#daniel sharman fic

[escapist-of-fiction]

One shot - Troy Otto x Fem Reader

Description - just a bit of fluff really. Something that has been floating in my head for a while and needed to write it down. Troy is a bit of a tease in this but I like him like that.

Warnings - none really. Mild swearing.

If you do read, a like, reblog and/or a comment would make me smile :) enjoy!

‐-------------

It had become abundantly apparent to everyone that something was developing between you and Troy.

There was something about the way he looked at you from across the room, never intrusive but always keeping one eye closely on you, watching your every move. You didn't mind though. It made you feel safe. You didn't feel so alone in the crowd.

Every chance Troy had; loading supplies from the trucks, collecting empty dishes at meal times, showing you how to hold a gun in the right way to defend yourself, any excuse to have just a little bit of contact with you. You didn't mind. You wanted him to do it. Your skin tingled at his touch. If he stood close to you, you would hold your breath without even realising. It was just the effect he had on you. In a group situation, he would always somehow find his way next to you, by now it was almost an expectation.

You wondered how long it would take for him to make a move. It had taken so long that you were unsure whether it was all in your mind and he had no interest in you at all.

"You can see it, can't you?" Alicia said one day as you sat together at lunch.

"See what?" You responded innocently.

You needed someone else to spell it out to you. To make it seem real. It seemed too good to be true in your own mind. After all, why would someone as complex as Troy be interested in someone as basic as you?

"Troy. There's something about you two. The way he is around you, it's like you're precious cargo or something. He speaks to you so differently to everyone else, with a whole new level of respect. He doesn't even speak like that to Jake, his own brother."

You didn't know how to respond to this, so you decided not to say anything at all.

On the day the Militia headed out on their short mission, you stood with everyone else at the gates. Going on missions was a weekly occurrence in the post-apocalyptic world but today everyone seemed a little on edge. Everyone except Troy.

You stood a little away from the small gathering, leaning against a table where supplies were piled up high. You watched as Troy fooled around with some of the Militia members, his trusted and closest comrades obviously. He wasn't normally this way before a mission, which made you think it was a little more serious than the average. He was trying to put everyone at ease. Rumours had been going around the Ranch that you were heading out to confront another group, who were threatening to steal water supplies. It wouldn't be an easy mission and lives were potentially at risk.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice someone pick up a box beside you, until their voice brought you back to reality.

"You aren't normally here to see us off," Troy noted.

"I'm surprised you would even notice," you answered with the tiniest of smiles, watching for his reaction.

"Dont worry, I notice."

You watched as he walked towards the truck and placed the final box in the back, hitting the side panel to signal to the group that they were ready to go.

You expected Troy to climb into the driver's seat as normal, rev the engine, turn up his heavy metal music and speed out of the Ranch, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. But not this time.

This time, he turned and walked back in the direction of you. You lifted your head to look up at him as he got closer and closer, until he was stood toe to toe with you. He had a look on his face, a mixture of uncertainty and, was that yearning?

You were perplexed by Troy's actions and you were just about question his odd behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and....kissed you.

The briefest of kisses that lasted long enough to make your head spin, your toes curl and heart race all at once. It stunned you but made sense to you all at once. You felt Troy's hand press firmly into the small of your back to pull you against him as his other hand gently caressed your cheek.

Then no sooner had it started, it stopped and Troy pulled away. No explanation. No second glance as he turned and walked back towards the truck and the waiting Militia.

You stood there in shock, your fingers reaching to your lips to trace the echo of his touch.

What the hell was that?

Five days passed until Troy and the Militia returned.

Five days for you to mull over your encounter and ask yourself a million questions. You flitted from the feeling of lusting after Troy and more from that kiss, to being filled with a mild rage at how the bastard had acted in such an impulsive way and walked right out of the Ranch with no explanation.

By the time they returned, you had made up your mind on what to do next.

You never normally gathered with the others at the gate but this time was different. This time you had a reason to stand amongst the friends and family. You wanted Troy to know he had left someone behind. Someone who cared about him, his reckless behaviour and the consequences that came with it.

You watched him exit the truck last of all. He looked tired and weary, having been on the road with little to no sleep and carrying the responsibility of everyone's safety on his shoulders. There was a part of you that wanted to rush to him, embrace him but something made you hold back and wait.

Eventually, Troy looked up and spotted you, his eyes lighting up as they met with yours. You gave nothing away. He approached you, watching your expression tentatively, wondering how you were going to react since your last encounter. He took the fact you were here at all as a good sign.

Coming to stand in front of you, he rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head with a cocky smile.

Words were lost on you. You tried to think of something smart to say, to chastise him for what he did the last time you saw each other but you just kept losing your train of thought in those azure, blue eyes.

Instead, you communicated in the only way you both knew how.

Stepping forward and rising to the balls of your feet, you placed a hand on the back of Troy's neck and pulled him down to meet you.

Your lips pressed firmly against his. A kiss almost sweeter than the first, full of promise and something that you couldn't quite describe but you knew you needed more of it.

Reluctantly, you pulled away to look up at Troy, your hands pressed against his chest. Judging by the hazy look in his eye and the delectable way he licked his lips, it told you everything you needed to know. He felt exactly the same way.

And then, just like that, you found your voice again,

"Hi."

Troy laughed softly,

"Well it took you long enough, darling"

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

2 Of A Kind Ch. 3

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto X Fem Reader

WARNINGS: It's made for FTWD so you should know the basics. +SMUT (read at your own risk. I'm nobody's mom) +Fem receiving

There may or may not be a part 4... need to see how people feel about it. ALSO! Shoutout to all the GIF makers out there for giving me so many options and I love you all... I still feel the need to use the same one repeatedly, but you all help me fight that urge!

This is made for THIS anon request!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“Can I help you with that?”

Troy’s eyes grew dark, feeling his senses begin to tunnel into her and her alone. The woman merely smiled, adjusting herself under the blanket to the side. Her cheeks burned with a fury of confusion and anticipation as she stared back into the blue eyes watching her. “I mean-” Troy shuffled his feet lazily towards the right side of the mattress, closest to the woman. “You helped me so it’s only polite of me to offer my assistance. That is - if you want me to help. Not to be frank but, I could do a bit better than what you were doing.” Troy cocked his head to the side with a crooked smile when the woman scoffed exaggeratingly at his remark. It had been some time, if ever, that anyone had made him feel like this.

Powerful.

“Come’er,” She whispered to him, a voice sending shivers down his spine, but Troy followed her order. The mattress slunk down from his weight, dipping the two into one pothole in the middle. Her fingers ghosted over his hand, the wound on it open to the warm air. His eyes flinched at the sting that rang up his extremity as she placed the hand to her lips, gently kissing the inflamed skin while looking up at him through dark eyelashes. with a twist of his hand, Troy caressed the woman’s cheek, feeling the heat radiate from her dewy skin. Their eyes never broke until Troy lowered his gaze to her lips, softer than he thought they’d be, swiping one calloused digit across the delicate flesh.

With a smooth lick of his lips, Troy initiated the kiss. Pressing his flesh upon her own, feeling her warmth and hearing the ever-so-silent moan that escaped her lips against his. He thought about going slow. He thought about taking it easy with her and not being so forceful, but the sound she made turned him into something more than he thought he was. Deepening the kiss, Troy licked at her bottom lip begging for permission.

Denied.

He could feel her lips pull at the sides, smirking against his touch. This was a game.

A hand found its way to the base of her neck, his fingers dancing along her spine until she felt his way into her hair. Troy took a handful of lush locks, pulling it into a fist. Her body began to arch as her neck pulled back just enough to gain his awaiting tongue entry. His body began to barrel over her as she was lost in the feelings. She wasn’t one to ever relinquish control… yet, here she was. Allowing a stranger control over her body, and she liked it.

As Troy’s tongue ventured into the walls of her mouth, his free hand found its way up her chest, burning fingerprints into the skin he began to expose. With one final nip to her bottom lip, Troy backed away, his lips at least. His eyes regained control again, watching her once-hardened eyes turn soft and needy. The look she gave him through those dark eyelashes gave him the feeling of warmth… possessive… needed.

Fully collapsing into the soft sheet below, the woman gave up her fight. His touch felt too good to push away.

Watching his head dip below her chin, she felt his lips once again burn into her skin, just below her collarbone. His tongue swirled with small suctions traveling lower and lower. His nimble fingers pulled the blanket she was hiding under exposing both breasts to his full view. Troy glanced up, his fingers pinching the sensitive skin of her nipples.

He wanted to see her face as she let him do everything he wanted.

He wanted to see her vulnerable. He wanted to see her as his.

After a little while, he couldn’t take it any longer. Seeing her skin raised in goosebumps and her nipples formed into full points, Troy replaced his fingers with his lips. He hadn’t thought he had an oral fixation before, but the way his cock begged for his lips to have her, any part of her, was beginning to make the brunette re-think that. Her voice jumped when he sucked in a breath against her, biting harder than he had before. Her fingers weaved through the curly locks on Troy’s scalp, tugging ever so much with each moan that escaped her. Troy hadn’t realized that his hand had already found her most sensitive region until she shook under his grasp.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait!” She exclaimed, her fingers lifting his chin to look back at her. “If you’re going there, then I need something other than ‘fuck-boy’ to scream. So what’ll it be?”

Troy smirked, a devilish smirk, with one arm under his weight to keep him raised above her form. The hand that was at her core swiped the saliva from his lips before ghosting down her body, once more resting where he could see a glint of her slick dripping from. His eyes watched her skin react to his touch the entire time, her scars rough and coarse before his fingertips met more soft skin. He thought about toying with her, prolonging her wait for any form of identity of him, but he wanted to hear his name echo on those walls just as bad as she wanted sweet release.

“I’m Troy.”

As soon as he spoke, Troy delved two fingers into her core. Her hands fisted into his hair as he did so. He watched as her entire body arched from the mattress and her lips enchanted the delight of moaning his name. Enjoying the sight before him, Troy watched as she came to orgasm. His digits glided in and out of her sodden core, stretching the walls of her pussy farther with each spasm she had. As she began to clamp down, his thumb rubbed circles through her clit, only causing even more mess as she finally climaxed with a squirt of fluids soaking the bedding below her sweat-slickened skin.

She was a mess, a hot uncontrollable mess as she came back down from her high. She had completely forgotten she was even in company until she felt one strong arm tighten over her belly and soft curls itch across her cheeks. Troy knew she needed a little time, so kept himself busy making bruises to last her a few days on her neck. Once he felt her heart rate slow against his touch, he pulled back to look upon the magnificent work he had done. One arm, again held him up as the other moved slickened hair from the woman’s face. His eyes peered over her lips as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from dazing before meeting her watchful gaze.

“I suppose I should thank you.” She spoke quietly, much softer than normal. Her mouth upturned into a shy smile before turning to look at the ceiling. Troy chuckled tenderly. This woman wasn’t at all who he thought she would be as he peeled back layer after layer.

“There’s no need, I’m here to help, ma’am.”

Troy rolled over to the edge of the mattress, swinging his legs over the side. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome so he figured it was off to the couch for another night. Then, a soft touch wrapped around his wrist.

“Why are you leaving? Did I-”

“I didn’t want to overstay or put you in a position to ask me to leave.”

Troy looked back at the woman from over his shoulder. She sat where he had left her, trying to hide her modesty behind entwined arms and legs. The look she returned was not one that he had assumed he would get. Her coy smile beckoned his feet to not move. Her eyes were like a siren making any thought he had of leaving melt away.

“I’m grateful, I truly am -” her hand that was on his wrist weaved through a belt loop, tugging at the fabric, “- I need more, Troy. And given by how tight those pants have gotten, I think you need more too.”

[escapist-of-fiction]

Just some casual Tuesday fic inspo

[perseephoneee]

Can you do a isaac lahey imagine where the reader us on her period and freaks out and doesn't know what to do so lydia tells him what to do

hehe yes omg

period talk (isaac lahey x f!reader)

warnings: fluff, period talk, dumb boy

a/n: try the drink mentioned if you want to imagine running through hogwarts on a winter day.

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

Isaac wouldn't admit it, but he loved the cold weather. He liked when the winter season would hit, and holidays were a topic of conversation. Holidays were the only time his Dad treated him like he was actually proud of him, and despite that fucked up relationship, Isaac couldn't help but romanticize the season. It's why, when Beacon Hills hit a new low for the weather, he was excited to see you at school. Perhaps he could even convince you to skip class and get hot coco with him.

Unfortunately for him, your period had started therefore your mood was sour. The cold just added to your discomfort, and you basically hissed at him when he came by your locker.

"Woah, what did I do?" Isaac recoiled, a nervous laugh on his lips. You took a deep breath before turning and facing him.

"Nothing, you did nothing," you sighed. "I'm just...not doing great."

"Whats wrong?" Isaac inquired, brows furrowed and concern evident on his face. You loved your cute werewolf boyfriend, and while he was very helpful, he probably couldn't do much for you right now.

"I'm on my period," you admitted with a twinge of shame. Talking about these things was never fun, even to someone you trusted. A blush coated Isaac's cheeks as he processed what you said.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Should I, uh, do something?" Isaac stammered, hands in his pockets.

"Just be you, I'm a big girl and can handle myself," you chuckled, lightly slapping his arm as you closed your locker and started in the direction of class. Isaac stood in the hallway a moment longer, before deducing a game plan and targeting the area of the school he knew the familiar red head would be. She was typing on her phone when he ran up beside her, backpack slung lazily over his shoulder.

"I need your help," Isaac said hurridly, earning a squeak of surprise form Lydia. She set two angry eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to run away. Women did not like him much today.

"Stop sneaking up on me like that," Lydia rolled her eyes, putting her phone in her purse. "What is it?"

"Y/N is on her period, and I want to help, but I don't know what to do, and you're a girl and you're smart so I thought you'd have some ideas?" Isaac rushed, lips pressed in a thin line as Lydia cocked a brow at him.

"Why do you have to make everything so dramatic?" Lydia huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Isaac sent her a look though that showed that he wasn't going to figure anything out, anytime soon. "Look, unless she asks for products, don't bother trying to buy her them-- you'll likely get the wrong ones anyway. Get her her favorite warm drink, a heating pad, blanket, maybe an activity or something calming."

"Drink, heating pad, blanket, activity, got it," Isaac listed out everything, brows scrunched together in concentration. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, during this time, she's always right. Even if you think she isn't, just agree that you're wrong and she's right. Otherwise, she'll claw your eyes out," Lydia crossed her arms, daring Isaac to challenge her. He stayed quiet though, and she loosened up her stance. "I have to go, have fun, don't get killed."

Isaac was never that great at social cues, but he really liked you, and that was enough. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling taking pit in his stomach, he skipped out on school to go get the necessary things Lydia listed. Starting off with a butterbeer chai, a concoction you created (two pumps caramel, two pumps toffee, caramel drizzle, and chai); going to CVS for a heating pad and a blanket; then finally the bookstore down the street where he found a book you wanted (after searching through his phone for fifteen minutes trying to find the text where you mentioned wanting a new release). By the time he had finished his grand adventure, school was out and he would be able to surprise you.

