#fey family business | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

potatoplace · 1 month ago

Text

I Look in People's Windows

Cassian x Archeron!Reader (unrequited)

The Afterthought: Chapter 1 | series masterlist

part 2 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are the youngest Archeron sister, saved from the fate of the Cauldron by mere chance. Perhaps having been dumped in those murky waters would have been a better fate for you, when it seems that no one cares for your presence any longer.

Warnings: slut shaming, shitty inner circle (mostly Nesta and Elain), suicidal ideation

Words: ~ 4.2k

Author's Note: ahhhhh I hope you guys like this! I'm really hoping all of this makes sense lol I wrote it in one go. This idea came to me at work and you guys have already shown just the ideaaaa so much love 🫶 enjoy! I'm gonna go listen to Rosie by Rosé nowww -- let me know if you guys want a part two!

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Gone.

They were gone.

You had been out at the Reeson's home, being courted by their youngest son, Geoffrey. He was very polite, and even walked you back to the manor, your arms clasped together.

If you had to choose a suitor from the village you grew up in, Geoffrey would be the one. He was kind to you and your family, even in the depths of poverty.

It wasn't until you were in the manor, the door swinging shut behind you after you had bid Geoffrey farewell, that you saw it.

The carnage.

Every single maid and butler that you family employed... Slaughtered. Your father was already away on business, having gone to the Continent to meet with the Queens about the looming threat above the wall.

And your sisters... Nesta and Elain... Were missing.

You sprinted out of the manor after checking every room for your siblings, the hem of your pink gown soaked in blood, and ran to the inn in the center of town.

Thankfully the innkeep was kind enough to rent you a room on credit while the men of the night watch removed the bodies, burying them in the village graveyard.

Only a few days later, you were back in the manor, scrubbing every tile, panel, and piece of furniture to rid them of the horrors spilled upon them.

Your sisters were still missing. You had no idea of where they could be taken, besides over the wall, into the land of the fae.

But why? That's what you couldn't understand.

Not until three months later.

Three months later, you opened the door to the manor, met face to face with your youngest sister.

"Feyre!" You exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. She was stiff in your arms, pulling away only a moment later.

Fair enough, you thought. It has been quite a while since I last had the chance to hug her, her new senses may make them less comfortable.

"I was so worried, Nesta and Elain have been missing for months and the entire household staff was- was-" you sobbed, putting your face in your hands.

"Oh, Y/N, it's alright. Nesta and Elain are alive and safe," Feyre reassured you, gentle hands holding your shoulders as the knowledge of their safety calmed you. "But..."

"But...?" You asked, worry washing over you once more.

"I... Really, you should come with me and see for yourself..." Feyre trailed off. "Come to Velaris with me?"

You nodded immediately- if that's where your other sisters are and where Feyre is going, of course you would go. "Take me to them, please."

In the next moment, you were whipping through the fabric of reality, landing in a cozy sitting room.

Nesta and Elain were seated on the couch next to each other, Elain gazing out the window with a dazed look, and Nesta reading a novel of some kind, before her eyes snapped up to see the two of you.

Her eyes narrowed at you, filled with a silvery fire and so much hatred that you could hardly breathe-

Not human.

Fae.

Your other two sisters... are fae.

You blinked in confusion, looking to Feyre for answers.

"Nesta and Elain were... They were taken by Hybern and changed using the Cauldron, Y/N," Feyre whispered into your mind as she guided you out of the sitting room and into a kitchen, and you flinched at the sensation.

"I don't understand, Fey. What... When did all of this happen? What happened?"

Feyre sighed as she sat you at the dining table and began preparing tea. "The war that we warned you about the last time we visited? It happened... And the people we fought against used Nesta and Elain to prove the power of the Cauldron to the Mortal Queens by giving them the gift of being fae. And over the past three months, we fought long, arduous battles- but we prevailed. Elain and Nesta killed their vile king together after-" Feyre paused. "After he killed father."

Your eyes went wide and the world seemed to come to a stopping point-

"Father is-" a choked sob cut you off, tears streaming down your face. "He's dead?"

Feyre nodded, and you collapsed onto the table, sobbing.

You knew that your sisters didn't care much for your father- always saw him as a failure after losing the family's fortune. But you? You had loved him completely, clinging to the one parent that you had the blessing to know. You were so young when your mother passed, not even six years old when illness took her. You hadn't remembered much of the life of luxury the family used to lead, and were content to live in the small hut on the edge of the village, tending to your little herb garden and cooking the meals after Elain had taught you.

And so, you hadn't had the feelings of resentment that your elder sisters had towards him, instead loving each wooden carving your father would make you every year for your birthday.

They even made it into the manor, resting on your bedside table in your room.

And... And now he's dead? Just like that?

You had no idea how much time had passed when Feyre's hand smoothed over your upper back, a small gesture of comfort.

"Let me show you to your room, Y/N," Feyre said gently, her strong arms peeling you off of the table and into an upright position.

You blinked your watery eyes at her and nodded, and let your sister lead you upstairs and into a small bedroom, decorated in pale blues.

You didn't even have the energy to change out of your dress before you collapsed onto the bed into a crying heap, curling in on yourself as you mourned for the father you would never get to see again, never get to say goodbye to.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The next few months were... Trying, to say the least.

You felt out of place.

At all times. In any setting. Even just sitting with Feyre, you felt like you didn't belong.

It's not that you didn't try to fit in.

You joined Feyre for physical training. There, you felt like you were holding her back- no, you knew you were holding her back. After all, you're only a human.

You brought Elain tea and food at regular intervals, trying to keep her strength up as she stared out the window, lost in her thoughts. You knew she could talk, she just... chose not to with you. That's fine, after all, you can't relate to her situation much. She most likely wants a more understanding ear.

You attempted to talk with Nesta, even sit in the same space at her. But with each time you tried, her fiery gaze grew more and more intense, until you felt she may actually burn you alive with the powers Feyre had informed you she now possessed.

It's not that the inner circle wasn't kind to you, or that they mocked you for your human-ness.

It's that at every moment, you felt different.

When you had your first cycle while living amongst fae, you had went about it as normal. Until breakfast that morning.

Nesta had been glaring at you particularly strongly that morning, until she finally broke. "Why don't you take your iron-scented self upstairs until we finish eating, hmm? I'd rather not feel ill while having breakfast," she snipped at you, her eyes widening in delight when you blushed profusely.

You had excused yourself immediately.

Feyre had explained it away later, telling you that feelings are amplified when you're turned fae.

Nesta never was too fond of you, as she had always blamed you for your mother's death and the subsequent loss of the family fortune. She thought that having you just under a year after having Feyre was what made her body susceptible to the diseases and illnesses running rampant in the village that fateful year.

It's not as though I chose to be born so soon...

Worse even than knowing that everyone around you could smell when your cycle hit... was their hearing.

You had... a small crush on Cassian, to say the least.

It had all started when he was kind to you one day at training, having taken over for Feyre while she was away for court business. He corrected your form gently, giving pointers for how to protect yourself better from blows.

Each gentle touch made your heart race, and the kind praise he gave you made your face flush.

It's not that you wanted to like him.

You couldn't help it.

He was so handsome and kind, and could always find a way to make you laugh, or at least smile. And he chose to talk to you, which was more than you could say for the rest of the inner circle.

On the first Winter Solstice you spent in Velaris, Feyre came into your room before breakfast.

"I wanted to talk to you..." Feyre started gently, sitting down on your bed next to you while you braided your hair.

"About what?" You asked, tying off the braid and turning to face your sister.

"Cassian."

Your cheeks heated in an instant, pulse quickening just at the mention of his name. "What about him?"

"I know that... I know you have a crush, Y/N, but you need to let it go," Feyre said softly, a careful hand placed on your arm.

"I- so what if I like him? It's not like I'm acting on it-"

"That's not what it's about, Y/N, it's that he and Nesta are mates," Feyre explained.

Mates?

"Oh, I-" you paused, a renewed sense of heat filling your face. "I don't even really like him like that, Fey, I just... I can't help how I react around him," you whispered, hoping beyond hope that no one else was listening in.

"Just try, okay? It's for the best, really, Y/N. Fae and humans aren't really... Meant to be," Feyre said, eyes looking away from you.

Oh. Of course. You're just a little human, of course a fae wouldn't be interested in you...

So you did. You did your absolute best to get over your reactions to Cassian, to stuff any possible feelings down, down, down.

Nothing was enough, though. Not even knowing that Cassian and Nesta were gone for an entire week, consummating the mating bond.

When they returned, you were sitting in the living room of the River House, staring into the fire and drinking a cup of tea.

That was the one activity you did that bothered no one.

But the moment you saw Cassian's handsome face, a soft smile on it thrown your way, your heartbeat picked up, color rushing to your cheeks.

Nesta heard it- of course Nesta would pick out its traitorous rhythm, her eyes narrowing at you, hands raised, silver flames spouting from them, pointed at you-

"Nesta," Cassian sighed, grabbing your sister by the forearms and pulling her attention to him. "Nesta, my love, only you matter to me. Pay her no mind," Cassian soothed, and the flames Nesta had conjured went out, though the fire in her eyes burned hotter than ever as she glared at you.

"Stay away from him, you little whore," Nesta hissed at you before pulling Cassian out of the room and into the kitchen, where the rest of your family was gathered.

You simply pulled your legs up onto the couch in front of you, wrapping your arms around them as you went back to gazing into the fire.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

The Spring Equinox came and went, bringing with it the return of Lucien, Elain's mate and Feyre's dear friend.

You were like a ghost these days, drifting down hallways with no destination in mind, just the desire to not bother anyone further.

You excused yourself from all family dinners beyond those you were expected to attend around holidays, thinking it would be easier to bear than the constant feeling of not belonging.

It wasn't.

But it was preferable to the burning weight of Nesta's hatred, and Elain's new distaste for you.

Training with Feyre had stopped months ago, her schedule becoming more hectic as she let Rhys pass some of the burdens of ruling off to her shoulders.

That was fine. You just wanted Feyre to succeed.

So you drifted around aimlessly, sometimes leaving the River House to walk along the Sidra and gaze longingly at couples in tea houses, or meandering through bookstores, running your fingers along the spines and wishing you could read one.

You found yourself back in front of the fireplace on a particularly warm spring day, sipping a cup of tea once again. You would have preferred to take it outside, but Elain was out tending her garden, and you didn't want to bother the one bit of peace she seemed to have.

Not that she was alone, anyways, but your presence always seemed to grate on people's nerves, making them less comfortable.

Lucien was out with her, offering to help her garden as he did every day he stopped by. By now he might have already presented her with whichever courting gift he had picked for her today.

Loud footsteps and then-

Lucien.

He gave you a soft smile, one that you returned.

"How are you today, Y/N?" Lucien asked, as he had taken to doing the last few visits.

"I'm well, thank you Lucien. How are you? Any luck with Elain?"

"No luck with the gardening, though today she accepted my courting gift: a bag of flower bulbs from the Day Court," Lucien said with a proud smile.

"Congratulations! Now you know what will get you into her heart," you said with a grin, truly happy for the male in front of you. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Thank you, Y/N, I would love one," Lucien replied, summoning a cup of his own and letting you pour out a helping of the lovely floral blend you had made into it. "I hope she will be open to pursuing the mating bond, or at the very least being friends..." He sighed. "What do you think?"

You blinked at him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Lucien said playfully. "You are my mate's sister after all."

"Oh, well... I don't... We don't really talk much anymore," you explained. "I'm sorry."

Lucien merely shook his head at your apology. "No, don't apologize, Y/N, I was just hoping you may have more insight than I do. But enough about me, what have you been up to recently?"

"Oh, not much," you replied, wracking your brain for any activities you had done recently to not seem more useless than you already are. "I, uhm... I tried out a new soup recipe a few days ago, everyone seemed to like it..."

"Really? What kind?" Lucien asked, and you could almost believe that he was interested.

"It was a creamy soup, with sausage, potatoes, and-"

"What are you doing?!" Elain hissed, a pair of pruning shears pointed in your direction. "First you go after Nesta's mate, and now mine?" She seethed, stalking towards the two of you. Elain walked past Lucien and held the shears up to your face. "Get out, you whore. Stay away from my mate!"

You were up in an instant, flying up the stairs and into your bedroom. You locked the door behind you, but you knew that if Elain wanted to get in, she could.

She would probably cut my head off with the shears...

You grabbed a spare blanket off of the chair in your room, as well as a pillow from your bed and made your way into the bathroom, where you curled into yourself in the bathtub.

No reason to make more of a mess when she does decide to kill you...

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

Seven months.

Seven months and no one noticed that you had completely withdrawn, only leaving your bedroom when you absolutely had to.

No longer did you attempt to cook dinner for the inner circle. Not that they had ever liked what you made anyways...

No longer did you take your walks along the Sidra.

No longer did you sit in front of the fireplace, sipping tea and taking up as little space as possible.

But Bounty Day was coming up. The one holiday that you had cared was nearly here, and you wanted to celebrate it the way your family never had.

You wanted to roast a turkey and a boar, mash potatoes and sauté green beans. You wanted to try your hand at the delicious cheese and pasta dish Feyre adored from Sevenda's. You wanted to bake and bake and bake, until there was one of everyone's favorite desserts available.

You just needed permission. Which was why you were standing outside of Feyre's study door, hand poised to knock.

"Come in, Y/N," Feyre said from inside, loud enough that even your ears could hear her.

You peeked in sheepishly, eyes landing on where Feyre's hand was gliding across a sheet of paper, writing something out.

"Is this a bad time?" You asked quietly, wondering if you should have just stayed in your room.

Feyre sighed, and set down her quill. "No, not at all. Come in, sit, Y/N."

You did as she said, taking a seat in the low backed leather chair in front of her desk. "I... I wanted to run an idea by you...?"

"What kind of idea?" Feyre asked wearily.

"Well... Bounty Day is coming up, I thought... I thought it would be nice for all of us to celebrate. As a family."

Feyre blinked at you, her eyes losing some of their clarity for a few seconds, a look that you knew meant she was conversing with her mate. "I suppose that would be doable, Y/N, I'll make sure everyone knows. We would only be able to have it at the House of Wind, though, there's a few things that need to be done around here before we host a holiday."

A spark of hope lit up in your chest. "That would be perfect, Fey!"

Feyre smiled at you. "You can have Nuala and Cerridwen help you purchase everything, and with any preparation or cooking if you'd like."

"That would be very helpful, I'll make sure to ask them for their help and input."

"Good, I'm glad that that's settled. Did you need anything else from me?" Feyre had already picked her quill up again, continuing whatever thought you had stopped her in before.

"Oh, no. I'll be fine, thank you Feyre."

You felt... Dismissed. But at least you have permission to celebrate the day.

Over the next week, you worked tirelessly to get the ingredients you needed, even asking the meat vendors for a fae-palate worthy recipe.

You were sure your old recipes would be no good... Each one you had made for the inner circle was met with thinly veiled disgust.

And Sevenda's recipe- you were so thankful that the other female had taken pity on you and given you a copy of her recipe after you promised to share it with no one, ever.

Cerridwen had helped you read each recipe, both of you making sure that you knew the recipes by heart so you wouldn't have to rely on the mess of letters that you were no closer to understanding than you were before your family's status had changed.

Slowly but surely, you were putting together a feast that would put the one you had two years ago in the mortal lands to shame.

As you had hoped, you made a favorite dessert of each inner circle member, nine in total. You just hope that they don't go uneaten, or with only a small slice out of each one...

You woke at dawn that morning, pulling yourself into the bath and getting clean before you donned a cream colored dress, cut in the current human fashion. You had yet to wear a piece of Night Court fashion, feeling much more comfortable covered up, hidden.

Nuala shadow-walked you up to the House, a change of clothes in the bag over your shoulder. She only left when you insisted that you had the cooking covered and that you would be fine.

All day, you worked to bring Bounty Day to life around you, the delicious smells of roasting meats filling the House.

You hadn't felt so at peace in... A long while. Before your sisters were taken. Perhaps even before Feyre was taken...

Afternoon came and went in a blur of basting the turkey and turning the boar roast over the fire, your body flushed from the blazing heat as you worked.

As the final hour rolled around, you were able to change into your formal dress, a calf length pale pink wrap dress with long sleeves. You had picked this dress out months ago with Feyre, when she had insisted you needed to buy clothing of your own, and find things that you liked. This one, you liked. It was your favorite color, and the fabric was buttery soft under your fingers. You pulled on some slippers in a matching color and made your way back to the main hall, where you set the table meticulously, making sure everything was in its correct place.

Now for the most difficult part, in your opinion: transferring everything to the dining table without it cooling off too quickly.

You moved the food as fast as you were able, the turkey and boar left in the kitchen until the last moment, when you would have one of the males carve them for you.

