#mystery quilt along

[vafibrearts]

Pieced another Old Town block yesterday!

I love how the blocks are coming together and have been having so much fun jumping from one bright background to the next!

Can't wait to see which print I'll choose for the next one!

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 15

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was in Eira's bed. Between a quilted coverlet, white and florals, making a pattern that formed stars, and embroidered pillow shams, edged with lace. He felt out of place, surrounded by the soft beauty of her work, even when she had curled herself together in his arms, short nails gently scratching his scalp.

He was exhausted; physically, mentally, emotionally…he was utterly depleted, and it was only being in her soft bed, with her soft body pressed against his that made him able to relax at all.

He was laying on his back, with Eira curled up against his side, her head against his chest and her fingers in his hair, and he’d never felt more content.

His chest was rising and falling evenly, his breathing steadier and calmer than it’d been in a while. His eyes were closed, the tiredness and exhaustion making it almost hard to even keep them open.

Azriel shifted the wing she was half lying on, wrapping it around her, and Eira laughed softly but didn't even try to shift away.

Her soft chuckle was a soothing sound, like a balm to his soul. Her body tensed slightly against him with her laugh, but she didn’t move, her body practically melting against his when his wing cocooned her along with his arms.

It felt peaceful…calm, and it soothed the ache within him in a way nothing else could. Her body was a warm, comforting weight against his, her hair against his chin and chest, and the feeling of her fingers gently playing with his hair almost like a lullaby.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” she whispered, her voice soft and quiet. He could feel her breath against his chest, and it was the only thing to tell him she’d spoken, her words so gentle they were almost lost in the stillness.

“This is nice…” he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy and almost a croon, as he held her a bit tighter to him, his wing shifting around her, to hold her even closer.

There was a shifting, a moving of position, and then the next thing he felt was a kiss on his chest and the feel of her body pressed even closer to his.

“Rest then,” she whispered, and her voice was so soft, so soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She started humming softly, singing just like she did for Nyx. And Azriel did fall asleep, just for a little while.

He woke up when razor-sharp claws scrambled up his leg and he watched with amusement how Snow made herself at home on his stomach, happily laying there, making Eira laugh silently, her giggles shaking him. He reached out to touch the tiny kitten with a broad, scarred finger and she purred softly as he petted her. 

“As long as she gets attention, she is happy,” Eira recounted with a snort, pressing a kiss against his cheek and he chuckled, the sound raw in his throat. 

A knock at the door, made him freeze. It's just the High Lady, the shadows assured him, just as the door was pushed open.

"Eira?"

The bed creaked slightly, as Eira pushed herself up off of his chest. He had to fight not to pull her back, his arms still tight around her, and against his will, he loosened his hold on her, though not by much.

"It's just Feyre," Eira soothed, her voice so soft, and quiet, as she looked back down at him.

"Sorry to barge in like this," Feyre said, her voice quiet though he could still hear it. "Are you two...alright?"

He sat up, carefully not to hit Eira with his wing accidentally. "We are fine," Eira promised, her voice warm, slipping her hand into his. "Everything is alright."

There was a slight pause, and he could practically see the assessing gaze Feyre was no doubt giving him at that moment.

"You sure? " Feyre asked, and he heard the disbelief in her words. "Because you look...rough."

“We had a talk," Eira said, her voice even. "Did you already write to him?"

He couldn't help the growl that burst out of his throat at that. Eira didn't even flinch. He heard Feyre suck in a breath, clearly startled by his reaction, even as he felt Eira's fingers grip his a bit tighter as if to remind him.

"No," Feyre said, her voice still laced with possibly a hint of…worry? "Rhys and Mor are still talking about what the best way to go about it is. They have a draft now, if you want to read it...Are you two hungry? You haven't really eaten."

He was hungry. But there was only one thing he currently wanted to eat and that was sitting next to him. 

You should eat, the shadows pressed.

Eira was still looking at him, and the look on her face was so soft and tender and worried it made it so hard to deny her. "...We'll eat," Azriel agreed finally, and he saw her shoulders droop infinitesimally as if she'd been holding tension there.

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Eira said calmly.

"Don't take too long," Feyre warned, her voice dry. "Rhys is going to start prowling if you two don't show soon. "

Azriel barely stifled a snort at Feyre's words, even as he heard Eira let out a soft giggle.

"We'll be down soon,” Eira reassured Feyre. "We'll be down soon."

She waited until Feyre had left before she leaned to press a kiss against his lips. "Come on. We'll have to tell our family, don't we?" And that easy acceptance...like she didn't even need to think twice about it...not hesitating for even a moment to tell their family about their engagement, even when there wasn't a ring to show for it...

It made his heart twist in his chest, a painful yet overwhelming sort of feeling.

He couldn't help but pull her closer against him, leaning in to wrap his arms around her body, as he hid his face in the crook of her neck, his nose buried against her hair. "I don't deserve you," he whispered against her skin.

"You do. And I'll tell you that every day for the rest of our lives," Eira disagreed.

He let out a shaky exhale, his breath shuddering against her neck. The feeling of such certainty in her voice…he couldn’t help the way he shook against her, his limbs almost trembling against her as he held her.

"Let's go downstairs," Eira said, offering her hand to him.

He took her hand without protest, the idea of food a bit more palatable when it included her, with him.

His fingers clenched around her own, clutching her hand as if he was scared that if he let go she might disappear.

He heard her soft exhale at his grip, but she didn’t say a word about his hold as she tugged him off the bed after her. Her hair was mussed, her clothes rumpled from where she’d laid against him on the bed, but she simply shook out her skirt and that was it. She tugged him across the room towards the door and pulled him gently after her.

He let her pull him along, the touch of her hand the only grounding thing as his nerves twisted and his worry over what their family’s reaction might be. Would they be happy? Or would they be confused, horrified, angry?

"Nice of you to come back," Cassian drawled from where he was sitting, Nesta draped over his lap, whose grey eyes were immediately mustering Eira before they stared at him.

"We needed a nap," Eira said simply, her voice as soft and gentle as ever, as she tugged him across the room towards an empty chair, and the table full of food

"A nap?" Cassian repeated incredulously.

"A nap and a talk," Eira said with a shrug. "Tell Kleon that sadly he was too late in his offer for my hand, as I am already taken," she told Rhys, her shoulders squared, her chin stuck out.

There were several stunned looks around the room, as Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Mor and Rhys all stared at her.

The silence was near deafening. And then Rhys let out a bark of startled laughter.

"You’re engaged then," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

She shrugged, still standing by his side, her hand still firmly gripping his. “We are.” The certainty, the conviction in her voice made something in his chest ache.

The others were still staring, their mouths opening and closing as if trying to find the words. It was Cassian who spoke first, his voice incredulous as he looked at them both.

“You’re…engaged?” he repeated, and his words were a bit slow as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Wait, when?"

“Tonight,” Eira said simply, and her voice was unwavering, her spine straight and her chin held high, as if in a challenge ."We got engaged tonight.”

There was another moment of silence, where the room was so still it was as if no one breathed.

And then Rhys let out another bark of laughter. “Well congratulations then,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “You’ve got a hell of a mate there, Az.”

And somehow that loosened every bit of tension. There was a chorus of congratulations, as Feyre led the charge and suddenly he was swamped with hands and arms and backs slapped and hair ruffled and laughter.

And through it all, Eira stayed beside him, her hand still holding firmly to his.

"Do not mess this up," Nesta hissed at him, even as she hugged him. He heard the threat in her words, as her nails dug into his skin with her hug. And he knew without a doubt she’d make good on that threat if he did mess it up.

But instead of being fearful, in that moment…all he could be was grateful.

For this...for the family surrounding them...his mate, still holding his hand...he was just...grateful.

"No ring yet?" Mor asked. "Az, you know better than that!" she complained good-naturedly. 

He knew. He knew. He did want to get Eira a ring, a visible claim, something that everybody could see. 

"It’s being made," he rasped, and his voice was a near whisper, his guilt so overwhelming at that moment that his stomach churned.

It's not, the shadows sniped. You haven't even decided what you want!

Shut up, he hissed back, his mind filled with a mix of irritation, guilt, and agony over the fact that he hadn’t even startedlooking for her ring when it was his duty as her mate to provide her with one. But she was still holding his hand, her grip firm, as if sensing his turmoil, as if reassuring him that his lack of a ring didn’t matter to her one bit. 

"I do like pearls," Eira told him with a grin. He could only look down at her as he heard the words, a new longing filling him.

“Pearls?” he repeated hoarsely. He’d been fully prepared to start looking for rings embedded with diamonds, with rubies, emeralds, sapphires…

But pearls…he could just imagine her, with pearls against her skin, her creamy pale skin framed by the white of pearls…

"And nothing big, please," Eira continued. That had his thoughts halting, and a frown pulling at his brows.

“...nothing big?” he repeated slowly, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Was she saying she wanted a smaller ring? The idea of giving her a small ring felt wrong to him. When he thought of a ring for her, he couldn’t picture anything other than a large stone, a ring encrusted with gems and gold so that everyone would look at her and know she was his.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. After all, he knew Eira and the last thing she’d ever care about would be having anything impractical that she needed to constantly take off. The more delicate, the more subtle, the more unassuming a ring he got her, the better she’d like it…

But the thought of giving her a small ring felt like he was settling. Like he was disrespecting her. She was his mate, the woman he’d spend his entire life with…she should have a ring that was just as beautiful, as elegant as she was...

"Aaaaaand we lost him," Cassian quipped.

Cassian’s words broke him out of his thoughts, and Azriel scowled at his brother, only to realize…how true Cassian’s words were. He’d been so deep in thought, in contemplating the details of the ring he would get her, that he had ignored the entire conversation around him. And they were all staring at him.

The weight of their gazes had his neck heat, as he realized what he’d done.

But Eira was still holding his hand, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of his palm as if to reassure him, to calm him and soothe his guilt over not having a ring for her yet.

"I was just saying that unless you want to get married tonight, signing a betrothal contract would wrap you both in enough paperwork that it makes it very clear to Kleon that Eira is utterly uninterested," Rhys said drily. "We'll simply send the Winter Court a copy."

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Yes,” he said, his words eager, his grip on Eira’s hand unconsciously tightening as he spoke. “We should…we should do that.”

"If you think you can pay 2 cows for my sister and be done, you are sadly mistaken," Nesta said drily, making Rhys laugh.

"He doesn't even own a single cow," Rhys said with a laugh. That startled a laugh out of Azriel, and he saw Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Feyre all struggle to hold back a grin. Feyre seemed to barely succeed in suppressing the sound, her lips quivering.

But Eira’s hand tightened in his, her eyes narrowing, but there was a hint of an amused gleam visible in them. “I am not a prize cow in need of bartering.”

Azriel had to bite his tongue to suppress a grin, the idea of his mate as a “prize cow” was both ridiculously charming and utterly absurd. “No, you’re not,” he agreed firmly, his voice rough. “You’re mine.”

"Besides, you can put whatever you want in these betrothal contracts," Mor said drily. "And it's not like they weren't oftentimes just made between families with no exact person even in mind, or that you can't put in them whatever you want. You want to put in there that Azriel forfeits his entire fortune if he does anything Eira doesn't like? You can."

"We are not doing that," Eira said sharply.

But Mor only gave her a sly smile, the gleam in her eyes sparkling. “You never know, Eira…he might just be tempted to do something stupid someday….”

"The shadows are on my side. I don't need his fortune," she gave back drily.

That startled a choked laugh out of Azriel, as he looked down at her.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” he said dryly. “Should I worry that you’d only be happy with me for my shadows and not for me ?”

Eira gave him a smile that was nearly wicked. 

“Maybe I would,” she said teasingly, and Azriel could see the gleam in her eyes, even as her fingers clenched against his side as if to hold him firmly to her. “Maybe I’ll only keep you until I can get the shadows to switch sides and become mine instead.”

His jaw almost dropped at her words, the audacity of her teasing, the hint of playfulness in her words, and he heard Cassian bark a laugh while Feyre gave a stifled giggle that sounded almost like a snort.

But he couldn’t even try to come up with a response, his mouth opening and then closing again as he tried to think of something to say…

"What do we need to do?" Eira asked Rhys. "We sign a piece of paper with our intent to marry, and that's it?"

Rhys leaned back against the back of his chair, an amused look on his face. “That’s it. It’s simple honestly. It's a blood-bound contract though."

"I don't need to drink his blood, right?" Eira asked, suddenly sounding worried.

Azriel had the sudden urge to laugh at her question, the fear in her voice at the prospect of having to drink his blood.

"No," he said, struggling to hold back a smile. "No blood drinking."

"You'll only need to prick your finger," Rhys promised with a laugh That managed to get a breath of relief out of her, and Azriel couldn’t help the urge to smile.

She was still worried, even with the simple task of a blood-bound contract. A contract that would tie them together, that would make sure that any other suitors, Kleon knew that she was spoken for, his. Her agreement to sign a contract to marry him…

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Just…everything, swirling together in a roiling mass in his chest.

"Paper and ink, Rhys," Azriel said, his words a near croak, strangled out past his tight throat.

Rhys’s gaze snapped to him, his eyes scanning over his face, then his lips curled into a small smile, as he nodded and stood.

"Paper and ink," Rhys repeated, his smile still firmly in place. "Coming right up."

It was the work of minutes to work out the wording, keeping it simple. 

Azriel’s hands shook slightly as he signed the contract, the words blurry in front of his eyes, his mind whirling at the reality of what he was doing.

His hand trembled as it went to his thigh to the sheath of Truthteller, and he pulled it out. He nicked the top of his thumb on the blade, letting the blood well in the cut

He let the red drop fall, watching it splatter on the paper, a thick, red smear that turned into a stain, dark and blotchy.

He’d just signed a contract, a blood-bound contract, pledging himself, promising himself to her, binding his life to hers…

He offered the pen to Eira, and his vision was tunnelled, as if the only thing his mind was capable of seeing was her slender hand, her fingers wrapping around the black ink pen as if to take hold of their future with her grip.

He held out Truthteller for her second, hilt first.  She reached out, her hand reaching for the blade, and a flicker of panic rose in him as he looked down at her, her small, beautiful, delicate hand reaching for something that could hurt her.

“Careful,” he managed to say, the word almost hoarse as he spoke, his voice rough. “You have to be careful, it’s sharp…”

She held the blade gingerly, the knife looking large and ominous in her small hands.

He watched as she studied it, a moment of hesitation clear as she stared at the blade, before pressing the tip against the pad of her index finger.

She winced, but only slightly, as she pricked her finger, a bright drop of crimson welling and then falling next to her own signature. The words around them were little more than a buzz in his ears, the only thing he could focus on was the fact that she’d done it, her signature and blood staining the paper...binding her to him.

Nesta signed next to her.

He watched as Rhys took the parchment, rolling it tight and sealing it with a wave of his own power.

"Done," Rhys said, his simple word shattering the silence that had descended around them.

Azriel had the sudden thought that he could hear his heartbeat, how it was thumping in his chest, louder than a drum in his ears. A pounding beat that echoed in his head, pounding along with three simple, perfect words in his mind.

His mate.

"That's it?" Eira made sure.

“That’s it,” Rhys said with a smile, that small, amused quirk to his lips firmly in place. “You’re officially betrothed now.”

Azriel couldn’t help the way his own lips curled up upon hearing those words, his thoughts replaying them over and over in his head.

Betrothed. Officially betrothed.

The words were like the sweetest honey to his ears.

Eira turned to glance up at him, those lovely blue eyes, flecked with silver looking up at him, her gaze curious, contemplative…and happy.

And looking at her, at the smile on her face, the happy gleam in her eyes, he realized that he’d never be able to get enough of that look, of the look of pure joy and hope on her face.

***

She was engaged.

The thought left her both giddy and scared, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her chest.

Azriel…she was engaged to Azriel.

It was almost too much to comprehend, to even wrap her head around. 

The male she had never thought she would be able to have…the one she had fallen in love with the very first time she had seen him…

The man who made her smile and laugh, who made her feel all warm on the inside. The man who looked at her as if seeing her was more beautiful than anything in the entire world…

She was engaged, to the male who made her heart race in her chest, the male who with one look could leave her breathless and dizzy, the male who somehow looked at her like she was the most important thing in the entire world, like he’d do anything for her.

She was quite sure that she was never going to get over that.

The way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world, the way his shadows reached out to her, the way they twined around her as if to shield her…

There was a certain amount of possessiveness in the way he held her, the way he touched her, as if he didn’t want her to ever be out of his reach.

And at the same time, there was a hint of reverence in his touch, in the way that he held her, as if he was afraid he would somehow break her if he didn’t hold her gently and tenderly...

Gods, she was getting worse than her sister’s romance novels wasn't she?

Eira didn’t know whether to laugh or not…she was being absolutely ridiculous, wasn’t she?

But gods, the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her, his eyes full of such wonder every time his gaze found her…

Her good mood was even in spite of the weather, gloomy and cold as she pulled on a set of clothes and readied herself for the day.

The skies were overcast, the threat of rain in the air. The clouds were dark and heavy, hanging over the city heavy and grey, but even that could not dampen her spirits.

"You are in an awful chipper mood," Rhys said drily as she came down for breakfast. Feyre was yet nowhere to be seen but Nyx grinned at her as she dropped a noisy kiss to her nephew’s black hair.

“Maybe I am,” she said in a singsong voice, not even bothering to deny it as she reached for the platter of food. “What do you suppose could have me so happy?

Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, an eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

“Oh you know,” he said, his tone as dry as a summer desert. “I can’t imagine what could possibly have you in such a wonderfully happy mood…”

She hid a smile behind a bite of toast, even as Nyx babbled up at her, his small hands reaching up towards her, his small arms held up.

She reached out, picking him up and settled him on her lap, ruffling his hair and earning a bright, joyful laugh from the toddler.

Her nephew seemed happy enough to stay in her lap, his little hands reaching up to pat at her face as if fascinated by the sight of her.

She laughed softly, swatting his little fingers away before he accidentally stuck them in her eye, her gaze flickering back up to Rhysand.

He was watching the interaction between her and Nyx, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them, a smirk on his lips.

“He'll miss you, you know,” he casually commented, and she felt her spine stiffen in an instant at the words, her chest clenching slightly, her heart skipping a beat at the words. "Whenever Azriel and you do find a house to make your own."

Rhys' words startled her, the prospect of leaving Nyx behind making her heart pang in her chest, a twinge of sorrow sparking in her chest. "I'll still visit," she protested,  as she looked down at the toddler in her lap, the child happily patting his little hands against her face. Of course, she would visit. He was her nephew. 