You were having a crappy day with a side of more absolute garbage, so you were very pleasantly surprised when your golden hair boyfriend comes bounding up the street as you exit the school building.

"Woah, where's the fire?" you chuckle. You finally take notice of the bags he's carrying, as well as the drink.

"These are for you," Isaac stutters, passing you the drink. You peer in the bag and can't hide the grin on your face as you take in the plethora of supplies he got. "I know you weren't doing well, and I felt bad, so I got some stuff."

"Isaac, you are the sweetest puppy of a boyfriend a girl could ask for," you smile, wanting nothing more than to pick him up and twirl him around (he is too tall, you are too small). "How did you know what to get?"

"I asked Lydia," he mumbles, staring at his feet. You fight back a chuckle.

"Probably the smartest thing you could've done."

"That was my thought process as well," he chimes, scratching the back of his neck and shooting you a grin. You lean up, kissing him on the corner of his mouth and looping his arm through yours.

"C'mon, lets go hide from the cold together and I'll bitch to you about life," you chime, the cold dusting yours and Isaac's cheeks in shades of pink.

"Sounds perfect, just like you," Isaac smiles, kissing the top of your head as you walk off back home.

[everlastingdreams]

Isaac Lahey x Reader : Theft Of The Heart

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: You are new at the Beacon Hills High school and catch the attention of a certain lacrosse player. Being too shy to interact properly leads to awkward situations.

Notes: This was in my WIPs for so long omg.

Word count of this fic: 2.6K words. One-shot.

Warnings: None. It’s funny (I hope)  fluff.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was the first day at a new school after having moved to Beacon Hills with your family two weeks ago.

After one week, you were already hired at a small local grocery store.

Today was the start of a new direction in life and it was nerve wracking.

Making friends at a new school was never easy, but at Beacon Hill’s High you were rather quickly approached by Lydia who was now sitting next to you on the tribunes watching the lacrosse game.

You didn’t know who to cheer for, only knew to cheer for the ones wearing Beacon Hills uniforms.

Lydia did try to point at some players and name them, saying they were friends of her.

But they ran across the field constantly, so you barely had a chance to really spot them. You had to strain your eyes to be able to follow the game.

She on the other hand seemed to focus all her attention on player twenty-four.

You just tried to keep your eyes on who had the ball in their possession.

Player fourteen was running towards the opponent’s goal.

“Lydia, I think that one is going to score.” You nudged her arm and she snapped her attention to the player running at the goal.

Isaac had the ball and was running towards the goal of the opponents, his team mates where giving him cover. He was sure of victory, that was until he saw a new face sitting on the tribunes watching the game.

A pretty face…

It was too late to avoid the collision with a player from the other team and he ended up taking a fall.

The ball and victory was lost.

Scott hurried over to his fallen friend.

“What are you doing?! Did you fall asleep or something?” Scott helped him up from the ground.

Isaac mumbled the excuse “I tripped.”

“You alright?” Scott scanned him for injuries.

“Yeah…” Isaac nodded, attention continuously darting to the tribunes.

Scott snapped his fingers in front of his face “Hey, heads up. Keep your mind on the game.”

Isaac pulled his eyes away from the tribunes and tried to focus on what his friend was telling him “Got it.”

Scott patted him on the shoulder “Alright, cover me.”

                                                            ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  At lunch, Scott noticed the way his friend’s attention kept being pulled to you sitting at a table with some of the other new students.

He nudged his elbow with his own, Isaac looked a little startled at Scott.

“What?” Isaac asked him a little agitated that he was pulled out of his daydreaming.

Scott just gave him a knowing look, trying his hardest not to laugh even just a little at Isaac’s reaction.

“She’s new.” Scott opened the door to the conversation.

Isaac cleared his throat, suddenly trying very hard not to look in your direction again “Who’s new?”

Scott snorted, shaking his head as he deadpanned “The girl that cost us a point in the game.”

Isaac frowned at him before he realized what Scott was really trying to say “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You’ve been staring at her since the second you saw her sitting in the tribunes with Lydia. Don’t even try to deny it.” Scott chuckled at his friend’s desperate attempt to hide the instant interest Isaac had for you.

“I’m not staring at her.” He bit the words at Scott and looked around him to see if no one was listening in on their conversation “..I thought I recognized her from somewhere. That’s all.”

“Yeah. You recognized her from when you let the other team knock you to the ground because you were too focused on her instead of the game.” Scott could tell with ease that Isaac was trying to bullshit his way out of this.

Isaac finally snapped “Okay, fine! Maybe I was looking at her, so what?”

“Go talk to her.” Scott said as if it was that simple.

Isaac lowered his voice “What?! No way.”

Now that Scott had him confessing, he wasn’t going to let it go so quickly “Why not?”

Isaac spoke fast, anxiety laced in his voice “Because I don’t know her. I don’t even know her name, what would I even say?”

“Ask for her name.” Scott said casually.

Isaac scoffed and turned away from him “You’re no help.”

“Chicken.” Scott muttered quietly, knowing damn well that Isaac could still pick up on it.

Isaac was about to reply when he saw you stand up from your seat at the table and walk in their direction. He felt himself freeze up completely, Scott’s eyes darted between you and Isaac as you walked past their table while chatting with one of the other new girls.

It was then that Scott failed to hold his quiet laughter at seeing Isaac look at you like a deer in headlights.

His poor friend seemed so rattled by your presence at the school that it made Isaac fall completely silent the closer you got to him.

A little help would be needed.

                                                                ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  The days flew by, it was weekend before you knew it.

The place you worked at in the weekends was a small but busy shop. The work that had to be done everyday surpassed the staff that was available. In other words, you spend your time constantly hurrying from one chore to the other.

You were stocking the shelves while keeping an eye on the checkout area.

You often were so concentrated that you kind of zoned out sometimes, it was why you had failed to see him approach you.

“Hi…” His voice pulled you out of your concentration.

You turned and your eyes met with a pair of blue ones. You fumbled with the box containing a piece of soap as you were faced with someone you had seen around school before but had never talked to.

You knew he was handsome, but having him stand so close to you made you realize how truly good looking he actually was.

The tall, curly haired, blue eyed boy. The sight of him was enough for you to develop a small crush.

“Hi…” You greeted him after composing yourself, he was still a customer “Can I help you?”

He nodded, appearing a little nervous “Uh yeah, I’m looking for the…the uh…”

Another guy approached, one who’s name you thought was Scott, if you had heard Lydia right…

Scott looked at his struggling friend deciding to end this struggle “He’s looking for the feminine hygiene section.”

“Oh.” You believed it was why he had looked so nervous “Please, follow me. I’ll show you where it is.”

They both walked at a distance behind you and you were unaware of how Scott smacked a hand against Isaac’s shoulder and gestured in your direction.

Isaac quickly looked in your direction hoping you hadn’t noticed it before he glared at his friend.

“Here it is.” You stopped in front of the shelves filled with the many products “Anything else I can help you with?”

You were already starting to turn away, ready to go back to the work you were doing.

Scott saw Isaac struggle to find a good excuse to make you stay around them a little longer.

“Uhm… I uh…” He stammered again.

You waited patiently for him to form a sentence.

Scott sighed before speaking up again “Could you help us find the tampons?”

Isaac’s eyes snapped to Scott, why couldn’t he ask you to help him find anything else in this store?

He never should have mentioned to Scott that he thought you were pretty. But then again, Scott had probably noticed days ago when he caught him staring at you on the field. It was why he had collided with a player from the opposite team.

“It’s for a friend.” Isaac cleared his throat, not daring to look you in the eye.

“Sweet of you to come and buy it for them.” You send him a smile.

At that his eyes found yours, even though he felt very embarrassed, seeing your smile made him less self-conscious about all of this.

                                                               ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  “The women’s hygiene section?!?” Isaac snapped at Scott the second he walked out the store.

Scott snorted at his reaction “What? Girls like a guy who is comfortable buying that sort of stuff.”

“Thanks a lot.” Isaac huffed.

Scott shrugged his shoulders, a quiet laugh escaped “Not my fault you failed to think of a better excuse to talk to her. Besides, she said it was sweet.”

It got on Isaac’s already delicate nerves “Yeah, well, now she’ll think this ‘friend’ is someone I’m dating. Ever think of that?”

Scott waved it away “You know what? Now that you know where she works, you can talk to her yourself. Just think of some question about a product and go ask her for help.”

He wasn’t sure of the plan “She’ll think I’m stalking her.”

Scott saw right through all the excuses of his shy friend “Isaac… it’s a shop. People go in there and ask questions every day. You’re not the only one, okay?”

                                                               ∘°∘♡∘°∘

  On Sunday, you were sticking security stickers on the more expensive items in the store. Everything over nine dollars needed one to prevent it from being stolen.

The door of the store opened and in walked the handsome boy you had barely been able to talk to yesterday. Maybe you could at least find out his name today.

With one of the make-up mirrors up for sale, you quickly inspected your appearance before placing it back.

You were in the corner where the make-up was and saw him walk in your direction, stop and then walk the other way.

Oh…

Was he too shy? Or just not interested?

With the roll of security stickers in your hand, a plan formed.

You took one sticker off the roll and waited until he was looking at something. When he was looking at cereals, you walked past him and stuck the sticker to the elbow of his sleeve without stopping.

A customer was waiting at the register and it was the perfect excuse to have walked past him.

You rang up their items and helped the old lady put them in her bag, then handed it to her “Here you go, thank you and have a nice day.”

The lady gave a broad smile and left with her groceries.

Before you could leave the register, the handsome boy walked up and placed a single box of cereals on the counter.

“Good morning.” You made an effort to give him your sweetest smile.

He blinked a few times before finding his voice “Uh…good morning.”

That shy smile of his was adorable…

You accidentally knocked over the box and he reached for it at the same time as you.

His hand landed on yours, you froze, he froze…

With a nervous laugh, you broke the awkward tension and he quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry, I’m clumsy.” You apologized and rang up the box of cereals.

“It’s fine. So, am I.” He said.

You had grown quite nervous and felt yourself withdraw in your shell of shyness “That will be three dollars, please.”

He pulled some coins from his pockets and put them on the counter for you to count.

After counting them, you picked the change up and offered it to him “Your change.”

“Ah, nah. Uhm, you can keep it.” He was nearly caught staring a you.

“You sure?” You asked.

He gave a nod “Yeah.”

You smiled at him, appreciating the kind gesture “Thanks. I hope you have a good day.”

Poor Isaac was trying to think of something to say and when that didn’t work, he replied “Thanks. You too.”

There you stood, watching him head for the door, the boy who’s name you still didn’t know…

And then, the alarm of the store went off.

Oh, gosh…

You had almost forgotten about the security sticker and hurried over to him.

He looked ridiculously nervous and you felt a pang of guilt.

Even when he was sure he had not stolen a thing, Isaac began to search his pockets “Ah, crap…”

Oh, no…

“Oh! Wait… hold on for a sec…” You quickly pulled the tag from his sleeve, holding it up for him to see.

Realization dawned on him “That’s what set the alarm off? I don’t know how it got on me…”

You smiled like a sinner in church “Oh…it happens all the time here.”

He quirked a brow at you “Oh. Weird.”

“Anyway… sorry for bothering you. I hope I’ll see you in the store again and that this didn’t scare you off.” You stammered nervously.

He nodded quickly, a shy smile growing on his face “Yeah. Don’t worry, you’ll see me again.”

You nodded nervously, feeling like a fool for doing all this.

“I’m Isaac.” He suddenly blurted out and held out his hand.

You blinked twice before you took his hand in yours and shook it “Y/n.”

He looked almost flustered now “Nice to meet you. I wanted to get a chance to talk to you but I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

Did he think that you believed he would stick a security sticker on himself to get your attention? This was getting more and more ridiculous.

“I uh…” You stammered.

“Sorry if this is weird or something, I just-” He sounded so timid and sweet.

“I stuck the sticker on you.” You finally confessed.

Isaac frowned for a second “Why would you-… oh.”

A smirk spread across his face “So instead of trying a pick up line, you try to frame me for theft?”

“No! No, of course not I was just shy and stupid and -” You covered your face with your hands in shame.

He chuckled at your reaction “Don’t worry. It worked.”

What?

WHAT?!?

You couldn’t believe your shenanigans had actually worked on him.

The relief you felt was instant and you hoped to break the ice completely “But if you want a cheesy pick up line…we are supposed to tag everything above nine dollars. So I guess that means you’re a ten.”

His mouth was a little agape now and he chuckled “That uh… that’s not bad.”

You hummed in agreement.

Isaac scrambled all his courage together “Now that we’re on the topic of numbers… what’s yours?”

Your smile could not have been broader, you couldn’t believe that someone as cute as him would ask for your number.

Then you quickly looked around you for a piece of paper and a pen “Hang on… I’ll write it down for you.”

Isaac realized you were looking for something to write your number down on. He quickly took his phone from his pocket.

“Here. You can put it in my phone…if you want?” He clumsily handed you his phone, almost dropping it twice.

You gladly took the phone from him and added your number to his contact list, then handed him back the phone “Here you go.”

It was as if he couldn’t believe you had actually given him your number “Thanks…I’ll call you soon.”

You truly hoped he was being honest and that he would actually call you.

The both of you were suddenly interrupted when your boss asked you why you weren’t busy doing your job at the moment.

So you said a quick goodbye to Isaac and got back to work.

You were waiting for the familiar ringtone all day, waiting for his call.

Only at ten that evening did Isaac find enough courage to call and ask you out.

And of course, you said yes.

  Tags: 

@rachlovesactors​

I lost my Isaac taglist ;_;

[hrtbrkwthrs]

Page 289

Isaac Lahey x fem!reader (she/her)

Summary: Allison's cousin doesn't trust easily, but maybe if she lets herself be vulnerable just this once, she could find that some things are worth the risk.

Notes: she/her pronouns, 1 use of y/n, no description of reader. reader is kate argent's daughter, but she doesn't have to resemble kate since she could be adopted, take more after her (unnamed) father, etc. please let me know if you want a part 2!!! Trigger Warnings: slightly traumatic backstory lol (about the same as allison's tbh), reader gets hurt, cuts/blood mentioned

being taught how to wield chinese dagger knives was never really on your to-do list. but when you moved in with your cousin allison, you picked up a few things... to say the least.

it's been two years since your mother died. two years since the pyromaniac, werewolf-killer kate argent was killed in an act of revenge from burning a house to the ground. one filled with innocent lives, supernatural or otherwise.

you always knew your mother was a psycho. it didn't come as a surprise when you heard she passed at the hands of a werewolf she burned nearly to ashes. it was about time for her past to bite her in the ass. she taught you how to use a bow just like your cousin, allison. how to hunt the lives of werewolves, innocent or not. she taught you how to be an argent. and you hated it.

the teachings came with a price. one that, if you were being honest, you weren't really sure she cared about. that price was losing you. as new information came to light, the more you caught on. the more you saw her for who she really was. the more you saw your family for who they really are. and you wanted no part in it. she always knew you were smarter than most.

so kate decided that the risk was worth it, if it meant living on the family name. when she died, you were almost happy to be rid of someone as psychopathic as she. but when you were forced to move in with other family, your uncle chris and aunt victoria, you weren't sure which to be more afraid of. or, at least you would be afraid if you weren't already used to living with a killer.

your aunt victoria and your grandpa gerard both made your life a living hell for the next while, up until victoria died and gerard was put away. they knew you were smart enough not to play their little games. if it wasn't for allison and chris, you'd have been chained to the wall and fed like an animal every day for the rest of your life.

needless to say, you weren't too trusting when it came to your family, and damn sure not when it came to anybody else. allison was the first to gain your trust. it took almost a year for you to finally open up to allison, and she was excited to finally introduced you to all of her friends. or should i say, all of your friends. because it didn't take long for them to take you in as family right alongside allison.

sooner or later, you finally caved and gave your uncle chris a chance. the more you began to open up to him, you realized quickly that he wasn't like your mother or even your aunt victoria. in fact, you've come to like your life in beacon hills, even if it meant battling a giant lizard or a demonic history teacher.

currently, you stood in the woods alongside allison, scott, and isaac – the latter two who were off talking werewolf or some other thing. allison circled the ring of the chinese dagger knife on her finger before grasping the edge with her palm, blade out and ready to cut.

you watched her movements as she performed various tricks with the knife, and tried your best to mimic them.