Six o'clock rolled around, the time Feyre had agreed to, and no one had arrived. You poured yourself a small glass of wine and took a seat at the table, slowly sipping your drink as you waited.

And waited.

The food was lukewarm now, at seven.

The anxiety pooling in your gut had you back in the kitchen, carving meat from bone until your hands were sore.

Still, no one had arrived when you brought the platters of meat onto the table, a feast laid out with no one to eat it.

At eight, you were exhausted. Exhausted from working yourself more than you had in months. Exhausted from hoping, only for those hopes to be extinguished so quickly. Exhausted from living in a place you don't belong.

You sighed and pushed yourself out of your chair. On tired legs, you made your way to the front door of the House.

No way in hell would you be accused of trying to steal someone's mate again, accused of lying in wait all night to seduce Cassian if you were to stay in one of the guest rooms.

So the ten thousand steps down was your only choice.

The first thousand was easy enough, though the wind had chilled you to the bone already, the night's icy fingers extending around your heart as well.

By the time you were halfway down, you sobbed with each step.

How? How could they have all forgotten? Even Feyre...

On numbed legs, you finished your descent. But where to now...?

The only place you could belong was the River House... The only place in Prythian that you could ever belong, as a human.

You sniffled and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, attempting to keep any amount of warmth in your body as you carefully walked across the icy path along the Sidra.

The wind was bitter here too, but you had the babble of water to keep you company, the most pleasant friend you had.

The River House came in to view, lit up from within with bursts of faelight. The chimney let out pleasant puffs of smoke, a clear sign people are inside.

You stopped in your tracks.

Past Elain's garden and through the back window of the River House, you could see them.

All of them.

They were sat around the dining table, eating and drinking merrily together, enjoying each other's company.

And then there was you. Half-frozen from the weather and completely iced over inside.

You don't belong here.

Your body turned on its own, your mind so wrapped in itself that you hardly noticed where you were going.

All you knew was you needed out.

Out of this city.

Out of this life you were forced into.

Out of this family.

You need out.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the exit of the city that lead to the wilds of the Night Court.

You don't belong in Prythian. You belong in the human lands.

The boundary of Velaris passed under your feet as you continued walking, hardly feeling anything at all now.

Your fingers were numb, as were your toes and bottoms of your feet. Your arms were nearing the same sensation.

Good.

Perhaps the numbness that had overtaken your heart would consume the rest of you.

The only person left who cared, doesn't care now.

You don't care, not anymore.

general taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly

#i look in people's windows #the afterthought #Cassian x reader - unrequited #Cassian x reader #archeron!reader #acotar x you #acotar x reader #unrequited love #acotar #acotar fic #angst #acotar fanfic #nessian #elucien #Feysand #tato writes

485 notes · View notes

vnti-vnxiety-recs · 3 months ago

Text

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited.

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed.

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before.

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in. “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice.

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin.

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.”

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body.

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards.

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument.

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey.

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back.

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet.

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands.

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape.

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes.

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend.

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort.

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon.

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine.

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under.

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you.

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?”

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt.

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat.

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.”

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter.

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck.

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this.

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.”

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.”

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom.

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you.

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break.

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation.

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and he helps you right yourself. He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat.

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing. Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you. It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love.

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the�� waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both. Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense.

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more.

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic.

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically.

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence.

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp.

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable.

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk.

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike.

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control.

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move.

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication.

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest.

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud.

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

217 notes · View notes

shiftingparadise · 4 months ago

Note

*gets on knees before repeatedly blowing*

May we PLEASEEEEE get another soft spot part where Feitan and reader have a fluffy and smutty day? I NEED MOREE THE SERIES IS SO GOOODDDD 😭

I hope you like this 🥺 I wanted to show another side of Feitan. Anyway, thank you for your request and your kind words 🤍🤍🤍 You guys don't realise how much this means to me <3

Word count: 1468

Warnings: smut!!!

His mind was made up. He was going to punish you for what you did. You were his and his alone.

Feitan shook his head at the thought. You weren’t his. Not his alone anyway, but he had agreed to share you a long time ago. It was better to have a part of you than nothing at all. “Tsk”, he narrowed his eyes. Feitan felt betrayed more than anything – a feeling you seemed to give him more often than not.

Yes. That feeling you gave him was a sweet justification for what would come. He talked with Chrollo about your punishment and he gave his full permission. A part of him felt excited. After all, he never thought he’d got to treat you so rough again; that he got to punish you like before. With a determined heart, he opened the door to your room.

“Fei!”, you happily jumped from your desk, “Look, I just finished reading this”.

Feitan froze as he noticed your enthusiasm; your glittering eyes that seemed to light up the darkest of nights.

“You see? It’s a classic”, you proudly held it in front of you, “At first it was kind of hard to understand what was happening but now-“.

Feitan could only watch as you rambled on. It seemed you were unaware of his mood and feelings toward you but still… A part of him enjoyed seeing you like this, despite his anger toward you.

“What’s wrong?”, your hands dropped to your side, “You seem tense. Is something wrong? Can I do something?”.

Why? Why did you have to make everything so hard for him? He wanted to punish you. You deserved to be punished. So why? Why did he feel like this? So soft, so…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you”, you looked to the ground, “We can talk about something else”. “No”, he hastily intervened, “Tell me more”.

He didn’t want you to stop; to lose that spark in your eyes. He loved seeing you like this.

“Really?”, your eyes lit up again. “Hm”, he coldly nodded. “Come, sit down!”, you happily jumped on your bed, “I’ll tell you everything”.

Feitan shuddered as your soft touch met his cold skin. He never got used it.

“Besides, where’s Chrollo? He recommended me this”. “Out”, Feitan’s heart shattered a bit. He was supposed to hurt you and here he was, listening to you rambling about a book he couldn’t care less about. “Oh, okay”, you smiled as you gestured for him to lay down on your thighs.

Feitan hesitated for a bit, but he quickly realized he’d never say no to such a luxury.

“Okay so, if you didn’t know this book is called “Metamorphosis”. Franz Kafka wrote this”, you shifted a bit before stroking through his dark hair. “It’s about a cockroach, but it isn’t about a cockroach. Get it?”. Feitan only hummed in response.

Despite is stiff position; he felt more comfortable than ever. It never took him long to doze off like this.

“One day, this business clerk wakes up as a cockroach and his entire family-“.

Those were the last words he heard before he fell asleep. It didn’t take him longer than a minute – as usual.

When he woke up, he found his arms wrapped around your body. You must’ve fallen asleep not too long after him.

Feitan stared at your face. Something he cursed himself for. Were you an angel? Sent by the Lord himself? Or a demon that had him wrapped around your finger? It didn’t matter to him. You had his heart, his soul, his mind… Every part of him belonged to you.

He softly positioned himself on top of you; his hands resting beside your head. “Y/N?”, his voice still rough as he gently moved a strand of your hair. “Hm?”, a frown on your face as you woke up. “Please”, his gaze fixed on your eyes. “Fei?”, you softly grunted as your tired eyes looked at him. “Can I- Can we”, he never felt so unsure. “What?”, your brows pulled together at his strange behavior. “Can you take care of me?”, his eyes seemed cold, but his breathing betrayed how he truly felt. “Oh, you want me to-“, your eyes widened. “N-no, I want you to take care of me”, he coldly looked at you. “I don’t understand”, a confused look in your eyes. “I think I want something else today”, he gently grabbed your hand and placed it against your cheek, “I don’t know what, exactly, but I know that I want to feel as I did earlier”. “Earlier?”. “When you were stroking through my hair… I want that feeling”, he softly guided your hand to his hair.

He didn’t know what he was asking. He didn’t even understand this part of himself or what he craved.

“I think I understand”, you sweetly smiled, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you”.

Feitan watched as you moved away.

“Where are you going?”, he jolted upright. “Well, you asked me to take care of you, right?”, your cheeks reddened. “Hm”, he nodded. “Don’t worry”, you shyly slipped out of your gown, “I’ll take care of you”.

Feitan didn’t answer. Instead, he sat back again.

“You always take care of me”, you gently sat on his lap; your arms wrapped around his neck. “You think I don’t notice everything you do for me?”, you whispered as you massaged the back of his head.

Feitan’s heart started to race. Your voice never sounded so soft.

“Hm”, his eyes were locked to the ground. “Fei?”, you gently wrapped your hands around his cheeks, “I notice everything”.

His eyes widened as he saw the vulnerable look in your eyes.

“D-don't-” he frowned as you pushed against his chest. “Let me take care of you. I promise I’ll make you feel good”, you placed another soft kiss on his cheek.

He wasn’t used to this; for you take control but… It felt nice.

Your hands gently tugged on his belt, eager to see more of him.

Feitan took off his clothes and threw them into the nearest corner of your room.

“Fei?”, you gently placed yourself on top of him. “What?”, his cold gaze hid every ounce of emotion he felt. “Tell me what you want me to do”, another kiss against his cheek.

“I-I want you to take care of me-“. “How?”, you left a trail of kisses on his chest, down to his stomach. “You know how”, an irritated sigh. “I don’t”, your hand gently stroked his member. “F-fine”, he loudly swallowed, “I want you on top of me… I want you to tell me how much you enjoy being mine and… And I want you to tell me that you, I don’t know, love me or something”.

Your eyes widened as you noticed his stubborn expression. You never saw this side of him. Despite knowing him for so long, you still didn’t know who he truly was; what he was hiding deep inside of him.

You nodded as you shifted on top of him; his member easily sliding into you. “S-shit”, he closed his eyes. He wasn’t used to you being on top. “Fei-“, you slowly started to ride him. “Hm?”, his hands grabbed your waist; guiding you. “I love you”, your hands resting against his chest, “I love you not because you make me feel good but because you take care of me-“. “Y/N-“, he practically moaned your name. “I love the way you look out for me; how you ignore your own needs for me… I love how you look at me and at anyone who dares to look in my direction-“. “S-stop-“, he pressed his head against the mattress.

He didn’t want to come already. Not now. This felt too good to be true.

“I-I love how jealous you get and how good you look when you’re angry at me-“, you picked up the pace, your eyes closed in pleasure. “Y-you like that?”, he admired how your breasts bounced up and down as they invited him them. “I-I do”, you grabbed his hand before he could do so and placed it between your thighs. “F-fuck Y/N-“, he loudly swallowed. “Together?”, you leaned forward as you pressed your lips against his. “H-hm”, he gently grabbed your jaw as his other hand rested on the back of your neck.

It didn’t take long before you both reached your climax.

“Fuck, that felt good”, you softly moaned against his ear. Your body still shaking. “You were amazing”. You noticed how his voice didn’t feel as cold as before. “Fei?”, you gently pulled away. “Yes?”, he softly stroked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you”, you barely whispered.

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, but luckily his heart knew.

“I don’t know what love is”, his voice still rough, “But I think that this comes pretty close”.

173 notes · View notes

ohmyitsfaith · 5 months ago

Text

The sunshine and the grump / Part 4

Pairing: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: With your curiousity for Jennifer satisfied, but your anger about your husband’s dismissal still burning high, you decide to stay just a little bit more with the Umbrellas.

Warnings: fighting, Jayme using her power on the reader continuously

Word count: 2.1k

A/n: Honestly, I realized what my problem was when writing the last two parts of this. I was leaning too heavily on the show and not enough on my own ideas. So here's a part that I wrote on the train where I had no access to the actual show other than my memories.

Five’s reaction wasn’t comforting, but he was ambushed by Klaus the next moment and you went back to eating your breakfast. What could you do?

Technically what you came for, you already got. You now knew about Jennifer, at least you knew what mattered. Though you didn’t really know what to do with the information, your curiosity was satisfied. But thinking about going back… back to the family you thought loved you…

Well, they did love you. You knew that. Ben loved you as much as he was an asshole to you currently. And Jayme and Fei. Sloane especially. Alphonso loved you too and Chris… well he tolerated you. Only Marcus was a bit of a tough nut to crack. You didn’t give up yet on him, but… still. You didn’t want to go back.

Here, at least Klaus liked you. He talked to you, shared the information you needed with you. You wanted to get to know the Umbrellas, if you were honest. They seemed like a… very interesting bunch.

You looked at the Umbrellas that were around you. Viktor was trying to stop everyone from leaving. Klaus and Five were going on a road trip, if you heard it right. Diego and his alleged son were going to the store. Luther was nowhere to be found. And Viktor, giving up on the others, grabbed some breakfast on a tray and walked off.

You had two chances at getting to know the Umbrellas: either wait for Viktor to come back or go with Diego and his son. You quickly weighed your options, then ran after Diego.

“Diego, wait for me!”

“I still don’t like that you’re here” Diego grumbled as you walked down the street. “You’re the enemy.”

“Technically, I’m not” you pointed out. “I’m just a mere human without any powers. I’m harmless.”

“Not if you report back to your little birds” Diego rolled his eyes.

“They don’t listen to me” you sighed. “I’m not part of the team, the academy. I’m just Ben’s… wife.”

“That’s… sad.”

“It really is.”

“Okay, I’ll bite” Diego looked at you. “Why did you come to us? It can’t be just your curiosity about Jennifer.”

You looked at him for a few seconds. “No, you’re right” you sighed and looked at your hand, where your wedding band sat. “We… Me and Ben… had a fight. If I can even call it a fight.”

“I can’t read in your head, woman” Diego urged you to explain.

“Well… I think it started with me searching for information about Jennifer in his room” you started and noticed Diego’s facial expression. “I know, I shouldn’t have. But he was busy and I wanted answers” you put your hands up. “I understand why he was mad. But then he told me that I was too naive and they don’t need my help.”

“Well… that’s an asshole move, but maybe there was some truth in that. You’re… what do you even do?”

“I’m an interior designer” you supplied.

“Well then yeah, you probably wouldn’t have been able to help” Diego nodded, thinking.

“Asshole!” you hit him on the arm.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he had a reason to be mad at you. And with your job, you’re nowhere near the place where you could help anyone strategically plan” he explained.

“Why am I even here” you grumbled.

“I wonder that myself.”

You glared at him, then just entered the shop. You wondered whether it was even worth coming along with him. If staying at the hotel would’ve been better. You also wondered what Ben was doing. He was no doubt busy with his plan against the Umbrellas.

Which was stupid, in all honesty. Just because they caused some trouble at the mansion, why should they die? The Umbrellas didn’t want them dead. Well… other than Diego. Diego was all for beating them to a pulp. But the rest just wanted their home back. Which was honestly understandable. If what they said was true and they did come from a different timeline, then the fact that they lost everything and were left without even a home to go back to was… jarring, fear-inducing. Kind of what a tree would feel if it was uprooted and placed elsewhere. You could almost share the feeling. Almost.

Because you still had Ben to go back to. This was just a stupid fight, you’d be over it sooner or later. You just had to… talk to him. Alone, preferably.

And that… pretty much settled it. You’d go back and… see how things go.

You suddenly saw Diego duck behind a shelf, which made you suspicious. Especially when you saw him peek out from behind it just a moment later. He didn’t seem the type to play hide-and-seek in a convenience store, so, furrowing your brows, you went over to him.

“Diego, what-” you started, but were interrupted by Diego pulling you down beside him.

“Shush” he said lowly, then peeked out again. “They’re here…”

“Who-” you looked where he was looking and noticed Jayme and Alphonso. “Oh…”

Diego pulled you down again, glaring at you. “Try not to get me caught.”

“Oh god” you rolled your eyes, but Diego was already moving away from the spot where you were crouched. “Don’t try it, Diego!”

But no matter what you said, Diego was already standing up, right in sight of Alphonso. You held your head in your hands, unsure what you should do. Diego wouldn’t back down and would get hurt. Then again, it wasn’t like you didn’t try to stop him. It was his own fault if he got hurt. But still, you didn’t want him to get hurt. In all honesty you just wanted peace. No more fighting, no more arguing. You knew things could be fixed if everyone just sat down and talked.

You heard Diego get slammed back into a shelf and you made a decision. You stood up and ran for Alphonso. You weren’t going to stand by and just watch as the two of them fought it out in the convenience store. So you were going to stop them, whatever it took.

And it seemed the first thing it demanded of you was to take a punch in the face. Okay, it wasn’t that easy. Technically you should’ve expected the punch and ducked out of the way of it. You knew Alphonso was on high-alert and if he saw someone at full speed rushing up to him, of course he was going to act in defense and punch without checking who it was.

“Ow!” you yelped as you were thrown off your balance.

“Y/n?” Alphonso turned at your voice. “What are you-” but in the next moment he was pushed by Diego, who ran at him like a bull.

You cheek was throbbing with pain, but you forced yourself to focus on the fight. You got to your feet and saw Diego try to punch Alphonso without feeling the pain himself.

“Stop it Diego!” you yelled at him, trying to grab his arm, to pull him away.