Rhys' expression was almost rueful. "That won't change the fact that he'll miss you," he pointed out, just as Nyx gave a particularly gleeful laugh, his little hand accidentally smacking her cheek in his excitement.

She gave a small wince as the toddler's hand smacked against her cheek, a soft thud that stung just a little.

"He's young, he'll forget about me eventually," she said stoutly, even as the thought made her heart clench slightly.

"About his Auntie Ra Ra? I highly doubt that," Feyre said as she came into the dining Room. "But then, maybe you'll give him a cousin or two to play with."

The sound of Feyres's voice had her glancing up, and she gave her sister a smile, though her words made her cheeks flush as her heart stuttered in her chest.

"One step at a time," she said with a laugh, but the thought of children was already in her head.

Azriel's children, her own children…

She felt her head spinning, the prospect both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Children...children with Azriel, with the male she cared so, so much for…

It was something she'd once thought would never happen, a family of her own.

The thought of it, of marrying Azriel, of having children with him…it filled her with wonder.

And even the nervous thrum of energy it sent through her didn’t diminish her mood.

She was just about to reach for a slice of bread, when she heard the entrance door open. She looked at Rhys questionable, who gave her a smile. "Azriel. It seems like my spymaster was thrown out of bed by his shadows at an ungodly hour."

Her heart skipped a beat at the words, her stomach flipping, and a sense of anticipation running down her spine.

And then she felt his presence like a brush of a cool draft, the feeling of his shadows winding through the room, almost like a greeting just for her.

They immediately twined around her wrists and hands, hissing wordlessly... like Snow sometimes purred just because.

A soft laugh escaped her at the feeling of the shadows, at the familiar way they reached out to her, winding around her wrists and hands, almost as if greeting her.

She reached out to brush a finger along one of the shadows, feeling a strange sense of joy at the way the shadow leaned into her touch, wrapping around her finger, almost as if nuzzling her skin.

Their Master was not far behind. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, in the doorway, his usual leathers covering him, his hair mused slightly from sleep, a hint of a smile on his face as he looked at her.

He almost took her breath away just from the simple sight of him, his dark clothes hugging his frame, his hair slightly mussed as if he had woken up late, his eyes still a little cloudy from sleep.

And that hint of a smile on his lips, just for her, a soft smile that managed to send her heart fluttering in her chest.

"Good Morning," he greeted. "I thought I...may get to kidnap you after breakfast?"

Her heart just soared even more at the words, a small laugh escaping her, her mood soaring at the prospect of spending time with him.

“You’re not too tired?” she asked, and his smile grew, a hint of mischief in his gaze as he looked at her. "I heard the shadows threw you out of bed at an ungodly hour," she quipped.

Azriel just shook his head, a small smile playing around his lips. "They had an errand for me to run," he answered.

“Important, I presume,” Rhys commented, his tone slightly dry.

“Of course,” Azriel replied, his gaze flickering across the room to her, the smile on his face growing into something a lot closer to a cocky smirk. “Of the most importance.”

"Where are we going?" Eira asked as she stood, finishing her Marmelade Toast with two more bites.

"Not that far," Azriel answered. "But put on a coat please, it's getting colder."

She didn't even get to respond before the shadows had already managed to get her coat from her room, making her sigh as they wrapped her up in it.

She was helpless to resist as the shadows worked her arms into her coat, a huff of laughter leaving her lips at their eagerness.

She managed to roll her eyes as her arms went through the sleeves of the coat, the shadows wrapping her up in her coat with almost gentle delicacy, almost as if they feared they might somehow break her.

A gentle tug on the hem of her coat had her turning back to face Azriel, who had an almost fond look on his face as he looked at the shadows.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nodding towards the black shadows, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his gaze.

"I'm fine," she replied, though she felt the flush in her cheeks increase slightly as she cast a look down at the shadows, feeling that odd sense of both affection and annoyance. "Your shadows are just...overly eager," she quipped.

"I can't really fault them," Azriel responded as she took his arm that he offered, waving to Feyre and Rhys as he led her out of the room. "How do you feel about flying?"

"The one time Cassian took me, I vomited all over him," she said drily.

Azriel gave a low, dark scoff, a hint of annoyance in his gaze at that. "Of course Cassian would make you vomit," he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he said his friend's name.

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Azriel continued, glancing down at her through half-lidded eyes. "I won't be diving and swooping the way that idiot would do."

"That's a little reassuring," she said drily, even as her stomach fluttered.

It was reassuring, definitely better than the thought of vomiting all over him, but it didn't stop her heart from thudding slightly as he led her towards the door. 

They were going to be flying.

Her stomach did a little somersault as the thought raced through her mind, even as he led her out the door, her breath caught in her chest as the wind tugged at her clothes.

She was going to be flying with Azriel, in his arms, with those wings of his.

"You still trust me, right?" The sound of his voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him, her heart fluttering slightly as she saw the certainty in his gaze, the look in his eyes that made her forget how to breathe for a moment or two.

"Of course," she said, the words breathless, her heart skipping a beat in her chest.

She trusted him more than anything else in the world, more than everything. And while she didn't trust flying...she trusted him.

He seemed reassured by her words, a hint of relief flickering in his gaze for a moment, his lips twitching slightly into a small smile. And then he moved, one arm sweeping under their knees and picking her up into his arms, holding her against him in a tight, secure embrace.

"Just hold on to me." It was all the warning she was going to get.

There was hardly any time to respond, for him to even give her warning, and then her feet were leaving the ground, leaving the safety of the ground as he wrapped her tight in his arms.

And then they were in the air, the ground suddenly falling away beneath her.

She instinctively tightened her grip on him, her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, holding on to him for dear life as she felt the wind against her body.

She shut her eyes tight, burying her head against his shoulder, feeling the sensation of falling and a small, terrified gasp escaped her, her grip on him so tight she was probably cutting off his circulation.

"Relax, sweetheart," his voice was a low rumble against her ear. "Just relax. I've got you, you're safe...nothing's going to happen, just relax..."

She could hear the reassurance in his words, in his voice, and she tried to relax, tried to listen to him and the steady, reassuring tone of his voice, to the steady, calm beat of his heart, even as her own heart was pounding.

"You're fine," he repeated, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath a soft shiver against her skin. "You're fine, I won't let anything happen...just trust me, sweetheart."

She dared to peek over his shoulder...seeing the rushing water of the Sidra beneath them. They were crossing over from the River House towards the House of Wind.

The view was slightly dizzying, and she shut her eyes again with a small whimper, her head resting against his shoulder, her face buried in his leathers, as she tightened her arms around his neck.

"Almost there," he comforted her, the words a low rumble against her ear. "You're doing great, just hold onto me, love..."

And then she could feel the descent, tightly controlled, slower than she was sure he had ever done it before, only for her benefit...and she concentrated not on the ground that was coming closer but on these massive, majestic wings that stretched from his back.

She concentrated on the sight, on the dark, membranous wings that stretched from his back, on how majestic he looked, with the sun shining on his wings, and then her own feet were once again touching solid ground, and she realised she had barely dared to even breathe the entire flight.

She stood in his arms for a moment or two, her limbs still trembling from the nerves, her lungs gasping for the air they'd been denying themselves for God knows how long.

"See? Completely and perfectly safe," he said, his voice quiet. "No vomiting, no dropping you. Completely safe."

She let out a shaky exhale at his words, forcing herself to relax as she took a deep breath, her heart still pounding against her chest, her body still trembling. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she managed to say, a hint of breathlessness in her voice.

"Maybe you just need a lot more practice," he quipped, and she could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, the hint of satisfaction, that he was able to make jokes again. “A lot more flights with me. Maybe hundreds…”

She managed a small laugh at his words, feeling her heart give a little bit of a flutter at that, and she could picture it, hundreds of flights, all in his arms, just like this, and it flushed her face with colour.

"Maybe we should take it one flight at a time," she said, still laughing slightly.  "I think all the flights are just going to leave me as a trembling, terrified mess if I keep vomiting or panicking every time I get in the air, and I highly doubt you want that."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, as he finally let her down and only then she took in her surroundings. They were on the other side of the Sidra and she could still see the River House in the distance...

"Where are we?" she managed to gasp out, still trying to catch her own breath, her heart still racing furiously, her legs feeling a little wobbly from the flight.

Home, the shadows said brightly. We are home!

She looked down at the shadows who were writhing around her legs, a small smile playing around her lips as she watched them.

"Home," she repeated, feeling a sense of wonder and excitement coursing through her heart as she looked up at the house in front of her, taking in the sight of it, and feeling the beginnings of possibility.

Eira stared at the grey stone house, overgrown with ivy...with a blue door and matching blue shutters on its windows. It wasn't massive. Not huge. But big...big enough to house a family. Two stories and an attic, tucked along a side arm of the River. It looked...magical.

Slightly depilated, like it hadn't had somebody to take care of it...but…She stared at the house, taking it in with wide eyes, a thousand different thoughts and emotions rushing through her mind.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

It was perfect and every little detail of it filled her with a sort of longing, a longing to make it theirs.

"Do you..." she spoke, her voice low, as she continued to stare at the house in front of her. "Does it have a backyard ?"

Azriel let out a low laugh, clearly amused by her question. "Of course it does," he answered a hint of laughter in his voice. "Do you really think the shadows would have picked a house that doesn't have space for your vegetable garden?"

She felt her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment to have her desire for a garden so utterly transparent, but she didn't shy away from it, just huffed a small breath of laughter under her breath, even as her heart did a funny little leap in her chest.

Let us show you! the shadows said excitedly, twirling around her wrist again and tugging her towards the house. There was no chance to resist even if she had wanted to, the shadows pulling her along towards the house, and she followed, a hint of excitement and anticipation rushing through her.

She cast a glance back at Azriel over her shoulder, but he only followed behind, a soft smile on his face.

The shadows were already opening the front door, letting her inside, and she stepped into the front hallway feeling her breath catch in her chest.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

And it could be theirs.

She walked around, taking in the small hallway, the wooden floors, the high ceilings, looking into the living room, the kitchen, feeling a sense of possibility filling her as she looked around. And the shadows were already showing her around, racing ahead of her as she looked, almost seeming to vibrate with excitement as they pointed things out to her.

There was a sitting room, a formal dining room, a study, a large kitchen, a cosy nook set into the side of the house, and a small bathroom all on the first floor.

The shadows tugged her up the stairs. Towards the master bedroom, overlooking the stream. And then they tugged her into a room overlooking the garden.

The shadows were vibrating with such excitement now that she could barely keep up with them, but they tugged her forward, showing her the room.

For the babies, they whispered.

"For the...babies?" She repeated, feeling her heart leap into her chest, as she looked around.

It was perfect. For a child. For a few children. Plenty of space, and a full wall of windows that looked into the garden, and her heart was racing.

Yes! The shadows were practically cheering. For the babies!

She turned and met Azriel's eyes from the doorway, He was leaning up against the doorjamb, watching her, a slight smile on his face as she looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, a gleam in his eye as he looked at her.

She couldn't do anything but look at him, her heart hammering in her chest, her face flushed with excitement.

"You like it?" he asked, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice, and she could tell he was already pretty sure of the answer, having seen the shadows showing her around and having watched her reaction the whole time.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “But I need to see the garden.”

This time it was Azriel who let out a low laugh, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pushed away from the wall and crossed to where she stood.

“Of course you do,” he said, and there was an odd...tenderness in his voice, a fondness in the gleam in his eye. “Let’s go see the garden then.”

She didn’t even have a moment to hesitate, before he reached forward and took her hand. The contact felt like sparks in her skin, her breath catching in her chest as he intertwined his fingers with hers, and tugged her forward, leading her from the room and back down the stairs.

She was aware of the way her heart was racing as if trying to break free from her chest as they walked, and she could practically feel every point of contact between them. His hand in hers, every brush of his skin against her fingers, every place they were touching... Her skin tingled and danced, her breath caught in her chest, and she could have sworn she was shaking.

And then he tugged her from the back porch, tugging her out into the garden, and her attention was fully captured as she looked around her, at the space around her-

It was perfect. A space of green, of flowers... A riotous assortment of blooms, vegetables, a place to sit, a place to play...

And there was…as she turned back towards the house, and saw the blue door…suddenly she remembered. Remembered Elain’s vision. Remembered the fleck of blue in the background…remembered…this was their home. This was the place for their children, where they would grow and learn.

She looked at the house, at the back porch and the windows, the flowers and vegetables around her, and she felt her eyes growing watery, a sense of longing in her heart, a sense of home, the picture so perfect in her mind. And in her mind’s eye, she saw it - children running through the garden, playing in the grass, their laughter filling the air…

She imagined it. The children’s laughter, the sound of life. She could picture it, children racing around the garden, playing in the grass, children with light hair and dark eyes, and her heart ached, her throat closing up with an almost painful longing.

She wanted it. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life…

Eira turned towards Azriel, who was still watching her, a soft, tender expression on his face. He already had known what she was doing, that she was picturing what the garden would look like with their children, what the house would look like full of life, and she could see the longing in his own eyes, the same emotion that burned in her chest.

“Let me at least do this one thing right,” he requested softly, as he stepped close to her, as he grasped her hand and sunk down on one knee. “Eira Marie Archeron, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

She stared at him, her heart stopping in her chest. He was kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped around hers, hazel eyes gazing up at her, a hopeful, hopeful gleam in his eyes, as he waited for her to answer.

She wanted to say so many things, wanted to tell him so many things, but the only thing that would come out of her mouth was a soft “Yes”…

He let out a shaky, almost desperate exhale, almost as if he had been holding his breath the whole time, waiting to hear her response, before his fingers tightened around hers, a fierce, hopeful gleam in his eyes, and it felt like her heart was burning in her ribcage.

She wasn’t even sure from where the ring that he slipped on her finger suddenly appeared. Silver. One pearl, flanked by diamonds. Small enough that it wouldn’t get in her way. But so utterly beautiful that she could only stare.

“The shadows had it all narrowed down,” Azriel said quietly. “They threw me out of bed this morning to drag me all around Velaris to show me the rings they had picked out. I chose this one…I thought it was the most…you.” She stared at the ring in wonder, taking in the simple beauty of the silvery metal and the diamonds and pearls. She would have been happy with any ring, any piece of jewellery that he gave her, but this...it was so her, she couldn’t help but smile, her heart filled with something sweet and warm and fluttery at the sight of it, at the thought of the shadows guiding him.

She could picture it, the shadows, tugging him all over the city, the shops lining the Sidra, guiding him to the perfect ring, and she loved the thought of it, of how the shadows wanted to help Azriel pick this perfect ring, that they wanted to help make this moment perfect for both of them.

“We would be lost without you,” Eira told them and they preened in response

They swirled around her happily, almost fluttering with pride, their dark matter moving like ripples in a pond as they basked in the praise, and she couldn’t help but smile at them, letting out a soft laugh as she watched them dance around her.

[aspenmissing]

Firstly I adore how you write the arcane crew with kids ❤️ What if they have kids but the reader us a feline vastaya ? How mixed would they be ?

ᴋɪᴛᴛᴇɴꜱ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ/ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 8372 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅɪꜱᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ'ꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴀᴡᴡ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ! ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ ᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴍɪx ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ ɪꜱ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ! ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Years after Jayce’s first encounter with Y/N, their bond had deepened, not just through shared interests, but through the way they balanced each other’s worlds—science and art, reason and magic. Their love had brought forth a daughter named Elena, a perfect blend of both their spirits. Elena inherited her father’s sharp, analytical mind and her mother’s free-spirited energy. In looks, she was a striking mix of both. She had her father’s deep, expressive brown eyes and tan skin, with a soft, angular face that reflected his features. From Y/N, she inherited a darker, more mysterious quality—her mother’s delicate pointed ears and long, flowing hair that shimmered with a hint of silver. Elena’s tail, inherited from Y/N’s Vastaya heritage, was an elegant and playful addition, often swishing with excitement as she moved.

Her childhood was filled with exploration, whether through the scientific marvels of Piltover or the ancient mysteries Y/N had whispered about while they crafted together.

=

One day, when Elena was around 10, she accompanied her parents through the bustling Piltover marketplace. The stalls were alive with vendors selling everything from mechanical parts to exotic herbs. Elena darted from one stall to the next, mesmerised by the intricate clockwork trinkets, the vivid fabrics, and the glittering jars of strange potions.

"Mom, look!" Elena tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, halting in front of a stall filled with coloured threads that shimmered like the paints her mother used in her art. Y/N crouched beside her daughter, smiling warmly.

"That's beautiful, Elena," Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just like your work."

Elena's eyes sparkled. "I want to make something with these. Maybe a new quilt for the house!" she said excitedly.

Jayce, overhearing them, smiled with amusement. “Already planning ahead, huh? You do know your mum’s quilts are legendary in Piltover, right?”

Y/N chuckled, eyes softening at the thought. "She has a good teacher."

Elena beamed with pride, her excitement growing as she skipped to another stall. Her eyes landed on a peculiar set of enchanted crystals that hummed with strange energy. Her fingers hovered over them, intrigued by their shimmer.

“Are you sure those are safe?” Jayce asked, his protective instincts flaring.

Elena turned with a cheeky grin. “Of course! They’re just… magical.”

Y/N and Jayce exchanged a glance, realising their daughter was a fascinating blend of both their worlds—the rational mind of a scientist and the wonder of an artist with an affinity for the mystical.

=

As the day wore on, Elena continued her exploration, picking up trinkets and curious finds along the way. She was their child through and through—always reaching for something new, whether in the mechanics of Piltover or the untold secrets of magic.

Jayce watched his daughter from a distance as she carefully examined a piece of clockwork, her brow furrowed in concentration, and smiled. He saw so much of himself in her—a mind that could never be contained within the bounds of tradition, always reaching for more.

And as Y/N walked beside him, their hands intertwined, they knew their daughter would continue to weave their worlds together in ways they had never imagined. From Piltover’s mechanical wonders to the untold mysteries of magic, Elena was destined to make her own mark.

Their life in Piltover wasn’t always easy—being a Vastaya in a city of high society meant stares and whispered comments, especially when they strolled together as a family. But Y/N stood tall, her tail swaying behind her as she held Jayce’s hand firmly. The occasional glance or whisper from a passerby didn’t faze her. She had learned to rise above it long ago. Jayce, ever the protector, offered her silent reassurance with his touch, the steady strength of his presence beside her.

"Careful, Elena!" Y/N called after their daughter, who had run ahead in excitement. "Don’t run off too far."

