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writeriguess · 3 months ago

Note

Katsuki x fem reader? Reader has a nightmare and he comforts her.

Safe With Him

The air feels heavier than it should. Like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating, crushing. You try to move, to run, but your limbs won’t listen. Shadows stretch and twist around you, faceless figures emerging from the darkness. Their hands reach for you, grasping, clawing—too strong, too many. A scream rises in your throat, but it dies before it can escape.

Then—suddenly—you’re falling.

The ground beneath you disappears, and your stomach lurches as you plummet into nothingness. Cold air rushes past your skin, the terror stealing every last breath from your lungs. You brace for impact, but it never comes.

Just an endless, suffocating void.

And then—

You wake up.

A sharp gasp rips through your chest, your body jerking upright as if yanked from the nightmare by invisible hands. The room is dark, but your eyes are wide and unseeing, your heart pounding erratically in your ribcage. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, drenched in lingering fear, and it takes everything in you not to sob.

Your fingers clutch the sheets, your breaths coming too fast, too shallow. You can still feel it—the phantom touch of those hands, the weight of the nightmare pressing against your skin like a bruise that won’t fade.

A groggy voice beside you stirs.

“Oi… what the hell?”

The sound of Katsuki’s voice—rough, low, laced with sleep—usually makes you feel safe. But right now, you’re too rattled to respond. Your breath hitches, your entire body trembling as you try to steady yourself, try to push the nightmare away.

Katsuki shifts beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. Even in the dark, you can feel the heat of his gaze burning into you.

“Babe?” His voice loses its edge, softening just a fraction.

You don’t answer. Can’t.

He notices.

His hand reaches out, resting against your back, and the moment his fingers make contact, you flinch. That makes him go still for half a second before his touch grows firmer, grounding, his palm tracing slow, steady circles against your spine.

“You’re shakin’,” he mutters, his voice quieter now. His hand moves, traveling up to your shoulder, squeezing gently before sliding down to your wrist, feeling your pulse racing beneath his fingertips. “Shit… what happened?”

You swallow hard, trying to force out an answer, but all you manage is a shaky whisper.

“Nightmare.”

His grip on you tightens.

“Tch.” The irritation in his voice isn’t aimed at you—no, it’s at whatever had the audacity to mess with you in your sleep. His other hand finds yours, prying your fingers away from the crumpled bedsheets before lacing them together. “It wasn’t real,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re here. With me. Breathe.”

You try. You really do.

But the fear is still there, thick and suffocating.

Katsuki notices—of course he does. He always notices.

Without another word, he shifts closer, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you into his warmth. Your body melts into him instinctively, your forehead pressing against his bare chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek instantly grounding you. His scent surrounds you—warm, smoky caramel with a hint of something sharp, something distinctly him.

He tilts his head down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “You wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate. The nightmare is still vivid in your mind, the images too raw, too unsettling. But the words get stuck in your throat, tangled with emotions you don’t know how to untangle.

So you shake your head against his chest.

“…No. Just wanna stay like this.”

His grip tightens. “Yeah. A’right.”

He doesn’t push. He never does. Instead, he moves you so you’re fully on his lap, cocooned in his embrace like he’s trying to shield you from whatever nightmare had dared to touch you. His arms are solid and strong, caging you in a way that makes you feel protected rather than trapped.

One hand slides up to the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair, massaging gentle circles into your scalp. The other wraps around your waist, holding you close, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

His voice is quieter now, a rare gentleness laced in his words.

“Just breathe, okay? You’re safe.”

You do.

Slow, deep, shaky breaths against his chest. Inhaling his warmth, exhaling the fear. Over and over, until the tremors in your body start to ease, until the nightmare no longer feels like it’s suffocating you.

“…D’you have nightmares a lot?” he asks after a long silence, his fingers still combing through your hair, slow and deliberate.

You hesitate, then nod.

His arms tighten, his breath ghosting over the top of your head. “You shoulda told me.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you…”

A sharp tsk leaves his lips, and he pulls back just enough to tip your chin up, making you look at him. His red eyes burn with something intense, something protective. “You ain’t ever a fuckin’ bother to me, got it?” His voice is firm but gentle, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “I don’t give a shit if it’s three in the fuckin’ morning—if you need me, you wake me up. End of story.”

Your throat tightens, emotions swelling in your chest. “…Okay.”

“Good.” He exhales through his nose, shifting so he can kiss your forehead again. “Now lie down. I ain’t lettin’ you spend the rest of the night shakin’ like a damn leaf.”

You let him pull you back down with him, your body naturally curling into his. He tangles your legs together, keeping you locked against his warmth, his hand resting against your back with slow, steady strokes.

His lips brush against your temple, voice quieter than before.

“Sleep, baby. I got you.”

And this time—wrapped in his warmth, his presence anchoring you—you actually believe him.

Because with Katsuki holding you like this, there’s no room for nightmares.

Just him.

Just safety.

Just love.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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digital-slvt · 2 months ago

Text

Proposal Adjacent Behavior...

Sevika x Reader ‪‪ ❤︎‬

Sevika proposes to you! In her.. Strange Sevika way!

wrote this for you tbh @shanesevikasfuckdoll :p

A/N : I typically do not like writing fluff, or anything even remotely corny or sappy. But I am in LOVE. And well ... this is what it has done to me. Anyways, this isn't proof read, I wrote this in like 20 minutes, wtv.

Enjoy ‹𝟹

Sevika wasn't going to bring it up tonight.

You’re curled up beside her on the couch, the quiet hum of the city outside the window, your fingers tracing lazy shapes on her thigh. The TV flickers different colors in the corner, forgotten. Her arm is around your shoulder, and your eyes are slowly closing, but you notice that she’s too still, too quiet, barely breathing.

You shift, glance up at her, sensing it.

“You alright?”

She nods after a moment, but it’s not convincing. You tilt your head to study her, really study her, but she can’t hold your gaze for more than a few seconds.

“Sevika,” you say, now a little firmer.

Her jaw tightens before she heavily sighs.

“…I don’t know how to do this shit,” she mutters, thumb grazing your shoulder like a habit. “Not the way you probably imagined it.”

You sit up a little, tensing slightly. “Do what?”

She lets out a long and heavy exhale before reaching into the pocket of her sweater, avoiding your eyes.

The box Sevika pulls out is small. A simple, black, velvet box. She holds it between her fingers like it’s something fragile—like it might burn through her palm if she grips it too hard.

She doesn’t open it. She just passes it to you without a word.

Your heart stutters. Your hands shake when you take it, slow, hesitant, already feeling what’s inside before you even look.

The ring catches the low light, and Gods, it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“What…?” your voice barely comes out.

“I didn’t think I’d ever want something like this,” she says, eyes fixed on the floor now. “Hell, I didn’t even think I’d live long enough to consider it.”

There’s a pause. A bitter laugh under her breath.

“And now… all I think about is staying. Staying with you. Waking up next to you every day until the world burns down around us.”

You look at her, really look at her, and her expression guts you. There was a quiet kind of fear hidden behind layers, but you could see it. This desperate, aching softness she never lets anyone see. Usually not even you, not fully.

“I don’t have anything else to offer you,” Sevika says, voice lower now, cracking around the edges. “No promises I won’t screw it up. No fancy life. Just me. All of me.”

She finally meets your eyes. With orbs like the moon, her gaze was glazed over, glassy like stars. In them, you saw vulnerability. For the first time, you saw true terror in her. And it wasn’t in battle, or on a mission where her life was at stake, but instead it was here, right in front of you.

“…But if you want it, it’s yours.”

You don’t speak. Just slide forward and wrap your arms around her, pressing your face into her shoulder. Sevika holds you tight, secure, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Then she shifts slightly, pulling back just enough to take your hand in hers—calloused fingers cradling yours with so much care you can feel in your bones. She doesn’t say anything else as she slips the ring onto your finger, her thumb brushing over it once it’s in place.

Her hands are shaking.

“You dumbass,” you whisper, your voice trembling, tears finally breaking out and rolling down your cheeks. “You already gave me everything.”

And when you kiss her, lacing her with more passion than ever before, she finally exhales for real.

Her breath is soft and tender. Her heart, full of all the things she never thought she could feel.

And maybe she’ll never say it in the right ways. Maybe she’ll never speak it in grand gestures or in perfect lines, but she loves you.

She loves you more than anyone ever has. ❤︎

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noirscript · 2 months ago

Text

chasing the light

Pairing: Nicholas Sterling III x Reader

WARNING/S: YANDERE. Noncon. Psychological Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Emotional Manipulation. Violence. Physical Punishment. Pregnancy Manipulation. Coercion. Forced Submission. Stalking. Chase. Intense Psychological Terror. Controlling Relationship.

Note: Full story of Descent Into Madness. From the drafts! ^^ 8k word count 🫡 but will divide it into two three parts enjoy! Tags will be added later. After all parts are posted. Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Sequel

Tip Jar | Commission

You lay rigid in his arms, your breath coming in shallow bursts as his words settled deep into your bones.

You’re not going anywhere now.

The weight of that truth pressed down on you, suffocating.

Nicholas exhaled, slow and patient, as if he could feel the way you trembled beneath him. His hand never moved from your stomach, palm warm, fingers splayed possessively over the barely-there swell. You weren’t even showing yet—had barely begun to grasp the reality yourself—but he had already claimed it.

Claimed you.

"You still don’t understand, do you?" His voice was gentle, but there was something dark beneath it. Something dangerous. "You’re mine, sweetheart. Both of you."

His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles over your skin. You hated how effortless it was—how he touched you like you already belonged to him, like he had every right.

"You ran." The words were thoughtful, absentminded, as if he was working through the pieces himself. "Twice."

You swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Nicholas shifted, pressing closer, his body heat bleeding into yours. "I should punish you for that."

A fresh wave of panic shot through you, your body tensing on instinct. His fingers flexed in response, gripping your hip, keeping you still.

"But," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "you need to be careful now."

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Not a threat. A warning.

"You wouldn’t want to do anything… reckless." His hand pressed firmer against your stomach. "Would you?"

Your breath hitched.

He was smiling.

He was enjoying this.

You tried to jerk away, but the shackle around your wrist dug sharply into your skin, yanking you back. Nicholas’ grip tightened in an instant, his fingers curling against your waist as he let out a low, displeased hum.

"Still so stubborn," he mused, tilting his head. "I should break that."

The words sent ice through your veins.

"But," he continued, as if the thought was amusing, "not yet."

A slow, dragging silence stretched between you.

Then, his hand moved.

Lower.

A deliberate, agonizing descent down your stomach, fingers ghosting over the curve of your hip.

You froze, every muscle locked in place.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound soft—too soft. "Shhh, sweetheart." His touch skimmed back up, tracing the shape of your ribs. "You’ll learn."

A breathless, shaking exhale slipped from your lips.

"One way or another."

The room felt smaller with every passing second, the air thick with something oppressive—something inescapable. Your pulse pounded against the weight of Nicholas’ hand, still resting over your stomach, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. Like a collar around your throat, a leash you couldn’t pull away from.

