breathed out a deep breath, hand on your chest.

“Jesus fuck Chris you scared the living daylights out of me, I thought you were a stalker or something” you scolded slapping him on the arm.

“Well you are the one walking alone” Chris pointed out.

You rolled your eyes “I’m fine my place isn’t that far, thirty minutes tops” you said shaking your head.

“A lot can happen in thirty minutes, you alright? You seem off” he asked noting how you had wrapped your arms tight around your waist again like you were trying to hide.

“Just a shitty night out” you sighed.

“Oh well we’re out celebrating Ari’s birthday, we were about to head to a bar I think when I spotted you, if you fancy joining us?” Chris offered nodding his head back towards the guys.

You glanced around him before shaking your head quickly “No I don’t think that’ll be a good idea, at least not right now” you said making Chris’ brows pinch together as he tried to work out exactly what you meant.

“No problem, let me walk you home then” Chris said but you shook your head again.

“No, no I’m good, you head back with the others,” you told him, turning to walk away before he even had a chance to argue.

“Whoa, hold up I can’t let you walk home alone” Chris said grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away.

You pulled your arm out of his grip and kept walking forcing him to follow “Chris please not now, I just want to go home” you sighed, your voice squeaking on the last syllable.

Chris’ brows pinched in concern, something was definitely wrong and he wasn’t gonna let you walk home alone if you weren’t okay “Okay but I can’t let you walk alone, I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened, you already thought I was a creep”

You paused, let out a deep sigh and closed your eyes taking a couple of moments before nodding your head “Fine” you muttered quickly walking on.

Chris nodded and fell into step with you, standing on the roadside of the pavement. He sent a quick text to Jensen to say he was walking you home before heading home himself. He shoved his phone and hands in his jeans pockets and looked over at you as you both walked in the direction of your apartment.

Ten minutes had passed and you hadn’t said a word. You just kept your eyes on the floor in front of you, your arms wrapped around your waist. This was the quietest Chris had ever seen you, it wasn’t a side he liked because it wasn’t right, it wasn’t you. The biggest indication he had that something was wrong was the quiet sniffles like you were stopping yourself from crying.

“What was so shitty about your night then?” he asked guessing this sad mood had something to do with it.

“I don’t want to talk about it” you muttered quietly.

“Did something happen? Was someone a creep to you?” Chris questioned starting to get more concerned.

“No it wasn’t a creep it was- it was nothing” you sighed shaking your head.

Chris' brows furrowed “Who did you go out with?” he asked.

“Just some girls from the ticket office, but I won’t be doing it again” you explained with a small scoff.

Chris scrunched up his nose and shook his head “Oh yeah they’re not the nicest, it wasn’t Sam was it? She’s so annoying” he complained.

Your head snapped up to look at him, Chris had to stop himself from smirking victoriously. He’d hit the nail on the head. He might not know the exact reason but he had a better idea.

“You don’t like her?” you asked him.

“Gahd no, she’s like Regina George” Chris scoffed.

Your jaw dropped and Chris had to stop himself from laughing because it was a cute sight “Do you just reference mean girls?” you muttered in disbelief.

Chris gave you a lopsided smile “I’ve got sisters remember”

You chuckled weakly “Well she definitely was a mean girl tonight” You sighed.

“That’s a shame, it’s not nice being around someone who's being mean to strangers for no reason,” Chris said shaking his head.

“It wasn’t strangers” you muttered under your breath, Chris wasn’t sure if you meant for him to hear it but he did.

He froze, putting his hand on your arm to stop you “Wait, was she mean to you?” he asked, anger prickling under his skin.

You opened and shut your mouth a couple of times before shaking your head “It was nothing”

Chris wasn’t gonna let you brush this off any longer “It clearly wasn’t, c’mon you can tell me, we’re buddies right?”

“Look they were really judgy of me and how I was dressed and a bunch of other things” you sighed waving it off.

“How you were dressed? Fuck you look amazing, you caught my attention from across the road” Chris said shaking his head in confusion.

You gave him a weak smile before turning to continue walking towards your apartment “Thanks, I was a bit overdressed though” you admitted.

Chris shrugged “No you weren’t you look like you’re out for a night out, if they thought you were overdressed then they were underdressed” he pointed out.

You let out a small chuckle “Guess I can’t fault that logic” you said.

“It’s a bit shitty that they said it to you though” Chris sighed shaking his head.

“They didn’t, well, not really, I went to the bathroom and they didn’t know and followed me in a decided to chat shit” you explained.

“What else did they say?” Chris asked picking up on the fact there must have been more said.

You let out a long sigh but remain silent. Looking over Chris could see your lips were pursed as if you were trying to decide if you wanted to tell him or how to tell him.

“They said I was a nepo baby and that I was only a medic so I could get up close and personal with hot rugby players” you finally said.

“What the actual fuck!” Chris exclaimed loudly “That’s utter bullshit, you’re one of the best medics we’ve ever had”

You let out a small scoff “Thanks but look don’t worry about it just typical slut shaming”

“No, I am because it’s not on and it’s clearly upsetting you! Do they know about us? Is that the problem?” Chris asked.

You shook your head “No she just said we were close, same with Johnny” you sighed.

“That’s good at least,” Chris said earning another small scoff from you “Look don’t listen to anything she or those other girls say, they’re just jealous because you get to hang out with us guys and we don’t like them enough to hang out with them, what they’re saying is just their insecurities projected onto you” he continued softly.

“I dunno” you sighed shaking your head.