"you're pretty good at this. you catch on fast," she smiled, nodding in approval.

she tilted her head towards the two boys, "think you're ready to fight one of those two losers?"

you smiled in return. "my pick on isaac," you laughed as she called the boys over.

"is she ready?" scott smiled excitedly, purely just from how proud he was of you. he was almost like a brother, and you were grateful for a friend so supportive.

you and allison both nod. "she wants isaac," allison grinned, looking between the two boys.

isaac, wide-eyed and mouth hung open, nodded slowly. "uh huh... well, c'mon then," he said before backing up, taking off his jacket and tossing it to the side.

you followed suit, positioning yourself in front of isaac with your knifes out and ready to fight. you circled the two ringed knives around each pointer finger before grasping them with fists just loose enough to allow you to swing.

"bring the heat, argent" isaac whispered with a grin.

allison raised her hand in the air, "aaaand... go!" she called out.

isaac wasn't going to fight back, and he'd be careful not to hurt you... but he was going to use his supernatural reflexes to dodge any hit possible.

you swung your first knife at him, faster than you expected. miss. he dodged it quickly, effortlessly.

you swung the other knife, circling the ring around your fingertip as you swiped. the feeling of warm blood splattering across your hand told you that you struck him.

"i let you have that one."

"yeah right," you giggled.

as you stared at the blood on your hand, you cringed. isaac picked up on it quickly, "don't worry. you wont hurt me."

as you practiced your sparring with isaac, scott and allison found their way to the side, watching the two of you. allison called out any time you needed to improve a position or a swipe, and scott crossed his arms with a smile.

"how long before these two just admit it?" scott said.

"oh, i wouldn't count on y/n confessing anytime soon. she swore off love forever when she found out her mom lied about her dad dying. then again when he actually died."

"yeesh," scott didn't know how to reply.

allison looked back to you and isaac. she smiled. "i haven't seen them this happy since that metallica concert dad and i took them to back in middle school."

back on the other side of the field, you stood your ground, ready to continue the practice despite the multiple slashes across isaac's abdomen. the sliced-up shirt was definitely not salvageable.

"hey, do you... maybe wanna go to danny's party with me tonight?" isaac stopped, asking you sheepishly as he tried to hide that he'd overheard allison's words with his keen, heightened senses.

you stopped, looking up, into his eyes. after the initial shock, you smiled. "really?" you asked as if you expected him to be playing some sort of prank. not that he ever would.

"really." isaac replied, a slight smirk across his face as he locked eyes with you.

your smile faded, purely from the trance you found yourself in when looking into his eyes. his icy blue stare swirling around in your mind like a lake.

isaac used the opportunity to blindside you, snatching the blade from your hand and holding your wrist in place. he tossed the knife to the side and smirked at you.

you scoffed through a sarcastic smile. "isaac lahey... i never saw you as a cheater," you teased. your breath caught in your throat when you realized how close he now stood in front of you.

"there's a lot of things you don't know about me," he said with a sly smile.

your guard went up quickly as you took in the small distance between the two fo you. "uh, yeah," were the next words to leave your mouth hesitantly. you pulled your wrists away from isaac's grip, taking a step back to give yourself some space to calm yourself as you tugged at the sleeves of your leather jacket.

at the sudden awkward tension, "we should get going, then," isaac cleared his throat.

ignoring the mildly uncomfortable vibes that rose from isaac's invitation, you walked beside him as the four of you started the hike back out of the woods.

"i didn't hurt you too bad today, did i?" you asked with a small smile, knowing the answer already.

isaac looked over at you, amused. "why, were you trying to?" he smirked.

rolling your eyes, you lightly hit his shoulder in a playful manner. "and why would i ever do that?" you ask, feigning offense.

"oh, i'm just making sure you're not trying to break my little werewolf heart," his palm lands against his chest right where his heart sits underneath, pouting.

you smiled at him, but when your eyes focused back on the trail ahead, you found yourself holding back a frown.

you closed yourself off the minute your father broke your heart by faking his death to go and have another daughter in replacement of you. you closed yourself off the year you started to realize that your mother was a killer.

it took too long for you to let your new friends in. allison isn't even sure if you really have let any of them in at this point. maybe this was your chance. dip your toes in the water, try something new. what's the worst that could happen?

as you arrived back at the apartment with allison, your mind was reeling with anxious thoughts. typically, your emotions didn't show. you were raised to hide them. but allison was raised the same way, and she knows you better than even your own mother ever did.

her hand wraps around your shoulder, gently holding you back. "hey, wait a sec... what's going on with you?"

you turn around to face her. you scoff, "can you just pretend to not see it? for once?"

your words came out harsher than you meant them, but an attempt to push away your feelings all the same.

"hey, i get it. i know what kate did to your head," allison started, but was quickly cut off.

"kate didn't get into my head, she destroyed it before i even had a chance." you snapped, firmly and with an angry frown.

allison threw her hands up in defense, "yeah, you're right. i'm sorry for pushing..." she muttered before brushing past you.

you take a second, sucking in a breath before turning around. "hey, allison, wait."

she stops, reluctantly turning back to face you, visibly frustrated with your stubbornness, but obviously sympathetic.

you sigh, "look, i'm sorry. i know i've been here a few years but i'm still new to all of this, okay? i don't do... feelings. or, at least i didn't used to. but i'm trying my best... i promise i am."

allison nods in understanding. "then what's wrong?"

you frown, shoulders slumping just a little. "isaac asked me to go to danny's party with him tonight..."

allison gasped, trying to hide the smile that crept onto her face. "oh, that's sweet! ...why is that upsetting?" she mumbles, confused.

"because, allison! i don't do this... i don't let people in. i've barely let you in, al. what if he just hurts me like everyone else i've let myself care about? what if... what if i fuck it all up...?"

she gives you a knowing look, one that tells you there's something you're forgetting.

"need i remind you, isaac's got his own set of issues. you two are equally as screwed up as each other." she tries teasing you a bit. it makes you smile.

"you couldn't ruin things with isaac if you tried," she continues. "he's totally into you... and honestly, i think isaac is the last boy in beacon hills that would break your heart... baby, there'll always be something that hurts. if you don't let yourself hurt, make mistakes, feel... you'll never get to experience the really good things that make all that hurt worth it. live a little. let yourself feel."

her words resonate, she always knew the right words to say. you give yourself a second to process them. you smile back, nodding, "thanks, allison."

"so what do you say?" allison grins, "can i help you pick out your outfit?"

you walk through the doors of derek's loft alongside isaac, who picked you up and everything — like a proper date. the party is in full swing, and you can already spot danny making out with ethan in the corner, scott and allison talking to the new girl whom you haven't gotten a name of yet, and aiden attempting to talk to lydia.

"looks like we're late," isaac said, looking over the crowd.

"fashionably late," you replied with a smug grin on your face, walking further into the loft and disappearing into the crowd of people. a smirk spread across isaac's face in return as he watched you walk by, and quickly found himself following close behind you as you sardined yourself in between dancing bodies painted with bioluminescent art.

when you stop amidst the crowd, isaac stops right behind you, leaning down so that his lips are right next to your ear. "should we get painted first?"

you turn around, your eyes fluttering over his face, his lips and up to his own eyes. you nod, "uh, yeah. probably... lead the way?"

isaac gladly takes your hand in his, pulling you through the crowd and over to the painting station. it was a bit outside the sea of people, and only moderately quieter.

"hey, uh..." isaac starts, getting your attention as you spin to look at him. "i'm glad you came with me." he smiles at you, that lopsided grin that he makes when he's being sassy... or when he's flirting. he's made that face to other girls in the halls. you've seen it. the smile makes your heart flutter a little.

you smile in return, only slightly before looking down at his lips, lingering for a moment before stepping away. you take off your shirt, leaving you in a bright purple bralette that illuminated underneath the black lights.

"you wanna keep talking or do you wanna paint my body?"

isaac looks over you, wide-eyed as he takes in the view. "uhh, i wanna paint your body..." he says, almost dumbfounded.

you grin, amused by his reaction. you hand him a paint brush and he gets to paining bright colors across your exposed skin. he paints flowers, adding dotted lines and waves all throughout the art. you used a fingertip to paint your lips a bright pink, and he finished up by adding another flower to your cheek.

"you're a pretty good artist, lahey," you complimented, looking into his eyes fondly.

he smiled in response, "thanks. picked up a few things in art class."

you chuckled, "you actually pay attention in class?" you teased lightly, and he laughed along.

the next few minutes were spent with you tracing a paint brush across isaac's skin. you painted a skeleton along his abs, colored bright blue. you accented his cheekbones with lines of a skull.

when you stepped back to admire your work, isaac took the time to admire you. as your eyes roamed over his body and back up to meet his gaze, he stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of you. his hand met your waist.

"you're beautiful," he said just loud enough that you could hear him over the music. thank god it was dark, or he might have noticed how your cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. he would have loved to see it.

soon enough, he pulled you back on to the dance floor and the two of you danced for what felt like hours, hands roaming across each other's bodies and only an inch of room between you. things were moving so quick, yet it was as if time had stopped, being here with him.

your fingertips traced along the back of his neck, up and through his curls. as his forhead came to rest against yours, he couldn't help but let out a soft groan when you tugged at his hair. it made you smile.

"everybody out!" suddenly, you were covering your ears as derek roared over the crowd. people scattered quickly, almost knocking others over to get out of the loft. you sighed, pulling away from isaac and already missing his touch as you wondered what derek was doing home. didn't ethan say he was on a trip or something?

after the party was gone, it was just you, allison, isaac, scott, stiles, — the new girl, kira — derek, and aiden standing around. derek started to talk, but you noticed the lack of two faces.

"where's ethan and lydia?"

as the question left your tongue, a group of oni materialized in the loft amidst your group. the werewolves turned, whereas you, allison, kira, and stiles stood back.

as a fight between the werewolves and the oni broke out, you pulled the two chinese ring daggers from each of your boots. allison and stiles both looked at you, almost surprised.

stiles and allison both called your name, neither thought that fighting supernatural creatures such as the oni with purely just daggers was a great idea.

you swiped the blades in the air as you aimed to hit the oni in front of you. you dodged every swing of it's katana, and realized that all you were doing is stalling them. you had no chance of winning this battle. not that you didn't realize it before, but in this moment, it felt a lot more real.

before you could swipe again, the oni wielded it's katana and swung it through the air, the tip of the blade slicing across your shoulder. you let out a scream of pain, and started to fall to the ground.

before you could get very far, the oni put it's hand on the side of your head, it's glowing yellow eyes bore into your soul and you were frozen. (literally and metaphorically i guess)

after a second, it's fingertip swiped along your skin, right behind your ear before the group of oni faded away in front of you. you fell to the ground, your body seizing. you had never felt so cold, and the wound across your shoulder blade singed.

it took seconds for the group to disperse, allison and isaac moving to you while stiles and derek went to find lydia, aiden and scott off to find ethan.

isaac knelt on the ground, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "she's freezing!"

allison grabbed her jacket from her bag and tossed it to isaac, who instantly wrapped the fabric around you.

your breaths came out ragged, and you looked up at isaac, trying to talk. "i-isaac-" you stumbled, but isaac shushed you.

"shh, it's alright," he whispered. that's when he noticed the slash across your shoulder. "shit! allison, she's hurt!"

allison knelt beside you, looking at the wound. "it's not too deep, but we need to get her to the hospital," she responded with a frown. she hid her feelings well, but her teary eyes said all they needed to say. isaac understood. the wound wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to worry.

as the rest of the group returned to the main area of the loft, lydia and ethan visibly shaken but okay, isaac stood up and wrapped his arms around you, picking you up bridal style. you leaned your head against his chest, still shaking from the cold, or maybe the pain.

"take her to my mom," scott said urgently as he looked over at stiles.

"i'll drive," stiles flipped his keys in his hand, "allison, you coming?"

of course she was. the four of you rushed out to stiles' jeep, isaac setting you in before taking his own seat.

somewhere amidst the chaos, you passed out, and all isaac could do was hold onto your hand and take away some of the pain. he had only just learned how, and he was glad for it.

you woke up to melissa mccall's face as she held pressure on your shoulder, the cut still bleeding. you screamed in pain, but isaac's hand never let go of yours. his touch gave you some bit of relief. tears pricked the corner of your eyes.

"someone get her an IV, we need morphine!" melissa called out, holding you down carefully. you tried your best to stay still as she worked at your wound, holding tightly onto isaac's hand. so tight, you thought you might actually break it. but you knew isaac wouldn't mind anyways. that thought helped ease you a little bit.

as another nurse pricked your skin, inserting an IV into your arm and filling you up with pain meds, it was easier for you to calm down as time went on and the pain began to subside.

melissa cleaned your wound, which was now bleeding at a significantly slower pace. "you're gonna need stitches, it's a pretty deep cut. but it's not too bad." she smiled at you as she grabbed the materials she needed to stitch you up.

"so she'll be alright?" allison stood up, asking melissa.

melissa nodded, "she'll be just fine."

allison felt as if she could finally let out a breath, one she didn't even realize she was holding in. isaac felt the same, as he actually letting out a deep sigh of relief.

as melissa stitched up your shoulder, isaac smiled at you, sitting next to your hospital bed. you smiled back, the morphine clearly working.

"how you feelin'?" isaac asked.

"gooood," you drew out the word, a dope-y smile on your face.

"i bet you do," he chuckled with his words as he watched you, and if you weren't knocked with pain killers, you'd see how much he adored you. with the way his eyes were taking in the sight of you, one might think he was in love.

allison watched between the two of you, and as melissa finished up the stitching, allison stood and excused herself with a small smile. suddenly, it was just you and him.

silence fell between the two of you for a moment before isaac dared to speak. "you know, that was really stupid."

you looked at him, almost shocked by his words. "okay now pipe down, superman," you quipped back with a smile.