He knew.

And now, there was nothing left to hide.

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against your skin, as if savoring the feeling of your body beneath his touch. You could feel the satisfied hum reverberating in his chest, a sound that made your stomach twist in knots.

"You’ve been so difficult lately," he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "Running. Lying. Acting as if you had a choice."

A slow, deliberate exhale left him, warm against your temple.

"But now," he continued, fingers tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, "you don’t."

Your throat felt too tight, like you couldn’t get enough air.

His grip shifted, splaying wider across your abdomen, possessive. "Do you even realize what this means?" His tone was almost soft, but the quiet undercurrent of dominance sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

You tried to twist away again—instinct, desperation—but Nicholas’ other hand slid up, wrapping around your throat just enough to still you. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding.

A warning.

"Don’t," he said simply.

The command settled over your skin like iron.

You swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath his palm, and Nicholas sighed like a man indulging a child’s tantrum.

"You never should’ve left," he murmured, thumb brushing along the hollow of your throat. "I was going to be patient, you know." A quiet chuckle, dark and knowing. "I was going to wait."

His fingers flexed.

"But you made this difficult for yourself."

A shiver wracked through you as his lips ghosted over your temple. "I wanted to give you time," he continued, as if he were confessing something intimate, something vulnerable. "Time to come to me on your own. To realize that there was no one else who could take care of you the way I do."

His grip on your throat tightened—just for a second, just enough to make you gasp.

"But now… I can’t trust you to make the right decisions."

The truth behind those words settled in your bones like a sickness.

Nicholas’ touch drifted downward again, possessive and slow, fingers skimming across your stomach. His breath fanned against your ear, voice sinking lower.

"I won’t let you make any more mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"You’re staying right here, sweetheart." A pause, his lips pressing just beneath your jaw. "With me."

A sharp, shuddering exhale slipped from your lips.

Nicholas only smiled.

"Don’t fight it." His hand flattened against your stomach once more, pressing firm and unyielding. "You already belong to me."

The days blurred together after that night.

Nicholas kept you close, never letting you out of his sight for long. If you weren’t in his arms, you were within reach—tethered by the invisible leash he had placed around you the moment he discovered your secret.

And now, everyone knew.

His mother had been the first to call, her excitement so palpable you could hear it through the speakerphone. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We have so much to prepare! You need maternity clothes, baby supplies—Nicholas, be a dear and bring her to the mall this weekend. We’ll get everything sorted.”

He had been reluctant at first, but she had a way of insisting that even he couldn’t refuse.

So now, you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of his car, staring blankly out the window as the city passed by in a blur. His hand rested lazily on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. A constant reminder that he knew you. That he could feel the tension in your body.

That he was waiting for you to try something.

You forced yourself to breathe evenly, fingers curling against the hem of your sweater.

You had planned this carefully.

Your excuse was simple—restroom. A normal request. Something he wouldn’t think twice about. And the moment you were out of sight, you would slip into the crowd, blend in, disappear before he could stop you.

Nicholas turned to glance at you, his sharp gaze assessing. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired.” The lie came easily, your voice smooth despite the pulse hammering in your throat.

He hummed, fingers flexing slightly. “You should be taking it easy. No unnecessary stress.”

You swallowed. I know.

The mall was bustling when you arrived, filled with families, couples, people too absorbed in their own lives to notice the woman quietly planning her escape.

His mother greeted you with a warm hug, her excitement almost dizzying as she led you toward the baby section, chatting about cribs, strollers, things you couldn’t bring yourself to think about.

Nicholas stayed close, his hand never straying far from your lower back, his presence a shadow at your side.

You waited.

Bided your time.

And then—

“I need the restroom.”

Nicholas barely glanced at you, too occupied in conversation with his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

You nodded, turning on shaky legs, moving with forced calm toward the restrooms.

Then, the second you were out of sight—you ran.

Heart pounding, you weaved through the crowd, slipping past distracted shoppers, turning sharply into an empty hallway leading to the emergency exit.

Freedom.

You could taste it.

Your hand reached for the door—

And then—

A sharp vibration.

An unmistakable chime.

Your stomach dropped.

Panic seized you as you heard it—his smartwatch. The alert echoing like a death knell through the air.

Nicholas had stopped talking mid-sentence.

The realization was immediate.

You barely had time to react before his voice rang out from somewhere behind you. Low. Unyielding.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A choked gasp ripped from your throat as a firm grip closed around your wrist, yanking you backward. You stumbled, breath hitching as Nicholas caged you against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours.

His expression was unreadable.

But his eyes—his eyes were burning.

He lifted his wrist slightly, letting the dim glow of his smartwatch cast a cold light over your face. The screen displayed a blinking red dot.

Your tracker.

The one implanted in your arm.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice was dangerously soft, his hand sliding up to grip your jaw, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Did you forget what I told you, sweetheart?"

A slow, deliberate pause.

"You can’t run from me."

Your pulse thundered against his grip.

His fingers tightened.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he whispered—

"You’re never leaving me again."

A shudder wracked through you as Nicholas’ grip tightened, his fingers digging into your wrist like iron shackles. The emergency exit loomed behind you, so close yet completely out of reach. Your pulse pounded against his touch, a frantic drumbeat that only seemed to amuse him.

“You must be getting desperate,” he murmured, his voice a dark hum of amusement. “Running in broad daylight? In public?” His fingers flexed against your jaw, his grip firm yet unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to teach you the lesson you clearly hadn’t learned.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the moment you left my side?”

A harsh, shuddering breath slipped from your lips. Your free hand pressed against his chest, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

Nicholas chuckled, low and knowing. “Sweetheart, you really don’t understand, do you?” His other hand lifted, the cool metal of his smartwatch grazing your skin as he traced the faint outline of the tracker buried beneath your arm. His touch was deceptively gentle, a sharp contrast to the possessiveness in his voice. “I don’t need to follow you.” He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You belong to me already.”

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat as you fought against the growing sense of dread.

“Let go,” you rasped, twisting in his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

Nicholas’ expression darkened, the amusement flickering from his eyes like a candle snuffed out. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone dropping to something colder. "To make a scene?"

Your stomach churned. The hallway was deserted, the noise of the mall a distant hum beyond the corridor’s walls. But if you screamed—if you fought—someone would hear.

Wouldn’t they?

Nicholas smiled as if reading your thoughts. "Go ahead." He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream for help. Let’s see who comes running."

You froze.

And he knew he had you.

His hand slipped lower, pressing against the small swell of your abdomen, his touch infuriatingly gentle despite the cruel mockery in his eyes. "What do you think they’ll do when they see you like this? Hmm?" His thumb traced slow, idle circles. "A pregnant woman, being rescued from her loving fiancé?”

The word fiancé nearly made you flinch.

"Or maybe," he continued, tone softening in a way that only made the sick feeling in your stomach grow, "they’ll see a hormonal little thing having a panic attack while her partner just tries to calm her down?"

Your throat closed.

"You wouldn’t," you whispered, barely able to force the words out.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Wouldn’t I?"

And then, before you could react—

A sharp tug.

Your stomach lurched as he pulled you forward, his arm locking around your waist as he all but dragged you out of the hallway. You stumbled, legs nearly giving out beneath you, but Nicholas didn’t slow. His grip was firm, unrelenting, his strength a quiet reminder of just how little power you had in this moment.

You barely had time to register your surroundings before you were back in the store, back under the warm, artificial glow of the overhead lights.

His mother turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, her face brightening. “There you are! We were just—”

She paused, her gaze flicking between you and Nicholas.

Nicholas, who still had his arm wrapped so tenderly around you.

You, who couldn’t stop the slight tremble in your frame.

For a brief, fleeting second, hope sparked in your chest.

Did she see it? Did she notice something was wrong?

Then Nicholas sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "She got overwhelmed,” he said smoothly, shaking his head as if you were nothing more than a silly, emotional thing. “I told her to take it easy, but she insisted on rushing around."

His mother tutted, concern flashing across her face as she reached for your hands. "Oh, sweetheart, you should’ve said something!"

You opened your mouth, but—

"It won’t happen again," Nicholas murmured, his grip on you tightening in a way that sent an unmistakable message. "Right, love?"

Your stomach twisted.

The words sat heavy on your tongue, the weight of his threat pressing against your skin.

You could say something.

You could try.

But then—his hand slid against your abdomen, a silent warning. A cruel reminder.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could risk it.

So instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, forced a weak nod, and whispered—

“…Right.”

Nicholas smiled.

And just like that, any hope of escape slipped through your fingers.

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Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever

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maeintree · 3 months ago

Text

for all of us | l. laufeyson

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Sequel of For the Children

Summary: After a brutal attack against the royal family, you get hit in the crossfire and Loki realizes what's been missing all along. Pairing: husband!Loki Laufeyson x wife!fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Author's Note: yay i made a part two!! and i honestly had a hard time with how the story flowed because i'm not exactly a writer of fighters but i tried my best! hope you enjoy lovies!

The attack came swiftly, without warning.

One moment, you were strolling through the gardens, the children’s laughter echoing through the crisp evening air. The next, the world was chaos.

The glint of a blade. The sharp cry of a guard. The sickening clash of steel.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, instinct screaming at you to move, protect, shield. You shoved the children behind you, your arms spreading wide—a useless gesture, but all you had.

No, no, no—

The first assassin lunged. A guard intercepted, but another took his place. You tried to step back, tried to move, but a searing pain bloomed in your side, hot and white, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, stumbling, your hand flying to your ribs—wet, sticky. Blood.

I’ve been stabbed.

The thought was oddly distant, detached, as if it belonged to someone else. The pain hadn’t fully hit yet, but the weakness had. Your legs wobbled. The edges of your vision blurred.

The children—where are they? Are they safe?

Through the haze, you heard frantic voices, the clang of weapons, the distinct crack of something—magic, perhaps.

And then, a voice.

A voice you had not expected.

“NO.”

The air around you shook.

A blast of emerald light erupted across the battlefield, swallowing everything in its path. You barely registered the bodies hitting the ground, barely saw the way the assassins’ screams were cut short.

Your legs gave out.

The stone pathway rushed up to meet you, and you braced for impact—only to find yourself caught.

Arms. Somewhat familiar arms.

Loki.

You blinked up at him, dazed, your fingers clutching weakly at his tunic. He was speaking—frantic, desperate—but the words swam together, lost in the roaring in your ears.

Loki?

You had stopped waiting for him long ago. Stopped hoping. Stopped believing that he felt anything at all.

But now, looking at him—his face pale with terror, his hands shaking as they pressed against your wound—you saw something you had never seen before.

Panic.

Desperation.

Fear.

He’s afraid.

The thought made you want to laugh. Loki Laufeyson, afraid? The idea was absurd. He was always so composed, so untouchable, so—

His hands pressed harder, and you gasped, your fingers gripping his wrist in protest. He flinched as if burned.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said. A lie. A desperate, broken lie. “Just—stay awake.”

You wanted to tell him that you would, but your body betrayed you, the darkness creeping at the edges of your vision.

He’s holding me.