“Trust me, we’ve all been subjected to Sam throwing herself at us at Christmas and end-of-season parties, if anyone is trying to get up close and personal with us it's her” Chris explained trying to suppress the shudder that passed through his body when he recalled the last Christmas party when she tried to grind her hips against him despite his efforts to get away “we like you Y/N all of us, which is why we hang out with you so don’t listen to them, you’re a badass who doesn’t need to worry about their opinions”

You stopped and turned back around to face him, your eyes damp as you looked up at him “Thanks Chris… it’s nice to know you’re on my side”

Chris put a comforting hand on your shoulder “it's nothing” he said before looking up and realising you were outside your apartment building “Are you okay now? I can stick around if you want”

You gave him a brave smile and shook your head “No I'm good thanks, you should head back to the guys, I said I’d call Tommi when I got in to talk about everything anyway”

Chris nodded trying not to look too disappointed. He didn’t want to leave you just yet, not just because you still weren’t 100% yourself again but because he just felt this need to be with you.

“Sure, well I’ll see you tomorrow at the game” he nodded.

“Yeah see you tomorrow, thanks for walking me home by the way” You smiled softly.

“It was nothing…” he said trying to think of something to say to allow him to stay a little longer but he couldn’t “See you tomorrow” he repeated quickly, giving you a quick hug before turning on his heels and heading back the way he came.

He didn’t go far though, staying just close enough to watch and make sure you got inside the building and the lights went on in your apartment. He stayed another moment more before letting out a long sigh and making his way home.

Chris climbed out of his car and brushed down his tie before moving to grab his kitbag from his trunk. There weren’t many fans here yet since the team met at the stadium a whole 2 hours before kickoff, but there were always a few dedicated fans who turned up early. Chris gave them a wave as he walked from his car to the team entrance, even stopping to take a couple of photos with young fans.

Once inside the building, he walked down the corridor that would lead him to the team’s changing room. He nodded hello to any other members of staff he crossed, including the team photographer who was capturing the team’s arrival. The only people he wouldn’t say hello to would be Sam and her other mean girls, but he rarely saw them anyway.

The one person he did want to see though was you. He just wanted to know you were okay after last night. You seemed better when he left you compared to when he found you but you still weren’t yourself. He hadn’t seen you yet though which wasn’t unusual but it still bothered him.

He walked into the team changing room, not everyone was there yet but there were a few. Including Johnny who walked over to greet Chris, shaking his hand.

“Hey Storm, you’re not usually here this early” Chris commented.

Johnny shrugged “Got ready earlier than usual, you missed a good night last night”

“Sorry to hear it, hope you guys didn’t go too crazy” Chris said with a pointed look.

“Nah don’t you worry, we kept it chilled” Johnny reassured him with a clap on the shoulder “Was she okay?” he then asked his voice low.

Chris nodded “Fine, bit of a shit night out that's all, she was with the ticket office mean girls” he explained quietly.

Johnny pulled a face “god no wonder she thought it was shit” he grimaced “but glad she’s okay”

Chris nodded “Me too” he sighed even though he wasn’t confident that you were okay.

Johnny clapped Chris on the shoulder once more before turning and heading back to his cubby. Chris walked over to his, dumping his bag and opening it up to pull out what he needed. His kit was already hung up by the kit manager, he just needed his boots and gumshield.

He was about to start getting changed but before he even managed to get his suit off he felt this urge to make sure you were okay. It was like someone had flipped a switch and there was this animalistic desire to find you, one that he couldn’t ignore.

He mumbled a quick excuse before walking back out of the changing room. He made his way straight to the medic room where he would find you. To his surprise you weren’t in there, one of the other medics was instead.

“Hey, everything okay? Do you need anything?” the medic asked as he packed his bag.

Chris shook his head “Uh no, just- no” Chris stuttered as he tried and failed to think of an excuse “Are the other medics on the field already?” he then asked.

The medic nodded his head “Yeah they’re just prepping the bench”

Chris nodded despite wanting to curse. He wasn’t allowed out onto the pitch until warm-ups which meant he wouldn’t get the chance to ask you if you were okay. He couldn’t quench his desire to ensure you were okay.

“Cool thank you” Chris said before turning on his heel and walking back out towards the changing room.

He would just have to get over it and get his head in the game. He couldn’t be distracted thinking about whether you were okay, he needed to focus on the game and just hope that you were.

He was halfway back to the changing room when he crossed paths with your dad “Ah Evans just the person I wanted to talk to” he said.

“Everything alright sir?” Chris asked.

Coach Y/L/N nodded before gesturing with his finger “Yeah follow me” he said.

Chris followed him down the corridor before realising he was heading towards his office. Chris mentally cursed, had your dad somehow clocked on to your little arrangement? Was that why he couldn’t find you, because you were in your dad’s office?

To Chris’ relief, you weren’t inside your dad’s office but that didn’t mean he was off the hook, he was desperate to ask what was going on but he kept quiet.

“Right, I just wanted to ask you about this” Coach Y/L/N said pointing down to a piece of paper which was a printout of an online news article from a rugby news site.

Chris took a closer look and cursed silently, it was a picture of you and Chris walking home together last night. The photo was thankfully completely innocent, taken before Chris managed to get you to open up. His hands were in his pockets and your arms wrapped around your waist. However, that didn’t stop the site from speculating whether you were Chris’ new fling.

“Oh, oh this is nothing, sir, I promise,” Chris said with a shake of his head.

Your dad arched a brow “it is?”