"what, you didn't want me to carry you out of there?" isaac teased, "would you rather it have been stiles? scott? maybe even derek himself-" isaac continued, but you cut him off.

"isaac." you said his name, and he immediately stopped to look into your eyes. you gripped his hand as it was still wrapped around yours. "i'm glad that it was you."

isaac looked at you, a silly grin creeping onto his face. "i, uh..." he cleared his throat, "i'm glad it was me, too."

divider credits: @cafekitsune @k1ssyoursister tags: @fclsebnnyodair

[baezen]

a perilous place masterlist

ISAAC LAHEY X OFC PRINCESS!ALEXIA

JACK THE GIANT SLAYER!AU

summary: in which the once sought after magic beans that the Dread Doctors of Beaconia once crafted have found their way into the hands of an orphaned peasant boy who opens a gateway between the worlds. warnings: violence, revenge, treachery, gruesome deaths, word count: [tbd]

prompt: jack and the beanstalk + petrichor for @arcane-vagabond fairytale writing challenge

author's note: this is basically a rewrite of the jack the giant slayer movie don't come for me

coming soon | masterlist

other content:

moodboard

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Horizons to Battlegrounds Masterlist

Read it on Ao3 Here!

Summary; Out on the road a gravely injured Weeping Monk reflects on the events of the past day after betraying the church, defeating the Trinity Guard, and fleeing with a young Fey boy and unconscious Green Knight...

TWs; Major character injury, pain, religious guilt, battle, internal injury, broken bones

Wordcount; 3,902

POV; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

A gust of wind brought with it the promise of change.

Rising up across open moorlands the breeze carried scents of a season quickly turning, a cold Autumn drawing in as Summer began to rescind her fierce control of the land. She had not yet bowed to the golden leaves and crisp mornings that warned the land of Winter on its way, and so the air was mild and pleasant, quiet and calm. This peace was gradually interrupted by the slow and rhythmic clattering of hooves as two weary horses emerged from the swell of a hill to the west. They wandered steadily along the lonely gravel path that split the vast moors in two.

The leading horse was a large, muscular Stallion; He was black of coat and tall for his Courser breed- a good 15 hands- lightly armoured, with dark leather blinders intricately decorated and a matching worn saddle and blanket. On his back rode a disheveled, heavily bloodied rider, dressed all in black with a young boy at his lap. Both were quiet, as if afraid to further disrupt the tranquility of this late morning than their mere presence here did already.

The pair looked for all the world like they had been pulled through one of the heathland's colourful hedges of gorse and bramble five times backwards.

The young boy was bleary-eyed with a scrape and a bruise and a lightly blooded nose, his lip was split and puffy, and one of his eyes was bruising. The Rider, on the other hand... had they indeed been dragged through the hedges then his had definitely fought back, and with a great many thorns too by the looks of it.

Dried blood stained his face, bruising painted purple what visible skin wasn't just a little too pale to be considered healthy. His left arm was clamped to his side in some futile effort to stem bleeding, a widening stain of crimson steadily darkening the fabric of his battered black suede surcoat. His body seemed curled around this injury though it was far from the only one he had, and he used an evidently practiced effort to keep his oddly crimson-Ash-marked face stoic. The emotionless mask slipped all the same with a pained grimace at every other jolt of the Stallion's hooves.

From a lead rope tied over the Stallion's neck was secured the second horse. She was relatively young, though full grown, and like the Stallion, a Courser. A diminutive thing in comparison to him, though an arguably more reasonable example of her breed, she stood at around 13 hands with a lithe build. Her Chestnut coat shone with a healthy luster, that is, what parts of her that weren't stained dark with mud from the path and far too much blood that was not her own. She snorted irritably, tossing her long copper-brown mane at the joining rope that clipped to her simple bitless halter.

A plain saddle matched the worn brown leather of the straps, sat upon a red blanket that may or may not have been another colour before it was bled on profusely. Unlike the black Stallion she had no saddlebags, instead, she carried a far more precious cargo; for draped across her back was a Fey man. He was unconscious, beaten and broken, covered in another blanket which too was stained with blood, and he had been hog-tied to the saddle with rope. The Stallion's Rider cast a careful look over the limp body dangling over the saddle for at least the 50th time this hour alone. He silently noted the faint but sure rise and fall of The Green Knight's chest, allowing a rush of relief to tug at the edges of his mouth.

Still alive, then. Good. The Weeping Monk thought to himself, though his mind was hazy and sluggish from the pain of his many injuries. Again, he scanned a careful eye back over the path ahead as he had done repeatedly now, anxious to ensure there was no danger, feeling exposed here out on the path but without knowledge enough of these moors to risk straying from the road. What offered them steady travel also brought the risk of being caught, he knew. Yet after another several minutes of suspiciously glaring hedges into submission there was nothing of note but the rolling moorlands stretching wide across the horizon, and the only scents he could catch on the breeze were cool air and the unmistakable tang of his own blood.

The latter he probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to. Now that he had it seemed overwhelming, this thick coppery stench that began to combine with sweat and horse and God only knew what else to send his empty stomach roiling in complaint.

He coughed involuntarily, nearly retching at the smell. Immediately he regretted the movement as a sharp, stabbing sensation grated through his side with enough strength to blacken his vision momentarily and force him to hold his breath lest he scream. Bloody knuckles whitened around his horse's reins, gripping the leather like a drowning man clinging to driftwood floating at sea, and The Weeping Monk was all but overcome with the powerful resurgence of this all-encompassing, mind-numbing pain...

God help me…

It became inordinately difficult to even think as this blanket of fog descended on him. His body burned and ached, and though it had done so for hours this sharp pain caught him so off guard that it was all he could do not to voice the agony surging through him aloud, not a single wretched part of him spared its suffocating grasp. He couldn't mask the silent, pained snarl that twisted his expression as his Stallion once more jarred him on the uneven ground just as he began to regain his composure.

Silently, he took a shaky breath to calm himself.

Breathe. You're fine.

He almost wanted to laugh at the thought; Fine was surely a generous statement. Without having even checked yet, he guessed that he had at the very least several broken bones, a myriad of lacerations, more bruises than he could count, and there were several other places that just. Fucking. Ached. It made every stride a hellish torment regardless of if his trusty horse was surefooted or not.

You have endured worse than this before.

Indeed, The Weeping Monk knew well that he could tolerate this sort of treatment from far too much past experience in enduring terrible suffering. This particular example still tiptoed further and further over his resilience with an increasing severity as the hours slipped by.

And in truth, they had been riding for hours. The Monk had admittedly been barely conscious for much of the night during the ride, having been dragged awake by the Fey boy in front of him only when he nearly fell from his horse, which had been at least seven times too many, and those were only the instances that he could remember. (If you'd asked the boy he would have informed you that it was more like fifteen. At least.)

They'd stopped once just before dawn, otherwise having ridden constantly throughout the night and morning since fleeing The King's encampment until now. It had been only a momentary pause when they had stopped, he reflected, and a brief and unfulfilling respite at that.

The Weeping Monk probably would not have chosen to stop, himself, a stubborn determination that continued lending him the strength to carry on far beyond what he should have. Nay, it was the boy who had been the one to demand a rest so he could relieve himself, with a rather barbed threat to do so where he sat if The Weeping Monk refused. The Monk had reluctantly agreed, having very little desire to deal with either that particularly unappealing scenario, or the joys of a complaining child in general, for that matter…

When The Weeping Monk had gone to relieve himself in turn, his waters had been stained dark with blood and he had nearly collapsed from the stabbings of utterly crippling pain and nausea that had twisted brutally like a knife in his abdomen. He'd spent a good few minutes on his hands and knees, brow slicked with sweat, trying in near pathetic desperation not to vomit. It had taken him an inordinate amount of effort for him to regain his composure, energy he knew he really couldn't afford to spare, but he had in the end managed to succeed in not emptying his stomach of what little would even be left in it. He was quite acutely aware the action alone would have made him scream. Thankfully enough the Boy had given him privacy and had been busy sorting the horses a little ways out so hadn't noticed, and, if he had then seen the Monk's discomfort when he returned then he hadn't voiced it aloud. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all. The Monk had been equally silent in his gratefulness of it.

As he'd proceeded to check on the Knight, the Boy had watched him like a hawk with an aggressively suspicious look pinching his small features, but again made no comment.

They had been quick to return to the road afterwards.

The thought that the Boy was probably only so quiet from sheer exhaustion had stuck in his mind winding round and round like a nagging worm in his skull after this morning's stop, and so, despite his own fatigue and a fierce need to rest the Monk had encouraged the shattered Boy to do just that, taking over the reins in full without complaint. It had taken more willpower and focus than he liked to ignore every agony that flared within his body, keeping himself as awake and alert as he possibly could.

The Boy, meanwhile, had accepted with an almost dazed nod of his head. He had fallen asleep quickly, still without a word, and once asleep he'd snuggled into the Weeping Monk's side and clung to his surcoat like a limpet to a hull. It was both endearing and excruciating to him as the child unconsciously aggravated still bleeding wounds and broken bones, yet the Monk hadn't known how to react but to wordlessly allow it to happen.

Even now, reflecting on the memory as he was, his heart thrummed with a warm and soothing sensation The Weeping Monk just couldn't place.

The Monk had felt oddly compelled to wrap the Boy in his grey woolen cloak to keep him warm and when he'd still felt the child shiver in the cold dawn, he'd cradled him protectively in his right arm.

Never before had the feared Weeping Monk known a touch like this. It was one of comfort and trust and closeness, and so if he breathed through it and focused on the warmth of the child nestled against him, then the pain was just about bearable... Just. As time went on, though, breathing had become difficult. The pain had in fact been so severe, that with every breath he had taken, he'd begun to wheeze painfully.

When the Boy had woken he had anxiously muttered a few choice swear words and moved away as much as the limited saddle space would allow. He hadn't seemed to notice the blood that had stained into his clothing from leaning against the Monk's injured side, and the Monk, for his part, was momentarily relieved he could breathe a little easier. Strangely enough came the near immediate realisation that his touch-starved body seemed to mourn the loss of contact...

The Weeping Monk shook his head, trying to distract himself from this idea. No longer lost in his thoughts, the pain stabbing through him offered itself immediately for the role and it took great effort to keep it at bay. He could feel how his body shook with fatigue as this torment took its toll.

As if echoing the sentiment, the Boy yawned loudly in front of him. It had been an hour or so since the Boy had awoken--

--The Boy? Quite suddenly came the realisation that he had no idea what the child was even called. Or the Green Knight, for that matter. He knew he'd heard at least one of their actual names spoken before, in fact he was certain he should know the Knight's for sure, but what... what were they...?

A snippet of remembrance, yes, the young Fey warriors he'd used the Boy to bait back in the Iron Wood had called him something...

Josse? No... that was the one he'd killed. It began with an S... Seth? No... Serrel? Sorrel? For the life of him he couldn't remember what either one of these irritatingly elusive names actually was.

Why is it so fucking difficult to think?

"What was your name, Boy?" The Monk asked, daring to break the silence to speak his question. His low voice was hoarse and cracked, immediately betraying his poor condition aloud.

"Squirrel." Came the quick response. The Boy's voice was sullen but level and clear. He had thankfully escaped the sort of damage that had the Knight unconscious and himself suffering. The Monk paused at the answer, smiling lightly. He'd been close with Sorrel then, but just like his own monikers- The Weeping Monk, The One Who Cries, The Grey Warrior, Ashman - he recognised the false name.

"A Squirrel is an animal..." The Monk stated, pausing to take a breath, already, the speaking alone was draining him and he had to gather strength to continue "...What is the name you were given?"

"I don't like that name," Squirrel said, looking away almost petulantly. The Weeping Monk pondered this for a second. His brain was sluggish and slow, pain again dominating the majority of his thoughts, and Lord, it was difficult to even focus on what the Boy had said.

"Well... It's still your name..." He felt himself respond, leaving his words hanging in the air like an unspoken question though he didn't directly ask again. The agony lancing through him was swiftly sapping him of what little he had left.

"Fine..." Squirrel huffed, pulling a face. Even from behind the Monk noticed it. "...It's Percival."

"Percival..." The Monk echoed in a breath, allowing himself another smile. He may not like it, but it is a good name, he thought to himself. A good name, for a courageous young Fey.

"Do you… have a real name?" Squirrel asked, and The Weeping Monk took an anticipatory breath. He ignored the sharp stab of pain, the sensation in his injured side like he was actively being attacked again. He probably should have anticipated that question. Or perhaps he'd asked the Boy's name on purpose, subconsciously wanting the Boy to ask after his, he wasn't fully sure...

Unbidden, memories of his childhood- before the slaughter- came to him. He could not truly remember the face of his mother anymore, nor could he remember her voice, but he could remember his name and knew well enough that it was she who had given it to him. It was a name he sometimes whispered aloud when he was alone at night, a name that didn't feel like his own and hadn't for years, yet he still held onto like a secret, prized possession. A name he knew he must reclaim, for no matter what happened next, The Weeping Monk could surely not endure.

"Lancelot..." He finally said, inhaling again to gather his waning strength in the face of this quiet admission. "...A long time ago, my name was Lancelot."

A disconcerting feeling enveloped him when he spoke the name aloud, the oddest sense of... relief, perhaps? that mingled with a prickling unease. Yet at the same time, nothing had changed, nothing at all. All he truly knew was that it somehow felt...

Yes. It felt right to return to this name now.

The Boy, Squirrel, regarded him for a moment. He gave the slightest nod to acknowledge The Weeping Monk's "new" name, before he turned away without another word and studied the Knight and the horizon before them. Whatever Lancelot had been expecting in terms of a reaction he wasn't entirely sure that was it. Better than a worse reaction, he supposed, raising his eyebrows in his own silent acknowledgement.

And so they were quiet once more, both lost in the private solaces of their own minds. In truth Lancelot was too bone-weary to strike up any further conversation right now- not that he was particularly prone to that anyway.

It still took him far longer than he thought it should have to recognise that Squirrel was still being uncharacteristically quiet. It was quite unlike the last journey the pair had taken together in which Lancelot was fairly certain the child hadn't stopped talking for even five solid minutes. He remembered that he'd used Squirrel's utter inability to fucking Shut Up to his advantage by patrolling the boy through the forest, Squirrel playing his unwitting part as bait extraordinarily well. The barest hint of a smile edged the pained grimace upon his face as he recalled the boy spending an inordinate amount of the time talking on insulting him. Pretty damned inventively too, the Monk had to admit...

Ex-Monk now, he supposed. His tonsure seemed to prickle in response, and God, not for the first time he had an almost overwhelming desire to carve it from his head. Not that he physically could, he knew well enough that it was too deeply branded.

Pity...

Before his mind could wander down the specific circumstances of his unconsentual branding or the all too appealing idea of harming himself, he focused on the scents on the wind, on the scenery around them, on the pain of his injuries and keeping them navigated the right way. His Stallion, Goliath, would lead them well without his interference, but Goliath didn't quite have his ability to scent enemies or allies.

Not that you know which is which anymore... Lancelot shook his head against the thought. He didn't particularly want to face the reality of that situation either just yet.

Finding his pain still too overpowering when he focused on it, he distanced his body from his mind as best he could and forced himself to reflect on the events of the past day that had led them here instead.