Elena turned with a wide grin, slowing her pace. "I’m just looking for something fun!" she replied, her voice filled with the wonder of a child exploring the world.

A few people glanced at Elena’s energetic enthusiasm, the contrast to the calm sophistication of Piltover’s streets. Y/N caught the looks and flicked her ears in amusement, but Jayce didn’t miss a beat, squeezing her hand as they walked side by side. "She’s got your spirit, doesn’t she?" he teased.

Y/N smiled, her tail flicking behind her as she watched Elena. "She’s got a bit of both of us in her. I just hope she doesn’t get into too much trouble."

"You two are a lot of trouble together," Jayce teased back, his lips curling into a smile.

=

The warmth of the moment was something Jayce cherished. When they first met, he could never have imagined a life like this—a life filled with love, family, and a deep connection to a woman so different from him. Y/N, with her vast knowledge of Zaun, her calming presence, and her fierce protectiveness, had swept him off his feet. She had her own strength, her own struggles, yet she had always supported him, as he had supported her.

And then there was Elena a living testament to the way they’d both changed and grown. Elena was a reminder that love could transcend all—whether it be between cities or species. She had inherited Jayce’s insatiable curiosity and Y/N’s ethereal presence, a calm and warmth that grounded everything. She was the perfect mix of their worlds, a child with a fierce mind and an open heart.

As they walked further through the market, Elena suddenly stopped in front of a stall brimming with art supplies—paints, brushes, and sketchbooks. Her eyes widened with excitement.

"Mum! Look!" she exclaimed, tugging at Y/N’s sleeve. "They’ve got paints and all the colours you use for your lessons! Can we get some?" Her fingers traced the vibrant shades, her imagination alight with possibilities.

Y/N chuckled and knelt down beside her daughter. "You’ve got a good eye, sweetheart. These would be perfect for some new artwork. Let’s pick out the colours we need, and we can work on something together."

As they lost themselves in the moment, a passerby lingered a bit too long, his eyes darting from Y/N’s tail to Elena’s pointed ears. Y/N noticed and smiled politely, but the man quickly averted his gaze, muttering something under his breath. Jayce didn’t miss it either. He shot the man a pointed look, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say a word.

Elena, her tail flicking behind her in excitement, jumped up. "Can I make something for Dad too? Like you always do for him, Mum?" she asked eagerly, her face lighting up with the joy of creating something special for her father.

Y/N smiled softly, resting a hand on Elena’s shoulder. "Of course, darling. We’ll make something special. How about a painting for Dad to hang in the workshop?"

Jayce couldn’t help but laugh softly. "You two will have a whole gallery before the day’s out, won’t you?"

Y/N winked at him playfully. "Perhaps. But we’ll make it something extra special for you. A masterpiece from both of us."

Elena nodded enthusiastically, her bright eyes alight with excitement. "Yeah, Dad! You’ll love it!"

Jayce smiled, kneeling down to their level. "I can’t wait to see what you both come up with." His heart swelled at the thought of his daughter and Y/N creating something together—an expression of their love for him. It was moments like this that made everything worthwhile.

As the family continued their walk through Piltover, Jayce couldn’t help but feel a deep peace settle in his chest. He had never believed in destiny, but the life he had now felt right—right in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Y/N and Elena were his world, and he would do anything to protect them. The life they had built, the family they had created, was everything he had ever wanted, even if it had come in ways he hadn’t expected.

There was a perfect balance in their little family—Jayce’s determination and vision, Y/N’s wisdom and gentleness, and Elena’s playful energy and unyielding love for both her parents. Together, they were a testament to what could be built when two people from different worlds came together with understanding, compassion, and love. Elena had the best of both worlds in her, and that made her something rare, something special.

=

As they headed home, the sun setting behind them, Jayce whispered softly to Y/N, "Thank you for this... for everything."

Y/N’s eyes softened as she leaned into him. "It’s not just me, Jayce. It’s all of us—together."

With her head resting against his shoulder, they walked into the future hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges came next. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of their love, Jayce knew that the future was theirs to shape, together. The stares, the whispers, the discomfort of others couldn’t touch what they had—what they had built. Nothing could.

VIKTOR

Years had passed since that fateful night in the alleyways of Zaun, when Viktor had first reached out to Y/N, guiding her away from the chaos of the streets. That moment had been the beginning of a journey neither of them could have predicted—a journey filled with both hardship and unexpected tenderness. As the years went by, their bond grew stronger, woven together by shared moments of quiet understanding, and an unspoken promise to never let go.

Viktor’s path had eventually led him to Piltover, a city of progress, knowledge, and endless possibility. The brilliant Heimerdinger had recognised Viktor’s genius and, after much persuasion, brought him to Piltover to become his assistant. It had been a turning point in Viktor’s life, a chance to leave Zaun behind and be recognised for his talents. But even in the gleaming towers of Piltover, Viktor had never left Y/N behind. She had been by his side through it all, as steadfast as ever, and it was in her presence that he found his peace.

Though Piltover was unfamiliar, even overwhelming at times, Y/N had adapted with grace. The city's bustling streets and towering structures felt a world apart from the alleys of Zaun, but Y/N’s ability to blend her Vastaya heritage with the world of Piltover’s scientific and artistic communities had made her a quiet but respected presence. Her talents—both as a healer and a seamstress—were highly valued, and over time, she had carved out a place for herself, always with Viktor’s unwavering support.

Their shared history, their differences, and their shared journey from the broken streets of Zaun to the polished city of Piltover were reflected in their daughter—Lira.

Lira had inherited both of her parents' qualities, yet she was truly a reflection of both their worlds. She had taken more after Y/N in many ways—her skin, the same faint greyish hue, her long, delicate ears, and her tail, which swished expressively behind her. But there was also something of Viktor in her, something sharp in her eyes—a quiet intelligence, an almost unnatural understanding of things. Lira was a blend of their two worlds, and in her, they saw the future—a new generation, capable of bridging the divide between science and nature.

They had named her Lira for a reason—a name that meant "song" in the old language of her mother’s people. Lira was a name that symbolised harmony, the blending of two very different worlds. It was also a tribute to her mother's Vastaya heritage, with the hope that, like the name itself, she would find a way to bring unity and understanding to the world, just as her parents had.

Viktor’s heart would swell with pride each time Lira came running into his arms. Her small hands would touch his cane, her eyes full of wonder as she asked him to explain the intricacies of his latest invention. Though Viktor had always been focused on logic, reason, and progress, the sight of his daughter’s curiosity, her hunger to understand the world, softened him in ways he never thought possible. Lira would sit beside him for hours, watching his work with wide eyes, absorbing every detail with an intensity that made Viktor realise that, perhaps, the future was more than just a series of equations. It was in the small moments—like the gleam in his daughter’s eyes when she solved a problem or the way her fingers danced across the pieces of his machines, as though she were already a part of his world.

But Lira also shared her mother’s creativity, her deep understanding of beauty in its many forms. While Viktor worked tirelessly at his projects, Lira would often be by Y/N’s side, learning the intricate arts of weaving, stitching, and crafting. Y/N would teach Lira how to create beauty from the raw, the imperfect—how to use her hands to shape something meaningful from the world around her. Whether it was repairing a tear in a favourite shirt or creating a new quilt from old scraps, Y/N would impart lessons that spoke not only of the skill of the craft but of the deeper understanding of the world’s rhythm—its delicate balance between nature and the manmade.

=

One evening, the soft glow of Piltover’s lights filtered through the windows of their home, casting long, gentle shadows across the room. Viktor was at his desk, lost in thought as he worked, his mind consumed by the details of a new project he was collaborating on with Heimerdinger. The familiar hum of machinery drifted in from the workshop, a constant companion in Viktor’s life. Yet, despite his mind’s focus, his thoughts kept drifting back to how much had changed since that first moment he had helped Y/N in the alley.

Behind him, Viktor heard the soft rhythm of Y/N’s sewing machine—a comforting sound that always brought him a sense of peace. Lira’s voice bubbled up with questions, her soft laughter filling the house as she worked with her mother. The scene was so familiar, so comforting, that Viktor couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment, letting the peace of it wash over him. It was a far cry from the days of Zaun—no more threats lurking in the shadows, no more hunger or cold.

“Viktor?” Y/N’s voice, warm and calm, broke through his reverie. He turned in his chair to see her standing in the doorway, a soft smile on her face. Lira was perched on her mother’s shoulder, her small arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she gazed at her father with wide, eager eyes.

Viktor’s heart swelled with love at the sight of them. “Yes, lásko” he replied, his voice thick with affection. (Love)

Y/N crossed the room slowly, her movements as graceful as ever despite the tiredness that sometimes lingered in her body. She placed a gentle hand on Viktor’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment. “Lira’s been asking about your work again. She wants to understand how it all fits together.”

Viktor smiled, his eyes shifting to Lira, who was now standing at his side, her bright eyes fixed on him with an intensity that reminded him so much of himself as a child. “Does she now?” Viktor said with a chuckle. “She’s certainly persistent.”

Y/N smiled, a touch of amusement in her voice. “Just like you,” she teased. “She wants to know how things work, how they fit together.”

Lira’s golden eyes widened with excitement, and she hopped down from her mother’s shoulder to run to Viktor’s side. “Papa, how do you make the parts move like that?” she asked eagerly, her tiny finger pointing to the small mechanical model sitting on his desk.

Viktor’s heart swelled with pride and affection. He took a deep breath, then gestured for Lira to come closer. “Well, miláčku,” he began, bending down to her level, “it’s all about understanding the way the pieces fit together. It’s a bit like how your mother weaves her fabrics, you see?” (Sweetheart)

Lira tilted her head, processing the information, before repeating thoughtfully, “Like weaving?”

“Yes,” Viktor continued, his voice warm with encouragement. “Everything, whether it’s a machine or something more natural, is connected in some way. It’s just a matter of finding the right way to put it all together.”

Y/N watched the two of them, her heart full as she observed the bond that had flourished between Viktor and their daughter. Lira was a living testament to the way both of them had shaped her. The curiosity, the drive, the sense of wonder—all of it was there, in her.

The three of them stood together in that quiet moment, a family forged from the strength of their love, their shared creativity, and their unwavering belief in each other. The lights of Piltover shone brightly outside, but inside their home, there was a warmth that no machine could replicate. Together, they were a family—strong, united, and ready to face whatever the future held.

And as they stood there, Viktor couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. For the journey, for the lessons, for the love that had filled his life in ways he never thought possible. And for the tiny girl with the golden eyes, whose presence had made it all worthwhile.

“I’m glad we’re here,” Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, resting her head on his shoulder as Lira clung to his side, her golden eyes wide with curiosity. “So am I, Viktor,” she said, her voice filled with quiet contentment. “So am I.”

JAYVIK

Several years had passed since that long, weary day in the lab. Time had a way of softening the sharp edges of past pain, but for Y/N, some wounds still lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for the world outside to remind her of its harshness. Yet, in spite of these lingering scars, brighter days had emerged—days filled with laughter, love, and the indescribable joy of watching her children grow, finding their own voices in the world that had once felt so unkind.

On this particular afternoon, Y/N strolled through the park, her twins—Elowen and Cassian—holding tightly onto her hands as they skipped beside her. Elowen, with her wild curls bouncing in the breeze, had inherited Viktor’s meticulous nature but also Y/N’s boundless curiosity and wild spirit. She was always the first to ask questions about the world around her, eager to uncover the mysteries of both magic and science. Cassian, on the other hand, with his mischievous grin and dark eyes that mirrored Jayce’s, thrived on adventure. His curiosity often led him into trouble, but his infectious joy in exploring made up for it. Together, they were a perfect blend of their parents—two little bundles of energy, wonder, and mischief.

Viktor, leaning on his cane as always, followed closely behind them. His faint but content smile revealed how deeply he cherished these moments—the ones where time seemed to slow down, where the world faded away, and only the people at his side mattered. He was proud of his children, proud of Y/N, and proud of the family they had built together. And there was Jayce, walking beside him, just as devoted, just as protective. Y/N could see the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at their children, his love for them as fierce and unconditional as her own. Together, the three of them made a home, one built on love, understanding, and a shared commitment to protect each other from the cruel realities of the world outside.

=

But as they walked through the park, something stirred in Y/N—an old discomfort, a prickle of awareness that she couldn’t shake off. At first, it was subtle—just a few sideways glances from passersby. But as they continued, the stares grew longer, the whispers more frequent. She could hear the hushed voices, barely masked by the rustling of leaves and the laughter of children. Some of the looks were filled with curiosity, some with disdain. The word "unnatural" caught her ear, and muttered remarks about her “strange” heritage reached her with painful clarity.

Her chest tightened, and she could feel the familiar weight of their gaze bearing down on her. The faces that looked upon her with suspicion, fear, and even hatred never failed to cut through her, no matter how much time had passed. The tightness in her chest grew as she glanced down at Elowen and Cassian, who were oblivious to the tension in the air. They were laughing, caught up in their joy, but Y/N saw the way the world would see them too. Her children—her precious children—were not exempt from the cruel judgment. Their innocence would never be enough protection from the harshness of the world.

Viktor noticed the shift in her posture before she realised it herself. Her grip on Elowen and Cassian’s hands tightened, and her tail, once relaxed behind her, now flicked anxiously. He could see the muscles in her back tense, her ears flattening slightly in response to the murmurs and stares. He knew her so well that he didn’t need to ask. But he did, anyway.

“Y/N?” Viktor’s voice, low and cautious, reached her. He stopped beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, his cane resting beside him. His other hand reached for hers, a quiet offering of support. “Is everything all right?”

Y/N blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She gave him a tight smile, but it was weak, strained. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice faltering. “Let’s just go home.”

Viktor’s brows furrowed in concern. He knew her too well to be fooled by her words. He glanced around and saw what she saw—people still staring, still whispering. He could feel her anxiety, a tight knot in his chest as he struggled with the helplessness of not being able to shield her from it all. He said nothing, though, as they turned to leave, both of them guiding their children with quick, deliberate steps.

Cassian, sensing the shift in the mood, looked up at his mother with wide, innocent eyes. His gaze, full of concern, didn’t escape Y/N. “Mum? Why are we going home? We were having fun!”

Y/N forced a soft laugh, bending down to ruffle his dark hair, her heart aching with the weight of his words. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll come back another time, I promise.”

Elowen, always attuned to the emotions around her, glanced up at her mother with a furrowed brow. Her bright eyes, much like Viktor’s, narrowed with concern. “Are we going to be okay, Mama?”

Y/N’s heart clenched as she looked into her daughter’s earnest eyes, those same bright eyes that shone with curiosity and understanding. She kissed Elowen’s forehead gently, a soft whisper escaping her lips. “We’re always okay, Elowen. Always.”

Jayce, who had been walking slightly behind them, caught up and placed a hand on Y/N’s back. He had noticed the subtle shift in her mood, the change that always followed when the world became too much for her to bear. His voice, calm and steady, broke through her thoughts. “Don’t let them get to you, Y/N. They’re just ignorant.”

Y/N gave him a small smile, grateful for the support but not quite able to shake the lingering discomfort. “I know, Jayce. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

Jayce squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll make sure they never see the world the way we do,” he said, his tone filled with determination. “We’ll teach them how to rise above it. We’ll show them what true strength is. And they’ll grow up knowing that love and family are the most important things.”

Viktor nodded in agreement, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “They already know what matters, Y/N. They’re growing up surrounded by love. That’s what will guide them.”

=

They continued their walk home in silence, Viktor keeping a protective hand on Y/N’s back, Jayce walking beside her, a quiet but unwavering presence. His warm smile, though faint, was a silent reassurance that they were all in this together. Elowen was perched on his shoulders, giggling with delight as she tugged on his hair playfully, while Cassian swung from his hand, laughing with each swing. Jayce, as always, did his best to be the stabilising force, effortlessly balancing the responsibility of keeping them safe while maintaining the lightness in his step that made the children feel unburdened by the world outside.

Y/N’s tail flicked nervously behind her, her unease bubbling under the surface despite the joy in her children’s laughter. She could feel the stares, the muttered comments, and the weight of the world pressing against her chest again. Viktor noticed her tension immediately and slowed his pace, coming closer to her side, his hand brushing against hers in quiet comfort. He knew her well enough to recognise the signs of her discomfort, though she was trying her best to hold herself together for the sake of their children.

=

As they neared their home, the murmurs faded into the background, replaced by the warm comfort of familiar streets, the comforting sense of belonging within their own space. Y/N sighed, the tightness in her chest easing as they reached the door. When the latch clicked shut behind them, a sense of relief washed over her like a wave. Here, in the sanctuary of their home, she was safe. She was with Viktor, Jayce, and their children—where the world couldn’t touch them so easily.

Viktor, ever observant, placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but steady. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice full of empathy. “I know it’s not easy.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into him, her head resting against his chest for a brief moment. The steady thrum of his heartbeat soothed her, grounding her in the present, in the love they had built together. “I just… I just want to protect them. I don’t want them to see the world like I do. I want them to grow up free of fear.”

Viktor’s hand moved to the back of her head, fingers carding through her hair in a gesture of care. “They will,” he reassured her. “They have us. And we’ll teach them what matters—love, understanding, and the strength to rise above the ignorance around us.”

Jayce, having entered behind them, placed a hand on Y/N’s other shoulder. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, his voice low but filled with unshakable confidence. “They’ll never know the world like we do. They’re going to be better than that. And we’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N felt her heart swell with gratitude, her breath steadying as she looked at the men who stood beside her. Despite the world’s cruelty, she had this—she had Viktor, Jayce, and their children. Their family was her safe place, a foundation built on love, strength, and resilience. Together, they could weather any storm.

=

That night, as they settled in, Y/N tucked Elowen and Cassian into their beds, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads. The twins were already drifting off to sleep, their innocent smiles and soft breaths reminding her of the purity of their hearts, untouched by the harshness of the world. “You’ll never have to carry the world’s burdens. We’ve got you. Always,” she whispered.

Her heart ached with love as she pulled the covers up around them, watching over them like a guardian, as Viktor and Jayce quietly stood by her side, sharing the weight of the moment. The world outside could be unforgiving, but within these walls, surrounded by their family, Y/N knew her children would always be safe. They had each other—and together, that was more than enough to face whatever the world threw their way.

With Viktor’s steady calm, Jayce’s boundless energy, and the love they shared, Y/N knew they would find a way through the darkest of times—together, stronger, united, and full of love. With their hearts intertwined, they were a force to be reckoned with, no matter what. And that made all the difference.