Suddenly, a knife whizzed by you and scratched Alphonso’s leg. You heard the little boy scream behind you and Diego instantly looked toward him, all anger leaving him for a moment. He jumped up and ran for the little boy, who was whining and writhing on the floor.

You took a breath and blinked against the pain. Then leaned down to grab Alphonso’s arm to help him up.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked. “With them nonetheless!”

“I-” you searched for the words. “I needed time away from…”

“So you colluded with the enemy?!”

“I did not collude with the enemy!” you denied, offended. “And they’re not our enemies!”

“Of course they’re our enemies!” Alphonso scoffed. “They broke into our home, kidnapped Marcus-”

“But they didn’t!” you interrupted. “Marcus isn’t-”

You couldn’t finish though, because Diego threw a… pan?! at Alphonso, hitting him square in the face. The impact sent Alphonso stumbling back and you stared at Diego in confusion. He had knives. Why a pan?!

But the next item came flying, all aimed at Alphonso, who kept trying to dodge. All that stumbling and dodging ended in him bumping into the aisle, knocking down the short shelves, falling onto them.

That finally alerted Jayme into action. She first spit in your direction, which at first you thought you managed to dodge.

“Jayme! What…” but the next moment a hallucination overtook you.

You were still standing in the convenience store, but this time Ben came in, tentacles out to shield you from the slaughter of Diego’s knives. You saw that the knives were hurting him, but his focus was on you. Just like the first time you met, you were saved by him.

One tentacle wrapped quietly around you, lifting you from the chaos and close to him.

“Ben” you breathed.

He pulled you close, the tentacle putting you right next to him, easing you to your feet. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady. All noise washed away. It was just you and him. Like all those sweet days of solitude on your honeymoon.

“I’ll take you home, baby” he said, his voice sweet like honey.

“H-home?” you stuttered. “No, I-”

“The hallucinogen is wearing off” you heard another voice suddenly and you blinked hard.

“Don’t worry” Ben said, his voice a bit distorted and looked back at you. The next time he spoke, his voice was back to normal. “You’ll be okay, baby. They won’t hurt you there.”

Your heart calmed and your lips pulled into a gentle smile.

“Okay” you sighed. “Take me home, baby.”

All the way to the academy, you were in and out of the hallucination. In your hallucination you were on a romantic stroll with Ben, once again feeling the peace of your pink-clouded romance. In reality though, you were sweating profusely, dragged by Alphonso and Jayme to the academy, just barely not drooling. You were also breathing hard with the hallucination clouding your brain.

Jayme knew it was probably mostly your subconscious fighting against the hallucinogen. Many times she asked you to train with her for control over her hallucination. As added fun, you tried to fight it, trying to break out of the hallucination before it ran out.

So she kept spitting on you, the black goo seeping into your face. Did she feel bad for you? Yes. But you were caught with the enemy. She couldn’t in good conscience let you go back. Who knows what those criminals did to you to make you stay with them. Because as soft-hearted as you were, you wouldn’t sympathize with criminals, who broke into your home and even kidnapped your brother-in-law. That would be betraying Ben and his trust placed in you.

You kept muttering Ben's name every so often and Jayme couldn't even imagine how the man would react to his wife colluding with the enemy.

When they dragged you into the mansion’s living room, barely conscious, Ben didn’t know what to think.

He had been so mad at you the night before and so focused on the coming mission, he didn’t think much about you not being in your room. He thought that once you calmed down, you would join him in the bed. And then, in the morning you would talk it out as you did all your arguments.

Even if this was bigger than any of your previous ones.

But you weren’t there in the morning, your place still the same way it was the night before. It didn’t take much for Ben to realize that you were never there. By then, he was calm, he had forgiven you for the snooping, after all he was busy and didn’t really have time to search for the answers with you. He was also slightly guilty about dismissing your help at the second mission planning meeting. He knew he was an asshole to you, even though at the time he justified it with being mad at you.

But he really wanted to talk it out with you. To solve this issue. After all, everyone was on edge, him especially. Since you were in his life, there weren’t big enemies like the Umbrellas were right now. Not only did he want to keep you safe, he also wanted to prove himself.

So it was understandable that he was feeling more stressed about this.

Now though? He didn’t know what to think.

“What happened?” he asked, confused but he could feel the rage starting to burn in him. “Why is she under your power?”

Jayme and Alphonso shared a look.

“We found her with the Umbrellas.”

[Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

Taglist: @snixx2088, @lxkeeeee, @kimm4710, @sagestack, @koshi-sama, @cherryinsalemverse, @lifrimen, @inkedeye2345, @popstarbarbiee

#ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x you #ben hargreeves x y/n #the umbrella academy ben #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy x you #the umbrella academy x y/n #tua ben #tua x reader #tua x you #tua x y/n #sparrow!ben #sparrow!ben x reader #sparrow!ben x you #sparrow!ben x y/n

176 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 4[*]

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: a truly beautiful friendship is always founded in chaos (it’s funny because of who Eris is in mythology)

Also, I would like to emphasise the bickering at the end is entirely whispered—enjoy

Warnings: Just general angst, sexual undertones, unjustly jealous!Azriel, swans (don’t even get me started on how scary they are, and don’t try to tell me otherwise if you haven’t been cornered by at least one)

Word Count: 6,618

-Part 3- -Part 5-

A voice is calling your name from somewhere: somewhere foggy, and distant.

A voice that really has no business interfering with the hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.

Large, playfully rough hands grip your hips, using his own to keep you pinned against the brickwork, groping your ass appreciatively.

You arch up into him, mouth opening over his own, tongue stroking and flicking. Fingers rake through his hair, turning it messy as you haul him closer. The lovely press of his cock against your abdomen, the ego-boosting sign of his appetite. He groans into your mouth, bucking his hips, and you drag the soft swell of your breasts over his chest. The cool night air scrambles beneath your skirts, making them flutter and billow, urging him closer.

The voice sounds again. Clearer; closer.

It’s strange how it sounds like—

The male body is forcibly torn off you, cold flushing your front, leaving the uncomfortable dig of brick into your backside. You blink away your haze, real world events crushing back down, slamming home when your eyes lock with sharp hazel. He’s clearly pissed. It’s probably the most emotion he’s ever shown to you.

How miserable.

“Did you forget we’re have dinner tonight?” He asks gruffly, hand still resting firmly over the male’s shoulder who’s looking warily between the two of you. It dawns on you what he’s just seen you doing, the position he’s caught you in; heat swallows your body whole. The shameful, humiliated type, and you force yourself to keep his gaze. Beg yourself not to hang your head.

“I’m not going,” you manage, eyes flicking away from his. “I already told Fey, and she said it was fine, so…” His brow narrows, attention piercing into you, judging. “They’re not compulsory, anyway,” you mumble, “so really I— there’s no reason for me to be at one.”

“It’s a family dinner. There’re plenty of reasons for you to be there.” His eyes flick to the male who just had you pressed between him and a wall, “unless something more important comes up.”

There’s no obvious sign, but he’s agitated. Irritated. Maybe a foul mood.

Azriel releases the male, eyes flicking over his shoulder—a sure dismissal. When the male refuses to leave, Azriel’s shadows thicken. Definitely a foul mood. “Is there something I can help you with?” He mutters sharply, piercing attention zeroing in on the male—Bas.

His golden eyes turn on you, peering warily, “who is this? You said you were on your own.” Heat washes down your spine, gaze flicking between them, wishing for the floor to open up under your feet. “He’s—nobody. Just a—…” You fumble, unsure what to say. “Acquaintance,” Azriel finishes for you, hairs rising at the back of your neck as he stares at you. “A friend of a friend.”

Bas’ lips lift into a smirk, and you pray he’s going to keep his mouth shut for once. But he turns to Azriel, standing less than an inch shorter than the shadowsinger, “I don’t see what business you have with a friend of a friend,” he drawls, making both of you stiffen.

The dim faelights gleam in his intelligent golden eyes, bringing out the rich darkness of his skin, the outcropping of his sharp jaw, the thickness of his hair that hangs in lovely, rough locks.

Azriel’s eyes narrow, shadows coiling at his back, peeking over menacingly large wings, “and what business do you have with her? She has plans for tonight.” One of Bas’ brows quirks in subtle challenge, and you brace yourself. “Considering she sought me out, I think her plans have changed,” he says, that provocative smirk still tipping his lips.

“Bas…” you murmur, stress tensing your muscles.

Both of their attention switches to you, and your mouth seals itself shut.

Azriel shakes his head, “she’s coming with me. Don’t bother her again, Bas.” The words are final, and you can tell the conversation is over. Bas doesn’t back down, though. Always ready for a bit of rough and tumble. Practically lives off the edge. “Now I didn’t realise she was your property, Az,” he drawls challengingly, his attention then settling over you. “And you should have told me who this other person was, sweetheart.”

They know one another?

“She’s not your anything,” Azriel says, a rough sharpness to his voice. “Back off, Bas.”

The male doesn’t budge. Instead his gleaming eyes fall on you.

Oh no…

“Sweetheart?”

Heat warms your skin, gaze darting anywhere but the two males before you. You really don’t want to go to the dinner. To see all of them so soon after the mess that happened precisely one week ago… And it would be weird to show up after having said you weren’t going. What if you went and there wasn’t enough food? She has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need to worry about extra dinner guests.

You’re staying with Bas.

Hazel meets your gaze, and words stumble. “I…” I’m not going to the dinner.

“You…?” Azriel repeats, jaw tightening.

You flush, eyes lowering, heat warming your cheeks against the cool night air.

You turn to Bas, and he frowns. “Sorry,” you say gently, “I should see my sister.”

The wings at Azriel’s back loose a slight bit of their tension—still pulled taut. “Right, let’s go,” he says, cutting off any communication, “we’re already late.” You shoot Bas an apologetic look as you move to follow behind Azriel—keeping his gaze ahead. He merely shakes his head, giving you an easy smile, “find me after, okay?” A wave of gratefulness washes over you, and you push every drop of it into the thankful look you send him. Then you turn, hurrying down the uneven cobbles after the Shadowsinger.

He’s silent when you catch up, walking at his side, a pace behind. He doesn’t look at you once, continuing down the road that will lead to the River House. Fighting down the humiliation, you clear your throat. “Can you—” You nearly trip, righting yourself a second before your tipping point. Stumbling, you scoop the fabric of your long dress into your hands, raising it out of the way of your feet.

He continues walking, though slows a little as you scramble after him.

“Azriel,” you say, a little breathless. “Azriel, wait.”

He halts suddenly, making you flinch with the abrupt stop. Sharp hazel eyes press down on you, and you falter. “Yes?” He asks. Fumbling for words, your eyes flick out from under his, skipping over the shops in the darkening streets. “I—…” you begin, unsure what to say. “Can you…can you not mention any of that?” You request softly, embarrassing heat warming your cheeks.

“Who would tell?” He replies coldly.

Humiliation settles in the pit of your stomach. You lower your head a little. Nod. “I didn’t want you to think…”

“I don’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s business,” he says pointedly, watching you. Why does it feel like he’s scolding you?

Your lips press together, shoulders curving inward almost imperceptibly.

His eyes flick to your hair, and his hand raises, as if to shift a strand—tuck it away. But he stops, noting your gaze. “You need to fix your hair,” he says, a touch softer than before. “It’s obvious what you were doing.” Shame is like a deadweight in your gut, hands feeling dumb as they attempt to neaten out a mess you can’t see. His eyes narrow when you lower them, and you both know it would be easier if he was the one to right whatever’s wrong with you. He doesn’t, though.

“I’m not like Nesta,” you say softly, a little shakily.

His brow narrows slightly, “nobody said you were. There’s nothing wrong about being similar to her.” Heat warms your skin, and you stumble under the look.

“I mean, that—what you…saw—that’s not normal. It’s not a… I’m doing doing any of that…”

“Drinking and fucking?” You flinch at the crude wording, and a gleam of apology flashes in his hazel irises. He watches you quietly for a moment, and you shift under his gaze, hands moving to rest on your elbows, dress swishing close to the ground.

“You know it’s fine if you are,” he says, gently. “As long as you’re being sensible about it,” he adds, “there’s nothing wrong with doing that if it works.” Your lower lip wobbles at the implication—that he knows you’re doing this to try and get over him. How desperate you’ve become.

“But find someone other than Bas,” he says, making you furrow your brow.

“What’s wrong with Bas?” You ask. He’s been great. Azriel watches you silently again, hazel eyes piercing into you blankly. Has your lip-tint smudged?

“He’s not…” Azriel begins, as if debating how to frame what he wants to say. Make sure you’ll understand. “You shouldn’t spend your time with someone like him,” he settles on.

“‘Someone like him’?” You echo, looking back up the street to where the two of you had been. Heat crawls up your spine, and you hastily look away.

“He’s different from you,” Azriel says, bluntly.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you argue softly, peering at the cobbles. You hear him sigh, as if he doesn’t know what to do with you. “He can’t give you what you’re looking for. He’s the type to string you along until he’s bored, then never visit again. Stay away from him.”

“He hasn’t done anything bad…” you say quietly, shifting lightly from foot to foot. “He’s been…he’s been very nice.”

Azriel sighs again, and that funny feeling settles in your stomach. Disappointment tickling your insides. “That’s to draw you in. As soon as you try to bring him to a dinner, or to meet one of your sisters, he’ll bolt.”

“Why would I bring him to meet any of you?” You ask bitterly at the lack of confidence. “Do you plan to keep your partner a secret?” He counters with, tersely. “Maybe.” You reply defensively, still looking at the ground.

He’s quiet again, and you can almost feel the air shift. “Need I remind you of last week’s events,” he asks, quietly. “You’re not known for keeping your mouth shut.” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling, nails digging into your elbows. “And I thought you didn’t make a habit of interfering with other people’s relationships,” you murmur.

“I know they’ll make good decisions,” he counters. “You don’t have enough experience. To know what you’re doing.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” you whisper, head dipping. “I know what I’m—” you cut yourself off as a sob tries to work its way from your throat. Take a deep breath. Swallow. “I know what I’m doing,” you manage quietly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he argues. “You don’t want to damage yourself like that.”

Your body stiffens at the words, then a breath eases from your chest. You nod. “Okay.” You begin walking again, one foot in front of the other. He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like that.” You keep walking.

“I’m trying to help you,” he says flatly, falling into pace.

“Okay.”

“So you’ll stay away from him?” Azriel asks, eyes falling on your smaller frame.

“Okay.”

His brow narrows on you, watching intently. Then, “look at me.”

Look at me.

The feeling of his fingers inside of you, close enough to share breaths, yet you were the only vulnerable one. Not an ounce of intimacy to be exchanged. You keep walking toward the River House.

Azriel doesn’t say another word.

————

In the end, you’re somewhat glad you went to the dinner.

If you hadn’t, you would be back here, in the mortal lands.

Well, with no wall, you’re not sure what to call your previous homeland. But you’re here, nonetheless, and all thanks to Elain. She’d wished to see Lucien, who had near permanent residence in the mostly intact house, and had invited you along with her. Whether she knew you needed some time away, or simply offered, you don’t know.

You’d arrived most likely around an hour ago, Fey and Cassian departing soon after, leaving you and Elain to spend the day as you pleased. You’d opted to take a stroll around the gardens, walking alongside the river that was just beginning to refill after an apparently hot and dry summer.

That was your first encounter with Eris.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he winnows to the river bank mere feet to your left, stumbling backward a few steps in surprise. Cutting caramel eyes pierce into you with razor-sharp scrutiny, noting your pointed ears. His brow narrows as he takes you in; he doesn’t look pleased with what he finds.

Blinking, you mark the blazing colour of his hair, the beautifully tailored finery, the flicker of flame in his eyes—remarkably similar to Lucien. “What…who are you?” You manage, calming your heartbeat. It’s a nonsense question, you realise—it’s obvious who he is. Anyone could figure it out through simple deduction. So you shake your head, “why are you here?”

Eris’ eyes narrow on you, then he’s striding forward, moving up the river bank until he’s come to stop before you. You take a single step back—if you have to crane your neck to look at someone, you’re too close. He’s remarkably imposing with his height and muscle, despite the inherent beauty of the fae.

“Who are you?” The words are short and efficient in a sharp, brazen way, and you find yourself wondering if you should have just continued on your way. “I’m—” you open your mouth to give your name, then realise it would be rude to assume he knew who you were. There’s no reason for him to. “Feyre’s my younger sister,” you supply instead.

His brow narrows. “I didn’t know there were four of you.”

Heat flushes your skin, and you look away. It’s not an insult, yet you feel embarrassed.

“So, why are you here?” You repeat, a little quieter, trying to change the subject.

“I’m expected,” he replies shortly, turning to face the way you had come. “Why have you been kept a secret?” He asks. You mentally scramble for an excuse to continue on your walk. You don’t want to go back yet, and he’ll probably expect you to winnow, and you aren’t really in a talking mood at the moment. No excuse comes to mind.