Chris nodded “Yeah I was out with the guys last night for a meal to celebrate Ari’s birthday, when we left we spotted Y/N leaving a bar alone so I said I’d go make sure she was okay and ended up walking her home”

Your dad nodded his head slowly “Right okay, and was she? She doesn’t look okay to me”

Chris sighed wondering how much to say “Have you spoken to her sir?” he asked instead, your dad shook his head in answer “Well she didn’t tell me much but she said she went out with some of the girls from the ticket office and it wasn’t as fun as she thought but she seemed better by the time I left her”

Your dad nodded his head knowingly “That’s reassuring to know, and I will ask to thank you”

Chris smiled at him “It’s nothing, I’m sorry we got papped and made it look like something was going on, I just wanted to make sure she was okay and got home safe, absolutely nothing between us we’re just friends” he said hoping your dad didn’t see through his white lie.

Your dad snorted “I should hope not, you know better than that Evans” he warned “But thank you, I really appreciate it the past few months haven’t been easy for her so it’s good to know she has people looking out for her over here” he said.

Chris felt his mouth go dry and his throat constricted at the not-so-veiled warning your dad had just sent his way. It was clear that your dad wanted none of the team dating you, there would be no exceptions. The warning wasn’t enough to put Chris off though, he couldn’t give up the electric feeling he felt when he was with you. The team was also on a winning streak and Chris wasn’t a superstitious man but he also wasn’t gonna risk it.

“Of course sir” he coughed “No need to worry about me… is there anything else you need?”

Your dad shook his head “No, just go out there and win”

Chris smirked as he saluted “Yes boss”

Chris made his way back to the changing room to prepare himself for the game. Despite everything Chris managed to get his head in the game with no issue at all. He felt ready to get out there and win. He was still worried about you but he could still focus, the two things weren’t mutually exclusive.

When Chris finally stepped out onto the pitch and saw you his worries were somewhat soothed. You seemed fine, okay even, but something was still different. It wasn’t something he could work out until the match started and he watched you jog on to help Johnny who needed some strapping on his knee.

Chris watched as you worked and saw the dynamic was completely different. Usually, you were all jokes and smiles as you worked but now you were straight face, you barely reacted to Johnny’s quips you just worked. You were being strictly professional.

You weren’t okay, what had happened last night was still playing on your mind and making you change the way you behaved. It pissed Chris off because you shouldn’t have to change how you acted around the team because of the opinions of people who really weren’t worth the trouble. Other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter full stop.

Chris decided that he wasn’t going to let this carry on any longer, as soon as this match was over he was gonna pay you a visit and build you back up until the opinion of Sam didn’t matter.

As it turned out though he didn’t need to wait for the end of the match. After completing a kick Chris felt a twinge in his upper thigh right by his hip. It was one that he would usually just play on for, it was one he could run off. But instead, he sat himself down on the pitch, wincing in pain waiting for you to come over.

“What’s wrong?” you asked once you jogged over to him, putting your medical bag down as you crouched.

“Twinge in my thigh, right here” he said pointing to the side of his thigh.

Normally you probably would have made some joke that included an innuendo but you just nodded “Okay let’s stretch it out, lie back and give me your leg” you said holding out your hand to catch his ankle.

Chris did as he was told, lifting up his leg ready to stretch. To lift it high enough and provide some resistance you lifted his ankle so it was resting on your shoulder. A smirk played on Chris’ lips at the sight.

He scratched his beard to hide his lips from sight as he said “You know it’s usually your leg on my shoulder, not the other way around”

Your eyes widened and he saw the ghost of a smile play at your lips “Chris” you hissed, no venom in your voice at all.

“I actually quite like the view, maybe you should be on top more” he smirked.

You shot him another look but he could see your defences falling, even if you were still desperately trying to act strictly professional.

“How are you feeling?” you asked him.

“Much better, you’ve got the magic touch” he grinned as he sat back up.

You let out a small snort and shook your head before passing him a bottle “rehydrate” you ordered.

He took the bottle from you and squeezed some water into his mouth. He watched as you packed your bag back up, your sight set firmly on the task instead of him. A mischievous grin grew on his face when an idea popped into his head. It was a dangerous idea but if it worked it would definitely bring back your smile.

While your attention was still on the bag Chris twisted the bottle around so when he squeezed it the water would squirt out at you instead of into his mouth. You clearly were paying more attention than you let on though as before he got the chance to squeeze the bottle you reached out, grabbed it and spun it back around the face him, the water squirting into his face instead.

Chris spluttered in surprise, but despite his plan backfiring it still worked as you were trying and failing to hold back a laugh. Chris grinned back at you and shook his head, water droplets running off his face.

“Nice try Evans” you smirked snatching the bottle back and putting it in your pack as you stood up.

You held out your hand to help him up which he gladly took “It worked though” he said quietly, you tilted your head in confusion “It got you to smile” he explained making your lips part in surprise “Don’t let the opinion of others stop you from being you” he added quietly before jogging off to go rejoin his team.

When he met his team in the huddle ready to give some instructions for the next phase of play, he spared a glance over to you as you jogged back off the pitch. A smile played on his lips as he spotted the one you hid with a bowed head. You might not be 100% fine but you were better and more yourself and that was all Chris could hope for. He’d work on getting you back to 100% later after he won this game.

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[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Gabe/Stephen; a low-key occasion (pt I)

For the prompt: Stephen Petersen, Bridezilla

It quickly became quite clear that this prompt would refuse to settle into a one-parter, so here is the first of at least two. Next one should come within the week.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about,” Stephen says

It isn’t always a bad sign when Stephen starts right in the middle of a conversation he neglected to invite Gabe to — sometimes Stephen genuinely forgets that ‘I should tell Gabe’ isn’t the same as ‘I have told Gabe’. But lately? Lately it’s been a very bad sign indeed.