VANDER

As the months passed, life in the undercity settled into a familiar rhythm, but things were never quite the same after Y/N gave birth to Kael. The quiet, curious child brought with him a special kind of presence that seemed to resonate deeply within the walls of the Last Drop. From the moment he was born, Kael's appearance caught the eye of everyone in the bar. His features were a striking combination of Y/N and Vander—Vander's strong jawline and broad shoulders, but with Y/N's deep, almond-shaped eyes, shimmering with a mysterious wisdom far beyond his years. His small, cat-like nose and faint markings on his skin were unmistakable signs of his mother’s Vastaya heritage, marking him as something rare, something different in a world where differences were not always welcomed.

They named him Kael, meaning "mighty warrior" in an ancient tongue, as Vander had suggested. The name seemed fitting, not just for his appearance, but for the world he had been born into—one filled with struggle, hardship, and a need for strength. Y/N agreed, feeling the weight of the name as she held her son close. Vander, with his protective nature, already saw the resilience Kael carried, even as an infant, and he was proud to see that strength take root in his son. Y/N felt a similar bond, sensing that Kael was destined to carry a power that neither she nor Vander could fully comprehend.

In the meantime, the children of the Last Drop—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—had grown especially fond of Kael. The little boy’s serene presence seemed to calm the chaos of the undercity, and the children couldn’t help but adore him. They took turns helping Y/N with him, vying for the opportunity to hold him, to make him laugh, or simply to spend time with him. Vi, ever the fierce protector, kept a close watch over her little brother, ensuring that nothing could harm him. Even in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the bar, she would often sit beside Y/N and Kael, offering a silent, watchful gaze over the newborn.

Powder, though usually lost in her own world, was particularly enamoured with Kael, often offering him her toys and coaxing a giggle or smile from him, her face lighting up with pure joy when he responded. Mylo, the prankster, joked that Kael would grow up to be a tough kid, always looking out for his sister, and while his words were playful, there was an undeniable truth to them—Kael already possessed a quiet strength that would make him stand tall when the time came. Vi, fiercely protective, always kept a watchful eye on him, whether he was peacefully napping or playing, and would stand guard, her instincts flaring if anything or anyone posed a threat. Claggor, the silent one, gravitated toward Kael, his usual quiet nature softening around the baby as he sat nearby, observing with a gentle, affectionate gaze. It was clear to everyone that, despite their differences, each of them held a deep, protective love for Kael, their bond as strong as family itself.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the way her children had embraced Kael. There was a tenderness in the way they interacted with him, a protective instinct that ran deep. Vander, too, found his heart swelling with pride every time he saw Kael surrounded by his "siblings," playing, laughing, and sharing in the simple joy of being together. In a world as harsh as Zaun, moments like these were rare, and Vander appreciated them more than anyone could know. He found peace in seeing Kael grow up in the warmth of his new family, surrounded by those who cared for him and would protect him fiercely.

However, as much as Kael was a light in their lives, the undercity was not without its shadows. Life here was brutal, and not everyone looked upon a Vastaya child with the same warmth that his "siblings" did. It was one thing for Vander and Y/N to protect him within the confines of the Last Drop, but outside, in the rough streets of Zaun, there were dangers lurking at every corner.

=

One day, when Y/N and Vander were busy tending to the bar, they decided to let the kids venture out to explore Zaun for a while. The air was thick with the usual mixture of industry, smoke, and the distant hum of machines. The kids roamed the streets, their laughter echoing off the walls of the narrow alleys, their boundless energy filling the cracks of the city. Vi kept an eye on Kael, who was nestled in her arms, his curious gaze taking in the world around him. Powder ran ahead, giggling as she chased after a small mechanical bird that had caught her eye. Mylo and Claggor wandered together, though Claggor’s eyes were always alert, and Mylo kept up his usual antics, cracking jokes and teasing the others.

It was during this outing that they encountered someone who would test their bond.

A man, clearly down on his luck, spotted Kael from across the street. His eyes narrowed when he saw the child’s markings, his lip curling in disgust. He had no love for the Vastaya, nor for anyone who didn’t belong fully to Zaun or Piltover. The sight of Kael, with his distinct features—a blend of Vander's sturdiness and Y/N’s exotic markings—filled the man with a deep sense of disdain. He muttered something under his breath, his hand gripping the edge of a nearby crate as he approached the group.

“You think you’re one of us?” the man sneered, his voice rough and threatening. “What, you think this little bastard belongs here? A freak like him don’t fit in, not with the city’s blood or with any of you.”

Vi’s protective instincts flared, and she stepped forward, her fists clenched. “Watch your mouth,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

The man, clearly not used to being challenged, took a step closer, his gaze now focused solely on Kael. “I’ve seen your kind before. You don’t belong here,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.

Powder, who had been playing nearby, immediately ran to Kael’s side, standing next to him with her fists raised in defiance. Mylo and Claggor moved in as well, standing shoulder to shoulder with Vi, their expressions serious. The playful antics had fallen away, replaced by the fierce loyalty they had for each other.

“We don’t let anyone talk about him like that,” Mylo said, his usual cheeky grin replaced by a determined scowl. “You need to get lost.”

The man, realising he was surrounded, hesitated for a moment. But his temper flared again, and he sneered. “You’re all freaks, then. What are you gonna do about it?”

=

But before the situation could escalate further, the unmistakable sound of Vander’s voice rang out, deep and commanding as he approached. "I don’t think you’ve been listening," he said, his presence alone enough to make the man hesitate. "You’ll apologise, or you’ll leave. Your choice."

The man looked around at the children, then at Vander, realising too late that he was outmatched. His bravado faltered as he took a step back. "Freaks," he muttered under his breath, his words weak and meaningless now.

But just as he was about to leave, Y/N stepped forward, her eyes narrowing with a fierce protectiveness. Her ears were pinned back, and she let out a low hiss, like a cat cornered in a threat, her stance poised to defend her family. The man paused, momentarily startled by her reaction.

With a final glare at the children, the man staggered off, grumbling to himself, but his bravado had crumbled in the face of Vander and Y/N’s unwavering stance.

The tension in the air evaporated the moment he left. Vi, still holding Kael, looked down at him with a reassuring smile. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said softly.

Powder clung to Kael, her face beaming with pride. "You’re safe, Kael," she whispered, her voice full of admiration.

Mylo chuckled lightly. "Told you you’d be tough, little guy."

Claggor nodded silently, his gaze steady as always, but his actions spoke volumes as he kept a watchful eye on Kael. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to his little brother.

Kael, still a baby, looked up at them all with wide eyes, sensing the love and protection surrounding him. He let out a soft giggle, the sound a reminder that, even in the harshest of places, there was always room for love and family.

Vander and Y/N watched the scene with pride and gratitude, their hearts swelling at the sight of the children’s bond. Despite the chaos of Zaun, there was a rare beauty in these moments—moments when love and loyalty triumphed over hate. Kael was part of something special, something worth protecting, and Vander would do everything in his power to ensure that his son would always know that, no matter how dark the world around them became, he would never be alone.

SILCO + JINX

Years had passed since that fateful moment in the alley, where Silco had broken the chains that bound Y/N, both physically and metaphorically. In those years, the two of them had built something together—an empire forged from shadows and ambition, yet tempered with a bond that neither could fully explain. The world they had shaped around them had grown even darker, but it had become a world that they controlled, one where their power and influence rippled through the streets of Zaun and Piltover.

Silco, ever the calculating figure, had changed in small but undeniable ways. Y/N’s presence, her quiet strength and the way she could bring peace to his otherwise turbulent soul, had carved a place in his heart that he had never imagined. There was still coldness to him, still the calculating mind of a man who would sacrifice anything for power, but Y/N’s unwavering loyalty, her warmth, and the strength of her love had brought a new dimension to him. Silco no longer saw the world only through the lens of domination and revenge. Y/N had taught him that there was a kind of strength in love, and that perhaps there was more to life than just ruling with an iron fist.

The change in Silco wasn’t immediately visible, not to everyone, but Y/N saw it in the way he would hold her hand in the quiet moments after a particularly brutal business deal, or the way his gaze softened when he watched her care for their children. There was an unspoken understanding between them now, something beyond the power plays and dangerous politics that had once consumed them both. They were building a future—not just for themselves, but for the little ones who depended on them.

And then, their daughter was born.

=

She came into the world with a quiet intensity that mirrored both her parents. Her eyes were Y/N’s—bright and full of life, but with a depth that seemed to carry the weight of both their worlds. Her skin, a soft blend of Silco’s smooth, darker tone and Y/N’s lighter, ethereal touch, held the markings of her mother’s Vastaya heritage—small yet distinct patterns that hinted at her mystical bloodline. Silco, who had always been distant and controlled, couldn’t help but gaze at his daughter in awe, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever seen. The first time she cried, it was as though the sound itself cracked open something in him—something that had been sealed off for years.

They named her Sira.

The name felt right—it was simple, yet carried an air of strength and beauty that seemed to fit their daughter perfectly. It was a name that bridged both of their worlds: Silco’s world of control and power, and Y/N’s world of magic and nature. Silco looked at her and saw a future—one where his legacy would live on, not in the empire he had built, but in the strength and intelligence of his child. Y/N looked at her and saw the blending of two worlds that had once seemed irreconcilable, but now came together in the form of their daughter.

As Sira grew, so did the complexities of her existence. To Silco, she was his blood—a living, breathing piece of his legacy, a future that could be molded into his image. To Y/N, she was a connection to her own heritage, a continuation of a line that stretched far beyond the borders of Zaun and Piltover. She was their hope, their love, and their proof that, despite the darkness around them, something good could come from it.

And to Jinx? Well, at first, it was something else entirely.

Jinx had always been fiercely protective of her adoptive parents. They were her family, her everything. She had grown up surrounded by chaos, and Silco and Y/N had been the constant, the ones who had taken her in and treated her as their own. The idea of sharing them, of giving her love and attention to someone else, felt like a betrayal. So when Sira entered the picture, Jinx’s first instinct was to keep her distance, to resent the little girl for stealing the attention that she had always received. To her, Sira was a threat, an intrusion into the fragile space she had carved out in her heart for Y/N and Silco.

But Sira, even as an infant, had an innate charm. It wasn’t just her appearance—a curious mix of the fierce and the gentle—but the way she would giggle and grasp at Jinx’s bright hair or the way her tiny hands would reach out, wanting to touch, to play, to explore. Slowly but surely, the walls Jinx had put up began to crack. The more time she spent around Sira, the more she realised that the little girl wasn’t trying to take anything from her. She wasn’t a threat. In fact, she had a way of drawing Jinx in, of making her feel needed, wanted, and loved in a way that she hadn’t expected.

Sira quickly became the centre of Jinx’s attention. When she was a toddler, Jinx was rarely seen without her, proudly parading her around, holding her outstretched in her arms like a trophy to Sevika, to the gang, to anyone who would look.

"Look at her!" Jinx would say with a mischievous grin, holding Sira up in front of her. "Isn't she just perfect?"

=

At first, Sira was just a quiet baby, taking in everything around her with wide eyes, but she grew into a toddler full of curiosity and joy. Her giggles and the sparkle in her eyes were contagious, slowly softening even the hardest of hearts around her. Even Sevika, who had always been tough and unflinching, couldn’t resist a smile when Sira reached out to her, or when Jinx spun the little girl around, her laugh ringing through the air.

In moments like these, the older woman could hardly resist. The tiny hand in hers, the way Sira’s tiny voice would giggle as Jinx spun her around, the way she proudly showed off the little one as though she were her own—Jinx had finally accepted her role as the big sister, the protector, the one who would teach Sira the ways of their world.

=

Silco watched all of this with an intensity that could only come from a father who was fiercely protective of his daughter and also quietly proud of how his ragtag family had come together, in spite of the violence, the chaos, and the unspoken tension that had once ruled their lives. His dark eyes tracked Sira as she giggled, her tiny hands reaching up for Jinx, who was already spinning her around with a wide grin plastered across her face.

"Jinx," Silco called out sharply, his voice laced with concern as his eyes narrowed. "Careful with her."

Jinx paused, looking over at Silco with mock innocence, but the mischievous glint in her eyes gave away her feigned innocence. "Oh, come on! She loves it," she teased, giving Sira one more quick spin before looking back at Silco.

Silco stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking in, and he held up a hand, his voice suddenly stern. "That’s enough, Jinx." He moved closer to Sira, his eyes softening as he took her from Jinx’s arms. "She’s still too little for that much, alright?"

Jinx raised her hands in mock surrender but couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at her lips. "Alright, alright. You’re such a softie, Silco."

Silco didn’t respond at first, his gaze lingering on his daughter’s small, trusting face as she nestled into his chest, her little hands clinging to him. The sound of Sira’s laughter, light and full of joy, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. It was a reminder that, no matter how dark the world could get, there was still something pure—something worth protecting.

But now? Now, there was something more—something worth fighting for, worth living for. And that something was standing there, in the form of their daughter, who would one day inherit both their legacies, and who would grow up to be as formidable as her parents. Silco, who had always been a man of control, found himself utterly undone by the sight of his daughter smiling up at him. Her little hands reached for him, and his heart stuttered in his chest. This was no longer just about power and survival.

"Daddy," Sira whispered, her voice small and sweet, yet full of certainty as she held her arms out to him.

Silco’s expression softened, his usual cold mask slipping for just a moment. He reached down, lifting his daughter into his arms with a tenderness that only those closest to him would ever witness. "What is it, Sira?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, almost as though he was afraid she might break if he spoke too loudly.

Sira rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny fingers tracing the dark tattoos that marked his skin. "Love you, Daddy," she murmured, her words simple yet full of meaning.

His breath caught in his throat. Silco, the man who had controlled entire factions, who had torn through his enemies without hesitation, now found himself speechless, overcome by a feeling he had never quite understood until now. In Sira’s smile, in the way she clung to him as though he was her entire world, he realised that he wasn’t just a ruler. He was a father.

Y/N, always by his side, watched with a sense of contentment. Her gaze flickered between Silco and their daughter, her heart swelling with pride and love. The journey that had brought them here, to this moment, hadn’t been easy. Their family had been forged from the harshest of circumstances. Yet somehow, in spite of it all, they had found each other and built something stronger than anything Silco had ever set out to create.

"She’s growing up so fast," Y/N said softly, her voice full of affection as she approached, her hand brushing against Silco’s. "Can’t believe how much she’s learned already. She's just like you, Silco. Strong, determined, and fearless."

Silco’s expression darkened slightly at the thought of their daughter inheriting his dangerous traits. "I’d rather she take after you," he muttered, though the hint of affection in his tone was impossible to miss.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes filled with warmth. "Oh, I’m sure she will. She already has your wit. But she also has something more—something that neither of us can control." She smiled up at him, her hand slipping into his, a silent bond that spoke volumes between them.

The two stood there, side by side, with Sira nestled between them.

"You know," Y/N continued, her voice teasing now, "I used to think we would never get this moment. That everything would be consumed by the shadows we’ve built our lives in. But Sira, she’s proof that we can have more than just the fight. She’s proof that we can still live, Silco."

Silco looked down at their daughter, the quiet strength and warmth in her tiny form overwhelming him. The empire he had built, the countless battles he had fought—none of that mattered in the face of this small, innocent life that he and Y/N had brought into the world.

In the silence that followed, a rare peace settled between them. Silco, ever the calculating strategist, found himself no longer concerned with his empire. The life he had created with Y/N and Sira, with Jinx now fully integrated into their strange family, was more than any territory or wealth could ever offer.

And as the years went on, Y/N and Silco knew that no matter what the future held, they had built something unbreakable—a family united by blood, by choice, and by love. A family that, for once, wasn’t just about survival, but about living.

"She’s going to be a force," Jinx remarked from the background, watching as Sira tugged on Silco’s sleeve, her eyes bright with mischief. "Just like her parents." The words were both a promise and a challenge.

Silco glanced back at Jinx, his lips curving in a faint smile. "She’s already a force, Jinx. But she will also be something greater than either of us could ever have imagined."

Y/N nodded, leaning into Silco as Sira reached up once more, her tiny hands brushing against her parents. "Together, we’ve built this. And together, we’ll see it grow."

Sira’s smile was the brightest thing in the room, her hand reaching for Jinx, who immediately scooped her up and spun her around once again. The laughter that followed was full of life, full of love, and Silco found himself finally able to admit, for the first time, that this—this was the future he had always wanted.

[tatterings]

Wrote a short jayvik fic that is illustrated by SketchyShit on bsky!

Check it out on AO3 for all the illustrations

Fic under the cut.

Dream on Me

Viktor is sitting in a quaint bookshop, sipping a latte with steamed sweetmilk and paging through a murder mystery, when the armchair in which he is lounging wraps its armrests around him, and the seat below him grows hard, pressing against his ass.

He awakes with a small jolt, and raises a hand to wipe the crust of deep sleep from his eyes. A dream; but somewhat rooted in reality - sensation-wise at least.

It is Jayce whose thick, muscled arms encompass him. The little hairs on Jayce's forearms tickle against Viktor's chest and waist.

And the hardness of the dream-chair’s plush seat, he realizes, is…Oh.

Viktor blinks into the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. The city gaslights of Piltover bleed through the burgundy gauze curtains of their bedroom window, casting long shadows across the ceiling. The silhouette of the unlit lamp on Viktor's bedside table stands guard over various accoutrements atop the table’s shellacked surface. He spots the form of his cane, stashed securely between the bed frame and side table.

Viktor relishes nightly in this delightful domesticy drudgery that hasn’t seemed to outgrow a “honeymoon phase”. The midnight air is chilly. And yet Jayce is halfway uncovered, in just his boxers, testament to his tendency to sleep hot as a furnace. Tonight the quilt Ximena had lovingly sewn for them drapes only across their intertwined legs.

Unlike when he was single, he falls asleep quickly now, enveloped in the warmth of Jayce’s embrace. An unforeseen benefit is the comfort of Jayce's thick muscles, his soft chest and belly hair, offering cushion and warmth for his own sharp and angular frame.

He steadies his breath as his nervous system settles back to reality, understanding that the monstrous armchair was but a dream, and instead it is Jayce's forge-formed bulk wrapped around his lithe body.

And it is Jayce's hard erection, tenting through his crimson sleep boxers, that ruts agonizingly slowly against Viktor's ass.

Viktor swallows thickly and whispers into the cool darkness with a thickly accented, "Are you awake?” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips in anticipation of… something.

It is unlikely that Jayce will stir from his slumber. Jayce has always been a sound sleeper, able to snore through the sonorous staccato of a hammer or the shuffle of papers and diagrams in the lab.