It was such a foolish thing to focus on, with your blood staining his hands, with the world tilting precariously beneath you. But you couldn’t help it.

For the first time in years—after all the distance, the silence, the empty nights—Loki touched you.

And he shook violently before darkness consumed you.

You awoke to the distant sound of raised voices.

It took effort to lift your eyelids, as if they had been weighed down by lead. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls, the scent of herbs and linen surrounding you. Your body felt heavy, dull aches pulsing beneath your skin, but the sharp pain from before had faded to something bearable.

You were alive.

But then—the voices.

One of them was unmistakable.

“I am not leaving.”

Even exhausted, even barely conscious, you recognized that tone—sharp, biting, dangerously low. The tone he used when he was barely holding himself together.

“Your stubbornness is as legendary as your magic, my prince, but you are no use to her if you collapse from exhaustion,” came another voice—calmer, firmer. Eir. The palace healer.

“I am fine.”

“No, you are not,” Eir snapped, voice edged with rare irritation. “You have not eaten. You have not slept. You have been here for seven days. Do you truly believe she would want to wake up only to find you on the brink of ruin?”

Seven days.

You inhaled sharply. He’s been here for seven days?

The room fell silent.

Then, Loki’s voice, quieter this time. Strained. “She nearly died.”

“I know,” Eir replied, the earlier sharpness gone, replaced by something softer. “But she did not. You saved her.”

Loki let out a hollow laugh. “Did I?” A pause. “She was bleeding out in my arms, and I—I could do nothing.”

Your chest tightened.

“I could only watch,” Loki continued, voice hoarse, as if dragged from somewhere deep. “Watch and... beg.”

The weight of those words settled between them.

Eir sighed. “She is strong. She will recover.”

Loki didn’t reply.

“You should see the children,” Eir tried again, gentler now. “They ask for you. They miss their father.”

A sharp inhale. Then, after a long moment—“I cannot leave her, the children will understand—“

Frustration seeped into Eir’s voice again. “They are merely children, Loki. You cannot help her if you drive yourself to the grave, either.”

“I said—”

“Loki.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, weak and raspy, but it was enough.

The room fell utterly silent.

Then, in an instant, Loki was there.

His hands hovered over you, hesitant, uncertain—like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he deserved to.

“You—” His breath hitched, eyes scanning your face as if afraid you would disappear. “You’re awake.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “And you need rest.”

A sharp exhale, part relief, part frustration. “You would lecture me the moment you open your eyes.”

Despite everything, your lips twitched. “Someone has to.”

Eir huffed. “See? Even the princess agrees with me.”

Loki shot her a glare but said nothing.

You let out a shaky breath. “Go, Loki.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening. “No.”

“Husband.”

He flinched.

And for the first time, you saw it clearly—the exhaustion weighing on him, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his normally pristine attire was wrinkled and undone.

He looked wrecked.

Your heart ached.

“I am not leaving you,” he said again, but this time, it was quieter. Almost pleading.

Your fingers twitched, reaching out. He caught your hand instantly, as if he had been waiting for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

Something in his expression cracked.

Eir, sensing the shift, sighed. “Rest, my prince. Eat. I swear upon the Allmother herself, if you collapse in my infirmary, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Loki scoffed, but his grip on your hand tightened.

You squeezed back, as much strength as you could muster. “Please.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment—then, finally, he nodded.

“Fine.”

Eir looked far too pleased, but you barely noticed.

Because when Loki pressed a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, almost desperate—you knew.

Knew that, no matter how long it took, no matter how much stubbornness or silence lay between you—

He would come back to you.

The afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows, bathing the room in soft golden light. The warmth of the covers wrapped around you like a protective cocoon as you lay propped against the pillows, watching your children chatter excitedly at your bedside.

“—and then Uncle Thor said he could throw his hammer all the way across the kingdom!” one of them exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder.

The younger one gasped. “Did he really?”

You hummed in amusement, brushing a hand through their hair. “He does like to show off, doesn’t he?”

They giggled, and for a moment, all was well.

Then, the door creaked open.

Loki stepped inside, his tall frame casting a shadow across the floor. He was dressed in his usual black and green, but something was different. His shoulders weren’t as tense, his expression not as unreadable.

And in his hands—

Your breath caught.

It was your book. The one you had read countless times, the one you had thought he never noticed. The spine was worn, the pages slightly creased from the many nights you had held it close, lost in its words.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering up to meet his.

He knew.

He had always known.

Loki cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “May I have a moment alone with your mother?”

The children groaned in unison.

“Do you have to?” the older one complained, crossing their arms.

“You’ve had her all week,” the younger one added stubbornly. “It’s our turn now.”

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see your mother has passed on her defiance.”

You smiled softly, though your heart ached at the thought of them leaving. “I promise I’ll see you before bed.”

They still pouted, but at your gentle insistence, they relented. You turned toward the door. “Could one of the servants come fetch them?”

A maid appeared quickly, offering a warm smile as she ushered them away. Their complaints faded down the hall, and soon, it was just the two of you.

Silence settled, thick and uncertain.

Loki’s fingers tightened around the book before he finally moved, his steps slow and deliberate. He placed it upon the nightstand with measured precision, his hesitation betraying an unspoken weight upon his shoulders.

“I did not know you paid such attention to my books,” you murmured, your voice soft yet uncertain.

His gaze met yours, something unreadable lingering in his emerald depths. “I pay attention to you.”

Your breath faltered, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before settling into the chair beside you. “I have wronged you,” he admitted at last, his voice low, edged with regret. “In more ways than I can count.” His jaw tensed. “I should have—” He stopped, shaking his head. “There are many things I ought to have done differently.”

You swallowed. “Loki—”

“No.” His tone was firm, yet not unkind. “Allow me to say this.”

You nodded, heart hammering within your chest.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees, his fingers laced together in contemplation. “I thought to protect you,” he said. “By keeping my distance. By not—” He exhaled slowly. “By not allowing myself to feel too much.”

You frowned. “Too much?”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “I convinced myself that if I feigned indifference, it would become truth. That you would not matter.” His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching. “But then I held you in my arms, your blood staining my hands, and I—”

His voice wavered.

Your heart ached at the sight of him—so composed in the eyes of the world, yet so unravelled before you.

Cautiously, you reached for his hand. He stiffened at first, as if startled by the gesture, but then—

He grasped it.

Tightly.

Desperately.

“I do not know what love is meant to feel like,” he confessed, voice scarcely above a whisper. “But I know this—I was undone at the thought of losing you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Loki—”

Yet doubt, cruel and relentless, still clung to you.

You withdrew your hand.

Loki’s fingers curled into a fist.

“You speak that now,” you murmured, voice fragile, uncertain. “But how am I to believe you?”

His brows furrowed, confusion darkening his gaze. “What do you mean?”

You forced yourself to look at him. “You were never here, Loki. And on the rare nights you were, it was as though you were absent still.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on. “I convinced myself it was because you did not love me. That you never had.” You swallowed thickly. “Yet, in truth? In truth, I feared there was another.”

His entire body went rigid. “What?”

“You vanished each night. You never told me where you went. And when I ceased asking, you let me.” A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow and aching. “What was I to think?”

Silence.

Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he clenched his hands.

Then—

His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood.

“You believe I have betrayed you?” His voice was low, dangerous—but beneath it lay something raw.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze despite the fear twisting in your stomach. “Did you not?”

Loki inhaled sharply, as though struck. “No.” He raked a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. “By the Norns, never.”

He turned back to you, emerald eyes ablaze with anger and anguish. “I have taken no other to my bed, nor to my heart. Not once.” His voice hardened. “I may have been a fool, but I have never been faithless.”

Your breath hitched, but doubt still lingered. “Then where did you go?”

His jaw clenched. “Does it matter?”

You let out a broken laugh. “Of course it does, Loki! You ask me to trust you, yet you keep your secrets still.”

Another tense silence. Then, finally, he exhaled, shoulders sagging.

“I sought a way to dissolve this… marriage.”

The breath left your lungs.

Loki did not meet your gaze when he spoke again. “I deemed it a kindness,” he admitted. “If I could find a means to free you—without shame, without dishonor—you would be happy.” His voice grew rough. “You would not be bound to a man unworthy of you. Someone who knows how to love you the way you deserved.”

Tears burned at your eyes. “You thought I wanted to leave?”

Loki let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Did you not?”

Your lip trembled. “No.”

His head snapped up, eyes searching yours desperately.

“I wanted you, Loki,” you whispered. “Always you.”

His face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw it—regret. The years of distance, of silence, of misguided attempts to spare you pain.

Slowly, hesitantly, Loki knelt beside your bed, his hands grasping yours as though anchoring himself to you. “I swear to you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding steady. “There was never another. There never will be.”

Your heart twisted painfully, warring between the ache of the past and the fragile hope before you.

Loki’s grip on you tightened. “I do not know how to love you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand. “But I will try. If you allow me.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin, the weight of his presence. The man who had once been an untouchable shadow was now pleading to stay.

And despite everything—despite the pain, despite the years of uncertainty—

You wanted to let him.

like i said, i don't condone cheating. hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, and reposts are much appreciated <3

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki laufeyson #loki #thor odinson #marvel #mcu

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blueicequeen19 · 11 months ago

Text

Shot in the Dark

Warnings: non-con, lady-napping, threats of violence, drugging, forced o’s, dark Rafe

A hand clamps down on your mouth and a strong arm wraps around your waist, hauling you away from the Chateau. You try to scream as you kick and claw at your attacker, the sight of JJ on the couch getting smaller and smaller as you’re hauled away into the dark.

By the smell of his cologne, you knew who it was before he even spoke. You were on the verge of a panic attack for an entirely different reason now. Rafe wouldn’t hurt you like you’d done him but he had no intentions of ever letting you go again. He’d made that vow after you’d shot him and left him to bleed out in front of the Cameron mansion. You refused to go down without a fight though. As soon as his hold loosened, you threw your head back and felt the satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage followed by a string of curses.

“Son of a bitch.” Rafe growled, his hand fisting your hair and yanking you back just as you’d taken a step to run. Your back collided with his chest, nearly knocking the wind from your lungs as his arms engulfed you again.

“Did you miss me, baby?” Rafe groaned in your ear, a hand coming up to grip your throat in a firm hold.

“Fuck you.” You wheezed, digging your nails into his arms.

“I plan to.” Rafe kissed your cheek, smearing his blood across your face before yanking the door open on his Range Rover. He spun you to face the inside of the vehicle, blocking your exit.

“How’s this going to go Rafe? You can’t lock me up in your mansion forever.” You snap, resisting his attempts to force you into the cab. Something hard suddenly presses against your back followed by the click of a safety. Terror squeezes your insides.

“I plan to use whatever means necessary to get you to stay. Whether it be by force and threats or a baby. Either way you’ll be mine.”

“A fucking baby?! I’m not having kids with you!”

“How about I start with burning the place down with him still inside?”

“Please..”

“Have it your way.” His holds vanishes for a split second before something sharp pricks your neck and your world suddenly starts to spin.