But then, everything’s a bad sign lately. Stephen says ‘good morning’? Bad sign. Stephen doesn’t say ‘good morning’? Bad sign. Stephen shortens it to ‘morning’? Absolutely terrible sign.

It’s only been getting worse as the wedding date approaches. Gabe thought they’d be above stressing over their wedding, but in hindsight, he’s not sure why. Stephen stresses about everything, and special occasions are no exception. If anything, they’re the exemplar.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about either,” Gabe says, since Stephen’s giving him an expectant look.

Stephen squints. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“No idea,” Gabe says. “You forgot to tell me.”

Stephen huffs.

“Who are they, and what are they talking about?” Gabe says. “I know you said you don’t know, but you sort of said it in a way that implies you do know, you just think that they’re—“

“Full of shit?” Stephen says.

That one, yes.

“You still haven’t told me who ‘they’ is referring to,” Gabe tells him.

Gabe knows Stephen’s trying to get him to agree, but he refuses to do that until he knows who Stephen’s talking about. What if he’s talking about his parents? Or Gabe’s? Gabe is way too big a mama’s boy to ever say his mother is full of shit. And if he did, he’s positive his mom would know. Even if he and Stephen never mentioned it again, even to each other: she’d know.

Stephen huffs at him again. “Them,” he says, gesturing expansively around the room, though Gabe doesn’t think he’s talking about their living room furniture. “Everyone.”

“Okay,” Gabe says. He thinks if he asks what everyone’s saying he’ll get a third huff, and if he gets a third huff, he’s probably going to start agreeing with ‘them’ just on principle, because, whatever it is that 'they' said, Stephen probably deserved it.

“Do you know what Jared called me today?” Stephen says.

Ah. Math. Gabe should have known it was Math, because he manages to get under Stephen’s skin like no one else. Stephen’s sole consolation is that it’s mutual.

Unfortunately, that’s the opposite of consolation for Gabe, who has to listen to both of them bitching about each other afterwards. Well, Dima often has to hear both sides of the bitching too, but he enjoys it.

“Something mean?” Gabe ventures.

“He called me high-maintenance,” Stephen says.

Gabe presses his lips together.

“Him,” Stephen says. “Jared Matheson. Who does not drink beer because he thinks it’s ‘yucky’.”

“You’re not the biggest fan of beer yourself,” Gabe says. He thinks Jared would take umbrage to the ‘yucky’ bit, claim he was too mature for to ever use that word, but he also saw Math’s face when he accidentally took a sip of Bryce’s beer, and ‘this is yucky’ is a pretty good description of the expression he made.

“But I drink it,” Stephen says. “Do you know why?”

Gabe knows exactly what he’ll say the reason is, and he refuses to participate on principle.

“Because I’m not high-maintenance,” Stephen says.

See? He doesn’t need Gabe for this at all. Doesn’t need him for conversations, or wedding planning, or —

“Can you believe that?” Stephen says, then gives Gabe a look that tells him it isn’t a rhetorical question.

Gabe makes a noise. It could be taken as support, if Stephen would like to take it that way. Commiseration, even. But it isn’t.

Because yes. Gabe can believe that.

In fact, messenger aside — no one who has ever met Jared Matheson would describe him as low-maintenance, except probably him, and maybe Bryce if he’s feeling particularly blinded by adoration that day — Gabe can’t do anything but agree.

[cariantha]

Scored

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Category: Fluff; Thanksgiving; Christmas Word count: 2.1K Prompt: From @jerzwriter, “Sawyer wants to get Ethan a very expensive Christmas gift that she can't afford. Then, she sees it's on sale on Black Friday at 50% off. Now - she's determined to get it for him, even though she's working that day. How does she get it done?”

Black Friday...

It had been over a month since the poison attack, and Sawyer returned to work just a week ago. Between her overprotective secret boyfriend, concerned roomies, and nosy coworkers, her every move was monitored as she walked the hospital halls. So when she reached for the handle of the supply closet, she looked to the right toward the nurses’ station. No one was paying her any attention. Then, to the left, finding the coast clear. 

As luck would have it, though, Bryce was paying attention. He leaned back from the nurses' station, catching her slip into the closet. He lingered for a few minutes to see if she would emerge with supplies or something worrisome like tears. 

In the small dark room, Sawyer leaned against the shelving and attempted to load the Williams Sonoma website. 

A couple of weeks ago, she searched online for top-of-the-line espresso makers. The search results left her feeling disappointed. The models were way out of her price range. But thanks to the Google ads tracking her browsing history, she was alerted to an almost-too-good-to-be-true Black Friday sale on the fancy coffee makers. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” Sawyer whispered as the website buffered. She should have guessed the network connection would be poor in this room made of concrete walls. 

The spinning circle on her screen showed no mercy. Defeated, she threw her head back and blew a frustrated breath toward the ceiling. 

Having allowed a reasonable amount of time to grab supplies, a concerned Bryce barged into the closet, witnessing her huff. “Brooksie? What’s wrong? Why are you hiding in the supply room?” 

Sawyer looked down at her phone and saw that the webpage finally loaded. “Of course,” she said to herself and sighed. “I’m okay, Bryce. I just needed a minute.” 

His pager buzzed, and he checked the message. “Shit, my patient is crashing. I gotta go. You sure you’re okay?” 