“I haven’t been kept a secret,” you respond finally, falling into step a little behind him. “Not intentionally, anyway,” you add as an afterthought, frowning. He's walking fast, and you’d like more time to take in the scenery. At least he’s not winnowing.

“You haven’t been present at any meetings,” he counters, “I find it hard to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your frown deepens, “why would I be at any of them? Elain hasn’t been to any, either. The only time you would have seen her is in the Hewn City.”

“Which you were kept away from, too.”

You come to a stop, watching him. His brow narrows as he’s forced to slow his pace, looking vaguely irritated. “I was there when you danced with Nesta,” you correct, “all of us were.”

Eris stares at you blankly and it’s an effort not to squirm. “I was there,” you insist, “behind Elain?”

He doesn’t remember you.

Well.

“So you’re good at remaining unseen,” he says, turning to set you into motion again. You hurry after him, a little taken aback at the compliment. It’s a nice way to think about it, a faint smile tipping your lips, “thank you.”

“It was a question.”

“Oh…” you say, smile vanishing. It hadn’t sounded like one. “I guess… I prefer it…”

“You and the Shadowsinger must get along swimmingly,” he mutters, continuing along the path, neatly avoiding muddied parts. Something you fail spectacularly at.

The comment registers in your mind and you stiffen, muscles contracting as you force yourself to continue moving. “Not particularly…” you hedge, uncertain what’s appropriate to tell him. You aren’t familiar with Court politics. “No more than anyone else, anyway,” you correct, soothing out the slight rumple.

“No? Not settling in well?” He asks. You could swear there’s some sort of mocking undertone to the question, but you can’t figure out what the taunt is for.

“I…I guess not?” You answer, slowly. “It’s not bad,” you add hastily, not wanting to talk negatively behind their backs. He might bring it up later. You repeat the thought in your head, then shake it, smiling faintly. He hadn’t even know you existed until a few minutes ago, yet you think he could be trying exploit you. How silly.

The result of an over-inflated ego. Maybe you really should stop fooling around with Bas—he’s giving you all sorts of ideas about the value of your person, and it probably isn’t healthy.

“I mean, it’s fine. Just…normal, I guess. Compared with the initial chaos,” you add, satisfied with the end result of your rambling. The house is in sight now. All you need to do is pass between the river and the pond, and—

You stumble.

Not literally—it’s more of a mental scramble. Because right there, where they weren’t mere minutes ago, are a pair of large, powerfully built swans.

Eris continues walking like the two beasts aren’t eyeing you up with those sharp, beady eyes. You can practically see the light catching on the small teeth hidden beneath the beak. Glittering with menace.

“Let’s go this way,” you say abruptly, pointing to the path that winds around the pond. He comes to stop, clearly irritated by the unnecessary hinderances you’re causing. “This way is perfectly usable. We go this way,” he turns, continuing forward, fear rising in y our throat.

You scramble forward, clutching the skirts of your dress, “Eris!”

His caramel eyes slice into you, piercing in their intensity, but you don’t buckle. “I understand that maybe they don’t seem as vicious as the creatures of Prythian,” you murmur, as if they can hear you, “but swans are still very dangerous. We should go around.” Again you point to the pathway, ears perked up for any signs the massive birds are approaching. “And I get that you have magic, but you can’t just go around butchering local animals if they get in your way. That’s not how things are done here.”

He stares at you, as if asking if you’re serious. You hold his gaze because yes, you’re completely serious.

“You know they won’t attack you,” he counters, “and you’re correct, they aren’t dangerous compared to the beasts in Prythian. So move aside.”

You shake your head, “they could break your arm,” you insist, refusing to budge. His brow narrows in a scathing scowl, “they could break a human’s arm. I am not human.” He walks around you.

“They’re still dangerous, Eris. We should really go around,” you urge, watching as he walks along the path, remaining rooted to the spot. “Just winnow,” he snaps, then looks over his shoulder. “Unless you aren’t strong enough.”

“I can winnow fine, but…” Even that’s too close to them. You firmly believe animals have a sixth sense humans do not—you wouldn’t put it past them to know they’ve been cheated. “Please, let’s just go around.”

He watches you with narrowed eyes, weighing; judging. You freeze beneath his gaze, refusing to even breathe in case it’s the wrong thing to do. He turns fully to you then, and you think he might listen to you. Relief washes over you, but—

“You’re scared of these creature?” He asks, amusement underlying his tone. You flush. “Like I said, they’re dangerous,” you defend, lowering your gaze a little.

“You know, you’re fae. They won’t attack you.”

Your eyes flick up, doubting. “Why would they act any differently?”

“We are creatures of magic. Greater than they are. They know it would be unwise to attempt anything.” You blink, having not thought of it like that. The fae had felt different when you were human, more intense, more concentrated in a way humans weren’t. You hadn’t considered maybe other animals would understand that primal difference, too.

Eris’ lips twitch, and he holds out his arm—you’re completely certain it’s a mocking gesture this time. But also a challenge.

It’s also a prompt to face your fears. It’s been long enough.

You can do this.

You can prove to yourself there’s no need to be afraid of them any longer.

You take some small steps forward. Then a few more. And a few more after that. And then your arm is overlapping with Eris’, feeling the hot strength of muscle cording his forearm. An odd feeling of security settles over you, as the two of you begin to move forward.

You’re unable to help tensing as you pass them, even if Eris is on the side closest to them. Then to your dismay, he stops. “You can pet them, if you want,” he says, lips still quirked in the corners. He’s enjoying watching you shake and tremble at something half your size. “Are you insane?” You mutter under your breath, staring at the white beasts that seem to be waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Eyes widen and you stare at him, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

He watches you steadily, eyes gleaming as he turns toward the swans, forcibly dragging you with him, despite your protests. “Eris…” you mutter, digging your feet into the mud, but you nearly slip. “Eris, seriously, stop it.”

He stops; you sigh in relief, but the tension doesn’t leave your body—still much too close to the great birds.

“Go up to one,” he says, a smirk on his rosey lips. “Touch one, then you can go.” He’s enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“No way,” you hiss, trying to pull out of his hold. The swans shift at the jerky movement, and you still. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem inclined to move. “They’ll definitely do something if I try to go up to one!” You argue, as softly as possible. He just hums, and you wish you had continued walking instead of addressing him. Then you could be looking for blackberries, enjoying the natural sounds of the outside.

But here you are.

“You’re fae,” he reminds, eyes gleaming as he watches you intently.

Muscles tremble, thoughts flash in and out of existence within your mind as you look at the swans, sat neatly on the river bank, just at the water’s edge. A few long steps there, then back, and it’ll be over.

He’s right—you’re fae. They won’t attack you.

Still.

His arm unlinks from your own, hand pressing gently against the base of your spine. Egging you on.

You exhale a heavy breath, then move forward. Silently cursing him—unkind as it is. One step at a time as you descend the bank. The wind seems to have picked up, and you’re grateful for your preternatural sense of balance as you move down the muddy slant, feet settling on the pebble-filled shore.

Just three more steps, and you can turn back.

Two more.

One more, and then you’ll be in reaching distance.

The beady eyes pierce into you, wings stiffening, and you force yourself to breathe deeply.

“Just tap one on the head, and it’ll be over,” he reminds from your back, a little too loudly for your liking. Like he’s trying to get them to startle.

You steady yourself, blocking him out.

Come on, you can do this. You’re twice it’s size, and have immortality on your side. You can do this.

Slowly, shakily, you take the last step forward, reaching out your hand.

Black eyes meet your own, and you falter.

The swan shrieks, the second one hissing viciously, wings flaring to strike. You jump away, feet landing on the slippery rocks of the river. The massive birds surge forward, beak opening to snap at you, and you stumble, yelping as you fall backward. Icy water soaks up to your waist, and the breath whooshes out of you, your arms covering your face as wings flap.

When you open your eyes, the swans have taken off, and you’re up to your ribs in freezing river water. Trembling and shaking, you ease yourself out, soaked from the waist down, clothes wet and icy against your skin as you shiver.

Up on the bank, Eris is grinning, eyes gleaming with mirth as he watches your soaked state shuffle from the river, barely keeping his laughter to himself.

“You said—” Your heart is still pounding, vision blurring a little as you fumble for words. “You said they— That they wouldn’t…” Your teeth are already chattering, and you have to get warm quickly. You know how deadly the cold can be. Even with a reinforced body, the cold is as vicious as you remember, softly sinking into your arms, numbing your lips.

“Every animal has a fight or flight response,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement at your terror. “It was foolish of you to think you were above that.”

“But you said—”

“If I told you to dip beneath the river for five minutes without coming up for air because fae lungs are larger, would you do it?” He counters.

“…I wouldn’t disbelieve you,” you stammer, lips numb from the cold, lumbering back toward the bank.

The water in your shoes makes it hard to climb the muddy slope, and you end up having to use your hands to keep yourself steady, gritty dirt sliding beneath your nails. “Why did you lie?” You manage, heart pounding from fear, blinking away tears. His lips are still quirked into a rueful smile, enjoying your terror.

Hateful, hateful, hateful male.

“Don’t blame your idiocy on me,” he says smoothly, offering you a viper’s smile as he turns to continue along the path, leaving you freezing and shivering, soaked in river water. “Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see through that,” he calls over his shoulder. Tears spill down your cheeks, and for once, you don’t think, or fret over the consequences.

You winnow, and land a smack square across his cheek. As hard as you can.

He blinks, startled.

Then flame ignites in his eyes, glittering ire blazing hot as a forge.

“Don’t you ever,” you snarl, “do something like that again.” Fury heats your body, and you feel like a physical warmth is wrapping around you, fingertips tingling as if glowing, skin itching just below the surface. “Do you hear me, Eris?” You repeat, rage sharpening your words as your lip pulls back from your teeth.

The flame banks in his caramel eyes, and he yields a step. It’s satisfying, until you realise why.

You are glowing. But it’s not the bright, warm golden of Feyre’s happiness.

It’s green, and vivid.

Hands the colour of radiant starfall.

————

The Mother seems to enjoy putting you through various trials.

You come to this conclusion as you resist the urge to press deeper into the firm heat of Azriel’s chest as he carries you through the air.

For reasons you can only guess at, Cassian was otherwise preoccupied, leaving the Shadowsinger to fill in. Now Elain understands your relationship with the male, Feyre can guess at the complexities, and Azriel is part of the mess, so it should be obvious you’ll fly with your younger sister, right?

Unfortunately, Lucien had to be accounted for.

He’s well aware of the history between the Spymaster and his mate, and while he would never ask Elain to avoid him, she can guess well enough it would make him unhappy. That’s how you end up in his arms, split between wishing to be anywhere else, and wishing to be able to bask in his touch without anyone questioning how close you would lean. As it is, you’re stuck between keeping your distance, and not leaning so far it looks like you’re attempting to plummet to the ground far below.

The group is moving in silence, passing over the final stretch, and you can make out the twinkle of lights in the distance—Velaris. They’d gotten caught up in—what sounded like—a rather heated conversation with the Autumn Court heir, while you had opted to wait outside. The hallway had seemed too cramped, and you weren’t sure if you could manage being pressed so close to him without making your discomfort obvious.

Azriel breaks the silence. “Was everything okay with Eris suddenly turning up?”

The question startles you from your inner thoughts, and you replay it to catch the beginning. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to keep your eyes off him. “He’s just a bit…” You fumble for words, but he’s already nodding, knowing what you’re getting at. “He’s a little intense,” you settle on, “but everything was fine. For the most part, anyway.” You’re rambling.

“For the most part,” he echoes, a soft question in his voice.

“Well, I ended up falling into the river, but you know how it is…” you mumble, suddenly finding the sky very interesting. More interesting than Azriel.

(Liar.)

“I don’t think I do,” he replies. “What does soaking yourself to the bone have to do with him?” He asks, grip tightening ever so slightly as you begin the descent. You really don’t want to tell him—it’s not going to win you any adult points. At best it’ll just show how emotional your are, and that means baggage.

“It’s a long story,” you hedge, trying not to cling too tight to him as your stomach lifts in your belly. “We’ve got a while left,” he replies, gazing ahead. He could definitely be going at a steeper angle.

You sigh softly, trying to figure out how to make it as quick and concise as possible. “Well…he kind of…appeared out of nowhere, and we ended walking back together.” Azriel’s fingers press into your skin lightly, slowly spiralling in wide circles, “and there was a river involved.”

You nod gently, “yeah.”

“How?”

Teeth worry your lower lip, mouth pursing.

He exhales quietly. “We’re in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean you should trust him. I need to know everything that happened so precautions can be made,” he explains firmly.

“Okay…”

“So tell me what happened when you were walking alone with him,” he prompts.

“There’s not much to say…” you try, but he gives you a look that tells you to quit lying. “I don’t know…we were walking past the river, and there were some swans, and he convinced me to touch one, and…well, I slipped and fell in.” You leave out the glowing hands part. If you mention it, you know they’ll pounce. You don’t want to go through what Nesta did. The things she had to endure just to activate her powers…

Granted, there’s no looming threat of the queen anymore, but still. You’d rather not.

“He convinced you,” Azriel mutters under his breath, “and how did he do that?” You flush with heat, and pray he can’t tell. “I didn’t want to walk past them, and he…encouraged me to tackle my fear.”

“Stop forcing a good narrative on that prick,” he says sharply. “He didn’t encourage you, he manipulated you.”

“Maybe,” you murmur, “but I’m a little less afraid of swans now.”

Azriel sucks in a steadying breath. “And what did you talk about?”

You cast your mind back to the conversation. “He said he hadn’t known there were four sisters,” you admit, quietly, “he thought there were only three, and that Rhys was hiding me, for some reason.” He hums, and your hairs stand on end, able to feel the resonance thrumming through you. You hurriedly shift your mind elsewhere before your scent changes. “What else?”

You put your teeth into the inside of your lower lip, “I…” said we weren’t on the best of terms. “He asked…how…I was settling in,” you manage to string the words together, selecting each one with great care. “And?” He prompts. Oh dear.

“I said it was fine,” you reply, purposely vaguely. His eyes flick to you, and your own snap away in response. “Just fine?” He questions, softly. You make to nod, but he mutters your name under his breath, a quiet reprimand on his tongue. Heat coils in the pit of your belly, making you shift uncomfortably in his arms, leaning away.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he tightens his grip on you. “Stop doing that. You’ll fall.” You’re squeezed closer to him, and you squirm, the heat doubling. He mutters your name again, rougher.

“Stop doing that,” you hiss, sharply. You don’t have time to feel bad—it’s better to be rude than for him to realise the immense effect he has on you. “Stop leaning away from me,” he counters, “you’re being difficult.”

“I’m sorry my responses are an inconvenience for you,” you snap, quietly. No louder than a whisper.

“Don’t weaponise your emotions like that,” he murmurs back.

“I don’t see how I’d be able to when I don’t even know what that means,” you return, quietly. You feel his eyes press into you, and you look further away, inspecting the ground. “Don’t feign ignorance either,” he says sharply, “it’s immature.”

“Immature is making a problem out of something I can’t help,” you whisper back, snappily. His eyes narrow on you, and you shift again.

His hold tightens abruptly, fingers digging into you as he roughly readjusts his grip on your thighs and around your back. You squeak at the harsh treatment, heat bursting in your lower belly, and you squeeze your lips together, praying no sounds slip out. “It’s like you’re trying to get me to drop you,” he mutters beside your ear, “just keep still. We’re almost there.”

“Keep still?” You repeat incredulously, staring at him. “I don’t know if you’ve somehow forgotten, Azriel,” you hiss, emphasising his name. Hazel eyes flick down to you, and you gently push away the heat for a moment. “But I struggle to even think straight when you’re around. I can barely keep my head as it is, so forgive me if I’m a little shifty in a position like this,” you snap quietly. Probably the most aggressive you’ve ever been for a consistent time period.

“And I don’t know if you’ve forgotten,” he snipes back, eyes piercing into you, “but you managed to pull away on the brink of an orgasm.” Wild heat swallows you whole, and there’s no way your scent is remaining undetected now. “So you’re clearly more in control than you say you are.”

You stare at him, lips parted, skin flushed with heat.

“We are done with this conversation,” you hiss, breaking your gaze away. He doesn’t appreciate the verbal dismissal. “We’re done when I say we’re done,” he hisses in return. “Now what did you mean when you told Eris you were fine?”

You purse your lips, pointedly averting your eyes.

He mutters your name, grip tightening on you. You ignore him.

He repeats it, rougher this time, shadows twining around you.

“Cut it out,” you whisper, sharply.