“No.. Rafe..”

Then everything goes black.

The smell of soap greets you first as you start to come to. Your hands graze your inner thigh as heat covers you from your toes to your chin. When your eyes finally open you see that you’re naked in a bath. The water is hot and heavenly. As you try to sit up, arms engulf you and bring you firmer against a bare chest and a hard cock.

“Rafe..” You rasp, your head still too heavy to make sense of anything.

“I love hearing you say my name like that.” Rafe murmurs in your ear, his lips grazing your neck.

“You’re nothing.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think about me. Those Pogues have brainwashed you. They turned you against me and you don’t even care.”

“Why would I care? After everything you’ve done to them? To me?”

“Tell me.. does he make you feel as good as I do?” Rafe’s hand suddenly cups you between your thighs, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh that begs for attention. You bite back a moan as you plant your feet against the tub.

“Better.” You snap, attempting to shift away from his teasing but it only results in you grinding against his cock at your back.

“Is that right?” Rafe smirks, taking your earlobe between his teeth as he sinks two fingers into your aching pussy. A loud moan escapes you before you clamp your mouth shut, fighting off the intense pleasure.

“Stop it.” You bite out, digging your nails into his thighs.

“Why? You’re so close to cumming. I can feel it by the way your pussy grips my fingers, sucking me back in because you’re hungry for more.” Rafe taunts in your ear, grinding his cock against your back.

“God, I could come all over your back just listening to the sounds you make.”

“I’ll—shoot you— again.” Your body starts to shake with the impending orgasm.

“Go ahead. Ride me when you do it.”

“You’re fucked up.”

“Tell me you hate me as you cum.” Rafe adds a third finger.

“Rafe!”

“Say it. Tell me you hate me.” His teeth clamp down on your neck and his free hand twists your nipple as you suck in a breath.

“I hate you so fucking much.” You growl, your back arching as the release explodes from you. Water splashes over the sides of the tub as you thrash in his hold, warmth covering your back as he cums right along with you.

“Scream. Come on, fucking scream.” Rafe snarls, grinding his palm against your clit until you scream your second release. You jolt forward when he releases you, nearly dunking your head in the water as you fight to control your breathing and the way your body shakes. Just when you open your mouth to smart off, his hands grip your hips and yank you back, filling you with his cock in one go.

“Ugh, Rafe!” You reach back, fisting his hair at the nape of his neck as his legs pin yours open and his hands roam your body.

“Now.. about that baby..”

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #obx2 #jj obx #dark rafe cameron #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic

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fallziell2-fdck · 9 months ago

Audio

Anhören/Kaufen: The Great Grindcore Swindle von BARBARIE DIY RECORDS

#bandcamp #terror firmer

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birdaquarius · 6 months ago

Text

Nightmares

Summary: Ekko struggles to cope with the relentless nightmares and guilt that haunt him after Powder/Jinx’s death, burdened by the belief that he failed her. As his new girlfriend, you offer him unwavering support, becoming the comforting presence he needs and the shoulder he can lean on when the weight of his grief becomes too much.

SPOILERS FOR ARCANE SEASON 2 FINALE!

Currently taking requests!

Word Count: 3k.

Pairings: Ekko/Female Reader, mentions of Powder/Jinx.

Warnings: Panic attacks, night terrors and mentions of death.

The first time it happened, you thought Ekko was simply restless. A day spent dodging Enforcer patrols, patching up the Firelight base, and leading his people was enough to wear anyone down. Yet, even in exhaustion, Ekko had a knack for staying light on his feet. Sleep should have been his only solace.

But it wasn’t.

That night, you were jolted awake by a muffled sound. It wasn’t loud—just a low groan, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The air felt thicker, charged with tension. Turning your head, you saw him. Ekko, curled up on his mat, chest rising and falling erratically. His fingers twitched as if reaching for something—or someone.

“No... not again,” he muttered, voice raw and broken.

You moved closer instinctively.

“Ekko?” you whispered, brushing a hand lightly over his shoulder. He didn’t respond. Instead, his body stiffened, and his breath quickened.

His voice came again, low and frantic. “Powder, wait! Please, I can’t—”

You froze. Powder. Not Jinx. Not the wild-haired, chaotic force that she had become. No, this was the echo of a name from long ago—a name of innocence and regret, of everything that haunted Ekko.

It broke your heart.

“Ekko, wake up,” you said gently, shaking him now.

It took several moments, but his eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, panic etched into his features. He sat up abruptly, his breaths shallow, chest heaving as though he’d just run miles.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, trying to ground him. “It’s just a nightmare.”

But it wasn’t just a nightmare. You knew it. Ekko knew it.

The nightmares came in waves after that, crashing into your shared nights like unwelcome visitors. Sometimes, he would wake silently, his body trembling as he stared at the ceiling. Other times, he thrashed and yelled, desperate pleas spilling from his lips—begging to save her, cursing himself for failing.

You learned to sit beside him, even when he couldn’t speak, offering silent comfort in the dark. You never pressed, never demanded explanations. When he wanted to talk, you would be ready.

One night, he did.

“It’s always her,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the ambient hum of Zaun outside your window. The two of you sat on the edge of the bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a neon lamp. He hadn’t slept since the nightmare.

“Jinx?” you asked, hesitant.

He flinched at the name, his fingers tightening into fists. “Powder,” he corrected, his tone softer now. “Before she... before everything.”

Your heart ached for him. You had seen the fire in his eyes when he talked about the war with Silco, about what Jinx had become. But this—this was the boy beneath the armor, the leader who carried guilt like a second skin.

“I keep seeing her,” he continued. “The way she looked when we were kids. Her laugh, her smile... and then, everything falls apart. The explosion. I try to reach her, but I’m always too late.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone because I couldn’t save her. I... I failed her.”

His voice cracked, and you saw the tears he tried so hard to hide.

“Ekko,” you said, your tone firmer now. “You didn’t fail her. You did everything you could. And what happened—it wasn’t on you. You were a kid too.”

“I was supposed to protect her,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She was all I had left.”

Your grip on his hand tightened. “You still have people, Ekko. The Firelights. Me. We’re here, and we need you. Powder—Jinx—she made her choices. You can’t carry that weight forever.”

He looked at you then, his gaze searching, desperate. “I don’t know how to let it go.”

Over time, the nightmares didn’t stop, but they softened. Ekko let you in, little by little, until his pain became something you shared, a burden you helped carry together.

When the dreams were too vivid, when the memories of explosions and ash threatened to swallow him, you were there. You would pull him into your arms, your fingers running soothing patterns along his back, whispering reminders of where he was and who he had become.

“It’s okay,” you would say, your voice steady and reassuring. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Sometimes, he would cry, his tears soaking into your shirt as the weight of the past broke over him. Other times, he just sat quietly, his head resting against your shoulder, his breathing evening out as your presence anchored him.

And when words failed, you stayed silent, letting the rhythm of your heartbeats fill the space between you.

One night, as the two of you sat beneath the stars on the rooftop of the Firelight base, Ekko spoke again, his voice softer, more reflective.

“Do you think she’d forgive me?” he asked, staring at the distant glow of Piltover’s towers.

You hesitated. “I think... if she were here, she’d want you to forgive yourself.”

He frowned, his fingers idly tracing the patterns on the rooftop’s metal surface. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” you said, turning to face him. “It’ll take time, but you can. And I’ll be here for all of it.”

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with something unspoken—a mix of gratitude, affection, and hope. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Always.”

In time, the nightmares became less frequent. They still came, but Ekko learned to face them—not alone, but with you by his side. Together, you built a future that honored the past without being bound by it. The echoes of pain remained, but they were quieter now, softened by the love and strength you shared.

And for the first time in a long time, Ekko allowed himself to dream—not of what was lost, but of what could be.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #ekko arcane #ekko x reader #*writing

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slitherinky · 5 months ago

Text

Masterlist | About me | Requests

An Intense Train Ride

Setting: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, forcefulness, dom!Draco, choking, fingering, semi-public sex, spanking, degrading, cursing.

Summary: You just transferred to Hogwarts and are about to take the Hogwarts Express from London. There, Draco introduces himself to you, making sure you know your place from the beginning.

3365 Words

Please be aware of the warnings before proceeding. If you are underage, sensitive to depictions of violence, or intense explicit content, it is do not to read further. This story is purely fictional and does not reflect or endorse such behavior in real life. Any attempt to replicate the actions described in this story in real life is strongly discouraged. Harry Potter and the Wizarding World is a trademark of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

The air was crisp and smelled faintly of coal as I stood on the platform, gripping the handle of my suitcase like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. My heart was doing its best impression of a hummingbird, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the excitement bubbling under my skin or the sheer terror of what lay ahead.

Hogwarts. My new school. A place I’d only heard about in stories, where the brightest and most ambitious witches and wizards honed their craft. A fresh start, I’d told myself. "It’s what you need." But as I watched the bustling crowd—students greeting friends, families hugging, enchanted luggage flitting around like over-eager puppies—I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t belong. I was completely, utterly alone.

I shifted my weight, trying to look like I had a purpose. It’s not like I didn’t want this; I did. Leaving my old school had been my decision. But the farther away I got from everything I knew, the heavier the suitcase in my hand felt.

That’s when I saw him.

At first, I thought the light was playing tricks on me, the way it glinted off his blond hair, almost too perfect. But no, he was real—and walking through the crowd like it parted just for him. He was tall, wearing the Slytherin uniform like it was made for him. Maybe it was. Everything about him looked polished, from the lines of his blazer to the relaxed way he moved, as if nothing could faze him.

And then he looked at me.

Just for a second. His sharp grey eyes caught mine, and I felt like I’d been pinned to the spot. There was no reason for my cheeks to warm the way they did, but they did. His lips curved into the faintest smirk—like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on people—and then he turned away, just like that.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

The train’s whistle broke through my thoughts, a sharp reminder that I wasn’t here to gawk at strangers. Students were starting to board, and I realized I was still rooted to the same spot like some kind of nervous statue. I grabbed my suitcase and forced myself to move forward.

But, of course, he was there. Standing by the entrance to the train, his luggage already stowed, looking impossibly at ease. As I approached, he glanced at me again, one eyebrow quirking up.

“You look a little lost,” he said, his voice smooth and annoyingly self-assured.

Lost? I bristled, heat rising in my cheeks again. “I’m not lost,” I said, a little too quickly. My voice came out firmer than I expected, though, which felt like a small victory. “Just… new.”

His smirk deepened, like I’d just confirmed something for him. “New, huh? The transfer student, I’m guessing.”

“Good guess,” I muttered, feeling a knot of annoyance rise in my chest. Who was this boy to call me out like that?

“Welcome to the Hogwarts express,” he said, stepping aside with a mock bow. “You’re in for quite the ride.”

I wanted to say something clever, but my mind blanked. Instead, I just stepped past him, muttering a quick “thanks” as I boarded the train. Behind me, I could hear him chuckle softly, like he’d already decided I was amusing.

Great. My first impression at Hogwarts, and I was already someone’s entertainment.