But he has to ask, because at least part of Jayce is particularly wide awake, throbbing and pressing into Viktor's backside.

Jayce's mumbled, hot words ruffle Viktor's hair by his ear, but he can't make sense of them. Jayce enunciates clearly when conscious, perfect for his role as the face of their research. Over their years together though, he's shown a tendency to mumble nonsense in his sleep.

Viktor can't decipher what Jayce whispers into the thick tangle of his auburn hair, but he gets the gist of it. The mumbling carries an edge to it, a sharp whine, and it is emphasized by the slow roll of Jayce's hips against Viktor's backside. Their silk sleep boxers drag so sweetly together, but the smoothness of the material denies Jayce much of the friction his sleeping body seeks.

Jayce moans softly. He has always whimpered so prettily. Viktor squirms in Jayce's hold, feeling himself grow hard in response. It is always… difficult to fight those baser, animalistic, and temptingly human urges that had always plagued him when it came to Jayce Talis from the moment he realized Jayce is brilliant. He’d taken himself in hand with shame at thinking of his lab partner innumerable times over the years.

But now, they are partners in every sense. And they are in their own bed, snuggled together in seductive solitude and ultimate comfort.

So, why not…entertain the desire, Viktor muses, his brows furrowing together in concentration as he rubs his palm over his boxers, along his own length. He is awake anyway, and cannot easily fall back asleep with Jayce rutting against him like an untrained pup.

But Jayce needs rest.. he has been staying up late, working so diligently on their latest development, and pulling all-nighters to keep up with Viktor, who is used to surviving off of very little sleep. It would be a pity to wake him, to disturb his much-needed rest.

But Jayce's whimpering… how his fingertips press into Viktor's moonlit skin. It is difficult to deny that Jayce needs and deserves some sort of release.

It would be helping Jayce, really, Viktor reasons, chewing his bottom lip in thought, using Jayce's gentle thrusting against his backside as momentum to grind his own erection against his palm. Jayce's hips rock Viktor's entire body, and his eyes drift away from the fuzzy light melting through the curtains to the silhouettes on his nightstand. His pain medications in amber bottles, a box of tissues, a glass of water.

And a bottle of lubricant. Almost taunting him, positioned just slightly out of reach of Viktor's gangly arms.

Viktor's thick eyebrows raise to his hairline at the sound of his own needy groan slipping past gritted teeth. Jayce's hot breath again ruffles Viktor's hair as the larger man reacts to the noise.

Jayce doesn't need to know it, doesn't even have to wake up for it. Viktor could help them both. He always sleeps better, after making love…

Still lost in bargaining with his own sense of right and wrong, Viktor's slender fingers wrap around the body of his cane. He deftly flips it, so the handle faces away from him, and loops the handle behind the bottle of lubricant, dragging it closer, until he can trade the cane for the bottle. Viktor winces slightly as his trusty cane lands on the rug with a dull thump. He didn’t mean to discard it so unceremoniously, so disrespectfully. But he is flushed, his palms sweaty, his mind a mess.

With his thumb Viktor flicks open the bottle, dripping the cool liquid into his palm. It sparkles against the pale skin of those slender fingers for a moment before he dips his hand into his boxers and frees himself from the silky confines of his sleep shorts.

Another airy sigh escapes through Viktor’s thin lips as he teases himself with a few slow strokes along his length, circling his fingers as he slips over the head, spreading precum down his shaft.

Rather selfish, isn't this, he thinks, eyes darting back toward the bulk of Jayce that he can spy out of the corner of his eye. Viktor fights a frown that contorts his angular, fine boned face. Jayce is still restless in his sleep, relentlessly hard, still moving steadily against Viktor's back. His breath comes in heavy pants against the nape of Viktor’s neck.

With his other hand Viktor shimmies his boxers halfway down his thighs. Viktor's slender fingers trail lower, cupping his balls for a heartbeat before greedily slipping one finger, then two, into himself, breathing himself through the process of breaching the tight ring of muscle. The fingernails of Viktor's other hand mark the dark skin of Jayce's forearm with crescent moons.

Will Jayce awaken, he wonders, when he's inside? What a delightful hypothesis to test. Every action has its equal, and Viktor uses the momentum of Jayce's thrusts wisely, his slender fingers scissoring to open himself up. Viktor's breathing slips, becoming shallow at the sensation.

He realizes he is recreating a captivating experiment they'd performed together years ago. In it they discovered exactly what prepwork Viktor needed for that sharp sting of Jayce's entry to be more pleasure than pain. Two of Viktor's fingers were essentially the size of one of Jayce's, they'd discovered. And it usually required two of Jayce's fingers to fully prepare Viktor to take his cock. Simple arithmetic. The researchers also discovered that, while Viktor's cock was marginally longer, Jayce had a hefty girth that pressed so lusciously against every part of Viktor's insides.

Viktor wriggles impatiently in Jayce's grasp, and receives a tight, squeezing hug in response. He detests the idea of waiting longer, working harder to prep. Sometimes…an experiment didn't suffer too much from being hurried along. And both science and pleasure sometimes benefitted from risk-taking.

Viktor pulls out from himself, using his lube-slicked fingers reach around and behind him, palming at Jayce's cock over his precum-dampened boxers. Jayce bucks in Viktor’s hand in response, a simple physiological reaction to stimulus, of course…

But the way Jayce mumbles a two-syllable word that sounds suspiciously like "Viktor" between his snores steals Viktor’s breath from his scarred lungs.

Viktor was no virgin when he'd met Jayce, and had plenty of trysts with academy undergrads - and a few TAs - that had given him enough skill to expertly maneuver his hand behind him and slip Jayce's cock from his boxers.

Then there is whimpering from Jayce behind him, a little breathy gasp as Viktor palms his heavy sac, pulling his balls up and over the waistband. He cannot hope to lift Jayce's bulk to pull the silken shorts down fully, but this had to be more comfortable for Jayce.

"Sweet Jayce," Viktor whispers, mostly to himself, as Jayce's steady snores signal his slumber being as deep as ever, despite the twitching and bucking of his hips. His hand pumps Jayce's length slowly, his thumb tracing a thick vein, his palm pulling Jayce's foreskin along his rigid member with each motion. He cannot see it, laying on his side in front of Jayce, but Viktor knows Jayce's silky soft tip just has to be nearly purple, with how hard he is.

Viktor arches his back slightly, easy to do when supported by the mattress, jutting his narrow hips towards Jayce's groin. His long fingers wrap around Jayce's shaft, angling so that the head of his cock slips along the cleft of Viktor's cheeks with each roll of Jayce's hips. More muffled moans from Jayce, something along the lines of good, and need, he thinks. Viktor's lungs burn, he aches to cough, and realizes he's been holding his breath in anticipation.

As Jayce’s cockhead slips between Viktor's cheeks, Jayce thrusts on instinct, his girthy head pressing hard against Viktor's hole. Viktor swears he can hear a pop as Jayce's head breaches him, and Jayce pulls back, his frenulum catching on the inside of Viktor's rim. His breath escapes him in a soft, low whine, and Viktor bites his own fist to spare himself from cracking his own teeth from clenching them together. Hot tears stream down his face, his eyes watering from the sharp burn of the intrusion.

He did not, in fact, adequately prepare for this experiment.

But it is too late to start over, as Jayce's groan of satisfaction rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against Viktor's back. Jayce's hips roll again, pushing further into Viktor, but not bottoming out. It is a small blessing, and gives Viktor a moment of reprieve to blink away the tears, to take himself in hand. He again uses Jayce's momentum to pull and push himself through his own encircled fingers, his cock throbbing needily for the stimulation. Viktor permits himself a pitiful moan, his skin erupting in goose pimples as Jayce's huffing breaths evaporate the sweat beading along Viktor's neck and shoulders.

Jayce did not wake up, upon entering the slick tightness of Viktor. He does not wake up as Viktor clings to Jayce's forearm with one hand, gripping to it as though it were a lifeline. Jayce doesn't stir, despite his deep groaning, as he tightens his arms around Viktor's chest and waist, and plunges into him like a stud breeding a bitch in heat.

Viktor's head rushes with each pull, roll, snap of Jayce's hips and the subsequent thrusting of Jayce’s cock inside him. Colors form and sparks fly under closed eyelids each time the thickest part of Jayce's girth presses so perfectly against his prostate. His breath shudders as he relishes in this perverted delight that Jayce has no idea that his body is even being used in this way. Viktor's cock throbs in his hand, more slick pre-cum dribbling onto the linen sheets and between his fingers as his mind wanders to the memory of Jayce's confession to having wet dreams of VIktor before they'd first gotten together.

What a wet dream Jayce is having now, Viktor muses, a grin curling his lips.

While the rush of power from secretly having control of the situation is intoxicating enough that it makes Viktor’s cock twitch, the raw power rocking them both on the bed is not his to claim. He feels like a puppet, filled and manipulated physically by Jayce, whose needy thrusting is instinctual, animalistic, and so foreign compared to the delicate care with which they usually make love.

Viktor focuses on his breathing, syncing it with the push and pull of Jayce's hips so his breath isn't driven from his lungs when Jayce squeezes and presses into him. Dark eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks now that the pain from Jayce's girth has subsided into pure pleasure, stretching Viktor and filling him more than he'd anticipated.

It was yet another surprise, despite their copious copulation having made him intimately familiar with Jayce's size. Perhaps it is because of the angle, or how far Jayce plunges into him, burying himself so deeply Viktor swears he can see his lower abdomen bulge outward with the thrusts.

In this state of seduced slumber, Jayce did not second-guess how gently he should move, second guessing himself with concerns for Viktor's delicate body. Instead this is rougher, more needily primal, with Jayce's balls slapping against Viktor's thin thighs with each thrust. More pitifully desperate, with Jayce's fingertips pressing a blossom of bruises into Viktor's birdcage of a chest and on the sharp peak of his hips.

This sweet perversion, of taking advantage of Jayce's unconscious mind, is just as pleasurable for Jayce as it is for Viktor, it seems. He slams into Viktor with satisfied groans and mumbles praise into Viktor's hair, his neck, or Jayce's own pillow.

Viktor loses track of how many times Jayce thrusts into him, pressing their hips together. How many times Jayce pulls out, the head of his cock pulling against the inside of Viktor’s rim, teasing him, before snapping inward again and grinding when Jayce is buried to the root. His pubes tickle against VIktor's swollen, puffy hole.

He can only breathe, and whimper, and moan at being manhandled; he wanted this. He needs this, he realizes, as much as Jayce did while he rutted in his sleep against his backside. Viktor's pulse throbs in his cock and as he hungrily strokes it to the rhythm of Jayce's movements.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears faster, harder, until both his chest and his balls feel like they'll burst from both pressure and pleasure. His mouth gasps in a silent scream, the breath snatched from him by pleasure. His voice is silent, strangled, and Viktor feels as though he could die from the ecstasy of being so full of Jayce, so used by him. Viktor's balls tighten and the hot slick of his own release spurts in ropes down his fingers, across the sheets, hard enough to even smack wetly on the rug beside the bed.

His muscles contract with his climax, and he tightens around Jayce's girth. Just a moment after his own orgasm, Viktor feels Jayce's leg wrap around his own, and thick heat pools inside him to the sound of Jayce's broken groan and a clearly spoken, "Viktor!"

Viktor swallows down the lump in his throat, blinks away the stars in his eyes, willing his head to stop spinning. He hisses a ragged breath as he pulls his hand down his shaft, over the sensitive head of his cock, to gather up his come; Janna, he'd never come so hard in his life. He hesitates, and decides to wipe it on the bed sheet. A problem to solve tomorrow.

He freezes, his hand mid-wipe on the sheet, and realizes Jayce is still asleep.

Jayce's hips are still, one leg slung over Viktor's thigh… and his half-hard cock still inside him. Viktor feels, for the first time in a while, a grin form on his face so wide that it crinkles the corner of his eyes. He fights back a laugh, but his shoulders and body softly shake with his own silent giggles, and Jayce's cock slips out of him. A pity.

He finishes wiping his hand before he pulls Jayce's boxers and his own up and over their sensitive cocks and snug around their hips. The sleeping Jayce only releases a short huff at the action, the leftover lube and cum quickly darkening the fabric on the front of his silky shorts.

Viktor brushes away a tear from his eye with his clean hand then covers his mouth to stifle his laughter, to calm himself down.

This gigantic oaf. This silly fool. This delightful, resplendent, sweetheart of a man has worked himself so ragged for this most recent project that he slept through all of that. He'll have to chat with Jayce in the morning about not working himself so hard that he sleeps like the dead.

Or, Viktor reasons, one eyebrow raised at his own thoughts as he looks out the window, perhaps the eh, "little death", in this case.

He giggles silently to himself, relishing in the afterglow of endorphins, the feel of Jayce's seed so warm within him, and with satisfaction about how tightly Jayce never let him go during this entire…experiment.

Viktor falls back asleep so quickly that he can't even begin counting poros to ease his typically restless mind.

—

In the morning, he wakes later than usual, his slumber interrupted by the squeeze of Jayce's arms around him and a soft kiss on his cheek.

"G'morning, sunshine," Jayce chirps, peppering Viktor's scrunched-up face with kisses to his forehead, the mole below his eye, his cheek, his ear. Viktor feigns resistance, squeezing Jayce's well-muscled forearm and sputtering a thickly accented, "Stop it, Jayce, you're ridiculous!".

But he turns his head, meeting Jayce's lips with his own. Their tongues touch languidly, tenderly, and Viktor doesn’t mind the taste of Jayce's morning breath one bit. He captures Jayce’s bottom lip between his teeth and nips it gingerly before permitting Jayce to break the kiss.

Viktor's golden eyes twinkle with delight as he gazes at Jayce, whose eyes sparkle too. Jayce's genuine smiles never fail to involve his entire face.

"You'll never believe the dream I had last night, V," Jayce says , shaking his head, his bed head a complete mess. A few locks of dark hairfall across his forehead.

"Oh?" replies Viktor, a wicked, crooked grin spreading across his face, "By all means, Jayce, do tell."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Slimy fellow meets slimy fellow.

Also known as Fellow meets Azul.

I thought this one would be more fun to write if I immediately cut to Fellow at the Mostro Lounge (following the reader's advice, of course)! Also, I will take any excuse to write the twins--

This ended up being a lot longer than I had initially intended, it's over 2k words (blame my Octavinelle bias)... Hope you enjoy!

So tell me, do you wanna go?

"Whoa, Giddie. Check out this classy joint."

Fellow whistled as he took in the majesty of the Mostro Lounge.

Plum carpets gave rise to a set of stairs, and up the railings were several plush, quilted booths. Each table had its own lamp, a shining orb held up by a gnarled arm of coral. There was a bar area too, complete with a row of sleek stools, the shelves behind the counter well-stocked with tins of tea blends.

Overlooking the entire establishment was a massive glass wall, where the ocean itself peered in on the patrons. Shadows of seaweed and coral ran along the seabed outside, rainbow-colored fish darting by in bursts. Jellyfish lights swung from the ceiling, casting the lounge in an otherworldly blue glow. Smooth jazz emanated from somewhere in the eatery, backed by the soft accompaniment of ambient sounds--water splashing, bubbles dancing.

As Fellow and Gidel stood there gawking, they hadn't noticed two lanky shadows approach them from behind--not until they uttered a greeting in unison.

"Welcome to the Mostro Lounge!"

Fellow jumped at the hands that clapped onto either of his shoulders. He met two nearly identical faces.

"Table for two?" Jade offered.

"Can we getcha started with drinks?" Floyd asked.

Fellow jolted back, pointing a shaking finger at the twins. "H-HIEEEEEEE!! I-It's you guys!"

Jade smiled politely, feigning ignorance. “Oya, Fellow-san. You appear to be rather jumpy today. You’ve come to just the right place to put that anxiety to rest.”

“Y-You’re not gonna wail on us?!”

“Wail on ya?” Floyd’s mouth was stretched eerily wide. “Eheheh. Why’d we wanna do that?”

“Quite right, Floyd." Jade nodded. "We would never harm an esteemed guest. This is a gentlemen's lounge--there is no fighting allowed."

"You're... not mad about what happened before?"

The corners of Jade's mouth twitched. A droll laugh, suppressed. "Think nothing of it. Call it water under the bridge. Floyd and I, we are not the vengeful sort."

Fellow stared at him as though Jade had suddenly sprouted another head. I don't buy that for one second!!

"So do ya want grub or not? Hurry up, cuz we got other customers to deal with," Floyd groused, jabbing at finger at the packed tables behind him.

Fellow eyed them both suspiciously--but his gaze darted between the shady eels and Gidel, who was patting his belly. His reply came out weak and reluctant. "Well... If you're offering food..."

"Then right this way." Jade bent, gesturing with one hand. "I believe this is your first time dining with us, so allow me to inform you of our specials."

He led the way, expertly weaving between Octavinelle servers and roaming guests. Fellow followed, Gidel lagging behind him, and Floyd held the back of the line, plucking up two menus from a podium as they passed it. As they briskly made their way to an open booth, Jade rattled off facts.

"You may order a la cart, but we also offer meal sets in which we have curated the perfectly paired the dishes for you. Substitutions can be made upon request to accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions. There is a separate specialty beverage menu. The Mystery Drink is our most popular item--we highly recommend it."

"Wait a sec!" Fellow held up a hand. "Food's great and all, but I was hopin' to hear about something else too."

Jade craned his head. "Oh? And what might that be?"

The fox beastman leaned in, cupping his mouth against Jade's ear. "Word on the street is, the big shot around here has the ability to make wishes come true. I want in on that."

The twins exchanged a knowing look. Their mismatched eyes glinted with delight.

"... Of course, dear customer. We can arrange an audience with Azul for you. However, please be advised that it requires that you order a certain amount of food. The meal sets are worth 3 points each, and the drinks, 1 point. You will need to accumulate at least 50 points total in order to secure a spot with Azul."

"No problem! Together, Giddie and I could eat a man out of house and home," Fellow chuckled. "We'll take one of everything you've got!"

“Out of house and home!!” For some reason, this made Floyd laugh. It was an odd, raspy sound, like branches and the wind scraping and rustling against a ratty window.

“What’s so funny?”

"Oh, nothin’. You just made me remember a funny joke,” Floyd reassured him. “Don’t worry. We’ll get your order ready for ya in a jiffy~"

"Azul, you have a new client."

Jade held the door open for Fellow and Gidel to pass through. Floyd lingered in the corridor like a bouncer guarding the room--or a jailer ensuring they stay in it.