“Yep. Totally fine. Go,” she shooed him away.

Bryce tackled her with a quick hug. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he promised as he hurried out and down the hall. 

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Figuring she could hide out for a few minutes under the guise of selecting a snack from the vending machine, Sawyer stood in the small alcove and tried to load the Williams Sonoma website again. 

Her heart fluttered with excitement as the page quickly loaded. She added the espresso machine to her virtual shopping cart and clicked the checkout button to finalize the purchase.

Excitement quickly turned to irritation when her PayPal password would not work. “Some of your info isn’t correct. Please try again.” The same message appeared after her second and third attempts. She would have to reset her password, which would mean checking her email and verifying her account. 

She groaned, leaned forward, and banged her head a couple of times against the glass of the vending machine.

“Brooks, is there a problem?” 

With her forehead still pressed against the glass, Sawyer swiveled her head to the side and saw Zaid Mirani facing her with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Though his tone and demeanor hid it well, the fact that he asked her a question rather than barked a demand hinted at his concern. She didn’t want to confess to the chief resident that she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing at work, nor did she want his pity, so she straightened and slapped a button on the vending machine. When nothing happened, she looked back at Zaid with a frown. “The machine ate my dollar.”

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Sawyer sat at a table in the staff lounge on her lunch break, hoping the chrome contraption with confusing buttons and levers was still in stock. While the Georgian chicken leftovers Ethan made last night for their version of Thanksgiving dinner warmed in the microwave, she pulled out her phone, reset her PayPal password, and navigated back to the Williams Sonoma website.  

Because she had previously attempted to check out as a guest, the website didn’t save her previous shopping activity, and her cart was empty. On the home page, she was distracted by another gadget that would be a perfect gift for her dad. It was also on sale. Combined with the espresso machine, the total would qualify her for free shipping. Score! She added the item to her cart and returned to the Breville product page, where a warning glared in red font. Quantities are limited - Order soon! Sawyer cursed under her breath and quickly added the item to her cart. 

Just then, her pager rang out with an urgent message requesting backup in the ER. Leaning forward on the table, she buried her head into the crook of her elbow and whisper-screamed. 

Sienna, who received the same page, saw her friend’s display of distress as she walked past the lounge. Immediately concerned, she stepped backward until she stood in the lounge's doorway. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked as Sawyer stood and quickly repacked her lunch.

“Yeah. Just can’t seem to catch a break today.”

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

A couple of hours later, Ethan entered the reception area of the free clinic dressed casually—jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. His jacket was open in the front as if he had been in a rush to leave home—and he had been after Sienna called to express concern that Sawyer was distressed. 

Despite his unusually casual appearance, the administrative assistant at the front desk recognized Dr. Ramsey immediately and buzzed him through the door that separated the reception area from the rest of the clinic.  

Sawyer said goodbye and followed her patient out of the exam room as Ethan rounded the corner and came into view. “Hi, what a nice surprise,” she greeted when he approached. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.” He looped an arm around her waist and ushered her toward an empty imaging room at the back of the clinic. 

Ethan closed the door, but Sawyer started speaking before he turned around to face her. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, confused. 

“Pretend.” He moved in front of her and reached for her hands. “You know you don’t have to pretend to be okay with me. If you’re having a bad day… if today has been too much, I’ll find someone to cover your second shift or do it myself. I know you’re trying to make up for your time away, but you’ve been through a lot. Everyone will understand if you need to pull back.”

Sawyer cupped his face with her hands and looked him in the eye. “I promise you, Ethan. I’m o-kay,” she emphasized. “Honestly. I haven’t thought about the attack stuff at all today.”

His eyes shifted back and forth between hers while she dropped her hands from his face to his shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. “I promise,” she repeated.

“Okay.”

“Did you really come in just to check on me?” she asked, lacing her fingers behind his neck. 

“Yeah.”

“Why did you think I was having a bad day?”

“Trinh called me.”

“Why?”

“I asked her to keep an eye on you,” Ethan explained. “It was the first day since you returned that I wouldn’t be around.”

“Ethan, I appreciate the concern, but…” she trailed off, racking her brain to think of anything she did or said that would have caused her roommate’s concern. She came up blank. “What made Sienna think I was having a bad day?”

“She said that you were crying in the breakroom and that Bryce found you hiding in a supply closet, and Zaid saw you headbutting a vending machine. She thought you were overwhelmed and was worried about you working another shift tonight.”

“Oh.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Ethan prodded further. “So, why were you crying and hiding in the supply closet?”

“I wasn’t. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then what was it?” 

“It was noth-”

“Sawyer,” he admonished. “Talk to me.”

“Ethan, I wasn’t upset. I was just mildly frustrated about something. It’s not a big deal.”

“Frustrated about what?” 

“You should have become a detective, you know. You’re great at this interrogation stuff,” she huffed.

“And you’re avoiding the question…” he countered, tugging her close and squeezing her waist. “Frustrated about what?”

“Ugh!” she grunted, pressing her forehead against his shoulder to hide her face. “I was trying to score a Black Friday deal, okay!”

“What?” he asked with a surprised laugh.

“I was trying to buy something online but kept getting error messages or kicked off the internet. I tried again on my lunch break, but that got cut short when I was paged to the ER.”

“Were you eventually successful? Did you score the deal?”

“Nooo!” she fake cried, shaking her head against his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s the universe’s way of saying I shouldn’t have been shopping while working.” 

Ethan chuckled again.