This was going to be interesting, whether I liked it or not.

The train lurched forward with a hiss, and I felt a mix of excitement and dread churn in my stomach. My suitcase felt heavier with every step as I dragged it down the narrow aisle, peering into compartments in search of an empty seat. Most were already packed with students—laughing, chatting, and sharing snacks like they’d known each other forever.

Every door I slid open seemed to reveal the same thing: full benches and friendly chaos. I got a few curious glances, but mostly, people were too absorbed in their own groups to notice me.

Compartment after compartment. No luck.

By the time I reached the last car, my arms were aching, and I could feel my resolve slipping. Just one seat, I thought. That’s all I need.

I glanced into the final compartment and felt my stomach drop. It was packed, like all the others, and the students barely spared me a glance before resuming their loud game of Exploding Sparklers. I closed the door quickly before one of the cards could go off in my face.

I straightened up, biting back frustration. Maybe I could stand? It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. I turned to lean against the wall, only to feel a hand clap down on my shoulder.

“Miss,” a sharp voice said. I turned to see a tall, intimidating looking teacher in a black robe. Her glasses perched precariously on her nose as she fixed me with a disapproving glare. “Standing in the aisle during travel is strictly against regulations.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, I—there weren’t any seats, and—”

She raised a hand to cut me off. “Find one. Immediately.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

As she marched off, I turned to face the now hopelessly crowded train car. And that’s when I saw him. Sitting alone in a private compartment, his long legs stretched out like he didn’t have a care in the world. Blond hair catching the light. Smug, infuriating smirk.

Of course.

I hesitated, staring through the glass at his empty bench. He caught my eye and gestured dramatically at the open space across from him, as if to say, What’s taking you so long?

My pride bristled. There had to be another option. I spun on my heel, determined to check the rest of the train one more time, but then I felt the teacher’s sharp gaze on me from the other end of the aisle.

I was out of choices. With a groan, I turned back to his compartment. He was still watching me, his smirk somehow even more irritating up close. Taking a deep breath, I slid the door open.

“You win,” I muttered, dragging my suitcase inside. “But only because I don’t feel like getting detention before school even starts.”

His grin widened. “I’ll take it.” He gestured to the bench opposite him. “Make yourself at home.”

I dropped my suitcase unceremoniously by the door and sank into the seat, folding my arms across my chest. I could feel his eyes on me, and I refused to meet his gaze.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “What’s your name, transfer student?”

I turned to glare at him. “Y/n,” I said shortly.

“Y/n,” he repeated, rolling the name around like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. “I’m Draco.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is this where I’m supposed to be impressed?”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that somehow made me feel both annoyed and self-conscious. “You will be eventually.”

I groaned, leaning back in my seat and staring at the ceiling. This is going to be a long ride.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, me avoiding his gaze and him fiddling with some invisible lint on his blazer. I tried not to squirm under the weight of his attention, but it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, he seemed to have had enough of my silent treatment. “So,” he said abruptly, “how does a student end up transferring to Hogwarts?”

I turned to look at him, my eyes narrowing. “That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “but I’m asking anyway.”

I snorted. “How does a Slytherin student get to be so nosy?”

He chuckled. “Slytherins are naturally curious.”

“Of course they are,” I murmured, rolling my eyes. “That’s why you’re all a bunch of—”

The word got caught in my throat as he leaned forward, his grey eyes piercing in the dim light. “A bunch of what?”

My heart stuttered, like a rabbit in a hunter’s sights. There were plenty of things I could have said that wouldn’t have ended in me getting insulted or worse, but I said them anyway.

“Of what?” he pressed.

“Of snakes,” I spat out, the words tumbling forth like they had a mind of their own. I instantly regretted it, but he just laughed again. The sound felt like it could cut through the air, like it was sharper than I realized.

“Of course,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I should have known better than to expect a Ravenclaw to hold her tongue.”

“Ravenclaws are naturally clever,” I said quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Or is that what you were about to say?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his eyes glinting. “And maybe we’re getting a little off track.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, stopping me. “Answer my question, y/n,” he commanded.

The authority in his voice was enough to make my stomach clench. I bit my lip, looking away. “I didn’t fit in,” I said softly. “My old school wasn’t for me.” I didn’t look at him; I knew he was probably smirking.

“That’s not surprising,” he said. “I doubt many places would be suitable for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.

He leaned back in his seat again, a smile playing on his lips. “It’s nothing.” He glanced down at my suitcase. “I thought you said you weren’t lost.”

I flushed, the accusation stinging more than it should have. “I’m not.” I said fiercely.

“Sure you’re not,” he replied. “That’s why your eyes are all wide and scared like some lost little rabbit.”

I felt a surge of frustration. “I’m not scared,” I lied.

He raised his eyebrows. “Of what?” he challenged. “Me?”

“No,” I scoffed. “Why would I be scared of you?”

He leaned forward again, his grey eyes narrowing. “Do you want me to show you why you should be afraid of me?”

My heart started pounding in my chest. I opened my mouth to retort, but he cut me off before I could get the words out.

“If you’re lying to me, y/n, that’s going to make things a lot worse for you.”

I glared at him, trying not to let my panic show. But the way his eyes bored into me told me that he could see everything I was trying to hide. I couldn’t look away; he had me pinned under his sharp gaze like a butterfly in a jar.

He leaned in a little closer. “Now,” he said in a low voice. “Are you scared of me, y/n? You can tell me. I won’t bite.”

The way he said my name made my stomach clench, and not from fear this time. I squirmed in my seat, trying to ignore the feeling that was building inside me.

“N-no,” I stuttered.

He smiled, a lazy smirk that did absolutely nothing to help my situation. “Good,” he purred. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem to do what I ask you.”

I was about to retort, but then his fingers were brushing against my thigh, and everything else disappeared. I froze, staring at him in disbelief.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Checking,” he said simply, as if that explained anything. His hand slid higher under my skirt, and I sucked in a breath, feeling my cheeks flush.

I tried to push him away, but he was faster. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the armrest, his fingers closing around them like a vice.

“Let go,” I demanded, trying to wriggle free.

“Not yet,” he replied easily.

My skirt was hiked up now, almost to my waist. I squirmed against him, fighting to free my hands. I had no idea what he was doing, but I knew it couldn’t be good.

His eyes were glinting with amusement now, like he could read my fear in every twitch. His thumb pressed against my wrist, feeling the pulse there.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” he said calmly. “Your heart is going a mile a minute.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to fight down the panic. But it was hard. He had me trapped; all I could do was stare up at him and try to figure out what he wanted.

“You’re right,” I said finally, deciding on the safest tactic. “I am scared. Just let me go.”

He tilted his head to one side, a small smirk still playing on his lips. He looked like he was debating something, weighing the pros and cons. Then, in one swift movement, he released my wrists.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said abruptly. “Much, anyway.”

I sucked in a breath of relief, pushing my skirt back down. I didn’t ask him what he meant; I didn’t care as long as he stayed away from me.

But then his fingers closed around my thigh again, sliding higher between my legs. I let out a small cry of surprise, pushing against him.

“What are you doing?!” I demanded.

He smiled down at me, his sharp grey eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite recognize.

“Just a little test,” he murmured. “Spread your legs for me.”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Now,” he ordered.

I felt my face grow hot at his command, but I couldn’t deny the thrill that was building inside me. His voice was low, commanding, and even though I hated him, it still sent shivers down my spine. I wanted to obey him, like something deep inside me was telling me that I should follow his every word.

That was a dangerous thought.

“No,” I said firmly, folding my legs against him. “Get your hand off me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he just laughed, like he thought my protest was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Oh, y/n,” he said in mock disappointment. “I expected more out of you.”

His fingers were pressing against my inner thigh now, trying to pry my legs open. I fought against him, but his grip was too strong.

Suddenly, his hand was gone, and he was leaning back in his seat like nothing had happened. I stared at him in disbelief as he lifted one foot to rest on top of the other.

“You really are stubborn,” he remarked.

I narrowed my eyes, anger rising in my chest. “Well, it’s not like I was going to let you get away with this.”

He laughed again, a low, dangerous sound. “I always get away with what I want,” he drawled. “And right now, I want to fuck you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He smirked down at me. “Did I surprise you?”

“No,” I lied, trying to keep my cool. But I could feel the flush in my cheeks spreading, and he seemed to notice.

“Lying to me is very unbecoming of you, y/n.”

I glared up at him. “And threatening me is very becoming of you? You’re something else, you know that?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe me. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in,” he said.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Maybe not,” I replied. “But I do know that you are in big trouble." I glanced out the window, watching the rolling hills outside. "We’re getting closer to the school; I’m going to go find a teacher and get you expelled before we even get there.”

“Do it,” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. “See what happens when you cross me.”

I stood up, ignoring him. But as I reached for my suitcase, his hand closed around my arm, pulling me back down.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured.

I fell back into my seat, glaring at him. “Let go!”

He leaned forward, and for a second, I thought he was actually going to kiss me. But then his lips brushed against my ear instead, sending shivers down my back.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered. “Now, are you going to spread your legs like a good girl, or do I need to make you?”

I shivered at his words, feeling a surge of excitement. Why was I enjoying this? I didn’t understand it myself, but the way he was commanding me to do whatever he wanted had something in me responding. Something in me wanting to obey.

I glanced up at him, feeling a blush rise in my cheeks. “You can’t make me,” I muttered.

He just smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. Then, suddenly, his fingers were closing around my knee, digging into the soft flesh. I yelped in surprise.

“Ow!”

“I can, and I will." He dug in his nails a little harder, and I sucked in a gasp of pain. "Now do what you’re told and spread your fucking legs for me, before I hurt you even more.”

I gritted my teeth as he dug into my skin, but I was no match for his grip. Slowly, fighting against every instinct that was telling me to refuse him, I let my legs fall open.

“Good girl,” he praised, releasing his hold on my knee. His fingers traced lightly up my inner thigh, feeling for my panties. Then he slid them aside, brushing against me.

I let out a small moan of shock at the sudden sensation, feeling my face flush. “Don’t,” I muttered weakly.

“What was that?” he replied sharply. But before I could answer, I felt a sharp pain on my left cheek. He had hit me.

It only took me a second to register what happened, but by that time he was already smacking me again. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes as pain blossomed on both cheeks.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Don’t what?”

I tried to fight back tears as I looked up at him. He had a smug, satisfied look on his face, like he enjoyed hitting me. “Don’t do this,” I whispered.

He smirked. “Too late for that,” he purred, his fingers pushing inside me. I gasped at the sensation, feeling myself clench around him.

“That’s right,” he murmured, pumping his fingers in and out. “Feel good? Let’s make you feel even better.”

His thumb brushed against my clit, and I gasped, trying to squirm away.

“No,” I breathed. “Stop!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled. “I’m in charge here, not you.” His fingers pressed into me harder, forcing me to take them deeper. I cried out, feeling the edge of an orgasm building inside me.

“P-please,” I gasped. “I need—”

“You need?” he mocked. “What do you need, y/n?”

“I need—” I swallowed hard. “I need to come.”