The duo stepped into a neat office, flanked on both sides by towering bookshelves. The carpet they treaded on bore an intricate pattern of scalloped shells and swirls. Two deep purple couches were set across from one another. A coffee table was between them, its surface layered glass. Luminescent blue colored the base of the bookshelves and the interior of the coffee table.

A large chunk of the back wall composed a massive vault. Seated in front of it was a young man at a grand desk. He had silvery hair swept to one side, and sharp eyes behind thick frames. A pile of contracts say upon his desk, along with a lamp and a pot of ink. He deposited what appeared to be a fish skeleton in his inkwell and stood, smiling at Fellow and Gidel.

“Welcome to the VIP Room,” the young man purred. “I am the dorm leader of Octavinelle and the manager of Mostro Lounge. Azul Ashengrotto, at your service.”

“Honest. Fellow Honest. And this here’s my little buddy, Gidel.”

"Oh, there's no need for introductions, Fellow-san. I've already heard plenty about you from Jade and Floyd."

"Have you now?" A slight edge formed in Fellow's voice. "It sounds like my reputation precedes me."

Azul chuckled darkly. "Indeed. Ah, but that is why you've come to seek my counsel, is it not? You're seeking something. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the couches. "Tell me of your troubles."

Gidel happily planted himself down, but Fellow stood his ground and clenched his fists.

"It's money," he blurted out. "I need money, and lots of it."

Azul blinked. He quickly composed himself and gave a laugh. "If I could materialize thaumarks out of thin air, the value of them would surely plummet. May I ask what it is that you intend on using these funds for?"

"I want to start my own school. One that'll be WAY better than this crappy establishment for entitled rich kids!" Fellow waved at the overembellished office with his cane. "A school for everyone, no matter what their background or social class is! A school that teaches practical life skills!"

(The twins, listening in from the doorway, snickered amongst themselves. Azul shot them a glare.)

"Hmm... I see that you're an ambitious man, Fellow-san. As a businessman myself, I must commend your drive," the merman drawled, "and I am willing to help make it a reality, provided you are also willing to pay the price. You can't get something for nothing, as I'm sure you know."

Fellow's stomach dropped. He had anticipated this, but it didn't make the gut punch any less painful. "What's it gonna cost me?"

"I'm not asking much. Just a token, really--a trifle! You'll never even miss it." Slime coated each of Azul's words. "What I want from you is... your unique magic."

He went cold, the color draining from him. From the couch, Gidel startled, suddenly alarmed. "Life is Fun?""

"Correct." Azul's smile seemed more like a smirk now. "From my understanding, your spell is able to enhance one's optimism, making the subject more susceptible to suggestion and taking risks. Not only that, but it is subtle enough to avoid detection. It would be a great boon to have at my disposal. I could easily dispel any doubts my clients may have about signing a contract."

"But that's...! That's...!" Fellow sputtered, unable to come up with a coherent argument.

"That is my offer, Fellow-san. It's non-negotiable." Azul looked him up and down. Not that he has much else to offer.

"Tch...!"

He weighed the options.

Riches for his magic. A magic so measly that mightier mages spat upon it. His magic for riches. Riches so vast he could jumpstart his dream, ensure a golden future for him and Gidel.

Azul's words coiled around him like constrictive tentacles.

"I'm not asking much. Just a token, really--a trifle! You'll never even miss it."

Fellow wavered.

Maybe I should take the deal...

"...!!"

Gidel rose from the couch and tackled Fellow, latching onto an arm. Fellow stumbled backwards, nearly crashing into a bookshelf.

"W-Whoa! Hey, watch it, Giddie!!" he yelped, trying to pry the boy off of him. "Can't 'cha see I'm thinkin' here?!"

Fellow abruptly stopped. Gidel gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes. Wetness coated the corners, tears threatening to spill.

It's a part of you. It's yours. Don't give it up, he begged.

"Giddie..." Fellow's hand sank into Gidel's hair and ruffled it. "... Thanks for that. I needed it."

His resolve returned to him, hardening into steel. Turning back to Azul, Fellow replied, "Sorry, I've changed my mind. I think I'll work things out on my own."

"!!" Gidel beamed proudly.

"Are you certain? These endeavors can be a challenge without sufficient financial backing," Azul warned.

"Positive. I don't wanna kiss up to some board of investors to move up in the world!" Fellow seized Gidel's oversized sleeve. "C'mon, we've got places to be!"

"Well!" Azul huffed, looking displeased. "If you think you can manage!"

"We can, no worries!"

With that, Fellow steered himself and Gidel out of the VIP Room. They skipped along, humming a jolly tune. Azul waited for their sound to completely vanish before he jerked his head to the twins.

"I thought you said they'd be easy marks," he bellowed.

"Perhaps we misjudged," Jade suggested, brows upturned. "The child appears to act as Fellow-san's conscience--and a rather effective one, at that."

"We did almost get them though!" Floyd protested. "Hook, line, and sinker!!"

Azul sighed deeply. "There's no helping it. What's done is done. This time, they got away from us--but it's alright. At the very least, we've got their money!"

Silence threaded the room.

"... I said, at the very least, we've got their money." Azul stared at the twins, who were strangely quiet. "We DO have their money, correct?"

"My, I may have neglected to disclose our prices to Fellow-san," Jade said with a smile. "It seems he was under the impression that the Mostro Lounge's offerings were as free as the cafeteria's buffet is."

"And since we know you're soooo generous, we thought it would be okay to let'm eat their fill to rack up those points~" Floyd added. "'Sides, Jade and I wanted to see how you'd get along!"

Azul's expression splintered. "... So you two allowed Fellow-san and Gidel-san to dine and dash? All to get a rise out of me?"

"You could phrase it like that, yes."

"Yup~!!"

Panic immediately set in. His mind raced, running the calculations simultaneously. How many tens of hundreds of thaumarks he was losing out on.

Azul pushed past the nonchalant Leeches and to the door. Gathering all of his breath, he hollered down the hallway.

"All Mostro Loungs staff on deck, this is an order from your manager!! I want that redheaded fox beastman and his cat accomplice captured and brought to me STAT!! Is that clear?!"

"Wow, Azul's really losin' it!" Floyd cackled. "It was worth all that trouble just to see this~"

"I couldn't agree more, Floyd. Fufufu, there is never a dull day in Octavinelle."

[daydreams-after-dark]

Blindfolds | Chan x Reader x mystery man (Minho)

chan x fem reader x minho.

Chan helps you fulfil your fantasy of having a "stranger" sleep with you

Word count: I think about 3k?

MDNI . Content warning below.

————- WARNINGS: unsafe sex, threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal fingering, blowjob, orgasm, slight choking, cum eating, mystery sex, blindfold—————-

You walk down the dimly lit hallway towards one of the unused bedrooms in the holiday house you and your friends were staying at. You and your best friend, Chan decided the scenario will take place in a space that no one is using, to really maximize the mysteriousness of it the whole thing.

Butterflies are going crazy in your stomach, and you tug your satin robe tighter around your waist to try to settle them down. You feel rather sexy and feminine in the robe, the cream floral print against a gold background makes you feel like a queen.

You approach the designated door and knock.

“Come in.” Chan's voice calls from the inside. You swallow hard and push open the door.

You're immediately taken aback. The room is stunning. The decor is dark and moody, with the walls painted a dark grey blue, and the furniture looks as though it’s antique. Paintings of abstract naked women have been hung around the room.

There are various stained-glass lamps, emanating a seductive glow, and there is music playing low in the background. It sounds like French music. A woman’s voice seductively fills the room.

Then there’s the bed. Huge, King sized, so plush and high set. Chan is laying propped up against the dark timber headboard, he almost looks lost leaning amongst the generous number of over sized plush pillows. He’s wearing black tracksuit pants and a muscle tee. It looks out of place in such a sensually styled room.

“What do you think?” Chan gestures around the room.

“Th- this,” you stammer. “It’s amazing Chan.” You move towards the bed, stretching out your hand to touch the dark green quilt. It’s luxurious on your fingertips as you run your hand along the fabric and move closer to the head of the bed. The only thought going through your head is: Someone’s going to fuck you on this.

You perch on the side of the bed facing away from Chan, your feet barely reaching the floor. That's when you notice the black blindfold laid out neatly on the bedside table. Next to it is a bottle of coconut oil.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” Chan reaches out to touch your hand that’s resting beside you on the bed.

You inhale deeply and then slowly release the breath. How are you feeling?  It’s a mixture of feelings really. You're so very nervous. That you already know. But, you're also… excited. The idea of what’s about to happen is truly thrilling to you.

You can't believe your best friend Chan agreed to help you fulfil this fantasy. Of being blindfolded and fucked by a mystery person.

Chan smiles “We gotta get you ready!” He practically jumps off the bed and moves around to the side of the bed, taking your hand and helping you slide off the bed.

You've already discussed the details of how you're going to do this, covering safe words and safe gestures, what positions we are going to be in. These had been relayed to the mystery person who was going to be participating. The man coming to fuck you wouldn't be a stranger though. It was one of seven other men, that Chan knows extremely well. You've met them all too, and to be fair, you'd be thrilled to have any of them fuck you.

You stand in front of Chan facing away from him. There is tension in the air and your breath feels wobbly. He steps closer to you, and you can feel his breath on your neck and a pang in your chest. You'd really wish he'd kiss you. Chan doesn't know how much you actually want him. But he's never shown any signs of wanting you as more than a friend. He slowly reaches around, careful not to touch you too much, you wish he would, and pulls at your robe’s rope-tie.

It comes loose easily allowing your robe to fall open. Chan delicately pulls your robe off your shoulders letting it drop to the floor. You hadn’t put any underwear on, and now you're standing completely naked in front of Chan. And only Chan.

It feels extremely intimate and you're feeling self conscious. He hasn’t been this close to your naked body before. Goosebumps form on your skin. It isn’t cold in the room. Chan had thought of that too and had made the room a comfortable temperature. He’s so fucking considerate. You smile to myself.

You close your eyes and compose yourself. Fuck. You're really doing this.

Chan takes your hand again and grabs the blindfold in the other. He steadies you as you climb onto the bed where he resumes the position of laying down and propped up against a pillow and headboard. He directs you to sit between his legs facing away from him, and carefully he places the blindfold over your eyes and securing it at the back of your head. Your senses immediately heighten. This feels so erotic.

“Lean back on me.” He whispers as he guides you to lean back onto his fully clothed body. You can feel his hard, toned muscles flexing underneath you and his breathing is strained. Is he nervous? You can feel an erection beginning to dig into your back. Is this turning him on?

You imagine what this must look like, your exposed, naked body with Chan’s strong legs on either side of yours. You don’t know what to do with your hands so you rest them on your stomach. You don’t know where Chan’s arms and hands are, only that they aren’t touching you. You wish he’d wraps his arms around you. You wish he’d caress your body.

For a moment you try to imagine what it would be like if he did touch you. The sensation of him cupping your breasts, pinching a nipple, sliding his hands over your body. Then you remember why you're here, for a mystery fuck. A small moan escapes you. Did he hear you?

Chan nuzzles his face into your neck, resting his chin on your left shoulder. He's so close. “You already imagining a stranger inside you, hmm?” he whispers. You whimper. His voice turns you on beyond belief.

You don’t have chance to answer because there is a knock on the door. You suck in a breath. This is actually happening.

“Come in.” Chan calls out. You hear the door creak open and then close.

“Are you ready to begin?” whispers Chan in your ear.

“Mmm hmm, yes.” you reply.

“Good, because I think you are going to really enjoy this.”

He takes hold of your hands and places them on the bed either side of your body, using his hands to hold them down out of the way so you can’t go ahead and touch your anonymous lover. You had requested this. It makes you feel like you're being forcefully held in place, although you know you can change things if you want.

You feel the mattress dip slightly. Someone is climbing onto the bed near your feet. Who can it be? Is it Changbin? Or could it be Minho? Felix? Could it be Jisung?

A hand touches your ankle. You shudder, then very slowly and delicately it makes it way up to the side of your knee. Their touch is light and feathery. You swallow.

Then you feel a mouth, a moist, plush mouth just above your knee. You think he is about to take the kisses up your leg, but instead takes his kisses back down, making his way down to your ankle. It feels so sensual. Who do these lips belong to?

Chan releases your arms for just a moment so he can lift your legs over each of his legs, which are spread out wide on the bed. Then he goes back to gently pinning your hands to the mattress.

You sense the other man moving closer and a mouth reappears on your skin. This time it’s your inner right thigh. He drags his tongue from inside your leg near your knee all the way up your inner thigh, sending tingles through your body, but he stops before he gets anywhere near your pussy. He does this again, and then mirrors the action with your other leg.

His hands try to push your legs a little wider and Chan assists by moving his own legs wider again, forcing your legs to part just a little more. You're ready, wide open for whatever you're about to receive.

The touching stops, but you can feel him kneeling in front of you. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly in anticipation.

You're pleasantly startled when you feel a warm liquid landing on your breasts. The oil. Chan must have warmed it up somehow in preparation. You moan at the sensation of the oil dripping down around and between your breasts. You suck your breath between your teeth when you feel a pair of hands cupping your breasts, then squeezing and massaging the flesh in slow, but firm circles.

His hands slide easily over your oiled skin, and you squeal slightly when he squeezes your nipples. As the pinches and flicks become more aggressive you can’t help but arch your back and rock your hips at the sensation.

Chan shushes you. “We need to stay still and take it, remember what we agreed to?” That’s right, part of this was you needed to stay as still as possible, it was all part of being restrained. You compose yourself and stop moving. It’s so difficult but you're determined to play the part properly.

“Good girl.” Chan growls low. Good girl? You love those words.

More warm oil is applied to your stomach. There is so much that it coats your entire abdomen and runs down towards your core, and trickles down where your pussy lips meet. You feel bad for the bedding, it’s probably going to be a mess.

It feels so fucking sexy with your body being this slick and slippery. You feel like a goddess being worshipped and adored, yet at the same time you feel like a dirty whore who doesn’t care who fucks her.

You wait for the hands to return to your body, anticipating them all over your stomach and you moan and pant with the need to be touched now. You're desperate and on the verge of begging.

“Pl-please… please touch me.” you say.

“He wants you to call him ‘Sir’”, Chan whispers.

“Please touch me again… Sir.” you pant.

You let out a long, low moan as he pours the oil at the top of your pussy. It runs down through your lips and onto your asshole. You can’t help but try to wriggle with pleasure and frustration. Chan squeezes your hand, a reminder that you need to stay still. You don’t know where his hands will land next and the anticipation is pure agony.

The stranger lifts your legs up bending them so your knees are up near your chest. Chan removes one of his hands from yours to grip under your knee to help pin it against your chest, whilst the other man pins your right leg.

You feel the heel of a hand press firmly against your clit and begin to move in circular motions, much like they did with your breasts. It provides a grinding sensation that shoots pleasure deep inside of your abdomen.

“Fuck that feels so good… Sir.” you whimper as his hand swirls and presses on you for what feel like and eternity.

He then drags two fingers beginning at your clit all the way down to your asshole, dragging the oil and your slickness all the way down. Your cunt clenches as his fingers pass by the entrance, not stopping to explore. He presses a finger to your rim.

“Aaaah!!” you gasp at the sensation of the pressure.

He massages his finger against you, and you know you're going to open up easily for him. You are so aroused and so slick from yourself and the oil that it doesn’t take much for the tip of his finger to breech the entrance. You grip the sheets with your hands and pant shallow breaths as his finger slips in deeper, deeper, all the way in.

“You’re being so good for him.” Chan’s words of praise in your ear make you melt around the stranger’s finger and you're ready for more.

“Sir… please.. I need… can you put in another finger?”

He slowly removes his finger and you feel two fingers at your rim now. He pushes them in, going ever so slowly. It’s a stretch but he’s moving slowly enough that you're adjusting along the way, making the stretch feel achingly good. He must be experienced at this sort of thing. He knows exactly what to do.

You bring your left arm up and wrap it around Chan’s neck, as whispers words of encouragement in your ear.

The volume of your moans and whimpers grow so loud now that it’s drowning out the sound of the French woman’s singing. The man moves his fingers in and and out of your ass maintaining a relentlessly slow pace. The burning sensation with every drag of his fingers makes you cry out.

“Faster… harder… Sir I need… more.”

He quickly builds up the pace. Chan releases your hand to bring his hand to your neck, wrapping it around your throat and squeezing slightly but not enough to cut off air. Then he brings his thumb up to your lips. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his thumb inside. You pull at the hair on the back of his head and he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The other man continues to fuck your ass with his fingers.

A mouth lands on your pussy. His tongue swirls around and through your lips. The tip of his tongue slides inside of you. Chan starts to fuck your mouth with his thumb, pushing it deep into your mouth roughly. You want him to ruin you.

You're practically screaming from the glorious agony, your senses are on overload.

Chan removes his thumb. “Is this okay?” he checks in with you.

“Yes… But… I want his cock now.”

“Ahhh yes, I bet you do. Let’s sort you out, yeah?”

The fingers inside your ass are removed and you feel the man shift his position.

His thighs press against the underside of yours. Then… you feel the tip of a cock. He pushes it against your opening, making you let out a pathetic whine. Your body is begging for him to push his cock in.

But he doesn't push it in. Moments pass and still nothing happens. What is happening? A sense of panic makes it’s way into your body. Has he changed his mind?

“He wants to know if we can take the blindfold off?” Chan asks.

You pause. He hasn’t changed his mind. You quickly decide what you want to do. Whoever it is wants you to be right there with him, making this moment together. Not him fucking you, but you fucking each other.

You bite your bottom lip. “Okay.” you say shakily. Your breath quickens at the thought of coming face to face with the man who has been pleasuring you so amazingly.

Chan takes over holding your right leg up and two hands come to rest on the sides of your blindfold, the tip of his cock slips into you slightly as he leans in towards you, giving you a tease of what’s to come. You can’t wait until he is all the way inside.

Your blindfold slides off but your vision is slightly blurry. You blink to adjust your eyes and the man before you becomes clear.

Minho.

He is looking at you expectantly, nervously, like you might run away at the sight of him.

You reach up and cup his face. His cheeks are flushed and lips pink and swollen. He isn’t even being the one fucked right now but he looks like he is.

“Hey.” you say with a dazed smile.

“Hey.” He replies. “Is this okay…do you want to keep…”

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him down on top of you. His hands reach around to your ass and he lifts your hips up and pushes himself all the way inside of you.