Percival, Squirrel, whatever he wished to be called, had been uncharacteristically quiet back then, too, as The Weeping Monk had marched them both through Father's Carden's encampment. As they'd approached the horses the child had broken the uneasy silence to protest.

"No! Where are you taking me!"

Squirrel had begun struggling, standing so firm his small feet carved furrows into the ground against the Monk's firm grip; the latter had restored to dragging them both towards their freedom like cuffing a young animal.

"No! We have to go back! The Green Knight! We must save him!"

The Weeping Monk had found himself halting at the mention of the Green Knight. His mind flooded with the memory of those kind, empathetic eyes, of that fucking look the Knight had given him, a look that had been haunting him like a tenacious ghost since their… enlightening conversation in the torture tent…

"Where did they take him," The Monk remembered replying.

No, what are you doing? Flee, now, or they'll catch you!

He remembered too the voices in his mind, yet The Monk had ignored his internal warring then, just as he ignored it now.

"To Nimue! We have to-"

"...Nimue?"

"The Fey Queen!"

"The Wolf Blood Witch..."

He'd spoken it as barely a whisper, yet still Squirrel had pulled an indignant face at his use of her moniker.

For some Godforsaken reason that he could not explain, he'd found himself saying yes...

He'd tracked the Green Knight's bloodied scent all the way from the Red Paladin encampment to a lone tent in King Uther's, sneaking past the majority of soldiers, finding the way suspiciously clear and a rising tension that crackled through the air like thunder…

When he entered the tent he'd immediately been struck with a second familiar scent, that of the Fey girl who had evaded him for so long... The Wolf Blood Witch. This scent was young and mingled with Brothers he recognised, she'd clearly only left within the last few minutes, dragged out against her will by Red Paladins from the look of the scuff-marks on the floor. But his attention was pulled quickly from the innate desire to follow those tracks by the shape of a body, encased with living, writhing vines.

Blessed Mother Mary... What sorcery was this?

"Green Knight...?" The child had asked, small voice trembling with fear.

The Weeping Monk had knelt at the side of this strange cocoon. This was the Witch's doing, of that he had no doubt, but beneath the stench of magic he could indeed smell The Green Knight. The Monk had pulled a hand through the vines, a warm, soothing sensation dancing across his skin as he had, and unbidden against his will his skin had reacted, swirling with the colours of these vines whilst he revealed the man lying beneath. Squirrel hadn't noticed, too intent on pawing over the Knight, who's broad chest lay still. Too still.

Leaning back on his haunches, The Weeping Monk hid his hands in his lap and waited silently without much hope for the man to breathe. He would allow the boy a short moment to grieve before fleeing this place.

"Wake up, Sir! Please, please wake up..."

And just as The Monk moved to step forwards and drag the boy from his fallen leader, The Green Knight’s emerald eyes had flown open as he gasped a breath...

A pain as sharp as a stab from a blade cut through these ruminations, throwing his shattered body, mind, soul down down down into the darkest depths of these recent memories.

...Blows rained down upon The Weeping Monk, adrenaline seeping from him as crimson splattered across the floor and he was driven to his knees. Golden death-masks leered in his face, a strike to the side of his head sent the whole world spinning and he lurched from it, gasping, before a second strike to his jaw snapped his head back painfully. He felt rather than saw his own blood spray forth, warm and wet where it oozed down his face and neck as he sunk limply to the floor, this broken toy that coughed and wheezed from the agony in his side and back, spitting out the hot blood that collected in his mouth before he choked...

...The rest of the battle faded into a haze of pain, the moment that he waited to die... The moment he forced his broken body upright, to save the Boy who had shown him why he must carry on... The moment he raised his sword to a cowed Abbot Wicklow- a deadly promise that he intended to keep...

The moorlands before him loomed into his darkening vision. Horizons turned into battlegrounds, the terrible clash of war painted the skies and fields around them in rivers of crimson, the stench of blood flooded Lancelot's senses. He watched Goliath's hooves splash into these waves steadily rising, felt them lapping at his feet, thighs, chest, he breathed it into his lungs, drowning now, choking, helpless to do a thing but watch this vision fading to an engulfing sea of red...

Taglist; @holy3cake @violetastrid @gwalch-mei @beginning-writer

Just ask to be added or removed from the taglist!

Chapter 1 done! Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed this :) Chapter 2 coming soon, I won't be updating incredibly regularly but I am on the final edits for Chapter's 1-4. Edit; Chapter 4 deleted itself and my life went mental but I promise these are in progress!

I will link to Chapter 2 here when it is posted, but for now, here's a [sneak peek]!

[usermiczyeis]

At the request of fans, Jeff Davis decides to make a one-season series for the character Stiles Stilinski.

The series takes place in an FBI agency, where Stiles solves "normal" but also supernatural cases. the series also features characters such as Isaac, Theo and Kira, fans were surprised by Kira's appearance, Jeff apologized for the racism she suffered.

The series ends up being very successful due to the scenes with Stiles and Theo, the sexual tension between the characters ended up being multiplied many times more than it was in the series.

So much so that the entire cast shipped them both, even Jeff, but no one shipped them more than Cody and Dylan.

Stheo's fans went crazy, especially since the last episode ended up having a kiss between them. but in addition to the romance between Theo and Stiles, a romance also developed between Dylan and Cody.

[ragerageatn]

My fic is anyone wants to give it a read — I’m planning on posting ch.3 today and keeping a posting schedule of Friday nights 🩷

[escapist-of-fiction]

Title - Old habits die hard

One shot - Troy Otto x Fem Reader

Warning - alcohol use, mild language and some hot and heavy foreplay.

Disclaimer - I borrowed some of the characters of FTWD but that's all.

Author's note - I honestly loved writing this. Heavily influenced by the Chris Stapleton song that's included throughout. If you read, feedback is most welcome. Reblog if you think someone else might enjoy 😉

~ E

I know it ain't all that late

But you should probably leave

And I recognize that look in your eyes

Yeah, you should probably leave

-------

"A storm's coming," Nick murmured, his eyes lifting to the sky, squinting under a furrowed brow. No one disagreed with him. The air felt thick and the sky had turned a hazy, pale orange with streaks of dark pink running through it. Uncrossing his legs that were rested on the table, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn. "I better go. I'm on the night shift at the gate."

"We're going to make tracks too," Alicia said, "I promised I'd help with prep the breakfast in the morning now the large group have arrived." She looked over at me as I remained in my seat, "are you coming Y/N?"

I shook my head, "not yet, I will soon. Promise." Alicia hovered on the steps of the veranda hesitantly, trying to read my expression but failed. She allowed herself to be ushered on her way by Jake, his hand laced securely with hers as she looked back at me curiously.

I watched everyone leave and stared up at the night sky, lost in my thoughts.

I knew why Alicia was reluctant to leave me behind. I had no reason to stay. Troy and I had broken up a month ago, albeit for the second time after a brief reconciliation. Ordinarily I would have followed everyone else. We'd been on a supply run earlier, the five of us, and had habitually decompressed over a few beers and some food after at Troy's.

Except now I couldn't leave without speaking with Troy alone, I had a bone to pick with him.

I heard the familiar thud of his boots on the wooden floorboards of the porch behind me and slowly turned around to face him. Troy looked around at the vacant chairs and seem mildly surprised that I was still there.

"How come you haven't left with the others?"

"Because I wanted a word." I said curtly. "I need to set something straight with you."

"Okay..." Troy looked at me in question, he crossed his arms over his chest defensively and waited for me to speak.

"On the supply run today, when we were killing that herd...I was fine, you know. I didn't need you to get involved. You can't just step in and save me all the time."

Troy's mouth twitched ever so slightly as he realised what I was referring to. He shrugged,

"Y/N, when we go on a run, we have each other's backs. We do it for anyone out there. That's just the way it goes. It's what the Militia do."

I rubbed my forehead in frustration,

"You know that's not what I mean, Troy. When we're out there, you need to let me be me. I can fight my own battles. I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not yours to protect anymore." I huffed and turned my back to him to face the fields as I leaned over the side of the porch.

Troy's shadow loomed over me in the moonlight as he came to stand beside me,

"Fine. I promise that in future I will not have your back, nor will I be your second pair of eyes on a run or help you out. In future, I will just let you get bitten and count down to the minute until the moment I watch you turn."

I turned to scowl at him,

"You're an infuriating bastard, do you know that?"

Troy smirked, "you're not the first person to tell me that and you won't be the last." He held up a bottle of red wine, "drink with me?"

I shook my head,

"I should probably leave."

-------

There's still time for you to finish your wine

Then you should probably leave

And it's hard to resist, alright, just one kiss

Then you should probably leave

-------

"One swig won't hurt." Troy insisted as he twisted and pulled at the cork, with a 'pop.' "peace offering?" He said, waving the bottle under my nose.

I sighed and took it from him, helping myself to a generous sip. The red liquid tasted sweet and nutty. Clearly not the dregs of the apocolyptic world. I handed the bottle back to Troy with a questionable look on my face.

Troy glugged back the wine with a satisfied "ahhh" before answering me. "It's one of the old man's bottles. I found it behind his whiskey stash. He'd obviously hidden it for a rainy day."

I swiped the bottle back from Troy and drank a generous portion again before raising the bottle to the skies,

"Cheers to pilfering old Jeremiah's alcohol. His loss is our gain!" My wicked laugh echoed in the darkness.

I hadn't eaten a lot earlier on so I could feel the wine was going straight to my head.

This wasn't going to plan at all...

It all suddenly seemed too easy again. Standing together, laughing, sharing stories about everyone on the ranch. I had forgotten this feeling when I was around Troy. This is when it felt right. So why had it stopped?

With every sip of wine, my reasons for being mad at Troy and his stupid decisions seemed to peel away and disintegrate, as if they had never been there at all. I was losing myself in a comforting blanket of red wine and Troy's company. It was a downward spiral.

As Troy drained the last of the bottle, he peered down its glass neck to double check the contents was truly gone and sighed, before placing it back onto the table.

He came to stand next to you and looked over at Jake's house that he shared with Alicia. You noticed their porch light was still on - she must have been waiting up for you to pass. A similar thing must have run through Troy's mind as well.

"She won't be happy that you're still here, you know." He said it with a gentle nudge of his shoulder into mine. I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"She's not my keeper."

Troy's look said it all, I scoffed and changed tact,

"She just cares about me and doesn't want me getting hurt..." again, I added silently.

Without realising, our bodies had gravitated toward each other, I could see his fingers twitch, wanting to reach for my hand but he decided against it last minute.

Troy lowered his voice as if the world were listening and he didn't want them to hear,

"I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that. I care about you too much. Its why I do what I do when I'm out there..."

I bit my lip. It was so easy for him to say those words and for me to fall right back into his trap. They weren't lies. He did care about me and he didn't hurt me but it was everything else - the stupid decisions he made (without thinking them through) with a gun in his hand, the experiments, let's not even mention the obsession with his notebook...

I turned to step away from him but in one sly movement, he had closed the gap between us, his legs either side of mine, a hand on my waist holding me in place.

"I need to go... " I murmured, already fighting the magnetic pull that was drawing me closer to Troy, like a moth to a flame.

I didn't feel trapped . Right now I wanted this.

I wanted him.

"Troy, what are you doing?" I whispered. His hand reached for my cheek, his fingers grazing my skin and my eyes fluttered closed, succumbing to his every touch.

I felt the stubble of his chin graze my cheek briefly as he spoke,

"This is me saying goodnight," He said, and I gasped quietly as his lips connected with mine.

-------

Like a devil on my shoulder you keep whisperin' in my ear

And it's gettin' kinda hard for me to do the right thing here

I wanna do the right thing, baby

------

I should have stopped him right there and then, I should have turned and walked away but when your heart says one thing and your brain says the other?

You go with the burning desire that is rushing through your veins and making your head spin.

My hands moved up to grasp the collar of his jacket and I pulled Troy down to my height, eager to increase contact with him and deepen our kiss.

I grazed my teeth across his bottom lip teasingly, emitting a growl from deep within his throat and I smiled, knowing I'd hit his sweet spot. I knew him too well.

Everything about this felt familiar and delicious - the warmth of his hands as they found their way under my shirt, the circles he danced across my torso, the impatient tugging at the waistline of my pants.

I shook my head, "not out here.." I mumbled against his lips. I felt Troy's lips curl into a devilish smile before moving to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my chest. Ignoring my request.

Insistently, I tugged on the bottom of his jacket, pulling him in the direction of the front door, hoping he'd get the message.

With a little laugh, he followed but known for his impatient streak, decided to speed up the process by picking me up. Without skipping a beat, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms wound around his neck. I pulled back to look at him under the porch light as we passed through the doorway,

"This is such a mistake." I declared, almost groaning. Troy chuckled,

"No time for regrets. Hate me in the morning, darling."

------

Sun on your skin, 6 AM

And I been watchin' you sleep

And honey, I'm so afraid you're gonna wake up and say

That you should probably leave

Oh, you should probably leave

------

I woke up with a start.

I knew that I wasn't in my own bed but it certainly felt familiar to me. As I opened my eyes, I glanced around the room and found Troy sat in his favourite spot, his bay window, notebook in hand whilst he scribbled down in it furiously.

My hand went to my head, I could feel the beginning of a hangover rumbling.

"We did it again, didn't we?" I knew the answer. I didn't need him to confirm it.

Troy smirked, obviously enjoying as I squirmed in embarrassment, he placed his notebook down on the table next to him,

"Actually if you want to be really accurate, we did it again... three times."

I groaned inwardly, having no patience for his humour then threw a pillow in his direction, which he expertly dodged. I then began to move around the room, collecting the discarded clothing from the previous night and dressing myself in haste.

"Why are you in such a rush? I can make us some breakfast before you go..?"

I froze and looked at him incredulously.

"This," I began, pointing at both of us, "is not a thing. This was a mistake, a huge one at that."

Now fully dressed, I walked toward the door to open it but in three long strides, Troy had reached it as well and infuriatingly placed his foot in the doorway to stop me in my tracks.

I stared up at him, eyes wide in rage,

"You can't keep me here under duress, Troy. I'm not one of your prisoners. Let me pass."

"I will... if you answer me one question first."

I folded my arms in a huff and looked at him questioningly.

"Admit you enjoyed yourself last night."

I opened my mouth to give him a seething response but closed it again, he knew it would be a lie.

Of course I had enjoyed last night.

But this was the dance we did, Troy and I. We fought, we made up, we would do the same over and over. We were each other's addiction and no matter how much I fought it, I would always keep going back to him.

My silence spoke volumes.

Troy dared to reach out and push a strand of my hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

This was the Troy I fell for, the one that no one else saw. The softness underneath the hard exterior.

He tried leaning in for a kiss but miraculously I resisted, placing my hands flat against his chest to gently push him away.

"Don't push your luck."

Troy chuckled but nevertheless, moved to the side to allow me to pass and watched me jog down the stairs before calling after me,

"Same time tomorrow then?"