He laughed, a cruel sound. “Do you think you deserve to come? Tell me why you deserve it you little whore.”

I bit my lip. “I—I don’t know.”

“That’s right,” he purred, pressing against me harder. I moaned in frustration, so close to coming that it was agony. “You don’t deserve anything. You’re just a dirty, little slut who wants to be fucked. Isn’t that right?”

I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eye again as I looked up at him, and to my surprise, he met my eyes. His expression was hard and cold, but there was something in his gaze that almost looked like pity.

“Yes,” I breathed, fighting the lump that was forming in my throat. “I’m a dirty little slut who wants to get fucked.”

“Good,” he said. Then, as suddenly as he had started, he pulled his fingers out.

I cried out in frustration, trying to reach for him. But he reached up to grab something from the luggage rack—a sleek, well-worn bag I hadn’t noticed before. "Where are you going?" I asked still feeling the emptiness in my wet pussy

“Stretching my legs,” he said casually, slinging the bag over one shoulder.

“Oh,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, when are you coming back?”

He paused for just a second “Who said I was?”

You want more? My Masterlist

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shaisuki · 1 year ago

Note

yandere kaiser & sae respond to their chubby!darling have a feelings on somebody else because of their both past where the yandere used to mock & bullies the darling's weight & appereance, please make this noncon cus i like it more darker. as if its spicier ✨

❝ CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S MINE. ❞

FEATURING. MICHAEL KAISER, ITOSHI SAE

CONTENT WARNINGS. degradation + history of past bullying + babytrapping + forced affection + manipulation + gaslighting.

SYNOPSIS. you shouldn't have dared to love someone that is not them.

MICHAEL KAISER

he was above everyone else and yet, how dare you fall for someone else who's beneath him. you, out of fall people should be grateful for him giving you the attention that many would die for.

he can't take it. not when he's the embodiment of perfection and you choose someone who's not even his equal for your attention. don't get him wrong. michael wouldn't lower his pride nor self for you but why does he sees red everytime you associate yourself and sing praises for that trash?

the familiar terror you felt and watch how your bright eyes turn lifeless brought him joy. he was glad he still have that hold over you. one touch. the tone of his voice changing into a snarl and his vein popping in his forehead. your lips tremble when his face gets nearer at you.

“i get to give you attention and you dare to ignore mine. who taught you that?” he laughs in a scornful manner. his smile wide but never reaches the eyes that is cold and seethes in betrayal at your found fondness for the other who is not him.

his grip was painful. his fingers digs at your cheeks. his palm hard as it holds your jaw in a firm manner. you look ridiculous similar to a blobfish. your round cheeks puffier from how hard he grips it. the flesh gathers in a confining state. you know from the reflection of his blue yes that you dared to meet.

“it's my own decision to choose who i want to love. your opinion does not matter in my own affairs.” you state matter of fact. biting your lips to prevent the tears from spilling from your waterline. years of being the center of the attention of his mockery and the endless degradation you received — you learned to despise him. michael kaiser is nothing to you despite with his fame and talent. you don't need someone like him in your life.

ah. you learned to talk back. it's fine. he will put you back to your rightful place like what he did years back before he is now. you will love him. worship him. offer your body and soul for him.

the pressure of his hold in your cheeks got firmer. it was starting to bruise your skin. you tried to pry his wrist off you but to no avail it was like clawing on a wall with no damage taken. michael chuckles at your attempt.

“i love him and nothing would change it.” you look at him straight in the eye and michael was unfazed by it. you were comparable to a dog resisting until being held by the scruff.

“do you?” he smirks, and then faint footsteps came nearer where you are being held by michael and then your boyfriend stumbled between you both. you were relieved by his appearance and you called his name but michael was quick to squish your cheeks harder and the position in your boyfriend's perspective finds it rather intimate yet he isn't bothered by the fact that his girlfriend is being held in a uncomfortable manner by someone.

you met his gaze. tears threatening to fall as your lips utter the word of help and that's when you thought he will come rescue you. he shakes his head. taking slow tentative steps backwards before disappearing.

he recognizes michael kaiser. the ace of bastard munchen and there is no way he will come fight or mess with him and so he ran.

“you love that cuck, huh?” the blonde taunts you. “no one can give you this kind of attention without me. be grateful, liebe.” the endearment made your stomach churn.

“i will never — ever love you!” you snarl at him and the air in your lungs got knocked out of you when he slammed you in the cold hard wall.

michael grabs your jaw. pulling him closer and his breathe is closer to you. “you will love me.” he says before crashing his lips into yours. slipping his tongue inside your mouth and claiming you as his.

you fought him. kicking your legs but michael was quick to trap you. his tattooed arm wrapped around your waist and his hand grabbing your clothed ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“m—michael!” you managed to croak out. your hands in his chest. desperately trying to push him but he simply won't budge.

“resistance is futile. take what i give you and you will be rewarded, hmm?" he hums. grasping your chin in his fore and index finger. “you will follow me.”

forcing you to grind in his clothed thigh. he latches to your neck. sucking and biting the skin until bruise starts to bloom from it. “i will let this one slide.” he warns you, continuing his assault in your neck while his hand fondles your belly under your shirt. you let out a whimper when he squeezes the flesh in his hands.

“defy me again and you will learn the hard way.”

ITOSHI SAE

sae was never one to bother himself with distractions until he got a wind of his "childhood friend" planning to settle down with someone who is not him. of course this isn't something he would oversee. you belonged to him.

it was a headache seeing you glowing and unabashed. nothing could stop you from falling in love and show how much you adored the person you are with now.

“i just left you and this is what i come home to?” there's the passive-aggressiveness in his voice. you raised a brow at his statement. finding the words odd after just being home a few hours ago.

“a hello would be nice, sae. and what does it even mean?” you asked him curiously. unclear of the meaning behind those years and it's not like you were both close.

“you going behind my back.” his teal eyes gleaming with some unknown emotion while looking at you.

“going behind your back?” you want to laugh at him. “we're not even a thing, sae. the only thing or decent thing you had done for me was to leave. i was happy with you gone.” you bit your tongue to further stop the retaliation. the words coming more of a personal grudge against him. you didn't mean it but seeing sae after a long time just brought back the memories you desperately wanted to forget and sae is similar to a memory that randomly pops whenever a happy memory surfaces.

gone. you wanted him gone. sae is used to being trashtalked. wether it's online, personal or in the field but nothing stung like what you had said. he kept quiet. he shouldn't be acting so brash right now, not when you're within his grasp. he still have plans.

“what the hell do you think you're doing, sae!?” you screamed at him. you were in a unfamiliar place and your body is sore and heavy. your sight a bit blurry as your head spins.

“stop screaming now, won't you.” he sat at the foot of your bed. his gaze fixated in you. “i just saved you from being tied to someone you didn't want.” he says. his stare dark while he slowly crawls in front of you and the action agitated you. instinctively moving backwards until your back hits the headboard.

“you always ruin things for me, sae. i genuinely consented to be with him! not you, you fucking asshole! i love him! get that through that thick skull of yours!” you spat at him. you were about to scream again when his hand came wrapping around your neck. therefore cutting your air and the fear settles in your bones at him.

“you don't love him. i was the one who dealt with your bullshit ever since and i won't allow you to be with someone who is not me.” his eyes never leaving you while he slowly pries your creamy thighs open to accommodate him.

your cries fell into deaf ears. sae was cruel. always ways. he didn't care for anyone not even you. he only cared when it was for his own gain. he will be keeping you by his side. you will have no qualms over it and take it over and over again.

he seals your fate when he dumps his load inside you. a baby he says. just to keep you occupied. this wouldn't be more difficult if you just have set your feelings aside until he comes back but you will always be his stubborn, chubby childhood friend and you are to be with him until your last dying breath.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock smut #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x reader #blue lock x chubby reader #blue lock #bllk #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x chubby reader

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driedposies · 2 months ago

Text

“My little Nepenthe,” {CHAPTER FIVE: The World Was On Fire (And No One Could Save Me but You)}

Chapter summary: A week has already passed since your arrival at Autumn, when your scheme is challenged in the form of a revel.

Warnings: Explicit language, implied sexual content (18+ only!), violence, bodily injury, torture, character/animal death.

Chapter lyric: "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaac

Word count: 5.1k

You were drowning. Sinking between cotton threads into the familiar murky depths. You knew you were dreaming, but the terror of conceived water suffocating your throat had you battling tooth and nail against the cold hands keeping you under.

The hands release and your own reach for the surface. You find a purchase on a smooth lip and haul yourself up. The air shifts, and you breathe, sucking in mouth fulls until your vision clears. Your heart stutters against your ribcage when your nightmare morphs into something else.

You weren’t in Hybern’s hall nor rising from the Cauldron. Your mind had conjured up a candle-lit bathroom, your body sunk in a ceramic tub that was all too narrow.

Your eyes flutter until a pang of nostalgia sinks into your chest like a weed taking root. The painted tiles, the lavender soap, and the small rock in the shape of a star left on the bathside table. You remember that rock—Nesta gave it to Feyre when she wouldn’t stop crying, as all toddlers did. The stars always did calm Feyre.

You rise from the water, the white sleeping chemise sticking to you like a second skin. There was something off about the world around you, fragments missing in the places your mind couldn’t recall.

The faint flickers of light grew brighter, casting strange shadows across the walls and distorting shapes until the scene around you bled into something new. Your chest tightens as the bathroom turns into the drawing room.

You remember the drawing room with a vividness you wished your mind had left behind with the rest of your childhood. This was the place your mother taught you to act as a lady with firm discipline and a firmer hand. The fear still lingered like fingerprints on glass, trapped in the very making of this room, clinging to upholsteries, the rugs, the paintings. The thin wooden paddle still rests in its nook on the bookshelf, high up to be venerated for its judgement.

Nesta bore more scars than you, never strong enough to swallow her pride. Or maybe you were the weak one, always complying with Mother’s righteous commands. Why you did so, you could not answer. It was not you who she favoured.

The drawing room was eerily quiet and barren until it was not. A sound—an almost discernable voice—waded through the water in your ears. Your name was spoken, and you whirl towards the grand desk.

Your Mother. Shards of her being were put together in colours and emotions; all your brain could remember before she was permanently bedridden—golden brown hair, sharp grey eyes, sturdy like Nesta. Her expression was downturned in a scowl of displeasure, and you were four years old again.

You’re starting to remember again. This was your first memory.

“We don’t keep barn cats, girl,” your Mother’s voice says between the haze. “Put the mangy thing back where you found it.”

You look down at the kitten nestled in your arms; its coat streaked black and orange like a little fire that hadn’t caught. Melted ice sinking beneath it’s fur had it shivering, seeking the warmth your skin held. You wished to argue—it was snowing outside, and there was no Mother to keep it warm.

But you didn’t. You brought the kitten back where you found it, nestling it in hay and dust, choking back tears when it mewled for you.

You remember how this memory ended. Sneaking out in the early morning with a plate of stollen tuna chunks, only to find the kitten did not call out for you. Its body was stiff and unmoving, frozen still.