“Expand on the fine comment,” he pushes, and you can physically feel the weight of his gaze upon your cheek. “Why are you so hung up on that one, tiny part?” You return, a sliver of irritation peeking through. “Because you’ve been acting strangely for a while now,” he hisses, “and if you’re starting to spiral like Nesta—”

“Do not threaten me, Azriel,” you snarl softly, skin heating—tingling. His eyes flicker, and his hold lessens on you a little, “it’s not a threat,” he soothes, “just an observation.” You narrow your brow as you watch him warily. “Like I said: you’ve been acting strange recently, and if you even gave the slightest hint that something’s off, Eris will exploit it.”

Your eyes flick away, slightly embarrassed by your tiny outburst. That wasn’t appropriate.

“So tell me, what happened when you said you were fine?” He repeats, gritting out the question.

“I…” You bite your lip, then give up. “He asked if I was settling in well, and I said I wasn’t.”

“Why did you tell him that?” He asks, gaze returning to pick out Velaris, much closer now. “Because it’s the truth,” you reply, a little weakly.

“I don’t care if it’s the truth, you shouldn’t have told him,” Azriel hisses. “He’ll give you the comfort you want, offer the reassurance, until you’re wrapped so tightly you choke on it.”

Hurt flickers in your eyes, vision blurring. “Maybe if I was better than fine I wouldn’t need the comforting,” you snap, turning your head and blinking away tears. His jaw tightens, “that’s not the point.” You stare at him. He stares back, features set in a stony line. “What is the point, then?” You ask weakly, the small spark of fight banking, beginning to flicker out beneath his oppressive gaze. “The point is,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s talking to a child. “You’re too naive.”

It’s like a smack to the face, your head reeling.

“You don’t know the dynamics between the courts. You don’t know about the feuds, or the history of Prythian. You don’t know enough to be trusted to act on your own,” he continues, oblivious to the number of scars he’s striking. “You’re a loose cannon, that I now have to compensate for.”

You stare up at him, hazel eyes glittering beneath the starlight.

“What’s worse—”

You put your hands over your ears. You can’t take anymore. If it was coming from someone else—fine. From anyone else it would be fine; understandable.

But not Azriel. That’s too much.

His brow furrows, lips moving, and you can guess he’s telling you to remove your hands.

You shake your head softly, unable to stand another word.

But his shadows contract around your wrists, tugging them away, and you hate the heat the bubbles in your lower belly at the roughness.

“You need to grow up,” he mutters, lowly. “You can’t just run away from something if you don’t want to hear it. You’re going to have to face it.”

A sob breaks from your chest, and your hands cover your face as the tears finally break, spilling down your cheeks. “Just leave me alone,” you cry, shoulders shaking as the tears continue streaming. “You find me irritating? fine. You find me annoying? Fine. You think I’m the worst, ugliest, most useless female in the world, fine,” you sob, unable to look at him. “But keep it to yourself, because every single word from your mouth holds more weight that you can probably even understand. And it is crushing me.”

You tremble in his arms, wishing they were there to offer comfort instead of being purely obligatory.

“You think Eris is the viper? You think he’s the one who’s bad for me? The one who’s trying to choke me?” You ask through your tears. “But you’re the one succeeding.”

Azriel’s eyes harden, and you feel the fractures growing larger. “I’m trying to keep you in line,” he replies, coldly. “For the sake of my Court, my High Lord and Lady, I am doing my best to keep people safe,” he emphasises. “And you are a proving to be a burden.”

You don’t know if he intentionally selected that word, burden.

You don’t know if he even realises which wound he’s targeted—so many have been picked open.

But you go quiet in his arms.

Docile.

The fight finally winking out.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd

#Azriel #Azriel x reader #Azriel x Archeron sibling #Azriel angst #angst #CBMTHY #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You #Part 4 #CBMTHY Part 4 #Eris

1K notes · View notes

feyclowns · 4 months ago

Text

a brief look at pixie biology

goofy guys. i like these ones. sillies.

most pixies are very short and stocky, with square builds. they're the smallest of the seelie

body hair is infrequent, near non-existent

males are ever-so slightly larger than females on average, though it hardly matters

pixies function very similar to fairies, they have near identical anatomies and also get inebriated from sugar

primarily eat fantastical beasts along with magic supplements

pixies grow up a little faster due to less time needed maturing their core systems. takes them about 1300 years.

pixies take very few genes from their non-pixie parent- a hint of eye color here, a darker skin color there..

despite their funky core systems, pixies, once given the magic-using tools they need, are just as adept with magic as fairies

they all speak with the same flat tone, but tend to have difficulty masking their expressions

they have an inborn talent for numbers and repetitive behaviors- they flourish in a group where everyone has a set role that they do over and over again.

each pixie is given a set role after their rearing period has ended. some pixies show the rare ambition to climb some ranks but most are generally comfortable with where Head Pixie puts them.

all fairy-based seelie buzz their wings but pixies are especially guilty of buzzing when agitated

pixies used to be quite rare, with small mixed families, usually employed by fairy companies to deal with paperwork and other tasks- librarians, attorneys, secretaries, etc

honorable mention: the curious case of Head Pixie

so many people cannot stand this guy.

this guy is weird. the council does not like weird. he is like, biologically, the biggest outlier for the pixie species ever

side note: my HP doesn't look as old as canon due to the way my fairies age (and pixies generally live longer anyway since they consume magic rather than produce it) but he is still, in fact, very old

fey dad, pixie mom. HP's pixie status was debated hotly for a long time due to the main factor that he had a functional central core- in fact, it was too functional; HP produces too much magic for his system to handle on a regular basis.

HP handles this in two ways; lots of offspring and lots of using his magic to power things. man, building a business empire is easy.

he's larger than the average pixie as well, by 7 inches (this makes him look huge)

all of HP's kids are normal pixies (barring the handful of fairy children)

HP is old. really old. he's about to hit a million. he's older than jorgen's nana. he's showing his age but he looks pretty good. his fey lineage and magic overproduction are the primary reasons for this, but he just likes to say he lives off black coffee and pure spite. he is staying around forever, baby.

#fairly oddparents #fop #pixie biology #gettin' biological #head pixie #the fairly oddparents

127 notes · View notes

myromanempiree · 7 months ago

Text

enchanting ; act one

(Previously titled; dreamers with no stars.)

Pairing; Eris x Archeron!Reader

Warnings: angst if you squint.

Summary: Your sister invites you to a ball, you meet an enchanting man.

"With all I've loved,

I loved alone"

-Edgar Allan Poe

....

To be isolated is to walk down the mahogany stairs of the House, trailing curious fingers down the barely textured, cream-colored walls. To hear the third step squeak when you place your weight on it, just on the left side. To walk down the endless hallways, filled with family portraits that seem to mock her existence with the words whispered in the back of her mind, "you are lost, yet no one cares to find you.” To walk into the warm light of the kitchen to find everyone gathered around the breakfast table for some Saturday tradition.

Forgotten as Feyre and Rhysand dote over the bump that grows larger and larger with each day, forgotten as Nesta and Elain quietly converse, still adjusting to the crowd of fey, yet comfortable in their presence. Forgotten as Azriel makes an off handed comment that rials Cassian up, Mor grinning against the rim of her glass.

To be isolated is to walk to the counter to grab something to eat, only Amren sparing her a single glance, paired with a barely-there nod.

She slowly piles food onto her plate, before finding those same portrait filled hallways, the same cream-colored walls, the same mahogany steps, a new day, yet the same routine.

….

Hours pass as she searches the library, keen eyes scanning the leather bound books looking for a specific title that one of the priestesses had recommended. She pulls a book down with nimble fingers, before adding it to the pile of books for the week.

She absent mindedly sorts through the books, eyes darting from the stack of books to the list she had made a few days ago. Her mind was much too focused on the titles to hear the soft shutting of the large doors, and the rustling behind her. It takes the woman behind her a few tries to pull her out of her focus, Feyre's voice growing louder as she repeats her name several times, before tapping on her shoulder.

“Yes?” She said, head slowly turning to glance at her sister. Feyre hums, circling the chaise and sitting down beside her. “I wanted to speak to you about something.” Feyre began, opening her mouth to speak before being interrupted by the woman next to her.

“Is it about breakfast? I don't usually go anyways–” “No, no… its not about breakfast, I wanted to ask you to join us, Rhysand is hosting an event in Hewn City and… Don't make that face, Sea Lion.” Feyre said at the obvious distaste in her sister's face.

Ah, yes… that nickname. Born from Nesta's teasing over a decade ago, due to her brief curiosity of the creatures after hearing of one from her fathers business partner, it was mocking at first, but morso a pet name as they grew older. Something she had never understood was how her sisters could use something that was originally thought of as mocking, as an endearment.

She was pulled from her thoughts yet again as Feyre sighed, gently reaching out for her sisters hand. “It is very important to me that you go, I would like all my sisters to be there.” At her sisters silence, she nods.

“Please, think about it.”

Please was not a word any of her sisters used often, other than Elain, of course. Feyre must really want this, so she sighed, “I suppose Ill attend.” She said softly, turning to her sister and nodding, looking into her eyes for the first time today.. Feyre thanking her hand skittering off, probably to tell Rhysand.

“Smile. You look like you don't want to be here.” Nesta said, looking amused as she sips from her glass.

“I don't.” She responds, her sister sighing. “Neither do I, and I much less want to have to seduce that.” Nesta said, gesturing to a man in the crowd, speaking with Mor's father, Kier or something. The man turning to look behind him towards the dias, letting her see a proper peek at his face.

Oh, Mother.

There stood the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, cropped copper hair, high cheekbones that added an air of regality to him without making the man look haughty. Plump lips pulled into the most self assured grin, showing his perfect teeth, keen whisky eyes examining the room in a manner that bordered on predatory.

The moment those dazzling eyes met hers, she looked down to her glass, cheeks pinked. Unable to see his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, unable to see the urgency in which he looked away.

She silently excused herself, moving to the clear balcony to catch her breath, not knowing whatever the feeling she held in her heart was. The thought slightly scaring her.

She stays on that balcony for a long while, only parting with it when the still-new sensation of a presence in her mind. And Rhysand’s voice echos words into her mind. “Come to the dais”

….

She walked to the dias, her midnight blue velvet gown ever so slightly brushing against the floor as she steps into the spare spot in between Nesta and Elain, assuming that to be her designated spot. She stands there for a while, watching silently as the beautiful man walks up the stairs, conversing with the High Lord and Lady.

What was said not registering as she gazes at the man. Something about him felt familiar, though she was sure she'd never met him. She only began to pay attention as he walked their direction, Nesta adjusting her posture to appear more sensual.

She assumed this to be the part where Nesta seduced the man, which felt wrong to her, for whatever reason. However, he does not stop at Nesta, he moved past her to stand in front of herself. He stepped a stair below his current stature and bow, taking her hand to his lips and brushing them against her hand.

The sensation setting a fluttering feeling off in her stomach. “What is your name, Lady Archeron?” The man asked her, tilting his head. As she introduced herself, and he introduced himself, she was led to the dance floor by the man– Eris.

Eris.

Her eyes find a mole on the side of his face, right below his right eye, gaze trained on it as they begin their waltz. She claws at her brain to find the steps, yet cannot remember. Eris gently moves his hand to the small of her back, bringing here closer to him and leaning his face against her neck as he whispers softly.

“Follow my lead.”

It felt natural to do so. Even though Eris kept attempting to strike up a conversation, she was too focused on trying to not step on his toes and bring them to the ground to converse. The waltz came to an end, and she bows, her hands shaking.

The walk back to the dais was as silent as the rest of their interaction. She felt guilty for not being able to seduce the man, but regardless, was glad she was even able to waltz without falling and crashing into something or someone.

She moved swiftly up to her sisters as shocking words ring in her ears.

“I will offer you support, in exchange for her hand.”

a/n - I read this back and she's kinda autistic-coded, so I hope everyone is okay with that :)

Taglist;

@babypeapoddd @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @impossibelle @thestartitaness

comment if you want to join taglist!

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris x archeron!reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris x oc #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #chubby reader #tale as old as the mother

271 notes · View notes

furidaimonia · 27 days ago

Text

— ❄️ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄: 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄

summary: zhongli recalls the fateful tale of when a certain snezhnayan princess was sent on a mission to liyue. fem reader. 682 words.

warnings: none

masterlist

It was another mild, serene day in Liyue Harbor. Ships glided across the sea's turquoise waters, and the market was rife with the usual hustle and bustle. Zhongli felt the gentle caress of Barbatos' breeze as he sat on the patio of the newest up-and-coming tea shop in the city, with notes of chamomile, orange, and Qiaoying's signature black blend dancing on his tongue. He watched with quiet affection as a young man proposed to his lover on the streets below, and the sun warming his face brought forth a small, content smile.

Zhongli had, admittedly, become quite fond of fading into the background and watching the lives of everyone around him play out. He felt a sense of duty to know the ins and outs of every person residing within the city he had personally fostered and protected for centuries. Off the top of his head, Little Xia would start school soon. The ship with the blue sails had caught a large haul of fish and would be allowed to stay in the harbor with their families longer once they returned -- it had been many weeks and he knew their spouses could hardly wait. Hu Tao had seen an increase in business in the past few days. Yun Jin had just completed the production of her newest play. His birthday would be approaching in the coming weeks and with it, the tide of a new year.

Preparations for the lantern rite festival had already begun, and stalls selling both materials for making and completed lanterns could be found scattered down along the waterfront. The man took another slow sip of his tea, but before he could muse further, the familiar babble and laughter of children roused him from his reverie.

"Mr. Zhongli! Mr. Zhongli!" Little Lulu called, running up to where he sat, her playmates in tow.

Zhongli made the timely decision to set his teacup down as the young girl barreled into him, wrapping her small arms around him in a tight hug. Zhongli's smile widened into a surprised grin.

"Little Lulu, how lovely it is to see that happy face. How are your parents?" he asked, gently patting the top of her head.

"Everything's great! 'Cept my daddy forgot my mommy's birthday and their anniversary. But she told me not to tell anyone!" she beamed, and Zhongli's smile faltered ever so slightly.

"Ah... I see," he chuckled awkwardly before gazing at the two other boys waiting patiently for his attention.

"What's the occasion? Surely you didn't run all across Liyue Harbor just to give me a hug."

Little Lulu detached herself from Zhongli's side as Little Fei pouted. "We were playing pirates again, but we couldn't come up with a good story... and then we remembered you're the best at telling stories, so we came and found you!"

"So it's a story you seek, is it?" He said, leaning back in his seat. "Must it be about pirates? I'm sure Captain Beidou has much better tales than I about life on the sea."

"Anything will do!" Little Fei exclaimed, crossing his arms. "We're just bored, but your stories are always entertaining."

Zhongli's lips quirked at the young boy's compliment. "Hmm... have I told you about the Rabbit on the Moon?"

The children nodded.

"I see... well then, what about the Hare and the Tortoise?"

"You've told us that one, too!" Little Meng said, coming up to lean on Zhongli's knee. "We want something new."

"Yeah! Something new!" Little Lulu parroted, jumping excitedly.

The man brought a finger to his lips as he contemplated. Something new... a story he had never told anyone before...

"Perhaps I have the perfect story after all. It took place here, in this very harbor, not far from where we sit now..."

The three children quickly drew nearby stools and took their seats before him, exchanging excited smiles.

Sensing that his eager audience was ready for him to continue, he spoke once more. "This is a story about yin and yang - the fateful crossing of paths between a princess and a god. Shall we begin?"

54 notes · View notes

monster4monster-bracket · 6 months ago

Text

Propaganda under the cut

Hob/Delloso

Starts out as a star-crossed, Beauty-and-the-Beast-style romance between a very animalistic, awkwardly formal, military man—well, goblin (Captain Hob) and a very elfen-esque Master of Ceremonies (Rue), who’s busy with the job of hosting the huge, politically important party they just put together, and is also technically a member of another royal court. SPOILERS: Turns out Rue is an owlbear under their glamour, aka just as massive and animalistic as Hob. Both of them really love the other’s body specifically because it looks like theirs rather than fitting in with the traditional fey standards of beauty, so they’re lowkey serving t4t-vibes, despite existing in a setting where there are zero social expectations around gender. Technically they’d be a monster x monster pairing no matter what, as they’re both fey, but the fact that they both stick out even among the extreme visual variety of the fey people, and very much feel the weight of that exclusion, really makes them a monster x monster pairing in spirit too.

Polymechs

So they are all aliens to each other. They are also like canon found family, and are immortal. I love this ship because the nine of them deserve happiness and some love because they are doomed to have heartache in their lives. They spend so much time together and will die alone and while they are together I think they should kiss.

#monster4monster #monster4monster bracket #poll bracket #poll tournament #round 4 #the mechanisms #the mechanisms band #polymechs #dimension 20 a court of fey and flowers #dimension 20 #dimension20 #d20 #d20 captain hob #d20 delloso

128 notes · View notes

companion-showdown · 20 days ago

Text

Showdown 2k25

Just like last year I want to kick January off with a flat popularity contest, showdown 2k25.