Gif not mine

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

I see you write Troy Otto Fics 🫣

“you fixed me. you fixed my broken heart.”

could I request a angst turned fluffy fic where Troy is being an ass but around reader he’s an awkward ass bc he doesn’t know how to process his feelings but one day reader confronts him and is like “dude tf” and he reveals it all ? 👉🏽👈🏽

It has been quite a while since I have done any requests and succeeded in actually writing them, so first of all THANK YOU. And secondly, this terrified me so I'm sorry if I changed a few things because that's how my head works.

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto x Female Reader

WARNINGS: Normal FTWD stuff. FEELS!

Everyone within a few miles distance could have heard the yelling coming from the militia tent. No one could tell who had started it when the ruckus had suddenly erupted moments ago. All you could tell was that the boys were finally fighting back at Troy, making your feet pace a little quicker and making your way across the ranch. 

When you made it to the ruckus, you noticed the eyes peeping through the windows of the outlying RVs and tents scattered around. Giving an all knowing smile to the peeping eyes, you quickly disappeared behind the tan curtains finding a group of 5 men squaring off against 2, Troy, with Nick holding Troy back. 

Your entrance was soon noticed and the group grew silent. 

“What in the holy hell is wrong with you all?” Toeing up to John who was rubbing the newly formed bruise on his jaw. Nick let go of his hold on Troy’s jacket, heading to the back of the tent with a grunting sigh, catching your gaze as he did so. 

“You have all been a bunch of children the past few days, and now this?” Turning on your heels you make eye contact with Troy. Scanning his features, you take in the red patches growing upon his cheek and jaw line before meeting his gaze once more, this time more worry and sadness laced in your eyes. “You’re going to attract every walker within miles, and if you’re all fighting eachother, who is going to fight for the rest of us?” 

All men in the tent sunk a bit in their boots, all eyes staring at the ground. Troy’s cheeks reddened, not from a sucker punch this time. You look over to Nick, a smirk turning at the corners of his lips as he stared back. 

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Cooper spoke up. “We had a disagreement. We will watch our voices.”

John scoffed loudly, his eyes shooting back up to Troy on the opposite side of you. “I think she should know. We’re done getting the shit end of everything and still getting shit on while others can skate by and get the royalty treatment.” His eyes then shifted to you, scanning your frame up and down. You could feel the hair on your neck raise at the feeling, and you could feel the way Troy shifted his weight behind you. 

“It’s not her fault,” Nick finally raised his voice. The tone sounding over this bull shit and ready for someone to lay everything out. “You’re all being a bit dramatic anyways. Troy hasn’t done shit, except be an ass as usual.” 

This earned a raised eyebrow and questioning look from Troy, standing with both hands on his hips. Everyone knew Troy was kind of an ass, that’s how he got the miltia where it is, but you had never really seen what everyone else said about him. He was typically kind and oddly gentle when you were around him. He wasn’t this “monster” you hear the ranch whispering about. 

“Troy-” you took a deep breath, your back still turned towards him with your eyes staring straight back at John. “-Say you’re sorry.”

The tent went still. No one, not even Troy, was expecting that. No one told Troy what to do other than his late father and brother, and after they had expired, no one would have ever tried. Let alone tell him to apologize. 

To everyone’s surprise, Troy spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice low and grumbled through gritted teeth, but he said it. The men all shook their heads in response. Not knowing how or what to do next, they funneled out of the tent one by one. All as quiet as a mouse leaving only Troy and yourself in the space.

Turning on your heels, you lock eyes with the tall brunette. His face red and one eye growing bloodshot from what you assume was a nice hit from John. His eyes weren’t angry though… he was nervous as he tried his best to maintain the eye contact. 

“I didn’t think you would actually say it, but I’m glad you did.” Your lips turned into a gentle smile, closing the distance between you both. Your hands reached up to his face, cradling his jaw in both palms, fingers carefully brushing over the small cuts and broken capillaries in his skin. 

Troy returned the smile once he felt your warm touch. His blue eyes fluttering closed with a sense of comfort that felt so extraterrestrial to him. “Thank you for stopping us, Nick, that bastard, was close to getting his ass kicked too.” His voice cracked witha chuckle between his words. 

“Your still a ass though, Troy. You have to change that. I hear it from so many here, yet I never see it. So I know you are capable of being a gentleman, Troy Otto.” 

“If you tell me to, then I guess I have to.” Troy’s body shook with a mischievous laugh. His eyes opening to find yours once more. The closeness between you both instinctively closing little by little. “You fixed me, you know that?”

His words caught you off a little bit, making you stutter in your actions. His skin felt warm against your touch, his mere presence so close brought on a sense of safety and openness. You could have stayed like that for hours… days. It somehow felt right. 

What he spoke, however, caused a twisting feeling in your gut. 

“I was broken after everything, after everyone was gone. I was alone and hurt in so many ways,” Troy’s eyes softened. He had figured opening up to you would be impossible, his feelings always getting the best of him and taking any words he wanted to say and throwing them out the window. Bu here and now, with you like this, he was at peace. 

“I was broken and you fixed me-” His eyes fell from your own to land upon your lips, those nerves that had stopped him from saying it all previously appearing in his belly again. “-so thank you.”

You could feel his tension grow in the moment so you took matters into your own hands, raising to your tip-toes and crushing your lips to his. Years it had been since you had ever felt this feeling. Even then, it didn’t feel like this, not this strong. 

Troy was a pain in the ass. 

At times, an actual ass. 

But you were his golden key to change. 

And there was about to be a lot of it. 

[generalallxsanjishipper]

Icon made by: me

Hi! Welcome.

This is Generalallxsanjishipper's blog

(A long ass nick, I know.)

*stares at the (not many) but 100% "Yes" votes that was in the poll* (How the hell am I supposed to introduce myself? I have no idea, but okay, whatever—)

Killian here! It's not my real name, but it's my art name. I can be called Isa or Bibi as well. My real name is Barbara.

I'm from Italy and I'm a 2001 girl, She/her pronouns, bisexual, introverted, Virgo (too much of a perfectionist sometimes. Ops)

I am a Writer, a Screenwriter and an Artist. I even went to an art school, but the only thing that I learned there is anxiety. Yey.

I love reading. Like tons of books, but for whatever reason I stopped entirely reading books written in Italian and now I'm constantly binge-reading english stuff.

As a Writer, I create tons of Own Characters, yes. I have honestly so many OCs that it's hard to keep track of them between Original Works and Fanfiction. I have to admit that I never wrote as much fanfiction as I'm doing during those last years, mostly for bad experience with criticism in my first fics. But apparently I got over it after randomly starting to write little One Shots of a few different fandoms. It excalated, now.

To read my stuff, you can find me in AO3, Efp and Wattpad under Killian44peeta's nickname. Even as an Artist, you can find me with that nickname on Instagram. I DO NOT have TikTok and I DO NOT intend to have it. If I change my mind, it's gonna rain for months lol.

I have many, many fandoms.

Listing them all is impossible, but my obsessions usually stuck the most when I have a "main crush" in said fandom. If not, they are fleeting at best... And usually the same main crush is the one that I ship with most people (Not always though).

Yep. I'm a multishipper, pro LGBTQ+ and I love polyamorous relationships.

When I hate a ship, I just hate it. No matter how hard you try to change my mind. Still, I'm of the "live and let live policy" because, damn, ship wars are boring and if you dislike something, YOU BLOODY IGNORE IT.

YOU DO NOT STUPIDLY FIGHT SOMEONE AND SAY TO THEM TO K*LL THEMSELVES BECAUSE THEY DO NOT SHIP YOUR PAIRING. THOSE PEOPLE YOU SHIP DO NOT EXIST. THEY ARE JUST A WRITER'S FANTASY. NO NEED TO BE SO STUPIDLY CHILDISH. JUST CALM DOWN.

*takes a deep breath*

Thanks.

A few examples of my main crushes:

Animated ones first.

Sanji, Corazon, Reiju and Vivi (One Piece), Douxie (Tales of Arcadia), Zuko (Avatar), Mika (Owari No Seraph), Levi, Jean and Yelena (Shingeki no Kyojin), Akashi and Kise(Kuroko no basket), Gwen (Total Drama), Megara (Hercules), Dark Bloom (Winx Club), Hijikata (Gintama), Hyoga, Eden, every Virgo Saint ever except Shun (Saint Seiya+), Shiro and Pidge (Voltron), Lust and Roy(Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood)

Not animated crushes (directly the person, not the role, because if not the list would be sooo much longer, ok)

Daniel Sharman, Danielle Campbell, Colin O'donoghue, Richard Armitage, Ian Somerhalder, Josh Hutcherson, Zoe Kravitz, Tom Ellis, Hayden Christensen, Bridgette Mendler

(am I forgetting someone? Probably. Sorry)

Welp. I dunno what else to say. Hope you have fun inside my blog? If you wanna be friends (chat here, on Discord, WhatsApp... ) and ask questions I'm okay with it? If you wanna talk with me about (my, yours) stories, I'm DEFINITELY okay with it.

:D I love to rant about fanfictions and original works. I love ranting about ocs and headcanon about characters. Yes.

(do not kill me if I don’t answer immediately, I have a life/I need time to draw/I need time to write)

Bye.

-Killian

[perseephoneee]

ice skating [ficmas day 7] [isaac lahey x reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

anonymous: I saw your post about ficmas 24. can you please write smth with Isaac and ice skating?

author's note: i went ice skating with @muffinbeliever and it was so terrifying all i did was almost cry

playlist:

the moon will sing -- the crane wives

i'll be home for christmas -- she & him

gold rush -- taylor swift

Beacon Hills officially had a high school hockey team.

You don’t remember when Coach Finstock lost his mind, but you assume it’s been a long time coming. It’s the only explanation for why he thinks this would be a good idea.

Especially since his ‘hockey team’ is just his lacrosse team on skates. Many of them can’t even skate. You’re unsure how he coerced the team to even participate. 

“This is painful,” Allison commented, and you had to agree. You both accompanied Scott and Stiles to hockey practice, Allison to see her boyfriend, and you to get a free ride. You still didn’t have a car (you hoped to fix that soon).

You watched Stiles fall face first.

“It’s pretty awful,” you hissed, watching another teammate crash into the wall. “I kinda want popcorn.”

“Me too.”

You both were heathens.

Danny was reasonably competent and would be very solid with a few more practices. The other surprising one was Isaac, who was skating laps around everyone. Scott wasn’t falling, but he wasn’t confident either. Werewolf instincts meant jack shit in the face of skating.

“Did he just do a little hop and a skip?” You remarked as you watched Isaac. You couldn’t help but watch Isaac. He was aloof and not amazing at conversations, but he was alluring. Maybe it was the jawline or his eyes. You were unsure. Sometimes, he’d take Scott’s bike to school when Scott rode with Stiles, and sometimes, he’d drive you home. Those were your favorite days.

“He’s ridiculous,” Allison chuckled as Isaac continued to show off. He and Danny were playing their own game of hockey at this point. You didn’t want to look at what Stiles was doing; it made you sad. Allison turned to you. “Ten bucks says Stiles, knocking over Scott.”

“You’re on, Argent.”

You were $10 richer by the end of practice, in large part thanks to the fact that a conga line of lacrosse-turned-hockey players took out Scott, who then wiped out Stiles. It was inherently painful but insanely funny. At least the ice rink had concessions. You were sipping a blue slushie when the boys came out, broken and battered.

“I want to be eaten by a wolf,” Stiles sighed. A bruise was forming on his arm. 

“Sure, but it’s not going to remedy the fact you can’t skate,” you chuckled. He glared at you.

“You’re not funny.”

You sipped your slushie, hiding your laugh. Isaac came out a few seconds later. His hair was slightly damp, and it looked like he had run through the rain. It was way too sexy and made your stomach turn. He waved in greeting.

“What flavor?” He inquired, pointing to your cup. You stuck out your tongue to show the blue dye. He just nodded. 

“Isaac, can you take Y/N home? Allison and I were heading to Stiles,” Scott asks, tossing his keys to the beta. He catches them quickly. Isaac nods, not bothered, but it doesn’t stop you from worrying you were a burden. Not that he’d ever tell you that you were. 

The night air was crisp as you climbed behind him on the bike. He always gave you the helmet, even though you should both have them. He argued he could heal. You couldn’t fault his logic. 

You were on your way a little later, arms tight around his middle as you savored the few moments you could pretend to be his.

Isaac started to slow down, and you lifted your head to ask why, but he shushed you. You slowed to an idle, barely fast enough to stay up. His proverbial wolf ears perked up. He decided a split second later, quickly swinging the bike around and taking off much quicker than before. 

You yelped as you gripped him tighter. You could hear engines behind you, which did not bode well. He went off-road, starting to serve through side streets in a way that made you nauseous. A shot rang out.

You had nowhere to hide as more bullets were fired. Isaac quickly turned, the bike screeching. He launched you both off of it, covering your body with his as the asphalt cut into your skin. You wanted to cry out but didn’t. Not when you were more concerned about finding safety. Isaac gripped your hand, dragging you to the backdoor of a building. He tore off the handle and shoved you in.

The alcove was small, and you pressed up against him as he looked out the window, watching your pursuers run by. A few seconds later, you both let out long breaths. 

Isaac relaxed against the wall, grimacing. That’s when you noticed the patch of blood blooming from his flank. You stifled a screech.

“Isaac—“

“Is there first aid?” He coughed, looking around the room you were in. It was the kitchen of a diner. You went through five cabinets before finding first aid. It wasn’t much, but you made do. You were too distracted by his wound to process his shirtlessness.

The bullet wasn’t deep, or maybe it had been, and his healing pushed it out. You weren’t sure. Your minimal nursing skills came in handy as you bandaged him up. He might be able to survive, but it wasn’t painless. 

When you were done, you made him swallow some ibuprofen. Your hands wrapped gauze around his middle, hiding an obnoxiously sculpted chest from you. Fucking werewolves.

Isaac’s eyes traced your face, a frown marring his expression. He traced your arm with a finger, and you hissed in pain as he found the fracture that you had been trying to hide. He was on you in a second.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“My wound isn’t bad like yours,” you protested. Isaac took his discarded shirt and tore it into cotton strips. He fashioned a makeshift cast for you before cleaning up your arm. You realized it was the most tender moment the two of you have had. He took some cotton balls and wiped some blood off your temple. 

“I didn’t know you could skate,” you murmured, breaking the silence. Isaac’s mouth quirked up. 

“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Kind of,” you tried to shrug, but it just hurt your arm. 

“My brother was a hockey fan. He’d take me to the rink,” Isaac answered, applying a small bandaid. He never talked about his brother; you didn’t want to push. “Derek mentioned there might be some bounty hunters. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“It’s fine, Isaac. Really.”

“You should come back to see Melissa for that arm,” Isaac moved to put his shirt back on, and you bit back disappointment. He glanced outside and, feeling safe, led you both out and back to the bike. It was scraped up but still worked. Isaac put you on the front of the bike since his torso was still healing. He wrapped his arms around you to grab the handles, and you couldn’t help but inhale his smell of petrichor and pine. You wanted to lean into him and never leave. 

You could’ve fallen asleep like this, even with the wind biting into your skin. Fortunately (for your sanity), you pulled up the McCall residence no longer after. Isaac helped you off the bike and led you up to the front door. 