Minho is finally free to make noises now and he makes long low moans as he rocks his hips into you. He looks down to where you're joined to watch his cock glide in and out.

You still have one arm wrapped around Chan’s neck, your other explores Minho’s body. His toned body undulates like some sort of exotic python. He’s even more skilled with his cock than with those magic fingers. He brings his mouth down onto yours mirroring his tongue with his thrusts. A skilled, diligent lover.

You melt together as his long, languid thrusts become deeper and you’re being pressed into Chan’s hard cock.

Without warning, Minho pulls out and flips you over in one fluid move so that you’re on all fours.

You look to the head of the bed and see Chan’s hard erection inside his sweat pants. You’re about to reach for it when you’re dragged down the bed by Minho. You look into Chan’s eyes longingly as you’re being pulled out of reach and he just stares back at you. You want to please him so badly.

Minho pushes his cock back inside of you making you cry out. Pleasure washes over you, mixing with the angst of yearning for Chan. He slides his thumb over your asshole and presses it inside. “Ahhh.. Yes, Minho.” You cry, squeezing your eyes tight.

He pushes it in all the way and rests his palm and fingers on your tail bone. His grip is perfect to rock you on and off his cock. You love feeling so filled up. You’re so close now.

Chan looks fucked out, like he’s on another planet. His engorged, swollen red cock is now out of his pants and in his hand, but he’s not doing anything with it. He’s just holding it absentmindedly. His eyes glazed over as he stares at you.

Minho must notice him too. “Kitten?” he pants. “Do you want to help Chan out? Make him come?”

You look at Chan eagerly. You’re practically salivating.

“Come over here Chan. It’s okay.” Minho encourages Chan over but he doesn’t move. “Before I cum.” He adds, hoping that will spur him on.

Chan, as if possessed, gets up onto his knees and crawls his way towards you. Once he is close enough he offers you the head of his cock and you take hold of it with one hand and guide him into your mouth. Chan whimpers at the touch. You lick your tongue along his shaft and over the tip before taking him deep into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Chan whines high pitched.

“Don’t use your hands. Make him work for it.” Minho growls.

You do as you’re told and release your grip but keeping him in your mouth.

Something in Chan snaps. He grabs the back of your head and starts plunging his cock into your mouth relentlessly. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he fucks your face without restraint. It makes you gag. It’s hard to take him and your eyes water.

You look up at him, he’s staring at you while his cock thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you almost choke. Seeing Chan using you like this while Minho pounds into you from behind, is all too much.

You cry out around Chan’s cock as your legs shake and your cunt clenches around Minho. Your arms and legs buckle underneath you but Minho is there to hold you steady. He wraps an arm underneath you, keeping you in position.

Minho suddenly pulls out, painting your back in his cum with a long moan.

Chan growls and moans and pulls his cock out to massage his release into your waiting mouth and tongue. There is so much, coating your tongue and dribbling down your chin. He leans back onto his heels, shaking as he watches you swallow everything in your mouth, and then use your fingers to scoop the remaining cum on your chin and licking your fingers clean. He looks horrified and startled. Oh shit, have you done something wrong?

Chan quickly gets off the bed and pulls up his trackpants. “Fuck. I am so sorry.” He is so flustered.

“I’ll get the towels.” Minho announces and hops off the bed.

“Chan?” You whimper. He doesn’t seem to hear you. He’s is freaking out. “Chan!” You repeat, “I need you to hold me.”

Chan looks down at you, as though he is scared. What is going through his mind? Cautiously, he edges closer to the bed and sits beside you. You’re still in an all fours position waiting to have your back wiped clean, but you kneel up to let Chan wrap his arms around you. You nuzzle into his chest. Why is he so upset with you?

You feel him relax against you and he strokes your hair. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He whispers over and over. You don’t understand. You fucking loved that he did that to you. You’ve wanted it for so long.

“Oh Channie!” You cry. “I fucking want you, you idiot!”

Chan looks at you warily. “Really?”

You reach up and cup his cheek. “Yes.” You whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips. He closes the gap capturing you in a heated kiss. “Stay with me tonight, Chan.”

“Of course, baby girl. Of course."

Minho returned, cleaned you up and helped you and Chan hop into bed.

"I'm glad you two have finally got your act together." he said laughing as he said goodnight and left you and Chan to snuggle together.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @kangnina @weareapackofstrays

[bottledpeaches]

an eye for an eye

SYNOPSIS: what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong?

CHARACTERS: dr ratio

TAGS: major character death, small town horror, murder mystery, 2.6k+ wc

TAGLIST: @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii, @harque, @akutasoda, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore

NOTES: I procrastinated real hard on this and managed to thug it out in the span of like.... four days

written for @/stellaronhvnters’ stellaween festival event! I chose the prompt skeletons

special thanks to my dearest pookie @tragedy-of-commons once again for proofreading this for me so last-minute!

It’s never a good sign when a small town ends up on the map, for one reason or another. Small towns are small for a reason. They keep to themselves, its residents living peaceful, crime-free lives and concern themselves with their own problems.

So when news of skeletons being discovered in people’s yards in a small town that isn’t even listed on the maps makes it onto national television, it takes the entire nation and even the world by storm. 

It’s all people can talk about as the case unfolds. Reporters are flooding into the town until they outnumber the residents living there. With the sudden spotlight, it was revealed that the town was so small it had a police force that consisted of a handful of members and a single car. And with a police force that small, a proper forensics department was out of the question. 

Hence, where you and your colleague, Veritas Ratio came in. The town council had called in for a detective and forensics team to assist with the investigation. When he saw the state the lab was in, he had sighed louder than you’d ever heard him.

“The absolute disarray of this place! Barely any equipment either! How in the world do they expect me to properly work with this lack of resources?”

You have to pointedly glare at him.

“Veritas, have you forgotten they’re painfully underfunded…? They probably had no need for police and forensics either.”

He merely clicked his tongue and glared back at you. 

There’s not much that points toward a bright future for this town. It’s so isolated up in the mountains that the nearest town is an hour drive away. There’s only one stoplight and one stop sign. (Not that there was much traffic to begin with…) The largest store around is the dollar store at the end of the only street running through town. Restaurant options are equally limited. There’s a 24/7 diner that’s staffed by one person, a twitchy-looking waitress, along with some fast-food options here and there. A second-run movie theater is the only option for entertainment around here. A single-track railway with a train that only stops once per day is the only way in or out of here besides car. Coniferous and evergreen trees surround the town like a cage and it’s always foggy. Sunlight rarely peeks through the thick cloud cover and there’s a persistent smell of smoke from something burning elsewhere on the mountain. The most important building is the church located on Main Street. Sometimes, its spire is the only thing visible amidst the heavy fog and smoke. 

There’s only one place for lodging- a run-down motel with a flickering neon sign and always vacant. A dingy room quickly becomes your home away from home. It always smells mildly of mold and mildew with a strong floral smell that seemed like an attempt to cover up the neglect, but failed miserably at doing so. The electricity frequently spikes or cuts out, meaning you’ve already fried the motel’s hot water kettle that you relied on for your morning coffee. The room itself looked like a relic from the past, with its yellowing pastel wallpaper, an uncomfortably lumpy mattress that the two of you are forced to share, floral sheets, and threadbare patchwork quilt. The cheap carpet looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed and the heater hacks and shudders to life like it’s on its last legs. There’s always the distant hum of fluorescent lights and it’s like a persistent itch at the back of your mind that you just can’t scratch and it’s driving you insane. 

This town is unwelcoming, and so are its residents. Silence follows you and Veritas wherever you go. Shopkeepers are as rude as they can be without getting a complaint filed. When passing through a neighborhood, mothers rush to get their children inside the house and openly glare at you from their rotting porches. Witnesses were downright uncooperative during questioning, even rude at times. 

This town is hiding something, and you don’t like it. 

But even with the increased police presence in town and nightly neighborhood watches that have been set up, the cases kept piling up. Every morning a call would come in from a panicked resident about a fresh mound of dirt in their yard that only meant one thing. Someone would head over to dig it up and sure enough, there’d be a skeleton there. Some were yellowed with age, but most of them were new from their glistening ivory hue,  Some of them were pristine while others still had bits of flesh and blood clinging to them. Forensic analysis revealed that the skeletons belonged to people of all ages too. No one was seemingly safe. 

Some of these victims had been alive the day prior too. Meaning that not only were you dealing with a potential case of illegal exhumation, but also first-degree murder. 

A small team of forensic scientists working with Veritas would accompany you, where they’d gather samples before heading back to the lab while you and your partner would spend the rest of the day questioning people. 

But while he was in the lab, you had discovered something very interesting during questionings.

“Madam, it would be in your best interests if you would cooperate.”

You fixate the trembling woman before you with a piercing, unblinking gaze. She pointedly avoids your eyes, but you’ve always had a way with extracting information from the most uncooperative of witnesses.

“...”

“...”

“F-Fine! I’ll speak! That man was a longtime business rival of ours! He died several years ago of a heart attack, but I have no idea how he ended up in my front yard, I swear!”

So the deceased all had some connection with where- or rather, who- they were found. A victim of a greedy loan shark drowning in interest, a bitter and jealous ex-husband, and so on. It keeps popping up so often that it’s not a coincidence anymore. 

Still, there’s one thing that sticks out to you.

“Were all these bodies exhumed? I noticed that cremation is almost unheard of in this town in the coroner’s reports that you sent me, despite the crematorium being conveniently located in the church and a cheaper alternative to a traditional burial,”  you say one night as you’re cross-examining testimonies with newspaper clippings. Veritas looks over at you from where he sits on the bed. “Do we have a potential gravedigger on our hands?”

He pauses. 

“Perhaps a visit to the town cemetery is in order.”

The next day, the both of you arrive at the cemetery soon after the gates open.

The first thing that stands out to you is how small it is. It’s smaller than the average cemetery, with very few tombstones. The only thing breaking it are the small farms here and there. 

“Well, this certainly doesn’t line up with the amount of skeletons that have been discovered as of late,” you grumble as you get out of the car. Ratio nods and shields his eyes from the early morning sun that’s already beating down onto your backs. 

The weathered faces of some of the tombstones as you walk by makes you pause. They’re ancient. 

You shudder. You try not to think about decomposing bodies inadvertently becoming fertilizer for the farms next door…

Clearly, this town has had a long history. Perhaps it was prospering long ago. But now, it’s on the verge of becoming a ghost town with only spiteful, suspicious people left. And in a place as small as this, history must be traceable for at least several generations back. 

As you walk amongst the tombstones, you notice that very few of the graves have had the earth in front of them disturbed.

“So maybe we don’t have a gravedigger after all,” you murmur as you pull out your phone. A quick phone call to the church later and you learn that yes, the church is aware of what’s been happening. No, they did not receive or approve any requests to exhume a body, much less several. 

You click your tongue irritatedly after hanging up. There goes that hypothesis. It’s clear that while some bodies have been exhumed, most of them were not. 

So now what?

Later that night at the 24/7 diner, you discuss your findings so far while sipping on reheated instant coffee and trying to stomach dry pancakes. The sun has already gone down and the street lights outside flicker weakly to life. 

“The biggest discovery my team and I have made is that this all seems to be the work of several different people, but that was at the start of the case. There has not been anything groundbreaking since then.”

You raise an eyebrow. He senses the question in your gaze. 

“Forensic testing has revealed that maceration has occurred through several different ways. Bleaching, boiling, and crude hacking are the three most common ones. There have been some attempts at more sophisticated methods, such as enzymatic and chemical maceration, but those have been crude at best. It got the job done, but the bones had severe surface damage and were shrunken. Meanwhile, some were in pristine condition and barely damaged.”

“So they know about the various techniques, but they don’t have the knowledge and experience to carry it out properly?”

He nods. “Precisely. And even within the three most common methods, there were varying degrees of success present.”

“That… certainly doesn’t seem like the work of one person.”

You sip your now-cold coffee and wince at the sour aftertaste before pulling out your findings. 

“Here’s what me and my partner have discovered. The biggest thing is that every skeleton seems to have a connection to where they were found.”

“Elaborate.”

“All of them have been found in people’s yards, and it turns out the deceased had some sort of connection with the homeowner while they were alive. A bitter ex-husband, a family feud that has stretched back generations, the sole surviving member of a family that was murdered several years ago…”

You sigh. “The connections are endless. I could go on forever.”

You cast your gaze around the diner. Your nails drum against the red formica tabletops and you tap your foot absentmindedly against the checkered floors that are slightly greasy and sticky. The only other people there are a family of four with shifty eyes and the waitress that’s been here since you arrived. She jolts and looks the other way.

“For a town this small, it sure is harboring a lotta desire for revenge,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. Your gaze lazily drifts around before landing on the lighting fixture above the bar and settles there. 

…

Your eyes narrow as your tired mind begins putting the seemingly unrelated pieces together. Veritas’ sharp eyes don’t miss it.

The actions of several different people with varying degrees of success… a collective desire for revenge… 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“This is just a thought but…you don’t think it’s the whole town that’s in on this, right…? I mean-”

He suddenly shushes you as he gets up. It’s only when you return to your room that he gestures for you to continue speaking.

“- I mean, the one thing unifying everything is the desire for revenge, which every resident seems to harbor a bit of,” you continue as you get ready for bed. “Cremation is an unusual option here. Most people are buried instead. But the cemetery is also surprisingly small. But why is that? The answer is that most people are not dying of natural causes. Most people are being murdered out of a desire for revenge with no hope for any sort of burial or funeral. So my earlier gravedigger hypothesis is incorrect now. Did your analysis reveal signs of skeletal trauma on some of them?”

“Many of them,” corrects Veritas. 

Despite the late hour, your mind is fully awake as all the pieces finally start falling into place together. 

“Relationships are messy and the residents of this town are no exception. The deceased often had multiple conflicts and grudges with other people. What I suspect happened is they were murdered and then dumped into someone’s yard that the deceased also had connections with to pin the blame on them. Which begs the question: where were the police in all of this?”

You pause to catch your breath.

“But the police mean nothing if everyone is in on it, even if unknowingly, correct? This also explains the absolute disrepair the police and forensics department are in as well.”

Veritas meets the knowing glint in your eyes.

“Let’s say that I’m the murderer. I killed you because of a grudge I bore, stripped you of your flesh until only skeletal remains are left, which I then buried in your neighbor’s yard that you also had some conflict with to pin the blame on them. The neighbor then calls the cops, but both they and the cop at the scene have done the same thing before, even though they don’t know of the other’s actions. Someone will be sentenced to jail, but they will inevitably end up getting killed by someone else for another grudge before they’re off to jail and out of reach for good. The body gets hacked away and planted into someone else’s yard and the cycle repeats. Everyone has gotten their hands dirty. There’s no way for this to be closed because everyone has played a part in it. It’s like trying to untangle a never-ending knot.”

The exhaustion of the day is beginning to catch up with you. You climb into bed next to him, shifting to avoid the lumps in the mattress that’ll give you a backache tomorrow morning. 

“Revenge is a scary thing. They’ll wipe themselves out at this point,” you sleepily murmur. 

Veritas doesn’t meet your gaze. You can see the gears rapidly spinning in his mind before arriving at the same conclusion. 

“... It’s best if we leave as soon as possible,” is all he says. 

The next morning, you authorize a search warrant on every household in town. There, they find incriminating evidence. A butcher knife and cutting board with dried human blood seeping into its cracks. A stock pot with bleach still in it. Scissors, knives, and scalpels with hardened chunks of human flesh still stuck to them. Guns, knives, and other weapons of murder. 

A mass arrest is carried out to the flashing cameras and interest of the nation. You and Veritas are congratulated on your work and rewarded with a shiny promotion. You’re finally able to head home, much to your joy. You’re eager to leave that unsettling place behind for good. The case is closed and it’s time to relax before moving onto your next assignment. 

At least, that’s what you had anticipated. 

The town’s residents wiped themselves off the map. It’s now a ghost town. Cars rust from the assault of the elements and ivy begins to overtake the brick buildings. Shops and houses are broken into and pilfered. In a matter of weeks, the town is forgotten by the few that still remember it. The only people its shattered windows see now are curious urban explorers. 

But nothing stays buried for long. Bodies, grudges, secrets. They stay buried for a reason though, until an unfortunate soul decides to wander along and unearth them to satiate their burning curiosity. 

And who said grudges were confined to one region only?

So is it really that surprising when your body ends up in his yard, neatly diced up and packaged into a box, miles away from that cursed town? 

An eye for an eye. That’s the town’s motto. Nothing stays buried for long. 

He stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have seen. Now, they took something equally valuable from him in return.

enjoyed my work? the taglist is open!

@ bottledpeaches, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 2 - Domination

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: LaCroix briefs Vincent on the new world he has just entered into, with the expectation that he will be an obedient ghoul. But Vincent is still struggling to gain the upper hand.

Author's Note: I made myself sad writing this - I want Sebastian to turn from Whumper to Caretaker already!

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, strangulation, kidnapping

It was not LaCroix’s habit to keep his subordinates close to him. If it was wise to keep enemies close, then it was wiser to keep envious inferiors at such a distance that they had no opportunity to become enemies. Ghouls ought to have no knowledge of their master’s weaknesses, and no importance as anything other than pawns. They ought to view him as a solitary, impenetrable figure, above even their understanding. But Vincent Bisset de Gramont proved himself an enemy from the start, and therefore, an exception.

LaCroix repeated that name in his head and smiled, rolling it and playing with it, along with the bullet in his palm which he had decided to keep as a souvenir. Vincent had become so incensed when LaCroix refused to use his title that he determined on the spot never to use it again. The man had to be taught a lesson. “You are no Marquis any longer, let alone an ‘Autem Imperator,’ Vincent. Those titles have no meaning here. You will learn new titles. ‘Prince.’ ‘Regnant.’ ‘Domitor.’ And they will belong to me, not to you - as do all things where we’re going. Know your place.” He leaned back into the quilted suede of his seat, letting starlight and the dimmed glow of the cabin play across his features to what he hoped was a mysterious and intimidating effect.

“Your hubris knows no bounds, Prince,” Vincent spat back, clutching the arms of his seat as if his wrists were lashed to them. “They’re looking for me even now. Do you think you can walk into a High Table duel and make off with the highest ranking –“

“No one is looking for you, because no one knows you’re missing. Everyone who saw me believes they saw a kindly priest who said his respects over your body before helping that fellow – The Harbinger, I believe you call him – lay you to rest in a casket for your mortician to carry away. Tomorrow, that empty casket will be buried.”