Automatically competing - everyone from last year (list), with the following exceptions

Last years winner - Donna Noble

Possibly Rose Tyler as the 2023 winner, but I need to think on it a bit more

I'm going to reassess a few from last year, specifically the real people

Rules for new nominees (tardis wiki list referenced below)

Anyone on the list will automatically be accepted

TV companions MUST be on the list

EU companions not on the list will be considered on a case by case basis. If they meet a reasonable definition of companion I will accept them, basic guideline is has their own tardis wiki article so I can actually check, multiple stories with the Doctor, none of these guidelines are hard rules, if you can justify them to me, I'll let them in

Propaganda is not carrying over from last year, if you want to go to bat for someone, use this same form

You can use this form to make multiple nominations/give multiple bits of propaganda at once.

You have until at least the 1st of January

list of competitors, anyone in green has propaganda submitted for them

Classic Who

Ace McShane

Adric

Barbara Wright

Ben Jackson

The Brigadier

Chang Lee

Dodo Chaplet

Grace Holloway

Harry Sullivan

Ian Chesterton

Jamie McCrimmon

Jo Grant

Kamelion

Katarina

Leela

Liz Shaw

Mags

Mel Bush

Mike Yates

Nyssa

Peri Brown

Polly Wright

Romana I

Romana II

Sabalom Glitz

Sara Kingdom

Sarah-Jane Smith

Sergeant Benton

Steven Taylor

Susan Foreman

Tegan Jovanka

Turlough

Vicki Pallister

Victoria Waterfield

Zoe Heriot

NuWho

Adam Mitchell

Amy Pond

Bill Potts

Canton Everett Delaware III

Clara Oswald

Dan Lewis

Graham O'Brien

Grant Gordon aka the Ghost

Handles

Inston-Vee Vindor

Jack Harkness

Karvanista

Kate Stewart

Martha Jones

Mickey Smith

Missy

Nardole

River Song

Rory Williams

Rose Noble

Ruby Sunday

Ryan Sinclair

Wilfred Mott

Yasmin Khan

Audio

Alex Campbell

Anya Kingdom

Bliss

C'rizz

Cass Fermazzi

Charley Pollard

Cousin Eliza: Christine Summerfield: Horus

Dalek Test Subject 2

Erimem

Evelyn Smythe

Helen Sinclair

Hex Schofield

Iris Wildthyme

Liv Chenka

Lucie Miller

Mark Seven

Molly O'Sullivan

Narvin

Oliver Harper

Sheena (The Starship of Theseus)

Tania Bell

Novels

Anji Kapoor

Anna (Good Companions)

Badger

Barusa

Bernice Summerfield

Business woman (Time on a Vine)

Catherine “Cat” Broome

Chris Cwej

Cinder

Claudia Marwood

Compassion

Dorothy (The Wonderful Doctor of Oz)

Fitz Kreiner

Guinevere Winchester

Hector (All Flesh is Grass)

Homunculette

Ikalla

Irving Braxiatel

Jack McSpringheel

Larna

Marie (Alien Bodies)

Milena

Patience

Penelope Gate

Peter Summerfield

Rosie Taylor

Roz Forrester

Ruth Leonidas

Sam Jones

Serena

Sibling Different aka Mae

The Mortimer Family (Ida, Alan, Helen, George)

Trix MacMillan

V.M.McCrimmion

Wolsey the Cat

Zeleekhà

Comics

Abslom Daak, Dalek Killer

Alice Obifune

Angus ‘Gus’ Goodman

ARC

Chantir

Child Master (The Then and the Now)

Cindy Wu

Dave Lester

Destrii

Duh

Flanx

Fey Truscott-Sade

Frobisher

Gabby Gonzalez

Gillian & John Who

Grayla

Hattie Munroe

Izzy Sinclair

Jayne Kadett

John Jones

Josie Day

Kroton

Ly Chee the Wise

Majenta Pryce

Maxwell Edison

Olla

Rose-the-cat

Shayde

Ssard

The Squire

Weeping Angel (Origins)

Real Life

Alan Turing

Claudia Winkleman

John Lennon

Jules Verne

Mary Shelley

Peter Cushing

Other

Alison Cheney

Andy Davidson

Antimony (Death Comes to Time)

Brian the Ood

Dormouse (The Red and the Blue)

Emma (curse of fatal death)

Koschie

Romana (Battle for the Universe)

Splinx

Susan Who

Tom Campbell

#doctor who

47 notes · View notes

urfavoritemistake · 5 months ago

Text

gifts from sister iris 💜

iris's knitting skills are overlooked. i think gifts are her love language, both for feenie and her newly un-estranged family. i like to hc she only got a year or so in prison since adrian only got 6 months for tampering with a crime scene, and i want to believe she was around to help maya raise pearl 🥺 the three of them plus bikini are all that's left of the feys, and phoenix seemed pretty busy during the 7yg, i want them to have become really close. pearl and maya are shown in the anime shivering while up in the mountains, so i think iris would remember that and knit them some warmer wear while in jail...consider these the first of many "sorry for being secretive about the plot to save you from being killed" gifts haha. i spent so much time brainstorming the maya sweater design

#ace attorney #maya fey #pearl fey #iris hazakura #iris hawthorne #aa3 #aa3 spoilers #dotty draws #dottypost

84 notes · View notes

pod-together · 4 months ago

Text

Pod-Together Day 1 Reveals 2024

Light up This Old Soul (Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars: Dark Disciple - Christie Golden) written by EustaciaVye, performed by AsterRoc Summary: As Obi-Wan heals, he learns more about the Nightsisters' approach to the Force, while Asajj learns more about her heritage.

Both a Blessing and a Curse [text, audio] (Star Wars: Rebels) written by wanderingjedihistorian, performed by flowerparrish Summary: His memory was both a blessing and a curse. Alexsandr Kallus had known this for many years. The date he’d first seen the name The Ghost cross his desk was forever burned into Kallus’ memory. And that date was getting closer.

View from a Pavilion (镇魂 | Guardian (TV 2018), 绅探 | Detective L (TV), 叛逆者 | The Rebel (TV 2021)) written by Martha, performed by SEF_podfic Summary: During the dark days of the occupied French Concession, Luo Fei helps an injured young captain of the Republican Military Intelligence. [text and podfic]

dream symphony (The Magnus Archives (Podcast)) written by Lua, performed by gracicah Summary: Simon Fairchild loves the sky, and, through his surprisingly long life, he feels loved back by it. It isn’t all that surprising that he has a good time as an avatar of his patron. After all, he is a man in love.

A Case of Identity Fraud (Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)) written by DayenuRose, performed by Nymphie_Wolf Summary: After spending years of putting in the hard work and re-building his life and his relationship with his family, Jason Todd is not amused when he falls over a decade into the past. The Red Hood is in the middle of his vengence on his family, Tim's life is falling apart at the seems, and his family is in shambles. Jason misses his home, his family, and the ability to have a decent meal. After two months of (mostly) observing from the sidelines, Jason can't stand by anymore. If no one else will step in and help Tim, then he will. Can Jason help past!Tim without messing up the future for everyone?

Tenderly (Original Work) written by Hagar, performed by wilfriede0815 (with additional voices by stargateinmybasement, ChaosKiro, Juulna, Tipsy_Kitty, horchata, and flowerparrish) Summary: My name is Amalie Madsen. I’m a schoolteacher teaching sixth grade. Since I became a teacher, I’ve been told many times that my sense of wonder may fade with time but, in fact, just last year I ran into the greatest wonder I have encountered to date. Or, should I say, wonders.

Truth Comes Out Of His Well (Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types) written by TsarinaTorment, performed by stereden Summary: Lee Fletcher had a secret. Luke knew it, and anything Luke knew, Kronos knew. This had consequences, which started with Lee not meeting his end at the business end of a giant's club after all.

Letters to Jiejie [text & podfic] (陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)) written by FlutterFyre, performed by pezzax Summary: Jiang Cheng doesn't know what has gotten into Wei Wuxian and to be honest, he doesn't care. He just wants things to go back to normal. Stuck at the Cloud Recesses guest lectures, he vents to his elder sister as he alsways has, hoping against hope that she will have a solution that might bring some semblance of sense back to his foster brother.

Like a Hozier Song [text, audio] (Daredevil (TV), Daredevil (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017), Punisher (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe) written by BurdenedWithPointlessPurpose, performed by 42donotpanic Summary: Matt never expected for Frank Castle to end up on his couch for months on end. He’d never expected to make a home with him, but nothing is as he’d planned. Life isn’t neat like that and his friend gets that more than anyone else ever has. It’s the reason he’s a little sweet on his friend… like the Hozier songs the guy likes to sing.

Phantom Friends (Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)) written by Litra, performed by itallcomesbacktoandreil Summary: Five times someone in the bat family died and met Danny, and the one time no death was needed.

Room 505 (The Hotel (Podcast)) written by zombified_queer, performed by MistbornHero Summary: The Lobby Boy gets to flex his creative muscles. The Hotel Herself observes with a pang of surprise.

#podfic #fanfic #star wars: the clone wars #star wars: dark disciple #star wars: rebels #guardian #the rebel #the magnus archives #batman #original fiction #percy jackson and the olympians #the untamed #daredevil #the punisher #marvel cinematic universe #danny phantom #the hotel podcast

58 notes · View notes

everlastingdreams · 21 days ago

Text

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 23

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

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: Ignosce Mihi

Notes: 👀

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. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter: 23/47

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

You had rode all night to find a village that was not too close to where the paladin camp was. Sure, you could have asked someone for directions but it was impossible to know who you could trust. So you kept on riding until finally reaching a village called ‘Willowsmead’. Haunted by what was left behind, you walked alongside the horse and tried to find an inn. Walking between people felt uncomfortable, it felt uneasy and unsafe, a feeling you tried to push down. All the items adorned with symbols of the Church had been taken off of the horse and left in the forest, remaining discreet was key now. Once you found an inn, you tied the horse’s reins to the hitching post beside it. There was a half open horse shelter in wood that covered the horses against rain when it would occur. Tucked safely into the hood of your cloak, you entered the inn. Drunkards of the night before were already starting their rounds of ale up again.

“What can I do for you, lass?” The young woman behind the bar said.

You watched how she kept busy wiping down the counter. “I’m looking for a room.”

She was able to divide her attention between you and her chore. “We have rooms for those who can afford it.”

You took off the string hanging around your neck, put the ring down on the bar and spoke with a determined tone, “A month. Meals and beverages included. My horse will need to be fed too.”

Her mouth fell open a little at the sight of the ring and she picked it up to inspect it. “I like the stones.”

“Do we have an agreement?” You watched her like a hawk.

“Ay. Take the room upstairs at the end of the hall, it’s the biggest. Stairs are over there. The outhouse is behind the inn if you need it.” She pointed at a set of stairs that were somewhat hidden around a corner not far from the entrance of the inn.

You followed her directions and found the room at the far end of the hall upstairs. The room was indeed large, larger than expected. There was even a small room inside of it that was used for washing up. It was better than what you had hoped for and it gave a sense of comfort that you hadn’t had in quite a while. This would be your home for a month, your shelter. There was clean linen in the room, a blessing considering how uncommon it could be in inns. You barely dared to take of your satchel or jacket, convinced that the paladins would find you soon. It was perhaps an irrational fear, you had been careful whilst riding here. Still…

The satchel was stashed under the bed, the jacket stayed on, it felt safer to have the dagger close. Laying down, your eyes on the ceiling, your thoughts traveled everywhere. A month, a new start, but what after that? Alone, no friends… it was a frightening prospect. All you had was the sword lessons from the Monk fresh in your mind. The Monk… Lancelot… so loyal to Father Carden that he had twisted a knife into your heart to gain the praise from the priest. Was it too foolish to believe that someone could have truly been so caring out of goodness instead of a command given? Had everything been a lie? Still, even if his kindness to you had been genuine, he still was going to bring you back to Father Carden even though he knew what fate awaited you. What had he expected? That he could convince the priest not to use you exactly for the purpose you were being held there for? Maybe… maybe he was as lonely as you were and that had made him try to find a balance between you and Father Carden. But such a balance could never exist, the priest did not know the meaning of kindness or mercy, and sadly the Monk did not seem to realize it. How could you still try to find the good in someone who had betrayed you so? Perhaps it was because he was the first to treat you like an actual person. You pressed the palms of your hands against your closed eyes and groaned loudly at your all consuming thoughts. Leaving your old life behind would not be simple if you kept thinking about Lance…- the Monk.

It was perhaps wise to start thinking of a way to earn a living or you risked starvation after the month was up. A knock on your door startled you, and you sat very still on the bed until another knock came. Had they found you…? You quietly moved towards the door to listen for any noises.

“Oi! Lass, you want this soup or not?” The innkeeper’s voice sounded through the door.

You let out a sigh of relief and opened the door, she held a bowl out for you to take.

She gestured to the bowl in your hands. “Just bring the bowl back downstairs tomorrow. People keep thinking they paid for the bowls too when they pay for soup.”

She had already turned around and started to walk away when you called out after her.

“Thank you!” It was considered of her.

“At your service.” She did not turn around and just headed back downstairs.

In the bed you drank your soup. There was a small table in the room with two chairs, but you preferred the comfort of a bed for as long as you could have it. Showing yourself outside as long as it was not dark wasn’t very safe, you weren’t certain how well the cloak hid you from searching eyes. At least it was a nice room to be stuck in for hours, there were even some books placed on a dresser, you picked one out to read. If the paladins had not barged into this place by morrow, you would try and visit the market. For now, you played it safe and stayed in the room, filling the hours ‘till midnight by reading.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

~Somewhere in the woods…~

The Monk forced himself to stay awake under the light of the sun, it was too dangerous to halt for long in the daylight. In his body was a heaviness sitting on his chest, undoubtedly a rising fever from the injuries he had sustained. His body had not stopped shuddering since the sun came up. The night before had almost cost him his life and now he was not certain if surviving had been the better outcome. He hated feeling the weakness set into his body, part of him wished to let it take over. He had urged the boy, Percival, to clean up by the river bank as he did the same. The blood stuck to his surcoat, his cloak, everywhere. Some of it his, some of it that of the Trinity Guards. It was no use, he was too weak to bathe and wash the dried blood off and fresh blood of his own replaced it soon after anyway. His head was pounding mercilessly, the cuts to his body felt like they were burning. No, this was not ending well if he did not find a healer willing to treat him.

“Are you… alright?” The worried child had been kneeling next to him by the river bank.

The Monk had been kneeling there, starring blankly at the river for minutes already. “Do not concern yourself over me.” He handed the boy his tankard of water. “Drink.”

Percival gingerly took the tankard and drank a few sips of water. “You don’t look fine…”

Neither did he feel so. His body was tricking him into thinking that sleep would be a good idea, but he knew better.

The taste of blood was still present in his mouth, he tried to swallow it away before speaking again, “There is a village not far from here. If we are fortunate we can find shelter there. It’s in the west.” He turned his head to the direction, hoping to feed the boy some valuable information. “We ride along the river and stay away from the main paths in the forest.”

“Do you think they’ll be looking for us?” Percival sounded worried.

He would not lie. “Yes.”

The boy handed back the tankard and followed him back to Goliath. “Why did you help me? Now the paladins are angry with you.”

The fever made him more openly honest than he normally would have been. “I did not want them to harm you.”

Percival stopped and stared at the back of the fearsome Weeping Monk who apparently had a conscience when it came to children. “But you kill Fey…”

He patted the spot in front of the saddle. “Up.”

The boy stood and stared up at him, looking at him with great concern. “Are you going to die?”

“We all will one day.” It slipped from his thoughts before he could think how frightening such a statement could be for a child. “I am trying not to.”

“Try harder.” Percival scrunched his nose. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”

This blunt child… never holding back on voicing exactly what goes through that mind. Still, perhaps it was his way of showing his concern.

He pulled at the boy’s jacket. “I wish to reach the village before that happens. Now mount.”

He ignored the small glare for telling the boy what to do and helped him get up on Goliath before hoisting himself into the saddle behind him. A sharp shooting pain went through his side, causing his vision to spin for a moment.

Percival was quick to notice the alarmed response on his face. “Lancelot?”

“I’m alright.” He took a few sharp breaths to deal with the pain. “Listen. If something were to happen to me, take my horse. His name is ‘Goliath’, he will look after you if you look after him. Do you know how to ride?”

“No…” Percival muttered quietly, hating to admit it.

He put the reins into the boy’s hands. “Then now you will learn.”

With the little focus he had left, he taught Percival the more important parts of horse riding, for he doubted he’d live long enough to see a healer.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

In the night, as you read your mother’s journal, a sound from outside your window drew your attention. When you looked outside, you could make out a few figures in the dark. A young boy was trying to help someone down from their horse. You decided to go and see if you could help. Quietly you made your way out of the inn, trying not to disturb everyone who was asleep. As you neared the figures, it got easier to see them. And when you could finally make out what you were seeing, you stopped dead in your tracks. The person that this boy was trying to help, was the husband that you were trying to forget.