You’ve been to the McCall residence a few times, and each time were struck by how much warmth Melissa had managed to infuse into the place. She came out of the living room when you both entered.

“What the hell happened?” she inquired, coming to you first. 

“Bounty hunters,” Isaac said matter-of-factly. 

“Why do I let any of you outside,” Melissa mumbled. She took you to the bathroom to take a look at your arm. You were happy to hear that your arm wasn’t broken, but there was lightly a fixture that needed to be watched. She gave you pain meds and redid your cast. 

“Do you think I could stay here tonight?” you asked, adjusting your arm in its cast. “I just don’t feel like going home right now.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Melissa smiled, kissing your head. She felt like your other Mom. 

She gave you some of her pajamas and a toothbrush so you could get ready for bed. You were thankful she was there to help you maneuver out of your clothes so you could put on the pajamas. You tried not to think much about Isaac in the next room. When you were all done cleaning up, you went to the living room to get situated on the couch but found Isaac already lying there on his phone. He had also changed into sleepwear. 

“I was going to sleep here,” you stated. He glanced up at you, jawline and all. You really needed to get your priorities straight. 

“You should take my room; it’ll be more comfortable.”

“You got shot.”

“I’m already almost healed, and you’re in a cast,” Isaac pointed out. “Trust me, you’ll want a bed.” You didn’t ask if it was a sports injury that let him know that or something his Dad inflicted. Isaac, when he wanted to be, could be frustratingly stubborn. You took your leave to his room.

You had never been in Isaac’s room, and you took the opportunity to do some high-level snooping. No judgment; you weren’t perfect. There wasn’t much snooping to do, though. The room had minimal decorations. There was a ball poster that was so utterly stupid you had to hide your laughter. There was also a snoopy ornament on his desk. That fact made you smile. 

Sleeping in Isaac’s room was already going to be a bad idea. The sheets smelled like him. The room felt like him. You were one delirious episode away from stealing his shirts and pretending like you were waking up next to him. You would call Allison and freak out, but that would involve admitting that you found the beta wolf attractive. 

The pain meds plus Isaac’s bed made your insomnia take a back seat, allowing you to fall asleep. You woke up in time for school, only because Scott is one of the loudest people you had ever known. He stumbled into everything and slammed open every door. 

You got dressed in your clothes from yesterday and made Isaac’s bed. You brought the folded pajamas downstairs. Isaac and Scott ate all the pantry food while Melissa downed a cup of coffee before her shift. 

“Thanks for letting me stay, Ms. McCall,” you smiled, voice quiet.

“Nonsense, you’re always welcome. I’d offer you breakfast, but I think they ate it all,” Melissa nodded towards the two boys. You stifled a smile as she rummaged through the pantry again. “Actually, I found an apple. And peanut butter.”

“That’s usually what I have,” you shrugged, taking the granny smith from her and finding a cutting board. You ate your breakfast and sipped some coffee with milk while observing everyone run around the kitchen. You grabbed Isaac’s sleeve right before leaving the kitchen. “Thanks for letting me use your room,” you muttered. “And for yesterday.”

“No problem,” he shrugged. He paused, shifting his feet. “Have you ever skated before?”

You shook your head.

“I could teach you…after hockey practice.”

“In case I get shot on the ice?”

“Yes, for that,” Isaac smiled. You felt your heart drop into your stomach, butterflies filling the now-empty cavity. You don’t know what Hallmark movie you were in, but you liked it. 

School couldn’t go by fast enough. You had to come up with a plausible excuse for your arm around teachers, but the pack immediately jumped on the case. Stiles was itching for some snooping work, and you think you just gave him a good reason to break into his Dad’s safe again. You made a mental reminder to send an apology to Sheriff Stilinski. 

You told Allison about your night over lunch.

“You have a date with Isaac Lahey,” Allison gushed, passing you a potato chip.

“I do not,” you responded, mouth full of crunch. “He probably just feels bad about me getting hurt and just is trying to make up for it.”

“So he could buy you lunch, give you rides to and from school,” Allison responded. “Not take you ice skating, just the two of you. It’s a Hallmark movie.”

You put an apple slice in her mouth before she could say anything else. 

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“That’s fine,” Allison chewed, the words garbled from the bite. “I’ll get my hopes up for you.”

Allison accompanied you to hockey practice, but not before giving you some of her clothes and lipgloss. While you grumbled, you were thankful not to be wearing the same clothes you got shot at. The sweater she lent you was soft, and the leggings were comfortable and stretchy. Perfect to fall on your ass in. 

Hockey went as well today as yesterday. Danny and Isaac continued to have a squirmish of their own while the other players tried to remember what a skate was. A few of them were getting better; you could see a small team starting to form. None of the players getting better were Scott and Stiles. Scott’s werewolf reflexes did not translate to the ice. 

“Werewolves on ice, coming to a theater near you,” you mumbled. Allison was hiding her eyes at their skating. You were fighting the urge to do the same. Fortunately, your torture came to a halt as Coach fell on the ice and canceled the rest of practice out of anger. You waited till everyone was gone to bother approaching the rink, the feeling of drums in your heart matching each step. Isaac skated around the rink and came to a stop by the entrance. 

“I want you to know I’ve never skated, and I’m very, very scared,” you gulped, your healthy arm holding your fractured one against your chest. Isaac smirked.

“I won’t let you fall.”

Your fingers shook when you went to grab rental skates and even more so when you put them on. You had to do a sort of waddle across the padded floors to the entrance, and you looked at the ice like it was the deep ocean. Unknown and utterly horrifying. 

“You won’t get hurt, I promise,” Isaac chuckled, holding out his hand. You stared at it. 

“What if I trip and pull you down?”

“You won’t.”

“I’m very good at hurting other people,” you whispered. Isaac skated closer to you, a towering figure. He grabbed your hands, unclenching your fingers. Your breath caught as he pulled you onto the ice. It was slippery, and you didn’t like how your feet slid across it. Isaac held you steady, correcting your weight if you started to wobble. He skated backward, going slow as you tried your best to calm your breathing. 

“Look at me, don’t look at your feet,” he said. You looked at him, his gaze intense, and you forced yourself to not break. You listened to his every instruction, bending your knees slightly, pushing out instead of forward, until you started to feel somewhat more solid. Isaac noticed when you began to relax more. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” you answered, still not trusting of the ice hell you were in. Isaac laughed. 

“I won’t let you go,” he muttered before doing exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He let one of your hands go, twirling you. You stifled a scream as your feet slid across the ice, but he kept his initial promise and didn’t let you fall. He pulled you back into him, closer than before. You stumbled and fell into his chest; he skated you both to a stop. You tried to push back before you made the situation more awkward, but he kept you close, his hands on your back. 

You kissed your teeth. 

“I’m terrible at skating,” you murmured. You felt the vibrations of Isaac’s laugh. 

“That’s okay,” he smiled, that crooked half-smile you often long for. You tilted your head up, Isaac’s nose nudging yours. Your body felt hot, even in the cold room. Still, you shivered from his touches, proximity, and everything. He looked at you through his lashes, his eyes the color of sea foam and lakesides. Your eyes fluttered closed when he brushed his lips over yours. It wasn’t enough, so you pushed closer. His mouth was firm, and you wished you could go on your toes to get closer. The only thing keeping you stable was Isaac. His hands roamed your sides, your neck, everywhere he could hold. He deepened the kiss, and you sighed. It was too soon when he pulled away, even as you realized you forgot to breathe. 

“Do you still want to skate?” he murmured.

“Will you kiss me if I fall and embarrass myself?”

“I’ll kiss you even if you do a good job.”

“Then I most definitely still want to skate,” you grinned. 

You did fall later on, but you weren’t in pain. Isaac was able to catch you. 

taglist: @alice3612 @rafecameronswhore @evasmlp @awnmaknees

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 5

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Fall Of Embers

Notes: !!!!!!PLEASE NOTE, THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT!!!!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. !!!!Self-harm!!!. !!!Suicidal thoughts!!!. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  5/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

!!!!!!PLEASE NOTE, THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT!!!!!

You were in that tent alone for hours, dozing off into sleep when the sun no longer sneaked into the tent. Even when the Monk finally entered his tent late at night, your eyes felt too heavy to look. By the time you opened them, time had clearly past. He was sleeping on his cot. You were glad to have avoided conversation after that encounter earlier. This was no place for you, one hell had traded itself for another. The paladins who had brought you back there had used a rope of poor quality to bind you to the pole, it even smelled rotten. You continued to move the rope against the wood, just as you had done during those hours alone. Finally the last strand of the rope broke and set you free, you sat still for a while, debating on where to go from here. Carefully you got up from the ground and moved towards the sleeping Monk, his hand was resting on the swords he had put down beside him, taking those would surely wake him. So you decided to steal one of the small daggers still resting at his waist. A cold sweat formed on your back during the moment it took to steal the dagger, but you had a lethal weapon in your hand as a reward. Then his hand shot out and grabbed your sleeve, you stumbled back and his hold faltered, he was on his feet fast. You cowered away, he stood between you and the exit. He didn’t even reach for his swords yet, like he was certain he could overpower you without them, it filled you with dread.

“Don’t come any closer!” you warned, pointing at him with the dagger.

His brow arched arrogantly, that dagger was no match for him and you both knew it.

You turned the blade and pointed it at your own heart. “Let me leave.”

His eyes dropped to the dagger, then snapped back up to your face. “I cannot let you leave. Hand over the dagger.”

Despair crashed into you, consuming what little hope that had kept you going. The Monk had gotten closer. The dagger felt like the only thing keeping your thoughts together. You had moved the blade before doubt could set in again.

He had never moved so fast before. His hand was partly on yours, stopping the dagger from going into your chest, when he felt resistance his other came to wrap around the blade. It cut into his palm slightly.

“Stop!” he ordered, standing behind you, arms around to be able to push the dagger forward and away with his strength.

His order gave no resolution, you only grew angrier, desperate…

His breath touched the side of your head, his voice much gentler than it had been. “Stop.”

The tears you had kept contained broke free, your struggle lessened, your voice cracked, “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

He plucked the dagger from your hands and tossed it far out of reach, still his hold on you remained as he could feel you crumble apart.

“Why?” he quietly asked.

“There is no point to it.” You heaved through the sobs.

The Monk was quiet for a while, he held on, refusing to let you flee from his hold. You had grabbed hold on his sleeve, hating how deep down your soul welcomed the touch even from someone like him.

“Is that what the sellsword wants you to believe?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

His breath went passed your cheek. “I have seen the fight in you, I saw it again just now. You are not surrendering to the fight, you are searching for a reason to keep fighting.”

“I don’t have a reason.” You tried to control your breathing.

“Then have this as one,” He took a breath, “You and I may be the only ones left alive of the Ash Folk. I believe your survival means that you are meant for a greater purpose.”

“To serve the Church?” It came out colder.

“Perhaps.” He made you turn to face him. “I know you desire to belong. Manblood, Feyblood, not belonging to either kind but dangling right in the middle. I believe your place could be here.”

You were still calming down and oddly enough the Monk’s presence now helped, those eerie voices in your ears were noticeably softer. Was it because the blood of the Ash Folk ran through him too that you felt a strange connection to him?

“My place isn’t here.” It was a whisper as you shook your head a little.

He breathed out a sigh and finally let go off you, he looked towards the dagger on the ground then at the small cut on his palm. “You could have killed me as I slept…”

It slipped out of your mouth, “I was trying to escape, not slaughter a monk.”

He pointed out the flaw in that, “I would not have been able to stop you if you had.”

“I regret it.” The bold statement fell out of you.

The Monk appeared surprised to hear you say it, a slight smirk formed on his face. “You are not done fighting.”

It was said with a pinch of admiration and it was enough to help find a little hope within yourself.

“How did you free yourself from those ropes?” he asked.

You pointed at them. “Can’t you smell it? They’re rotten.”

Was the arrogance intentional? He did not know. But he did enjoy how innocent you had looked whilst saying it. Perhaps he could toss some wood onto that fire…

“Those ropes were very close to you.” he said, unblinking.

It took only two counts for you to understand the insult in his excuse. And then you did something you never thought you were brave enough for. You gave him a shove, he hadn’t seen it coming and was almost imbalanced for a second. “If I smell, it is because I’ve been bound and unable to bathe!”

He actually chuckled. The Weeping Monk chuckled. With wide eyes you stared at the one who might have purposely riled you up.

Realization hit. “You said that just to anger me…”

“There is still fire in you.” he stated, not even slightly angry for the shove.

You took a step away from him.

“You do not smell, but perhaps bathing will offer you some comfort?” He saw no threat in it.

Was he really asking? By the way he was waiting for an answer, he must have been.

“How?” you asked.

“There is a river near here.” he suggested.

“But…” You stopped.

He tilted his head, “But what?”

You explained the problem. “You want me to bathe in a river, with my hands bound and without dry clothes to change into afterwards.”

The Monk blinked, then cleared his throat. “I believe I can arrange some clothes. As for your hands, I could make an exception.”

You were wary of it, “What sort of exception?”

He set the terms. “The rope stays on as we travel there, once at the river I will remove them long enough for you to bathe.”

“You trust me not to swim off?” you blurted it out.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I know your scent now. Wherever you would go, it would only be a matter of time before I find you again. And when I do, I would remember the time you broke the trust I gave you tonight.”

It was a warning. This speck of trust must have been hard for him to give. “I agree with your terms.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Go to the pole.”

With some reluctance, you did as asked. And he tied your hands to the pole, not with a rotten rope this time, while you stood.

“Wait here.” He turned to walk out of the tent, then stopped after two steps when realizing what he had said. When he looked over his shoulder he saw the glare send his way.

Your tone was prickly. “Don’t mind me, I’m not going anywhere.”

There was just the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth, but he turned away before you could be sure.

Not much later he returned with clothes, a spare set, trousers and a shirt… they must have anticipated you needing it.

He held them up for you to see. “Change into these fresh clothes after the river.”

You nodded in agreement.

“We go now.” he said.

Bathing in the dark of night with a stranger nearby was a little unnerving to think of. Still, you let him guide you out of that tent and to his horse. Until then it hadn’t crossed your mind that he would be riding there, probably to make sure to be back soon.

“Mount.” He moved you to the saddle.

It was easier said than done with your wrists bound together and while wearing a dress, thankfully the skirt of it was wide and long enough. You clumsily climbed into the saddle then to the spot a little in front of it. The Monk on the other hand hoisted himself up into the saddle effortlessly and took place behind you. You tensed up completely when his arms came around your form to take the reins. For a Monk, he was not so reserved to be close. And as you rode towards the river, you wondered why he would even allow you to bathe at all, it was known that the paladins would rather see Fey-kind burn than help them.

“Are you hoping the sin will wash off of me?” You kept your eyes on the path ahead.

The Monk’s response took a moment to come, “Are you?”

You were a bit defensive. “No. Because I have none.”

There was a huff of air, “You stole from a priest.”

Alright… he may have had a point there…

“You let me keep the ring…” you mumbled through your teeth.