You remember now. It wasn’t the cold you feared. It was the cat. It was the death of good by your hand.

Your mind warbles between a dream landscape and the world of the living. The chambers smell like dying embers and the forest after it rains. Your bleary eyes slowly focus through the darkness—the morning sun yet to slip over its eastern grave.

Attempting to roll onto your back, you slowly realise your emancipation. Earth itself curled around your wrists, vines webbing and constricting up your forearms as if they were spilling from your veins, sucking your lifeblood and breathing through you. With a started exhale, the ivy releases you, leaving streams of claw marks in its wake. But instead of burning, they thrummed.

As if entranced, you rise, scanning the destruction your gift left in its wake. Capillaries made of vine snaked their way across the floorboards, their delicate tendrils shooting from the bedframe and up the walls, tangling with the fireplace, chairs and desk.

With a stuttered breath, you tilt your head back to glance above. The ceiling was now a canopy of twisting ivy, crawling around beams and hanging candles, its leaves glowing emerald in the pale light. And you, the heart and trunk of this willow.

In a brief moment, you worried what your ladies’ maids would think of this.

Slipping from your bed, you carefully twist and step through the thick roots towards your desk. As you approach, the few blocks of tallow alight, the magic directing you to the ink and paper. Placing your palm over paper and rune, you call for the one person you could trust in this House.

‘I had another nightmare and may have caused an accident.’

Your explanation crudely underwhelmed the size of this ‘accident’. It looked as though your chambers were taken over by nature. Watching the rune with bated breath, you considered Eris may be asleep.

To your relief, a gust of embers brought an answer.

‘An expectation of your predicament, to be sure. I’ll ensure the cleaning staff keep a tight lip for whatever they find. Do you wish to discuss all you can recall within this nightmare, as it may help discover the blockage with your gifts?’

You mull over your options. You wished to understand your new body and all that it now provides—including the things that terrify you. But it was no simple feat, sacrificing vulnerability and surrendering what torments your every dream.

You decide to offer a trade.

‘You mentioned you couldn’t call upon your fire until you were twelve. What was it that brought it forth to you?’

There was a long pause after your note disappeared. Enough that the air around you turned stale, the silence building a compounding weight on your shoulders. Something in your chest burned; had you crossed a line?

‘Incentivised it by fear through pain. A favoured trick of my Father’s.’

Eris’s response was sharp and despaired. It shouldn’t surprise you, especially by his malicious masks and his Mother’s soulless eyes. But Eris was just a boy, Beron’s son and heir. The cruelty made you sick.

Instead of pleading sympathies you knew Eris would reject, you align your blockage with his.

‘My nightmares show me what I fear most. It started with the Cauldron and how I felt like I was drowning. Then, it was harsh winters. Tonight it was my Mother.’

‘Magic can react to emotion. Its release can occasionally feel akin to crying or laughing. What’s difficult is turning that release into something more proactive. It's better to laugh than to cry, no? Currently, the largest emotion you’ve been experiencing is fear. The best way to shift your centre is to change your emotional tune. Control is the core aim here.’

Contemplating Eris’s process, you wondered how to control your emotions when dreams were a constant hellscape. Resting your head on the base of your hands, you sink into apprehension.

Between your elbows, another letter appears.

‘What is something that makes you happy?’

You almost laugh at the question; not needing to contemplate your answer.

‘Music.’

Days begin to slip through your fingers like sand. You had few expectations of what life might entail, scheming in the Autumn Court; all worries of being caught and acute desperation of keeping away from Eris.

In defiance of all preconceived notions, Eris’s company became bearable. Between carefully crafted scenes of romance, he pulled out the best and worst parts of you. It was a game of prodding and searching, cracking each other's yolks open. You’d revel in every laugh and every sneer, in every falter and scoff.

Amongst promenades and fine dining, Eris found shards of time to take you to his little cottage. It’s the place where you could speak freely and where Eris would allow small divulging pieces of what was happening regarding the issue of the Death God. Of how Beron had finally revealed his interests to his private counsel.

Before you knew it, a week had passed, and you were being guided to Azriel to be assessed, Eris at your side and Karl flanking behind.

“Be careful, dearest,” Eris drawled into your ear as you paused before closed doors. “Wandering ears lurk in these halls.”

You’d heed Eris’s warning. It would be no surprise that Beron would keep a close eye on this meeting with a Night Court spymaster. With a final nod, you slip into neutral ground.

Azriel stood in the centre of the room, poised and taught with expectation, one hand on the hilt of a blade and the other commanding a snake of shadow. There was a small stutter in your breath as you moved towards him, almost worried Azriel could rake his shadows through your mind and discover your treasons.

You slide a gloved hand into his, allowing him to do what he came to do. Movement above draws your attention over Azriel’s shoulder.

A raven sits perched on a painting’s frame, its beaded eyes boring into your soul. The room felt heavier now, thickened with anticipation. Azriel’s hand squeezes your’s, and your thoughts scatter, bringing you back to his hazel concern. By the wisp writhing at his shoulder, it was clear he knew there was unwanted company.

“Have the Vanserras been treating you well?” Azriel finally asks, almost dazed, mind somewhere else.

Swallowing thickly, you nod and attempt a smile. “Three meals a day, personal chambers, free to wander the halls,” you reply, tone edging with bitter amusement, knowing the underlying question.

No, you weren’t kept in a cell and made prisoner. No, you weren’t tortured for Night Court secrets.

“Eris has been nothing but a gentleman,” you add, stealing another gander at the raven overseeing this meeting. “He’s all that I imagined and more.”

Azriel forces an eased posture, playing along with your charade. “I’d ask all the little details, as Nesta so wishes,” he says, a grimace pulling at his lips. “But I’m not allowed more than a few minutes. No more than to assess and to ease our High Lady.”

Your expression softens, warmed at your sister's wishes for your safety and comfort. “And Elain?” You then ask.

Azriel sighs, giving you a knowing look and a small squeeze of your gloved hands. “She is well—only wanted me to remind you to trust in your fox, whatever that means,” he murmurs, and you release a small scoff of amusement.

“Tell her that I’m trying,” you grumble.

A line forms between Azriel’s brows, as if trying to discern the hidden language you’d created with Elain.

The raven lets out a warning cawing sound, its sharp talons rapping against the frame carvings. Azriel tenses again, and you know it is time to part ways again. You give Azriel a placating smile before pulling away from his grip.

“I’ll be back again in a week’s time,” Azriel assures, the promise steadying your resolve to continue this ploy, vowing a safe source of escape. With another step back, the shadows flock to their master, exploding and rushing from all corners of this room until Azriel was no longer with you.

You breathe a sigh before meeting the raven’s black gaze. Something was foreboding about its stare as though it were a sentient creature. Be careful what you tell the raven. You didn’t need Elain’s warnings to understand what she meant.

You hardly waste another moment in the cold room, exiting to find Eris waiting against the doorframe. And, across the length of the hall, stood another intruding on your small assembly.

Eris’s only greeting was a carefully crafted glance and softening, before returning his warning stare at the male now eyeing you. One of Eris’s brothers, you’d come to realise. Head of flaming curls cropped short to his neck, body just as lean and firm as his brother’s, but younger in the cheeks and eyes.

“We’ve yet to be properly introduced,” Eris’s brother states, taking a probing step closer. “I’m Cormac, the second eldest,” he continues, hardly deterred by all the warning looks sent by Eris.

There was something uncomforting, the way Cormac peered at you as if he knew how to pull you apart by the seams with tongue and teeth alone.

Eris draws to your side, settling a heavy hand on the base of your spine and you straighten, remembering yourself. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” you reply, finding strength again in the pillar beside you.

Cormac’s grin thins, unamused at your lack of stumbling. “I was just asking my brother if you’re to join us for the revel tomorrow evening,” Cormac claimed, clearly attempting to bind Eris’s hands. “Everyone would surely miss you if you didn’t. It’s important to console support within the people, right, brother?”

Eris hums in sarcastic agreement, clearly unperturbed by a taunt you’re not privy to.

“I’m sure to see you then,” you affirm despite a lack of permission, knowing that saying anything else would give this male a hole to rip into. If you were truly being courted by Eris, and you were truly considering marrying him, attending important events would be a given.

Cormac’s expression was nothing less than triumphant. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you tonight, then,” he muses, just as Eris’s hand tightens and pulls you to begin walking away, putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

You make it down two hallways before Eris drops away from you, an obvious agitation to the way he knocks you. Your chest begins to burn with something—worry?

“You’re upset with me,” you state, picking up a pace to keep in toe with Eris. Eyeing him through your peripherals, you notice the tension between his brows. You then scoff and shake your head. “You have no right. It was you who never told me about these revels, leaving me to be forsaken in that position.”

Eris pauses his strides to turn on you, halting both you and Karl, who was pretending he was a mere shadow on the wall.

“You did not have to speak,” Eris snaps, eyes burning into you with ferocity. “You could have let me be the one to make a decision you have no clue you’re making,”

You merely huff and fold your arms over your chest, defiance plain in your posture. “It has been you, speaking the need for trust. But clearly, it seems you hardly trust me either,” you assert. “Anyhow, it was your fault alone for not telling me about these revels in the first place.”

Eris exhales a long, exhausted breath, raking slim fingers through his hair. “I wished to keep you from having to attend them,” he admits. “They are not what you think, nor what you’re used to.”

“Your brother made them sound important,” you point out, raising an incredulous brow.

Eris rolls his eyes. “They are,” He concurs, the line of his shoulders going rigid. “They are… celebrations of a growing harvest. There is one every night leading up to the Summer Equinox, held by each noble family. The larger the revel, the larger the favour with the High Lord and subsequently, the larger the profit when it is time to harvest in autumn.”

“And?” You urge, knowing there was a stipulation Eris was withholding.

“Most revels involve fornication,” Eris finally divulges.

You hold Eris’s stare before a laugh escapes your throat. “And they say the Night Court is barbaric,” you grumble. “Is… fornication a requirement of this event?” You ask slowly, realising Eris’s large upset in your ignorant agreement.

“No,” Eris states, and you breathe a sigh of relief. “But it is rather open, the acts. Something I assumed would make you uncomfortable.”

Despite Eris not telling you this important piece of information, you could tell it wasn’t out of malicious intent. Because in reality, the way Eris was painting this picture, these revels would be a startling introduction to Autumn celebrations.

“And I’ve just confirmed my attendance,” you mutter, much to Eris’s chagrin. “To not show up now would be an insult,” you state with a sense of defeat, before adding, “I suppose it would be in my best interest to start learning all of the Autumn customs.”

Eris gives a mellowing nod of agreement. “That would be best for both of us,” he sighs.

Later that night, resting on your desk was an entire anthology of Autumn Court politics and traditions. Beside them was a note.

‘To fill your time whilst I’m not around to entertain. And, to ease my poor heart from further mishaps.’

Your ladies' maids fluttered around you as they fitted you into a dress made for a revel. They dust gold power across your collarbones and the bridge of your cheeks, bringing attention to your better features.