The boy noticed you. “He needs help! Please!”

Seeing a child begging for help on the Monk’s behalf was staggering. For a moment you didn’t know how to react, but the child’s concern was what pulled you over the line. You stopped a few steps away from the boy, the Monk was slouched forward over Goliath and barely conscious. It took a few seconds for your eyes to figure out what those dark stains on him were. Blood. A lot of it. His clothes were sliced through in multiple places, torn in others. His face was bruised, as was the face of the child.

It was as if the boy was aware of how unlikely it was that someone would choose to help the Weeping Monk. “Please, help…”

Dammit… dammit… dammit.

You had to use all your strength to get the Monk off of the horse without letting him drop to the ground, he was somewhat aware of the help and tried to assist where he could but you doubted he had any idea where he was or with who. He could barely keep his footing.

“What is your name?” you asked the child.

The boy went to support the Monk’s right side. “Squirrel.”

An odd name, one you did not question. “I’m y/n. We need to get him inside the inn, we’ll take him to my room.”

“No one can know he is here.” Squirrel was reluctant to say it.

“I won’t tell.” you assured the boy. “What happened? Why are you with the Weeping Monk?”

After you brought Goliath to where your horse was resting, Squirrel told you the story. The demise of Brother Salt, the attack of the Trinity Guard, the Monk beaten to his knees. Their narrow escape from it all. It felt so unreal to hear it. He had betrayed the Church in the worst way possible to save this child. And according to Squirrel, Abbot Wicklow knew that the Monk was Fey. They would be looking for him, he needed to hide. All you could do was hope that the news would not spread fast, that there was still time for him to heal and flee.

It was half a miracle that you and Squirrel were able to get the Monk up the stairs without breaking any limbs. As you put him down on the bed, and turned to speak to Squirrel, the Monk caught your wrist. He spoke your name, as if he was not even sure you were really there. Clearly delirious from the fever, he failed to form another word. He was simply too weak to speak. Even when you had hoped to never see him again, you still couldn’t fight the wish to help him. His bravery to save the child had at least earned him your help for now.

You wettened a rag in the washbasin. “Squirrel, there is a satchel under the bed. A vial is inside, will you please hand it to me?”

Squirrel was quick on his feet and snatched the satchel from under the bed. In the meantime you wiped the blood from the Monk’s face.

Squirrel handed you the vial. “What’s in it?”

It was tricky to pour the liquid into the Monk’s mouth drop by drop, but it was necessary. “Medicine from when I was sick myself, I hope it will help for him too.”

Squirrel saw how calm you stayed in the presence of a man who had the reputation of being a monster. “You’re not afraid of him…”

Your eyes flickered up to those of the boy. “I’ve met him before.”

The boy squinted his eyes. “Are you Fey?”

A pause. “Some of me is.”

“What part?” The child wondered out loud.

A soft laugh fell out of you at that. “Half of my blood I think.” After pouring half the vial down the Monk’s throat, you took the pouch of willow bark from your satchel and gave some to Squirrel. “Chew this. It will help with the pain of your bruises.”

The boy stilled when you took a gentle hold on his chin to look at his bruises better. “What kind of Fey are you?”

After a moment of thought, you decided to tell him the truth. “I am half Ash Folk and half Manblood.”

“You don’t look Fey.” he blurted out when you tilted his head a little to the side.

You smiled at the boy’s bluntness. “That’s the Manblood part of me.” Then let go of his chin. “I will need herbs to make ointment for you and him. Will you help me bare his torso so I can inspect his wounds?”

Squirrel shrugged his shoulders and nodded. Together you struggled to bare the Monk’s torso, the blood was making the fabric stick to his skin in multiple places. When you could finally begin to asses the damage done, you felt your heart drop. Wounds on his back told you he had used the scourge to cleanse himself, the other injuries were mostly deep bruises and several cuts. They had meant to make him suffer, cut by cut. Even Squirrel looked at the Monk as if he wondered how the man was still alive.

You must have been quiet and unmoving for a moment, because Squirrel looked up at you worried.

“Is he going to die?” Squirrel quietly asked, fearing the answer to come.

It made you snap out of it. “Not if I can help it. Listen, I need to go and find some herbs to help him-”

“I can go find them!” The boy wanted to help.

Sending a child into the woods late at night felt wrong. “I know you can, but I need you to stay here with him. Please?”

Squirrel looked back at the Monk. “Fine.”

Quickly you grabbed your cloak. “I won’t be gone long, if he wakes try to keep him awake.”

“How?” he asked.

“Talk to him?” you suggested.

Squirrel grimaced, as if he worried what to speak of to the Monk who had saved his life.

Almost did you let out a chuckle. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you worry.”

Squirrel went to sit on one of the chairs and began to drink the remaining soup from the bowl. It dawned on you that he must be hungry, the paladins were known to use starvation against the Feys.

You opened the door. “And I will see if I can get you more to eat.”

The boy’s eyes snapped to yours, as if you had just performed a miracle. He managed a nod in response and you headed out to find the herbs.

It was a rather cold and rainy night, it made it harder to find the herbs you needed. The teachings of Ravenwick’s healer would know their use again tonight. By focusing on your sense of smell more, you were able to find the herbs. While sneaking back into the inn, the innkeeper turned out to still be awake.

“Who are the people you took to your room?” She gave you a knowing look.

You had a feeling that she knew exactly who you had in that room. “Friends who desperately need some help.”

She hummed. “As long as they bring no trouble they can stay in the room as well.”

“Thank you.” You were grateful for her understanding.

“The child, Fey kind?” she inquired.

Was it wise to tell her…?

“Horrible what they’ve done to the Fey. Especially for the little ones.” she said. “Do you think he will want some bread and soup?”

You couldn’t believe the offer. “He would love that.”

“Good. I’ll grab another bowl from the kitchen that you can give to him.” The innkeeper walked from behind the bar to the kitchen, she returned with a bowl of soup and two halves of a bread. “This will keep them fed for the night.”

It felt so incredible to see kindness in another person again. “Thank you so much. This is so kind of you.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “When you plan to rent a room again at a later time, remember the good service I gave.”

It would be hard to forget. “I will. I hate to ask, but do you have a needle and thread I may use?”

She didn’t even ask why it was needed, she could easily guess. She bend down and took a basket from behind the bar. “I see my fair share of blood in here if one of the patrons drinks too much. Take what you need.”

You took what was needed, along with the bread and soup, and headed up to the room. Inside you found Squirrel sitting next to the bed, his attention immediately went to what was in your hands.

You had placed the bowl on the table and put one of the halves of the bread beside it. “The innkeeper was kind enough to offer this to you. Come eat.”

Squirrel was sitting at the table in a matter of seconds, a warm meal had been a rarity and the soup was quick to warm his cold chest up. You did insist that he took off his cloak and jacket so it could hang over the other chair to dry. Then you used your empty soup bowl to mix the herbs into an ointment.

“He’ll wake up soon if he smells that.” Squirrel said with his mouth half-full.

You gave him a side-eye at that and he quietly continued to eat. “It may smell bad, but it works well. An elder Fey healer taught me this.”

“Did you want to be a healer?” Squirrel said, believing you to be one with this knowledge on ointments.

“I uhm…” you swallowed. “It was a useful skill to learn.” And it certainly was for you, Aldith and Cassian would have left you to bleed out. “What do you want to be when you’re older?”

He had his answer ready. “I’m a knight.”

You walked towards the unresponsive Monk. “A knight?”

A short pause fell between his words, it was hard for him to speak about the moment. “The Green Knight… I tried to save him from the paladins, but they caught me. He couldn’t walk anymore… he made me a knight.”

Hearing the hesitation and fragile tone was heart-wrenching. “He must have known how brave you are.”

Squirrel looked your way again, then let his eyes drop to the soup. You fetched the bucket of water from the small room and with one of the rags supplied you began to clean the blood away from the cuts on the Monk’s torso. Part of you was terribly nervous for the Monk’s reaction when or if he would wake, and at the same time you hoped he would wake soon. He had not deserved this, this child was alive because he had went against the Church. Once Squirrel was finished eating, he came to help you move the Monk on his side so you could treat the wounds on his back first. Seeing the scars from up close made your hands begin to tremble, all of them were the result of his devotion to the ones who had made him into a weapon. Once the wounds on his back were tended to you carefully moved him to lay on his back again, and a groan came from him. You froze.

It took a few seconds before you collected enough of your courage to lean in, take his hand in yours, and talk to him. “Lancelot, if you can hear me, you are safe and so is Squirrel. But you must fight this fever, do not let this be the end of you.”

No response came, even after waiting for a while. So you went back to caring for his injuries.

“He told you his name too?” Squirrel wondered out loud.

“He did.” You hoped the boy would not ask further.

Squirrel looked down at the unconscious man. “That priest, in the black clothes, he said Lancelot was Fey…”

Oh… heavens… “He is.”

The curiosity of the child knew no bounds. “But what kind?”

Those three seconds of silence that fell felt so so loud. “He is Ash Folk too.”

Squirrel frowned. “Is that why his eyes are like that?”

“Yes.” You chose honesty.

Another question followed. “Then why are yours not like that? I’ve never seen that kind of marks before.”

The question was to be expected. “I am not sure, but I think it is because I am a woman. He is a full-blooded Ash Man. My Fey-marks do not present themselves all the time like his do, mine only show rarely.”

You noticed that Squirrel blinked rapidly every few seconds, and he began to yawn often. He was fighting against the exhaustion he felt, and you halted the Monk’s treatment for just a moment to put some ointment on the child’s face as well.

“You should rest, I can see that you are tired. Use my cloak as a pillow.” you suggested.

Squirrel was hesitant, but knew that he would not be of much help if exhaustion would take over completely. He took your cloak from where you had put it on the chair and came back to sit next to the bed, he propped the cloak up into a ball to use it as a pillow. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, the full stomach must have helped. Quietly you had begun to suture the cuts that were littered across the Monk’s torso. It felt almost wrong to be doing this while he was not conscious, but you knew that if you didn’t his state would undoubtedly worsen. It was the sharp intake of breath between his teeth and the shivering of his body that warned you that he was waking up. His hand lifted to feel the spot you were working on, you couldn’t risk him accidentally ruining the stitches and took hold of his hand to place it down next to him again.

“Do not fear. I am using needle and thread to suture your wounds.” you told him.

This time his hand moved faster and nearly made you jump when it caught your lower arm. Your name fell from his lips in a way you had never heard it be spoken before. A voice, shattered and broken, carrying a small flicker of hope. Finally his eyes opened, it seemed to cause his head to hurt, he struggled to keep them open and let out a pained sound. Completely still, you stared at his face, not daring to continue your work.

It took a moment before you found your voice again. “Lancelot, I am trying to help, but you need to let go of my arm so I can do that.”

He forced his eyes to stay open, after a few seconds he let go of your arm and let you continue the work. A pang of guilt and sympathy went through you every time you had to pull that needle through his skin. But not once did he complain, he tried to bite down the pain.

“The boy…” His mind seemed to clear after a while. “I was with a boy.”

You pointed to where Squirrel was sleeping. “Squirrel is asleep next to the bed.”

Immediately he looked down at the floor and a wave of relief washed over him upon seeing the boy comfortably asleep on your cloak. “How long have I been here?”

The needle and thread were no longer needed, all that still had to be done was applying ointment. “You arrived here tonight.”

“Where is ‘here’?” he asked.

“Willowsmead. I arrived here first and paid for this room after-” A pause, “After we parted ways.”

It was a sensitive subject for both it seemed. “Does Percival know…?”

You frowned. “‘Percival’?”

He nodded down to the sleeping child. “His real name is Percival. Does he know that we know each other?”

The conversation threatened to grow out of the comfortable region. “He knows. And he knows we are both Ash Folk. But he doesn’t know the situation between us.”

He was understanding as to why you had not told Percival. “I did not think I would ever see you again…”

It was not a wrong assumption to make. “That was my intention. But then you rode into this village and Percival pleaded for my help.”

He picked up on the way your tone had gone a bit colder. “I never wanted for us to be at war with one another.”

It felt uncomfortable to speak of this whilst you were busy applying ointment to his wounds and bruises. Part of you just wanted to walk out of the room, out of the village even, but the sleeping child kept you where you were.

You shook your head, a bitter grimace on your face. “Nothing you said to me was true. You were forging me into a weapon for Father Carden. Sharpening me with your feigned kindness and controlling me by making me believe I could trust you. I am only helping you because you risked your life to save Squi-… Percival. So do not think this means I forgive you for betraying me in the worst of ways. I had hoped to never see you again.”

Ice ran through his veins. An array of emotions slipped through the mask he often hid behind. He tried to take hold of your hand. “I beg you, please-”

At that, you stepped away and he immediately tried to sit upright but his body protested against the sudden movement. The look on your face said all he needed to know, it held no fury anymore, only a deep sadness. It was worse than the fury.

“I will make this right, I swear it.” he vowed. “The way you looked at me before you rode off… it is burned into my memories and I cannot forgive myself for being the cause. You looked at me and saw a monster.”

Your eyes were fixed on the floor. “I do not know what to think. You were the only friend I had, and I do not know if that was even true.”

“It was.” He corrected himself with confidence, “It is.”

You touched the tips of your fingers, keeping your attention fixed on them. “You knew all along why Father Carden was so intrigued by Fey Fire. You lied to me.”

He gave a nod, acknowledging his faults in the matter. “I did…”

“Because you knew I would never stay and become a weapon.” you stated.

“In the beginning I tried to follow the order.” he admitted to his guilt. “But once I knew for certain that you would continue to refuse to aid the mission, I lied to Father about the progress you made in controlling your magic, to delay his plan to use it to forge weapons.” A long pause fell. He was struggling to say what he wanted to say. “I wronged you.”

Was that remorse you heard? “You destroyed a part of me.”

The look in his eyes… your words had cut him. He couldn’t look at you for a moment. “You have every right to sink a blade into me.”

You scoffed. “I just finished trying to fix what blades have done to you.”

A careful smile formed on his lips. “That you have.”

You ignored how amazed he sounded that you had done so. “He ordered you to earn my trust. When I heard him talk to you about that… do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

The careful smile was gone when he nodded. It almost made you regret asking. Instinct was telling you that his remorse was a genuine thing and it made it even more confusing to maneuver this matter.

“I was selfish…” he sighed quietly. “I found in you what I had tried to receive from Father for years. Losing that again…” a pause, “I was torn between duty and what I had so prayed for. I could not choose, and because of it I have hurt you.” The Monk was quiet for a few seconds, he swallowed hard.

Was it your imagination, or did it seem like he was close to tears and therefor took a moment to prevent it? It sure looked like it. You balled a hand into a fist, digging your nails into your palm to fight back the sudden urge to reach out for him.

Once he was more composed, he spoke again, “I am so sorry. I pray you believe that.”

Your eyes were fixed on the wall and you tried to stay composed. “Have you chosen now? Or should I expected my door to be run down by paladins soon?”

The trust towards him was painfully small. “I cannot go back. They know what I am, and I fought the Trinity Guard. The Church will not forgive this.”

“So you would go back if you could?” you were sharp.

“No.” he was resolute.

It was hard to believe. “No?”

He tried to keep his voice steady. “When I saw you ride away, I made my choice.”

With your arms crossed over your chest, you had taken on a defensive stance. Protecting what he had driven a knife into, your heart…

“I should have accepted your offer. For us to leave together…” he sought your eyes. “I should have found a place for us, to build our own life. Another life, another place, with you.”

You shook your head, feeling tears well up against your will made you walk towards the small room. To be reminded of that hope, of everything you had wanted with him, hurt. “Don’t. It’s cruel.”

He tried again and succeed to slowly get up from the bed to approach you. That vial was working well for him. Your hope to withdraw yourself into the small room was ruined.

He could tell how much you wanted to create a distance. “What is cruel?”

You could not ignore how gentle he had asked it. “You don’t mean it.”

He held a hand over a painful cut on his side. “What I said about us leaving together?”

The fear that he was playing a game with your mind was too strong. The magic in your veins too powerful to risk it falling into the wrong hands.

You were very evasive. “I’m going outside the inn for a while. There’s bread for you on the table should you be hungry.”

He looked out the window. “It is the midst of the night.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You tried to move past him.

He caught you by the elbow. “It is raining.”

The truth slipped out. “I don’t want to be near you now.”

He tried not to let it show what hearing that did to him. “What can I do to not make you want to go out in the pouring rain?”

With a sigh, you gave the option. “Rest, and allow me to do so as well.”

He agreed to the terms. “Very well. I shall not bother you anymore tonight.”