She leaned back and flashed her get-out-jail smile that he could never resist. “Don’t tell my boss, okay?” 

He smacked her backside playfully. “Why can’t you ever just stay out of trouble? Huh?”

She shrugged.

“Have you eaten yet?” Ethan asked. When Sawyer shook her head no, he suggested they head to the cafeteria for a quick meal together before she started her second shift. 

After dropping their trays of food on the table, Ethan went to fill their drink cups, and Sawyer pulled out her phone. She opened the internet browser and refreshed the page. Her lips turned down in a frown when she saw the note on the page: "Out of Stock." Deciding the deal was, in fact, too good to be true, she pocketed her phone to focus on more important things like her dinner companion and her job.

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

On Monday morning, a loud snore woke Sawyer just as the sun began to rise. Ethan would usually stop snoring if she tugged him into a spooning position, and she could claim another coveted hour of sleep. But a thought occurred to her as she internally groaned that the weekend was officially over. Today was not just any Monday. It was Cyber Monday. With a glimmer of hope, she quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. 

Perched on a stool at the island, Sawyer sipped on a glass of orange juice and pulled up the Williams Sonoma website on her phone. She nearly squealed when she saw that the fancy coffee maker was back in stock and on sale again. She quickly added the item to her cart, entered her payment information, and completed the purchase. She pumped her fists in the air when she got the confirmation email.

“What’s got you up early and so excited this morning?” Ethan asked in his gravely morning voice, hugging her from behind and pressing his lips to the top of her head.  

Sawyer quickly flipped her phone over so the screen was face down. “I was hoping some Black Friday deals would be offered again since it’s Cyber Monday. And they were. I was able to score the deal I wanted last week.”

“Mmm, good for you,” he murmured into her hair. “If you’re done, how about you come back to bed and let me score too.”

Christmas Day…

After working all day so that their colleagues could enjoy Christmas with their families, Sawyer accompanied Ethan back to his apartment so that they could spend the rest of the holiday together. 

The leftovers from the meal Ethan had prepared were now put away, and the couple relaxed in front of the roaring fireplace. Sitting up from where she had nestled against him, Sawyer asked, “Can I give you your present now?”

“I told you you didn’t need to get me anything…” 

She ignored him as she moved behind the couch to retrieve the large, heavy, neatly wrapped box she hauled into his apartment the night before. “And I told you I did anyway when you helped me carry it in last night. Here. Merry Christmas.”

As Ethan started to peel away the festive wrapping paper and got a peek at what it was, he paused and looked up at her with surprise. She was smiling so big and proud. He shook his head when he finished unwrapping it and read the details on the box. 

“I remembered you talking with the owner at Derry’s about wanting one and that this was a really good model.” 

“Sawyer, this is amazing… but I-I can’t accept this. I know what these machines cost. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”

“It’s okay. Seriously. I scored an amazing deal.”

“Was this what you were trying so hard to buy on Black Friday?” he wondered, flipping the box over to appreciate the different features. 

“Yes,” and she nodded affirmatively.

“Come here, Rookie.” Ethan set the box on the coffee table and pulled her into his lap, pressing a long but tender kiss to her lips. “Thank you for being so thoughtful and making such an effort.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I love… I love it. I can’t wait to try it out.” 

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction 

@jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst 

@liaromancewriter @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75

@socalwriterbee @txemrn @midnightmelodiz @snoopdogcone

@rafasgirl23415

[wonderful-writers-au]

You're just not my type Prt 3

Jock!Ethan Landry X Guitarist!F!Reader

W/C - 1.5 K

Summary - Ethan definitely has an idea about what you think about him

Warnings - just making out.

A/N - I'm so happy i'm trying to finish this rn. im also done wit the flashbacks sooo

Last part * Next part *

Request rules * Taglist request *

You slowly walk into school, your headphones over your ears, it's been a week since you've last seen Bryce and you're living for it. You practically wanted nothing to do with him and recently, someone else was definitely trying to get in with you.

Ethan, that is.

He has been interacting with you all week, talking to you, flirting with you, he even has been asking you about your guitar. You weren't used to all this male attention surrounding you. Ethan's friends were slowly talking to you, finding you interesting and asking things about you too.

But out of all of them, Ethan is the one that you seem to like the most. He seems caring and kind and nice. He was cute as hell, but you really didn't want this to be another Bryce situation where he ends up being a dick to you in five days.

You're walking and just minding your own business when someone pulls off your headphones and you turn around. Of course, it was Ethan.

"Ethan give them back!" You huff as he puts them on his head. You really wanted to go to art early. He nods his head and hums to the tune of the song just a little bit before he takes them off and puts them around your neck.

"Is that...Your own music?" He asks you, looking deeper into your eyes than anyone else ever has before. He had this strong cologne on and on top of how his hair looked it the sun, it was intoxicating to you. You wanted to rip the varsity jacket off and kiss him.

"Uh, yes, actually. It's just something I've been working on for the moment, nothing too special." You state and He nods. He smirks at you and then steps back.

"That's really good," He states, and you blush, what the hell was happening to you. In a minute you'll start giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. "Can I meet you in the music room after this class. I really want to hear you play in person." You shake your head, and he sighs. You look into his eyes for a moment and groan. "Fuck it, sure, I'll see you there."

You slowly walk away and sigh as you put your headphones over your ears. You arrive at art, being a bit over 5 minutes late, you were never late and by the way everyone was looking at you, you could tell their thinking the same. You take your headphones off and take your seat at the back.