“Because I believed you to be an innocent person who was forced to steal. Not a thief.” he said.

Was he truly so scorned about that? Anger boiled inside of you. “I wasn’t lying when I said that Cassian forced me to steal!”

The Monk kept quiet, it somehow only made you angrier. That silent judgment…

You spat out the words in fury, “You think I’m just some thief, that I chose to live like this! I never had a chance to choose, I was taught to be quiet and obey!”

“Do you fear the sellsword so much?” He didn’t sound condescending.

You were done with this conversation.

“And your father? You spoke of him. He must disapprove of how his son behaves.” he asked.

Your voice was very quiet, “Where do you think Cassian learned it…”

He had to strain his ears to hear it, but he had heard it.

After a brief silence, he asked, “Who is your father?”

“Lord Aldith of Ravenwick.” you answered.

The small rise in his tone was audible, “Lord?”

With a nod you confirmed it. “He rules over the village.”

He was piecing the puzzle of your life together, piece by piece. “When we met, you said that stealing was necessary to ‘earn your meal’, am I correct to assume that your father expects you to steal even though he is wealthy?”

You nodded.

The Monk was prying the truth out of you. “Is your brother given the same treatment?”

“No. He is his son.”

To him it didn’t seem to make sense. “And you are his daughter.”

You sighed a bit. “My father only wanted sons, so he wishes a daughter was never born.”

What the Monk said next was unexpected. “If he did not want to risk having a daughter, he should have abstained.”

Your eyes widened slightly, then you heard the river’s stream nearby.

He halted his horse. “We walk the rest of the way.”

He dismounted first, then gave some aid to get you to the ground as well. You knew the risk that dress posed and refused the help, seeing him from up at you.

“Dismount.” He grew wary, perhaps he thought you were going to ride off.

You hated having to ask. “I will, but you should step back a bit.”

“Why?”

Hated. Really hated. “Because when I dismount, the odds are high this dress will reveal more than I wish to share. I barely prevented it when I mounted.”

It clicked in his mind right away, he cleared his throat and took a step back, looking off to the side until your feet were on the ground.

“I spared you from the sin.” you said dryly. “You’re welcome.”

He ignored it. With one hand he held the reins, with the other the rope that was attached to the one on your wrists. He retrieved the clothes from the saddle bag, handing them to you to carry, then he began to head towards the river.

The moonlight reflected in the river’s stream, the Monk took the clothes from you again and removed the rope from your wrists.

“Do not flee.” He turned you to the river with your elbow.

You didn’t wait for him to tell you to get into the water, you took the opportunity with open arms and were in the river seconds later. The water was just a bit too cold, but it had been a while since you had the chance to bathe like this. For just a little while your mind was distracted from all the bad things around you, even the Monk. You splashed the water up to your face, pouring it over your head to wash your hair. The dress was completely soaked. The Monk made a small bonfire to keep his hands warm. You looked over at him, quietly wondering why he wasn’t getting irritated that you were taking so long. But he kept his attention on the small fire mostly, only looking your way once or twice to see if you hadn’t swam off yet. The fresh clothes laid close to the fire, warming up for you to wear. A shiver had settled into your bones, the temperature of the water was getting the better of you.

The Monk had probably noticed it, because he beckoned for you to get out of the water. “It is time to head back.”

You walked out of the river, letting the water pass through your fingers as long as they could touch it. It wasn’t until you were close to the fire that you noticed how hard he was trying to keep his attention on the grass. The wet fabric of the dress was stuck to your skin, and your face heated up at the realization. The Monk gestured to the clothes just next to the fire, you moved to take them.

Wind went through the fire, pushed the flames in your direction and caused them to lick the skin of your hand. You don’t know what frightened you more, being burned or seeing the flame turn green upon contact. A loud gasp of fright forced it’s way out of you, then everything happened so fast.

The Monk responded immediately, he grabbed you by the arm and brought you to the river, he forced your hand into the water and held it there.“Does it hurt?”

A frown formed on your forehead, it wasn’t hurting… why wasn’t it hurting?… “I don’t… no.”

Maybe he thought it was the shock that dulled the pain, because he didn’t let you pull your hand from the water to inspect it, “How did you do that?”

Had he not seen the same thing you had? “I just wanted to grab the clothes, but then the wind blew the flames to me.”

“That is not what I meant. You changed the flames, I saw it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Do not lie.” his voice got deeper, a warning.

“I’m not lying!” your voice wavered just a little, hating to be called a liar while speaking the truth.

His eyes scanned your face for a moment, then focused on your hand as he pulled it out of the water. He should have looked more surprised to find no burns on your skin, but he truly wasn’t.

The fire that lived in his dreams, causing comfort instead of fear… had come from your hands.

He turned your hand over, inspecting the unscathed skin of your palm.

“I don’t know what that was…” you whispered, fearing the response yet to come.

The Monk let go of your hand and rose to his feet. “Change your clothes. We return now.”

You looked up at him a little lost but did as he asked. He watched closely when you reached for the clothes on the ground again to change into them, expecting to see it happen again. But you were far more cautious now, the fact that you hadn’t burned your hand yet didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen. The Monk was still looking, as if he was trying to decipher you.

“Could you… uhm…” You lost the courage to ask him to turn around.

He seemed to snap out of his thoughts and gave a shallow nod when he understood what you were asking, he turned around and faced away. You changed rapidly into the dry warm clothes, the trousers fitted well but the shirt was a little too big, you took some of the excess fabric on the side and made a knot in it.

“I’m done.” you informed him.

He turned around and came closer to bind your wrists with the ropes again. He hadn’t asked any more questions about what had happened just moments ago, you didn’t know if you had to be relieved or worried. What would happen if they began to see you as a threat? What if he knew that you heard whispers in your ears almost daily?

The Monk made you mount his horse again and got into the saddle right after as well. The silence between you felt suffocating, you had so many questions running through your head. Why had those flames changed upon touching you? Why hadn’t they burned you? Why was he so quiet?… The answers would have to wait, because he was determined to get back to the paladin camp in as little time as possible and he spurred the horse on to canter.

  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Back at the paladin camp he told you to be quiet and not say a word until back in the tent. And the moment you set foot in the tent with him, the questions he must have prepared were fired at you.

He was tying you back to that pole by the waist. “Have you ever seen that kind of fire before?”

You shook your head, sitting on the ground again. “No. And I’ve never put my hands into fire by accident before either.”

“Do you know what it is?” He stood in front of you now, hands folded behind his back and the same look of intrigue in his eyes still.

You shook your head again. “Do you?”

He was of the Ash Folk, there was a possibility he knew more of them than you did.

“I do.” he said. “It is called ‘Fey Fire’.”

“But… what does it mean?” You hoped to learn what it was that had happened.

The Monk was quiet for a moment. “Fey Fire has not been seen in centuries, it is thought to be extinct. It is fire born of magic.”

You knew exactly what happened to those with magic when the paladins found out, you didn’t want to be cleansed in some horrible way. “I have no magic.”

The fear in your voice was clear to hear.

“You must have.” He stepped closer and knelt down to your height, you flinched a little.

You shook your head, denying what he believed to be true. “Please… I never used any magic. I wouldn’t even know how.”

His voice was more gentle now, “I believe you. Do not fear. I believe Father will be pleased to learn of this.”

You frowned at him. “Pleased?”

He gave a small nod. “Yes. Your abilities are a valuable asset to us.”

“I am not your asset.” You didn’t want to hear it.

“Your conscience is stopping you from seeing what must be done.” The Monk said. “Those Fey you defended when we met, refused to do the same for you. They left you to die at my hands, and I spared you.”

Were you supposed to be grateful that he hadn’t murdered you that day? “At least I still have a conscience.”

He stood up from the ground, jaw tense. He went over to his cot and plucked a small book from it which he put right into your hands.

“What is this?” you asked.

“The scriptures.” he answered. “They may offer you the answers you seek.”

Another attempt to corrupt you, your brow arched high, “Do these help you?”

He didn’t answer and went to his cot again, taking seat after removing his cloak and putting his swords down on it.

You put the book down in your lap and looked over at him. “I wasn’t raised with any religion. My brother mocked whoever spoke of a divine power.”

And your father would never have allowed another to influence you instead of him…

“The sellsword…” he spoke under his breath, sighing. “I do have a personal dislike for your brother. He threatened my horse. No one has done so before and lived.”

“He traded me for his life, will you uphold that agreement?” You wondered, because the Monk sounded like he hated Cassian.

“Father will uphold the agreement.” he said, then added casually, “But I made no such trade with him.”

Your frowned at him. “But-”

The Monk explained himself. “He traded with Father. You, in exchange for clemency for his past sins. However, should he commit new ones, which I am certain he will, I will not be obligated to offer him clemency.”

“Cassian just bought himself time…”

“Yes.”

You looked down at the book in your lap.

He noticed. “You may keep it.”

“Don’t you need it?” You weren’t interested in the scriptures.

The Monk, laid down on the cot, swords neatly beside him. “They are in my head.”

“You memorized them?” you asked.

He shut his eyes. “If you read something enough, it tends to happen.”

The blatant attempt to convert you to a follower of the Church didn’t sit well with you at all. “Is that what Father Carden did all those years ago, give you this book and hope you would believe in what it said?”

He took in a deep breath, having heard the sneer to the faith. “You would do well to rest now. Dawn is not far off anymore.”

You rolled your eyes, he couldn’t see it anyway. But you followed his advice and tried to get some sleep before that chance would be taken from you again.

  ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

At dawn, the Monk was summoned by Father Carden. He knew others would have noticed him leave the camp with you at night and reported this to Father.

“How is the Fey girl?” Father asked him.

He knew Father was not asking about your health.

“She is conflicted.” The Monk told him truthfully.

Father was glad to hear it, this opened up opportunities. “That means there is doubt in her. Use it to show her that our path is the only one to salvation, my son. Has she been given the scriptures?”

He gave a nod. “Yes, Father.”

Then the Monk gave him a brief explanation why he had taken you out of the camp last night. To earn your trust and convince you of the benefits to joining them.

“Fey Fire…” Father breathed in quiet shock. “Are you sure?”

He could see the interest in his mentor’s eyes. “Yes, Father.”

The priest placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do what is necessary to gain her trust, show her why her place is here. Become her redeemer.”

The Monk gave a nod.

Father was asking to let an attachment form that would benefit the mission. If this was what was necessary to make Father believe in him again, then this needed to be done.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten​​ @the-great-adventures-of-me​ @linkpk88​​  @fxrchxldws​​  @elenaoftheturks​​ @slytherlight​​ @beananacake​​    @crystallizedtime​​  @moonlightaura03​​  @angrygardendeer​​  @have-aheart​​   @5am-cigarette​​ @arcanenature​​  @thewinterskywalker​​ @notyourwildestdream​​ @coloursforyourportrait​​ @koressecretidentity​​ @nike90​​ @n1ghtlux​​ @rachlovesactors​​ @luckyzipperscissorsbat​​ @morena-doing-stuff​​  @the-fangirl-diaries​​ @gipsydanger17​​ @heavenly1927​​  @phantasmalbeiing  @labyrinthonmymind  @asarcastic-thiamstan​​  @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[annabawritersdreamsideblog]

Characters from my untitled original (Ties That Bind...?=> TEMPORARY BOOK TITLE=> IT MAY CHANGE)

(to be updated, revised and more)

[Historical fiction novel set sometime in the Middle-ages/Renaissance. In order to have more creative freedom, I've decided to create fictional kingdoms but, since I have thought of no names yet, I'll use the names of the places they're inspired by when describing the characters. For now, at least. It will be updated when I've come up with decent names]

Families => Main characters

Rúadhán & Cecilia. They live on Celtic-like island (think of a remote Greek Island but settled by Celts) with their four children Órla, Mairéad, Elena and Giuliano. Cecilia was an "Italian" noblewoman of the House of Venier—that's probably a placeholder name, but I really like it and the Venier family were an actual Venetian noble family—who gave up everything she had (or was disowned, I still have to decide on that) to marry Rúadhán (he is a merchant and traveled a lot, that's how they met).

Fancasts:

Rúadhán=> Engin Öztürk

Cecilia=> Selma Ergeç

Órla=> Şeyma Burcu Gül

Elena "Enna"=> Synnøve Karlsen (maybe I'll keep the name Elenna and it will be a misspelled version of the name)

Mairéad=> Isolda Dychauk (most likely especially if younger than Enna)/Miriam Leone/Charlotte Hope/ Natalie Dormer (as Margeary)/Junia Rees/Amelia Gething/ Marta Gastini (if dark-haired like her sister)/young Hatice?/Burcu Özberk

Giuliano=> Ruairi O'Connor

Royal Family (the country is supposed to be akin to the Ottoman Empire with hints of Tudor England. Predominantly Ottoman but major changes are made on a few things—I'll try to research as much as I can)

I don't have a name for the king and queen (might as well end up being emperor/empress) yet, I only know he married three times and two of his wives executed.

Children from his first marriage (from left to right): Princess Elizabeth, Princess Alexandra, Princess Mary and Princess Catherine.

Fancasts:

Emperor=> Anthony Head

Empress Sophia Alexandra (Safiye)=> Hülya Avşar

1 miscarried son

1 stillborn son

Princess Margaret=> Jodie Comer/Rebecca Ferguson?

Princess Elizabeth=> Gaia Weiss

Princess Alexandra=> Gözde Türker

Princess Mary=> Holliday Grainger

Princess Catherine=> Suki Waterhouse

King's second wife

Queen #2=> Aslıhan Gürbüz

Aneurin Barnard? ( He looks like Aslihan so it might fit)

-

Lady Catherine, the King's illegitimate daughter, her mother is unknown.

Fancast=> Astrid Berges-Frisbey

House of Contarini (family crest=> eagle)

I don't know about titles. Italian nobility (they're Italian) used 'Messer' and 'Madonna' so I guess I might keep them. They're nobles, so why not.

Messer Piero and Madonna Maddalena and their children Lorenzo Elio, Laura and Lucrezia.

Lorenzo (nicknames Enzo or Elio) serves as Ambassador and ends up marrying Elena (Enna)

They'll have eleven children

Fancasts:

Piero=> James D'Arcy

Maddalena=> Tülin Özen

Lorenzo=> Daniel Sharman

Laura=> Gonca Sariyildiz

Lucrezia=> Merve Boluğur

Matilda Lutz as Lisa=> Leonardo/Lorenzo's sister.

(HE HAS THREE YOUNGER SISTERS AND LISA IS THE ONE HE'S CLOSEST WITH- SHE MIGHT BE HIS TWIN OR THEY MIGHT TEN/ELEVEN MONTHS APART)

*they also are of "Greek" origin and they're devoted to "Greek" gods. The family is devoted to Aeolus, god of the wind=> insert backstory*

That's also where "Nanourisma" comes into play.

Cecilia (the girls' mother) was also of Greek origin. Enna knows "Nanourisma" as well

Main couple (to add more)

Also, these two up above are basically a more historical version of Elenwë from my LOTR/Silmarillion fic "The Lady of Ithilien". Their chapters will be a RETELLING of said fic in a different context.

These are the main characters, this post will be updated periodically as I come up with new ones!