For him to agree on those terms so easily was unexpected. Maybe he was genuinely trying to make amends.

Your arm slipped out of his hold effortlessly when stepping away. “Well… then I will sleep before there is no night left to use for it.”

He politely stepped aside, letting you move towards where Percival was sleeping. It was strange that, even after everything, you were not afraid to fall asleep in the same room the Monk was in. The spot just beside Percival was what you chose as a place to sleep. The only thing you had to use as a pillow was your propped up jacket. The Monk moved back towards the bed.

To see the child who had given him the will to stand and fight, and the woman who had given him the will to break free, laying on the ground whilst he himself had the bed to rest on… the thought did not sit well with him at all.

He turned to you. “I do not need the bed. Perhaps-”

You were already laying against the wall and sighed. “That is the medicine talking, when it wears off your pain will increase again. Use the bed.”

It would be no use to argue further he realized. He laid down on the bed again, trying not to wince at the sharp pain that shot into his torso in multiple places. Silence fell over the room, but not into your ears as the Hidden’s whispers filled them instead, ignoring them was fruitless. You didn’t know why it tempted you to look in the direction of the Monk again, he looked away the moment you caught him looking at you as well. You turned over, and pressed your eyes shut to scold them for it.

He feared to sleep, no… he feared to wake and find you gone again. If you had not been here in this village, his days would have been filled searching for you. Now he was here, in the caring hands of the woman who had every reason to hate him. He had spend years praying to witness divinity, and now understood where to find it in this mortal realm.

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 @stclairesplace @katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

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.

#lancelot x reader #cursed #the weeping monk #cursed netflix #weeping monk x reader #weeping monk x you #weeping monk #cursed lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot

31 notes · View notes

foundress0fnothing · 25 days ago

Text

touching you i catch midnight

For my love, @beesays. Happy Holidays! It has been such a joy to get to know you better over these last few months, and I hope you enjoy this feysand modern AU, second chance romance l've cooked up for you. You are such a wonderful fandom friend and I am sending you so many hugs this holiday season 🎄

Thank you to @violetasteracademic for beta reading for me! 🫶 babe 💕

Also many thanks to @acotargiftexchange for putting together this wonderful event. Y'all are the absolute best!

Summary: It's been 10 years since Feyre left her hometown—and everyone who lived there—behind. Now she's back, working at her sister's event planning company, and throwing a birthday party for her ex's mysteriously MIA fiancée. Lucky her.

This is chapter 1 of 5.

title from Audre Lorde's “Recreation”

Read below the cut or here on ao3!

November 1st

Feyre leaned against the brick wall at the entrance to the rooftop, tiredly scanning the space to see if she’d missed anything. String lights? Check. High top tables with dried flower centerpieces? Check. A truly excessive number of black, white, and maroon pillar candles arranged strategically to bathe darkened corners with a glowing warmth? Check. A cascading flower arch of green and gold and burnt orange and deep maroon that she had spent far too long trying to assemble? Check. A tension headache and the niggling sensation that she had definitely forgotten something? Check.

Nesta glaring? Also—unsurprisingly—check.

Her sister stood next to her after having come up from the restaurant downstairs. “It’s a little gauche, no?”

“You approved the design,” Feyre scoffed. It was just like Nesta though—only her eldest sister would open an event company and then be critical of everything the clients requested. Valkyrie Events had been open for a full year, and as far as Feyre knew, Nesta was unofficially banned from getting involved with anything client-facing when it came to the decorating side of the business.

Nesta shrugged. “It’s not my fault if the clients have bad taste.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. The space was fine—lovely even, not that she was trying to praise her own work. Emerie had found a newer restaurant in the city that rented out their top floor and rooftop bar, and Valkyrie Events had taken over the space early that morning for the event. The lights and the candles and the autumnal colors Feyre had set up all spoke of warmth and joy and family, and when the event started in a few hours, they would look even more magical against the darkened city skyline. Perfect for an engagement party.

She felt some small part of her strain at that thought.

But she shook her head. What could have been—and what was narrowly avoided—wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not right now, in any case.

No, now she only wanted to make her way back to her studio, take a too-hot shower, and curl up under the covers with Netflix and a glass of wine until she fell asleep. She could worry about love another day.

And so with a wry snort at Nesta’s impossibly high standards, Feyre made to push off of the wall to head back downstairs, but she felt her sister’s hand grab onto her own before she could actually move anywhere.

“I need you to stay today.”

Feyre groaned, slumping back against the brick and turning a baleful gaze onto her sister. Nesta had enough grace to look slightly apologetic as she said, “Deirdre called out with the flu or something. I can’t have her puking all over the canapes tonight.”

“And you can’t make do with one fewer server tonight? I’m sure the couple will be too wrapped up in each other to notice if someone only stops by with food every five minutes instead of every three.”

“We’re already down a server. Roslin’s taken the day for a family event, and Gwyn, Em, and I are already thin enough with everything else.” She sighed, and then, as if it pained her, said, “Please, Fey.”

It was the echo of what Feyre had said to Nesta one month ago when, fresh off a break up with her ex of almost a decade, she begged her sister for a job. She had finally left Tamlin, but it was at the cost of everything she owned and any financial security she might have hoped to fall back on. She couldn't even stay in the same city; he had managed to use his family’s money and influence to make it so that even the most run-down Starbucks wouldn’t hire her.

And so she had gone back to Velaris where she had grown up, back to her sister who had managed to put down roots and make a life in a place that had been nothing but cruel to her when she was a child. Where Feyre had run, Nesta had stayed and built something—and a new family—that was worth staying for.

To hear Nesta tell it, Valkyrie Events was built out of a combination of strategic late night planning sessions with her two best friends, Emerie Castello and Gwyn Berdara, and their unquenchable feminine spirit. Emerie had confided to Feyre that actually, the three of them had been stoned out of their minds when someone—probably Gywn—voiced the idea, and then they spent the rest of the night messily scrawling down ideas on their fridge white board.

But however it had come to be, Velaris had welcomed the woman-owned company eagerly. They had thrown events for a handful of the other small businesses in the town, a few of the local celebrities, and once, memorably, the mayor’s reelection celebration. A year in now, it was rare that a month went by without Valkyrie Events organizing two or three parties every weekend. As the business grew, the three original friends began to hire some women from the jujitsu classes they took at the Y who were looking for a fresh start until there was a comfortable roster of employees to work events so that no one woman lost her entire weekend, every weekend, to celebrating someone else’s joy without having a chance to make some of her own.

And so it had been an act of kindness—not a need for more employees—that Nesta and her friends agreed to take Feyre on as a decorator. She had an artistic eye, sure, but had never worked as a server, had no experience designing a space, and didn’t have any contacts with other small businesses or local friends to leverage into new opportunities for the company.

Feyre was grateful—she was. Nesta had given her a couch to crash on while she built up some savings, a job, and now, a chance to actually do something worthwhile for the company. The event that night was the first where her work would actually be seen by the clients; the last month had been a marathon of shadowing Gwyn, mocking up plans for events just to get used to the way the company worked, and meeting all the big names in the event-planning world of Velaris.

Today was an engagement party for some wealthy duo who had met as teenagers and apparently loathed each other on sight, only to slowly find their way together when they were randomly paired as roommates at Prythian U. That was the story they had relayed to Emerie when booking Valkyrie Events, anyway. Feyre didn’t know if she believed it—it was too cute, too much like a cheesy romance novel plot to actually be real—but it wasn’t her job to question it.

Although it was apparently going to be her job to serve it.

“Are you sure?” Feyre whined in a final attempt to get out of spending the night bringing mini crab cakes, petit fours, champagne refills to unfairly rich, unfairly happy people.

Nesta grimaced at Feyre’s tone. “Uniforms are downstairs. We should have something to fit you.”

“You’re going to make me wear a uniform? But I’m already staying late.” Feyre drew out the last word petulantly, savoring the way Nesta’s eye twitched.

“Fey.” Nesta gestured at the paint-spattered overalls that Feyre was currently wearing. “Be serious.”

“Fine, whatever, boss. I’ll wear the stupid uniform.”

“There, there, Fey. You look great in black. And who knows,” she said, smiling bitingly, “maybe it’ll be fun.”

–

It was not fun.

Feyre had spent the final hours before the event running around to help Nesta take care of a few final things—lighting candles, making sure the bar was stocked with enough glasses, frantically gluing a wayward twist of flowers from the arch that was already threatening to droop and pull the whole structure down with it.

And now she was standing in a bathroom stall, holding the black server’s uniform in her hand and contemplating the feasibility of a short standing nap before she had to plaster on a smile for the clients. Pros of the nap: sleep. Cons of the nap: literally everything else.

She knew she only had a few minutes, tops, before Nesta came looking for her, and the interruption to her sleep would put her in a shit mood for the rest of the day. And all that, only for a standing nap, leaning against a bathroom wall? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to acknowledge that new low today.

As she grimaced at that thought, her dozy musings were interrupted by the sound of a voice that was strikingly familiar. Feyre froze, straining to place it.

“Are you sure it’s not too much, Viv?”

Viv, whoever she was, assured the familiar voice that it wasn’t too much and that she looked great, and then the two slid into easy chatter about friends and coworkers and weekend plans.

They were guests for the event that night, clearly, and probably family if they were here so early, but Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the voice.

She peeked through the gap in the stall door and caught sight of a wine-red dress, a mane of long, blonde hair, and then, as the owner of the voice turned, a profile that caused Feyre to inhale sharply.

Morrigan Datiles. Feyre recognized her. How could she not? They had been like sisters, once.

Mor hadn’t noticed the sound, or if she had, hadn’t cared to investigate it, and so Feyre stood still, waiting until the two women finished primping and walked out of the bathroom.

Forcing herself to kill some time so that she didn’t accidentally bump into Mor in the hallway, Feyre pulled on her server’s uniform, grimacing unconsciously as the black fabric stretched tightly against what few curves she had. All the while, her mind was racing. Why was Mor here? And who was the party for, if Mor was a guest?

Feyre didn’t want to think about the answer to those questions. Thinking about those questions meant thinking about Mor’s family, and then seeing Mor’s family, and then serving Mor’s family, and there was too much messy history between all of them to make that in any way easy.

But still—she had to know.

Feyre stepped out of the stall, washed her hands, and then opened the door into the hallway, peeking around to make sure that the coast was clear. She could hear the hum of the kitchen and the buzz of conversation from the bar, but the path to the offices behind the restaurant where Valkyrie Events had set up shop for the day was mercifully clear.

Nesta looked up from her computer at the sound of the door slamming as Feyre closed it behind herself.

“What.” Her sister had a way of saying the word that felt more like a threat than a question, and Feyre had to steel herself to avoid cringing and backing out of the room.

“Who is the event for?”

“I don’t know, some couple. I don’t remember their names.” Nesta shrugged, disinterested.

“It’s literally your job, Nes.”

“And?”

Feyre was reminded why Nesta wasn’t allowed to talk to clients.

“You could ask Em,” Nesta offered. “It’s her cousin.”

“God, you’re the worst.” Feyre rolled her eyes, but pulled out her phone anyway.

Feyre: Em, who’s the event for today?

Em: My cousin, Az.

Azriel Moreno.

We reconnected a few months ago

Why

Did you know him growing up

Feyre clicked the screen off without answering, closed her eyes, and took a few calming breaths.

They didn’t work.

“You have me working an event for Azriel Moreno?” She whisper-screamed. “Do you remember who his brother is?”

Nesta looked up from her computer. “The gym bro idiot?”

“Not that one—although it’s interesting that you remember Cassian, and we’ll be revisiting that later. The other one.”

“Rich asshole?”

“Yes. Well, no—his name is Rhysand,” Feyre corrected, belatedly remembering Nesta’s disdain for the man. It had been so long since she had said his name, and it felt awkward in her mouth.

“Weren’t you friends in high school?”

Flashes of art class and coffee runs and late night study sessions flickered in Feyre’s memory.

“Yep. And then we weren’t.” She paused, and then turned her best youngest sister pout on Nesta. “Please don’t make me serve this party. Not if they’re all going to be here.”

Her sister looked pained. “Feyre, we need…”

“I know, I know. I just—” She waved her off, and then sighed. “I just didn’t want to see him again. And not like this,” she said, gesturing down at the server’s uniform. It wasn’t awful, as uniforms went—it was black and comfortable and well-made—but it certainly wasn’t what she would choose for a reunion with everyone.

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “Do you have an issue with working for Valkyrie Events?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe he won’t recognize you? It’s been what? Nine years?”

It had been ten. Almost as long as she had been with Tamlin.

“Maybe.” Feyre sighed. “I’ll be ready to help with food prep in a few minutes, then. I just want to touch all of this up.” She gestured vaguely to her head, thinking of the brush and the makeup she was pretty sure were still at the bottom of her art kit from some gallery event she had attended with Tamlin before everything fell apart. There was no way out but through apparently, and she figured she might as well try not to look quite as bedraggled as she felt.

Her art kit was in the car, and it didn’t take her long to find everything (plus a travel-sized deodorant that she had also left there—bless past Feyre for being too lazy to unpack), and make her way back to the bathroom.

She stared at her reflection. Her eyes were tired, their blue-gray leaning more toward a dull slate, and her freckles stood out sharply against her skin. Her all-nighter to get the decor done was catching up with her, and she grimaced, watching her face contort into a mockery of itself and decided to tackle her hair before attempting any makeup.

Her braid hung limply over one shoulder, a mess of flyaways and frizz, and Feyre slipped the hair tie off to start finger combing it out. It fell in gentle, honey-golden waves, and as she brushed it and let it frame her face, she hoped that, between it and the intervening years, it would be enough to make her unrecognizable. She had tied it back in a braid almost every day in high school after all, too tired from the early cafe shifts she’d work before school to do anything more than get it out of her way.

As she continued messing with her hair, she let her mind wander, wondering what everyone would be like now that so much time had passed. Mor seemed the same—exuberant and joyful—but more polished, comfortable with herself in a way that warmed Feyre’s heart to see. She imagined that Cassian too would be the same as she remembered him—affable and easy going, brotherly almost. Azriel was a surprise, though—she couldn’t picture the broody, darkly handsome teenager as a husband, even if she had just spent the last day preparing what was to be a party to celebrate exactly that.

And then there was Rhys.

Was he married? Or dating? She grimaced at the thought of seeing him there with a date. Not that he shouldn’t have one! Feyre squinted at herself in the mirror, admonishing her reflection for her instinctive jealous reaction. Why wouldn’t he be dating? Even in high school, there had always been a bevy of women following him around, just in case he deigned to notice them. He was handsome and intelligent and rich—it was inevitable that he had found someone with whom to share a life.

She imagined he would have taken over his father’s tech company as well—it was what had been expected of him, even a decade ago, and for all the teenage rebellion that brought them together, Feyre didn’t think that he would actually go through with bucking that responsibility.

She could still remember the day he sauntered into her art elective sophomore year. Picturing the Self Through Pastel, the class had been called—a needlessly complicated way to indicate that they’d be working on portraiture with pastels, Feyre thought—but still, she had worked doubles at the cafe all summer to afford the materials for it. Finding that no one else was sitting at her station on the first day of class, she had resigned herself to a semester of exclusively painting self-portraits and had just begun to sketch out the rough contours of her face when the door to the art room creaked open to reveal a tardy Rhysand Ashcroft: senior, soccer star, soon-to-be homecoming king, and someone who had absolutely no business taking her art elective. Without so much as a word of apology to Ms. Alis, the teacher, Rhys had sauntered over to the empty spot near Feyre.

“This spot taken, darling?” He leaned his weight against the wood frame that held their station’s easels, the audacity of the movement immediately irritating Feyre. Because of course it wasn’t enough that she had to scrimp and scrape all summer to be able to afford this elective in the first place—no, now she’d get to spend the whole semester trying to make something worthwhile for her RISD portfolio while fending off distractions from a future business major frat bro enrolled in what she was sure he considered a blow-off class.

“No.” She shifted her side of their station as she said it, causing him to pitch forward slightly before catching himself against the stool.

He gracefully lowered himself onto it as if he hadn’t almost eaten shit. He looked her over, a smirk blooming on his face, and said, “What a warm welcome, darling.”

Despite herself, Feyre smirked back, and even now a decade later, the memory still made something in her warm.

Maybe she should just Google Rhys to prepare herself for whatever the night was about to be.

Just as Feyre was about to pull out her phone, she was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. She sucked in a horrified breath as she caught a flash of red and blonde out of the corner of her eye and quickly looked down to let her hair obscure her face.

But she wasn’t fast enough, and Mor had always been good at sniffing out the truth.

“Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre sighed. “Hi, Mor.”

#feysand #acotar gift exchange 2024 #acotar gift exchange #feysand au #feysand fic #feyre archeron #rhysand acotar #feyre x rhysand #modern au

44 notes · View notes