"Gentlemen and Gentlewoman, I really want this next piece for your portfolio to really tell me about your emotions." The teacher says. You weren't one for emotions really, but maybe these new feelings for your browned haired friend could bring out some good work. "I want this to reflect what the past month has been like in about three to five paintings, show me your emotions and the journey that your emotions go through."

"What the hell." You mumble. This month for you has been terrible, except for the past week. Your friend, Casey, looks at you. He was a great artist and an even better friend; he calls you constantly.

"I know you're not good with your emotions, but you should really use your feelings for Ethan. Their only blossoming into new for you, Bryce was a shit dude. Ethan seems like he's good for you. You seem happier." That was deep as hell. What the fuck.

You will admit to yourself that you do seem happier ever since Ethan's come into your life. So maybe that party was worth it. "I don't know, he asked me to meet him after this class to get him to watch me play. I don't know if I should go." You mumble.

"Y/N. I swear to god. If you don't go, you'll wish you did because I'll legit kill you." Casey says and you groan. "Fuck you, fuck it. I'll go!" You groan.

"Yessss! Please do! He loves you! It's so obvious." Casey rolls his eyes. You roll your eyes and get up and walk away. You put on your apron and grab 3 paint brushes, a cup of water and some light blue, pastel purple and pink and yellow. That's what you felt like doing at the time anyway

You go back to your desk and sit down. You place all the objects onto the table and slump back down into your seat. You turn around with your chair and grab a canvas and paint palette.

You turn back around to your desk and place the canvas and palette down. You squeeze a little bit of each color onto the palette and wet the smallest paint brush you grabbed. You dip it into the pink paint, someone in the corner of the classroom catches your eye. You slowly take off your headphones and put them into your bag.

"I'm here for Y/N." Ethan says. Your jaw drops. What the fuck is he doing? You don't come to his basketball practice. You were painting, you're not packing up because you just started. "Why does Y/N need to come with you?"

"Something important has come up and I really need her to come with me Mrs Warner." Ethan says. He looks at you and you shake your head. "Sure, go ahead, take Y/N. I'm not fighting with 21-year-old about a girl leaving class early."

"I'll pack up your stuff." Casey smirks at you. You grab your bag and leave with him. You both walk in silence for a moment, you're finding the right words because in your head, everything you wanted to say was mixed together.

"Where are we going?" You ask. He shakes his head at you and chuckles. Fuck. He is not taking you to the studio. "By the way your face expressions are, I think you just realized." He chuckles at you. You didn't want to play for him, you were planning on not showing up. But what's the worst that can happen?

You walk with him for a moment and then you both arrive at the studio. You really weren't keen on playing for him. He opens the door and there's your guitar, in all its beauty. "Y/N. Look, if you don't want to play for me, that's fine, I don't want you to feel like you have to." He says to you, clearly it was obvious that you were nervous to play infront of him.

"No, I want too. I just haven't really played my own music in front of someone before." You mutter, you both go inside the studio, and he closes the door. You pick up the electric guitar and set it up so it can make noise from the speakers. Ethan looks at you and slowly pulls the guitar out of your hands and lightly rests it on the wall.

He grabs your hands and looks at you directly into your eyes. He slowly rubs circles into the back of your hands. He drops onto his knees, and you can't even believe this is happening to you. "Are you okay?" He asks.

"Fine, fine. Don't worry about me." You whimper. He nods, clearly not convinced with your answer. He hands you back the guitar and you turn the volume up on it lightly. "Just pretend I'm not here."

You close your eyes. Fuck why is the this so damn scary. You start playing a little bit to see if it's tuned. It is and now you can't waste any more time. You slowly start with a hammer on and start playing. You play for about two minutes before you stop. Ethan's jaw is wide open and shocked.

"That's really fucking good." He mutters. You didn't know what to say. He did not just say your good. It felt like a praise. It was a praise. God, you wanted him so bad. You hand him the guitar. "Sit down, I'll give you a lesson." You say and his eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yes, now sit down before I change my mind." You sigh. He nods and sits down. The guitar is placed on his lap, and he picks it up the way you did before. He puts the strap over his shoulders. "What next ma'am?" He asks jokingly. You walk over and stand over him. You grab his hands and use your hands lead where his are going.

You let him play a little riff and then stop. He looks up at you and says "Fuck it, I cant pretend anymore." He mutters and you tilt your head.

What is he on about? Your thoughts are cut short when his lips connect with yours. Your lips move and fit perfectly together. He slides the guitar off him and places it onto the floor. You slowly move your body so you're standing basically on top of him. You slowly get pulled onto his lap and you hook your hands around his neck.

Someone opens the door, and you break the kiss to look at the person. It's the one person you did not want to talk too.

Bryce.

Taglist - @idky5

[pactheland-at-100]

the number days cast is my fav out of all of pacthesis' games characters, i literally love each and every one of them. they're all so funny and intelligent and insightful in their own ways, the way they interact with each other and support each other like all of them go so well together as friends erfiserkjeh i just love them so much

[starryskiesahead]

made some lil moodboards for the number days gang

[lilac-witch]

If My Wish Came True, It Would've Been You - Azriel x OC

CHAPTER TWO: ONCE UPON A TIME, THE PLANETS AND THE FATES AND ALL THE STARS ALIGNED

word count: 816

synopsis: All it takes is a bit of courage, and a leap of faith, to come one step closer to salvation. Something the Inner Circle are in desperate need of.

warnings: none.

main masterlist | series masterlist

"How sure are we that this is going to work?"

Cassian's words cut through the air like a sharp breeze, breathing new life into the roam. The life being a weeks-old question.