You were almost as anxious as you were uncomfortable. You had worn your share of risque Night dresses—slits up the thigh and plunging necklines, fabrics so sheer you could’ve forgone it entirely.

But this was next to indecent, far from the Autumn attire you’ve seen other ladies wear. You wear nothing but a thin chemise and a form-fitting corset to push your bosom over the lacey trimmed neckline. Although, if you were made to admit, the needlework of the corset was nothing less than ethereal—an embroidered scene of an autumn forest, held up together with umber-stained ribbons.

“We are all very glad you’ve taken the time to join the revelling, Mistress,” Fauna chirped as she dabbed lavender oil up your neck. “Most nobles forgo attending minor houses’ revels. It is in good faith, making an appearance. Inspires a humble reputation.”

You watch the pixies closely through the reflection of the mirror, a small smile growing as they hum their agreement with their sister.

“Except for Lord Eris,” Flora adds with a bright tone. “He attends them all, every year, without fail. Such a thoughtful male.”

You suck in a breath of surprise. Thoughtful was hardly a word you would use to describe Eris. Impertinent and foul-mouthed, to be sure, but thoughtfulness was not the first to come to mind. It made you wonder.

“What does the court think of Eris?” You decidedly ask; tone purely suggesting a woman asking after her love.

“Lords and ladies alike adore him,” Merryweather proclaims, followed by murmurs of positive reinforcement. “He can be so very charming, as I’m sure you’re used to. Very good with his words, both pleasing and vicious,” she adds with a barbed grin.

A certain curiosity burns within you; angry and unforgiving. “And lovers?” You ask softly.

Your ladies' maids paused, a silent conversation passing between them before Fauna spoke up. “Not many to say,” she murmurs as if trying to soothe you. “Unlike his brothers, he doesn’t take to that sort of pleasure.”

“The last one, I believe, was a stable boy,” Flora cuts in, and was swiftly battered by Merryweather, hissing at each other as they argued over revealing such gossip.

Fauna let out a soft sound of unease as she floats back up to you. “That affair was over five decades ago and ended as swiftly as it started. The stable boy doesn’t even work for the House anymore,” she rationalises as if you needed it.

Because you didn’t need the placating, you’d say to yourself. Because the burn in your chest that only flickered brighter was nothing but your imagination.

As final touches and jewels were applied, your three pixies gave you a final spin, full of giggles and praises. Stepping off your perch, giving yourself a final glance over, your ladies' maids shoot towards the chamber doors, swinging them open to reveal the male that will be your evening’s escort.

Turning to meet Eris, your breath catches. He was similarly fashioned to you; cotton britches and loosened tunic, the lacing left wholly undone, leaving the planes of his toned chest on display. Like the bridge of his nose, dark sunspots were smattered across his skin like stars in the night sky. Your fingers twitch; wishing to discover unnamed constellations.

“Like what you see?” Eris calls, breaking your reverie with a familiar teasing tone.

Your only defence was a scoff and a roll of your eyes. Drawing closer, you notice the gold flakes that were rubbed over his eyelids and the bow of his top lip, pulling purposeful attention. Your lady's maids sigh with adoration, and you’re reminded of your audience.

“I do,” you drawl back, sliding your palm into his.

Eris grins and pulls back, raising your arm to give you a spin. A small laugh leaves you as your skirt billows out, your heart fluttering under the attention as Eris pulls you back in. You feel yourself soften, and the moment begins to feel all too natural.

“Beautiful,” Eris comments under his breath, and you warm under his gaze.

With a single wave of his hand, Eris dismisses your ladies' maids, who fawn and clap with glee as they float past you both, happy they achieved what they worked to do: please their future High Lord.

The moment your chamber doors click shut, Eris loosens his grip, and a terrifying feeling of disappointment fills your bones. Ah, you think pitifully, this is all just for show.

“I should prepare you for this evening,” Eris affirms, slipping back into his favoured mask of neutrality. “While there are no expectations, we will still need to make a performance of things. If there is any time to pretend to be in love, it will be at these revels.”

You swallow thickly, only able to imagine what Eris was inferring. “What did you have in mind?” You ask slowly.

“Touch will be sought for,” Eris explains, purposefully avoiding crude explanations. “Everyone will be watching. So, to keep our plans out of jeopardy, we’ll need to give what they want,” he continues, giving your hand a brief squeeze, “I won’t outright grope, nor let any other do the same, but there will be a need for an appearance of shared passion.”

“I thought as much,” you respond dryly, understanding the stakes this night brought. Every moment will be scrutinised and analysed, more than ever. Eris was their future High Lord, and if his courting proclamations were true, you may be their next Lady Autumn. A notion that would surely be combatted by female fae alike.

“Nothing more than a few embraces will be needed,” Eris added, tucking you into the crook of his elbow. “Remember, I won’t leave your side, and if an escape is what you need, three squeezes is all it will take.”

Eris winnows you both into the heart of an Autumn forest. The night was already thick with the scent of smoke and damp earth, a tune made by fiddles and flutes dancing on the cool breeze. A trail of glowing embers lit a pathway that led through thick wood before they fell away to reveal an unfolding revel.

Countless bonfires licked the night air, reaching towards the sky, growing and shrinking with the wind. Between them danced and celebrated an amass of various fae, creatures so wholly different from the next. Dozens of sprites darted in and out of the firelight, their laughter like chiming bells, musical and bright, while mouros and other hybrid species partook in passing offerings and creating music.

The moment Eris led you into the throng, the fae paused to turn and watch—all curious and captivated with their special arrival. Where those in Night bowed to the royal family, those here seemed to regard Eris with an air of familiarity. Some even smiled and raised their cups in greeting.

You likely looked akin to an owl—eyes wide as you took everything in. The true excitement everyone exuded contradicted all the stories that the Inner Circle provided. These were just common folk wishing for a successful harvest.

As you’re guided deeper into the revel, you are quickly confronted with what Eris had warned.

Many stayed close to the fires, whilst others took to the edge of the forest. They palmed, clawed and tore into one another, a few coupling into the soil while others enjoyed group satisfaction. You focus your gaze downward, but it hardly helps in blocking out the strings of moaning or the scent of lust, prickling gooseflesh up the length of your back.

“Brother!” A voice calls from your left, and your attention is pulled upwards to meet the impish gaze of Eris’s brother, Cormac, who was in a state of undress—shirt missing and trouser laces undone, leaving little to the imagination. “I didn’t think you’d make it with your… female,” he muses, the choice words leaving a bitter taste in your throat.

Eris easily slips into character, unhooking your arms to slide his around your waist, tucking you close. You maintain a smiling facade, fighting against the urge to flinch at the sudden change in position.

“I couldn’t keep her from experiencing the fun Autumn provides,” Eris drawls back, fingers flexing against the expanse of your hip.

Cormac matches Eris’s grin. “It would do her some good, knowing what she’d be marrying into,” he agrees, tone close to something taunting. His smirk then mellows a fraction, before he turns on his side to reveal a female faerie making her way towards him. Cormac lifts his arm to bring her to his side.

“Ravina,” Eris murmurs in greeting to the dark-haired female clutching onto Cormac, sliding her palm down the length of his bare abdomen.

The way the two fae looked at each other with a burning need, it made you want to look away out of respect for their intimacy.

Ravina then turns her eerily beaded eyes your way, a devilish smirk pulling across her dark features. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she hums, tilting her head. “We’ll be sisters, you and I, if you marry Eris.”

You give Eris a questioning look. “You two are married?” You ask, surprised at the revelation.

“No,” Eris cuts in. “Father hasn’t approved their nuptials.”

“Yet,” Ravina hums, looking back up to Cormac with longing in her gaze. “We’ll find a way to get favour with our High Lord.”

Cormac reciprocates the appraisal, sliding his hand down to paw at the meat of Ravina’s ass. You suck in another breath and look away as Eris grumbles your collective well-wishes before guiding you off again.

“Surely you don’t mean for us to act like that?” You ask the moment the couple were out of sight, sarcastic as you were teasing.

Eris scoffs, a playful gleam stoking through his amber eyes. “Hardly,” he retorts, something wicked in his expression flickering. “My physical affections always remain a private affair.”

As you wander deeper into the revel, wading through fae and bonfires, you notice Eris is leading you both to a place where the groups thinned out. When you make it to an empty fire, Eris directs you to sit on one of the fallen logs. Eris saddles beside you, placing a warm hand on the bridge of your knee—purposeful yet comfortable and respectful.

“I hope you don’t mind company,” Eris murmurs into your ear before he raises an affirming palm.

“Mistress!” A voice sings out, and you swivel in time to see a flock of pixies bursting towards you, their gossamer wings glittering gold and periwinkle with the flames. Amongst the flock of thirty pixies were your ladies’ maids, all carrying wreaths of baby’s breath and sprigs of lavender, woven together to form a crown.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your cheeks at the familiar chirping and bickering, all made tenfold with the entire flock.

“We’re here to give our blessings,” Flora explains, tone bright and excited. “For a fruitful and blissful coupling.”

You’d almost feel guilty, knowing their sentiments were just a consequence of the overarching ploy, as they carefully placed a crown above your brow before dropping another onto Eris’s.

Another pixie, one that was unfamiliar to you, drifts towards you. She looks older than the rest, her glow dimmer than the others. “We also wish to present our gratitude, extending your kindness to my girls,” the faerie hums softly, placing a hand on her heart. “So many ignore and batter away the little folk,” she continues, expression softening. “You have a beautiful soul, Mistress. Our Lord is lucky to have the opportunity to court you.”

“Thank you,” you exhale, stunned at such a compliment. How little is basic decency found in the Autumn borders?

The elder pixie smiles before waving back to her flock. “Our Lord mentioned you have a love for music,” she says, and it was then you notice the small instruments many of the pixies carried. “We hoped it would please you to hear some of our Old Songs.”

You whirl to face Eris, finding him already watching you, warmth in his gaze. He gives an encouraging nod.

“I would be honoured,” you murmur, and the pixies sing with delight.

They swirl around you, plucking strings to start a harmony, upbeat and whimsical. Eris rises from beside you to present his hand to you, the offer coming as another surprise to you. “Would you honour me with a dance?” He asks, tone edged and playful. “It would be rude not to enjoy the music properly.”

You grin, sliding your hand into his to find his familiar heat. “We wouldn’t want that,” you agree as you’re tugged back onto your feet.

Eris wraps you into him; the embrace is more relaxed than a proper dance posture. “Don’t think too much about your steps,” he whispers, pulling your hips flush together. “Autumn revels have little to do with cohesion.”

“Lead the way,” you concede, wrapping an elbow around his neck as you’re lifted onto the balls of your feet.

The flock of pixies formed a spiral around you, following as Eris twirled and spun you around your private bonfire. It was like you were caught in a watered haze, flashes of gold and flame rippling across your vision, Eris’s small grin a constant.

For the first time since your Change, a laugh without inhibition leaves you.

CHAPTER SIX

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#acotar #eris acotar #eris vanserra #archeron sisters #eris x reader #a court of thorns and roses #eris x you #autumn court #autumnal #fake dating #slow burn

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