Could they really make the jump to another world.

"There's no telling," Amren stated bluntly. "All we can hope for is that those books haven't been gathering dust in Rhys' library over the centuries for absolutely nothing."

Azriel watched the small female. The way he had watched her for the last fortnight, nose buried in book after book, desperately searching for the answers they so desperately sought. Amren had been nothing short of miraculous, gathering a plethora of possibilities to help them make the journey to Midgard.

"Do you have everything you need?" Rhys asked, his arms folded, shoulders stiff with unreleased tension.

"I believe so," Amren replied, glancing at the stash atop the oak dinner table, including but not limited to an assortment of dried vegetation, bird feathers, odd-coloured liquids and bones from a source Azriel hoped he'd never come to know. "All that's left is to decide which lucky males and females get to cross the boundaries of space and time."

No one moved, and rightfully so. They had no idea what to expect of the world Bryce Quinlan hailed from, other than the atrocities she'd shown them.

"I'll go."

Azriel watched as Cassian's eyes widened in horror at Nesta's statement. His brother shook his head, muttering to his mate under his breath, begging, pleading that she reconsider.

"Enough, Cassian," Nesta snapped, eyes blazing with those all too familiar silver flames. "I said I'm going, and that's final."

Azriel sympathised with his brother. If it were his mate, he would do anything to keep her someplace out of harm's way. But Nesta was not his mate. She was a warrior. A Valkyrie. She would let no male take her power away from her.

"I should go as well," Rhysand breathed, wincing slightly at the thought of having Nesta as a travel companion. "I suggested this plan. It's only fair I present it."

Feyre was easy to read when in the company of friends and family. Her face was an open book. Azriel knew the idea of being separated pained his High Lady, and his High Lord, especially so soon after Nyx's arrival into the family. But Feyre knew what needed to be done to ensure a safe world for their son to grow up in.

The youngest Archeron sister nodded. "I'll stay, ensure the court continues to run smoothly. Cassian should stay as well. We don't want the Illyrian camps to fall into disarray."

Cassian opened his mouth to object, but one scathing look from Rhys had him clamping his jaw shut with a huff. In any other situation, the action might have been funny. But there was nothing funny about potentially bridging the gap between life and death.

Mor was the next to volunteer, saying something about wanting a first-hand glance at what a night out looks like on another planet, but Azriel's mind had wandered elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel like something was edging him to join this 'little' expedition. Like a rope had been tied to his wrist and was tugging him along a path.

Azriel's shadows skittered as he announced his decision. He'd go to Midgard.

"Well if my favourite Night Court duo are going, it must be a sign that I join!"

Azriel cursed under his breath, turning to see Helion waltzing through the entryway. He'd chastise his shadows later for their lack of vigilance.

"What if it's a sign to stay away?" Mor drawled, challenge gleaming in her eyes.

Helion gasped dramatically, a hand finding its way to the centre of his bronzed chest. "Why, Morrigan. You wound me."

Rhys cleared his throat, putting an end to the dramatic skit. "It's settled then. Nesta, Mor, Azriel, Helion, and I will find Bryce Quinlan and the solution to all of our problems."

Rhys turned his gaze to Amren. "Whenever you're prepared."

Azriel took his place beside Rhys, observing the vicious black-haired female drop the various ingredients into a mortar and pestle, grinding the contents into a coarse powder before adding some form of liquid to create an obnoxious yellow paste.

"You'll only need a thumbnail's worth," she said, passing the bowl to each member of their group. "Place it on your tongue, and swallow when you're ready."

The five of them said their goodbyes, heard the silent prayers for safe travels and formed a small circle. One glance around the room could be their undoing, could be the reason their mission failed. One selfish reason to stay and live out their days in as much happiness as possible.

"Well," Mor said, glancing owlishly at the disgusting paste. "We always did say to whatever end."

"To whatever end," they agreed.

And then they took the leap.

Oh my gosh guys, I'm so sorry it's been so long. I've been trying to grapple with an increased workload, and writer's block on top of everything. Thank you for being patient, and I hope you can continue to be. This is a bit of a filler chapter for the next to come, but I hope you enjoy it in any case :)

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the Tag List!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail. 

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.” 

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you. 

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts. 

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish. 

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward. 

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt. 

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss. 

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder. 

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly. 

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare. 

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.” 

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.” 

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit. 

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples. 

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.” 

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.” 

“Horse pie? But he is fast.” 

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.” 

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.” 

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.” 

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.” 

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker. 

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.” 

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road. 

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask. 

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.” 

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well. 

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.” 

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?” 

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.” 

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry. 

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent. 

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along. 

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail. 

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.” 

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move. 

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter. 

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.” 

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric. 

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly. 

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.” 

“Yes, your highness, but the king--” 

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.” 

You stare at her unmoving. 

“They won’t allow it, your highness--” 

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands. 

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!” 

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away. 

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.” 

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either. 

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion. 

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion. 

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains. 

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party. 

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist. 

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance. 

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head. 

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.” 

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth. 

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow. 

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.” 

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down. 

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it. 

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls. 

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose. 

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out. 

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat. 

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart. 

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back. 

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers. 

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels. 

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?” 

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs. 

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?” 

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds. 

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.” 

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.” 

“A skirmish?” 

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.” 

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.” 

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.” 

“Yellow?” You wonder. 

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”  

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips. 

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?” 

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.” 

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?” 

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.” 

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?” 

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.”