A flash of panic before his pretty green eyes lit up again. “The mortician will – “

“The mortician wasn’t your man. He was mine. I sent a local friend to take his place, and to oversee the proceedings. You’re as good as dead, Vincent. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He went as ghostly white as his travelling companion then. He remained very quiet while Sebastian explained to him the meanings of those important titles he’d mentioned, as well as other relevant words such as “Masquerade” and “Camarilla” and “Ventrue.”

LaCroix’s hope of entertainment during the flight was very much fulfilled. Vincent made for a captivating (if pitiful) image, with blood still smeared across his forehead and wetness sparkling in his eyes. LaCroix couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering whether he’d really cry or not. It filled him with a strange mix of sadism and sympathy that kept the Prince continuously in suspense. It sent him inexplicably trembling to hear Vincent say, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sebastian, I’m just so confused. Please…help me understand everything.”

He was coherent enough to ask intelligent questions though, and always seemed to latch onto those subjects that were a little too top-secret for a first conversation with a ghoul, whilst sighing that he was just so confused and scared. Clearly, he knew his way around a syndicate like the Camarilla and went straight for the vital information. When at last the Prince tired of this game and started to inquire about Vincent’s own organization, he refused to divulge anything.

It confused Sebastian a little. Every other ghoul he’d ever created had hung on his words in an ecstasy that totally drowned out the loss of their former life. They typically begged to repay him for saving them and fell over themselves to please him until he was either amused or disgusted. They certainly didn’t issue desperate pleas and threats about returning to their old life, or try to ply information out of him, or protect their old secrets. But Vincent? Well…there was no doubt that Vincent was affected by Sebastian. Sometimes his eyes lingered on LaCroix as if he wasn’t quite able to look away. But the look there wasn’t puppy love, it was…horror. Hatred. As if Vincent was looking at an old grudge who had wronged him grievously. Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in deep enough, that was all. He’d only taken the first sip of vitae – two still remained to form a full blood bond. And he was hardly a pliant individual, that much was evident. For now, Sebastian supposed he’d have to secure the ghoul’s cooperation via commands. “Vincent. When I ask you a question about the High Table, you will answer me directly, honestly, and without embellishments. Do you understand?”

A glazed, vacant look replaced the pitiful one. “I understand.”

There, good. Sebastian let out a breath, only just realizing how tense he had become, and began his inquisition.

He knew a little about the High Table already. It was not so different from the Giovanni, but even larger by membership the Camarilla, and impressive for a human construction. It was difficult to be anyone significant in either the human or kindred underworld without running across the High Table’s activities at some point. But the Autem Imperator (Sebastian might not call him by his title out loud, but he wasn’t forgetting it for an instant in his own mind) offered a unique view of its proceedings. Within minutes, LaCroix knew who held each seat, how communications passed between members, how those communications might be intercepted, into which countries their influence had spread (it was most of them), and even where the Elder resided.

It had been no idle tip, he realized, that suggested he should pay a visit to his home country and rest in the basilica that day. It had been, in fact, pure gold in the form of an anonymous email. He almost passed it up as an attempted ruse or ambush, even with all the power promised by the stranger on the other end. But it also spoke to a Masquerade violation, and even the Nosferatu could not trace it. The sender must have had a contact, someone who could encrypt on their level. So he went personally, just for 24 hours, with the resolution that he would return to the safety of LA as soon as possible.

Remembering at last to the original purpose of his visit, LaCroix asked his ghoul one final question, shortly before landing.

“Do you have an associate who would go by the initial ‘C’?”

Even under domination, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sebastian held out the message on his phone. “Who could this have been?”

“Is it true that you can help someone live beyond death? If you really are I’ve been told you are, then come at once, to Paris. Come to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica just before dawn. If you’re lucky and I’m unlucky, you will find a man there who cannot escape death any other way. If you keep him alive, he will offer you knowledge and power equal to your own, pertaining to a human organization you may know as the High Table. Take him away from me, change him, disappear him, I don’t care. Only save his life and make him happy, and you will have my eternal thanks. He does not know, and will never know, what he means to me.”

- C”

“My bodyguard, Chidi.” His voice was strained almost to the breaking point, and his eyes still fixed on Sebastian’s phone even after the email was closed. Sebastian had no questions about whether he was faking his tearfulness this time.

“A ghoul of your very own, of sorts! Where can I find him?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment before mustering an answer. “…He’s dead.”

“Ah, splendid. That saves me a great deal of trouble.”

And then Vincent did what no ghoul, whether on one sip of vitae or three, should have been capable of doing. He sprung forward and closed hands around his domitor’s neck.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

It took Vincent much longer than it should have to recall that Sebastian didn’t need to breathe. By that time, he was already being dragged off by the enormous, visibly supernatural thing that Sebastian had introduced as “The Sheriff.”

“Get this brainless lump off of me!”

“Hey,” The Sheriff grunted. Vincent paid him no mind, and continued addressing LaCroix with exactly as much civility as he deserved, all the while straining against the boulder-heavy hands holding him back.

“You will not SPEAK to me that way and you will not – “ Fuck, he hated the way his voice was shaking… “You will not speak of my bodyguard’s death as – as ‘splendid!’”

“And you will not speak to me at all until you can behave yourself!” LaCroix retorted. “SILENCE!”

The voice seemed to go out of Vincent’s throat. All his resistance had been used up in the outburst and he sunk numbly back into his seat.

LaCroix was panting, a shaking hand against his neck. He adjusted his tie and recovered himself enough to laugh. “Imagine trying to strangle a vampire! And the one holding your life in his hands, no less. You’re one to talk of brainlessness. And just when I was beginning to respect your cunning.” Vincent opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he spat in LaCroix’s face instead.

“Oh for god’s sake - You don’t speak AND you don’t move!” Vincent smiled as he watched LaCroix wipe at his face with a handkerchief, scowling. But another wave of terrible compulsion spread through his limbs, and then he was paralyzed.

It was such a strange feeling, being “dominated.” It was the same magnetism that drew him to LaCroix when he first laid eyes on him (that must be the “vitae” he had spoken about), but stronger, and more concentrated. Making him capable of magnificent feats, making him motivated, drawing his focus, making things important to him. As if a power was bursting out from inside of Vincent. It wasn’t so unlike being high, and not wholly unpleasant. But it was not his to control, not a part of him. It was LaCroix’s, and he hated it for that, and he hated LaCroix for that too. Maybe, if he just held onto that hatred…

But LaCroix’s conversation with his Sheriff broke his concentration. “No, I don’t want him in a cell, much less his own apartment. He’s not fully dominated and it’s a security risk. I don’t understand it, but I need to maintain a tight hold over him even if I have to do it by manual override. He stays in the penthouse, with me.”

If The Sheriff understood that, he conveyed it only by grunting.

Damn it. Any chance to get out of LaCroix’s grasp was slipping away. Again, he struggled to protest, but it was useless. He couldn’t speak. His own body was refusing him. It felt traitorous and alien and there was no one to help him, no one looking for him, no Chidi ever again and absolutely nothing he could do. If he had a voice, he would probably be screaming, he realized. But instead, for the second time that day, he floated on a sea of bloody misery, gasping worse and worse by the second. As the jet went into final descent, its weightlessness hit him in the stomach and drove home a second wave of fear.

LaCroix was watching him, leaning over him, speaking to him, in much the same way one might speak to a broken printer shortly before kicking it. He lay a hand on Vincent’s chest to feel his shallow heartbeat and the very core of Vincent’s being rebelled against the way that it soothed him.

“Why are you not calm? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, I don’t understand why it’s not working…” He fixed LaCroix with the most hateful stare he could manage without moving his facial muscles. Why do you think, you useless fils de pute? He felt tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Fine. Good, even.

Again, LaCroix’s magnetic voice overpowered his will with a rush, even more hideously blissful than before. Perhaps it was more in harmony with him than the last had been... “Be calm, Marquis. I command you. Don’t be so afraid.”

And all the wild contents of his heart slipped away into a soft, empty, merciful void.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

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[sturnslcver]

matt fic based on valentine by laufey !!!!!! pls n ty

:ੈ✩‧₊˚ VALENTINE ˚.°: ₊˚ ୨

— matt sturniolo x fem reader —

— fluff, smut, sex warning!

today was valentine’s day — to you, valentine’s day was a day of all kinds of love. not just relationship love. it was a day to love your friends, a day to love family, and day to cherish pets, and a valid excuse to gift give and stuff your face with all the chocolate you could find. but this valentine’s day was different, because you actually had a valentine that wasn���t your best friend or your sister. a romantic valentine. while this made you excited, it also made your stomach turn. you had no idea what to expect. all you knew was that your boyfriend had something extra special planned. the term “boyfriend” didn’t exactly roll casually off the tounge for you. this was your first romantic relationship ever. you and matt have been dating a little over a year. although things are great between the two of you, you’ve been extremely inexperienced in a healthy, loving relationship, along with the physical aspect of expressing affection.

you eagerly awaited upon matts arrival, staring out the window watching for his car. you jolted as he began pulling into the driveway, beating him to the front door. “hey.” matt delicately smiled, his hands full. “these are for you.” he exclaimed, handing you each item one at a time. “happy valentine’s day.” the first consisted of a bouquet of white roses and pink tulips. the second was a pink wrapped box with a lace ribbon. you sat on the doorstep, pulling the mystery box down with you. in the box were two pink stuffed animals. a bear and a pig, along with some chocolates, a heart shaped locket, and some perfume. “thank you, matt. this is really sweet. i love it.” you stood back up, your fingertips advancing to matt’s waist as you drew him in for a kiss. matt slid his hand into yours and gently swung it back and forth.

“the sun’s gonna set soon” “i’m nervous” you chuckle. “don’t be. i promise it’s gonna be really chill and fun.” he reassured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“we’re almost there” matt exclaims excitedly as you begin unbuckling your seatbelt. he practically flies from the drives seat, and to your door once the car is parked. he offers a helping hand as you move from the car. he slides up behind you, with both of his hands blocking your view. “am i going the right way?” you question with your arms out. “turn left.” matt mumbles. he removes his hands and a small picnic in a flower field in revealed. “this is so pretty” you glisten. “i’m glad you think so.” matt laughs.

he pats the quilt, signaling for you to take a seat next to him. he plucks a pink flower from one of the nearby bushes and places it behind your ear. “you’re so pretty” he claims. you fall silent for a few moments. no guy had ever seemed so genuine toward you. “thank you” you reply, a smile forming on your face. you wrap both your arms around one of his and rest your head on his shoulder as he prepares the food to be eaten.

he leans further into you and presses a delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth. “take your pick.” he hands you a heart shaped tray of chicken tenders and a variety of sauces. you point to an orange sauce. he opens it for you before the both of you begin to shovel down your food.

stars evidently show up in the sky as the clouds evaporate and the sunlight dims. “i really appreciate you doing all this for me matt” “good, i had fun setting up and im glad i could do something special for you.” his arm snuck around your waist as his fingertips began exploring the small of your back. he started to pepper kisses all around your face. your nose. you chin. your lips. your jaw. your cheeks. you smiled against his lips as he transferred you onto his lap, his hands digging into your waist. you arch into his lap as his hand glides up to your breast, lightly clasping it. your hand advances up, following his touch as his other hand slips up your thigh, under your dress. matt gently pulls away. “is this okay? we can wait. i don’t mind.” he reassures you. you rest your arms around his neck loosely, actually considering if this is what you want. you finally nod. “i want this.” “you’re sure?” he tilts his head and slightly raises a brow. “yep” you shrug comfortably .

he leans back in, hooking the waistband of your panties with his finger. he tugs it down,waving them right above your knees. you begin to pant needy breaths as you and matt advance to open mouth, sloppy kisses. he gently rubs up and down your wet folds, before kneading your clit. you gasp as he unhurriedly slides his middle finger into you, pumping in and out. your head falls into his neck as you ride his finger gathering as much friction as you possibly can as he curls completely into your g spot. “more” you utter breathily as his finger curls into you. “another finger?” you nod violently. between the nipple play and the fast pace thrusts and curls inside you, a warm tingle begins forming at the pit of your stomach. matt bucks his hips as you tug his pants below his thighs. you feel his hard growing beneath you with every bounce down. you earn a sharp whince from him as your fingertips clamp down on his bulge. you palm him gently, allowing a warm liquid spot to form in his boxers. “feel good?” you mumble into his neck. “so good” he whispers back. you slide your hand through his underwear, setting free his hard, red, swollen cock already dripping in pre-cum. you trace the veins around it and spread the juice before aligning yourself with his hard. matt grunts shooting his hips, as you slowly sink down onto his cock. he swiftly takes charge, firmly gripping around your thighs as he pushes himself up inside you. he feels your clench around his cock. his head lands in the crook of your neck before he utters, “you feel so good.” your hands trail up his shirt and you dig into the back of his shoulder blades. his jaw falls slack as your head shoots back, both of you chasing your climax. “i think im close” you whisper feeling the liquid tense in your lower abdomen. “let go” matt replies, his jaw slack. those words were all you needed to hear before your shoulders rose, and the knot in your stomach snapped, allowing you to slowly release all over his dick. he groaned at the feel of your wet coat, before picking up the pace. you gasped, squeezing matts side, as you were highly sensitive. “i’m almost there.” he breathes heavily, as his dick twitches, letting go inside you. he slows down but doesn’t stop, riding out his high. he stays resting inside you as he makes his way to a full stop, both of you resting your heads in one another’s neck, panting heavily. a few moments pass before matt voices, “that was amazing. you were great.” his head lifted, leveling with your glassy eyes. you smiled at him in return, placing a compassionate kiss on the tip of his nose.

matt gently lifted you before discarding all the garbage and swatting the crumbs away from the quilt. he took hold of a napkin, tapping your thighs as a gesture to widen them. he lightly dabbled you, soaking up your mess with the tissue. he flipped the quilt to the other side. your head lay gently on top of his chest, legs intertwined, fingers interlocked, creating your own constellations in the stars as you listened to one another’s breaths slowing and your heartbeats returning back to normal.

he placed his fingertips to your hair, gently stroking it back with one hand, his other occupied up your dress, leaving light scratches to your back. “i love you” he murmured into your hair. your face fell, mortified at the realization that you loved him back. you now had something to lose, something that so deeply infatuated you. you gained back composure, wanting this moment to last forever. “i love you too.” you chuckled. “happy valentine’s day” you whispered up to matt sympathetically.

hope u enjoyed! this was a little rushed since i wrote it in the car!! keep requesting though :) i’m happy to write anything!! 🫶

[nincompoopydoo]

CAUGHT IN A CROSSFIRE

BETRAYAL — ; PART 8 / 9

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.7k SUMMARY: Awakening in an unfamiliar setting with restored memories, you encounter someone familiar. However, a lingering sense of betrayal clouds the reunion. Meanwhile, Theseus uncovers a concealed message in your letters, hinting at the potential discovery of your location. A/N: Hi everyone! I know I said I was going to put this on permanent hiatus until I was ready to pick it up again, but your girl finished her degree (kinda did badly, but glad it's over!), and now I have ample time to put all my energy of my one brain cell into finishing this series before I fall into depression again lol. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this and thank you for all the love for this series and my baby, Theseus <3 I'm also sorry for ending it with another cliffhanger haha WARNINGS: Angst. Kinda scary shit (I literally scared myself while writing this lol) no beta we die like men. MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Your environment is an enigma through the lenses of tunnel vision—hues of darkness circle in textures, contrasts of colour that dance along with your darting eyes. Your slow mind tries to keep up with your sight, unravelling the mysteries of your surroundings.

You first notice wood. Brown, battered, dim–a wooden beam trailing along the expanse of plastered white walls, grimed with dirt and age. Through blinkered sight, you catch a glimpse of light, dim orange hues casting fluttering shadows on the wall. You see it now, a flame dancing upon melting wax perched on a rustic candlestick. 

Flame. Fire. Heat.

You remember it all now.

Inferno swept through the foundations of your tiny household, leaving you and the fragility of your lungs gasping for air as you stumbled around for an exit. Yet, things were dense, billowing colours of deep grey and red, blinding your vision. You still feel the parchedness scratching down your throat. 

You remember how your hands clambered to grasp something before falling to your knees. You remember how your environment began to twist and spurn before your very eyes, vivid colours of the blaze swirling.

Then, everything went black.

…

…You…

You remember emerald cobblestones—a mesmerising golden statue.

You remember the warmth of the colour red – the trees in fall, the crackling of a fireplace, a desk with scattered papers across its surface. 

You remember.

Theseus.

Dim blue eyes. Sad. Freckled cheeks. Flushed. Brown hair curled and tumbled in autumnal hues. Trees. Barcham trees that line the sidewalk are carpeted in autumn gold. The tenement. His home. Warm, petite, charming. Gardenias. Tea. Your suitcase. Magic.

Little glimpses of returning memories flood your whirling mind like gushing water. It’s overwhelming. For weeks, you sat with a sense of longing, a missing piece, settled within the depths of your mind. And now, it all traces back to the odd familiarity of the man you met on the bus. Perhaps you recognised the glint in his eye when his eyes met yours or the patterned freckles along his cheeks, tinted in blotches of red from embarrassment.

You remember.

Your elbows immediately shift under you, perched as you rose midway, wondering yet blurry eyes moving along your surroundings. You’re in a room, and it’s not your own. Small, humble, solid walls encircle your surroundings. You have seen places like these during the war. You push yourself up, weight now on your splayed-out palms on what you realise to be a settee. It creaks at your very touch, and every little shift echoes throughout the room.

Its walls are far from pristine, with petite flowers scattered across the yellowed wallpaper with tears at its curling edges, perfectly still yet timeworn.

Your eyes trace the trails of sunlight that glow through the room, diluted by a translucent curtain that hangs before a window, shadows of a tree swaying in the gentle wind.

There’s a bed on the far left of the room, narrow and meticulously made with a quilt reminiscent of autumn hues. You can barely distinguish its patchwork from where you are, and it itches a part of your brain – a sense of familiarity.

Before you can make sense of that feeling, you are overcome with searing pain. Tearing through your head and coursing through the very confinements of your skull as if something was begging to break free from the back of your mind.

Eyes squeezed shut, you cannot help but bring your palms to the sides of your head, the heels of your hands harshly pinned to your temples, yet all you see are flashing lights dancing around in the darkness. 

Then, a flash. White. Blinding.

At that moment, you found yourself transported to an apartment. Yellow-bricked, warm honey-coloured hues of Autumn. Golden, falling leaves. Bright eyes, cheeks tinged with a touch of red. Theseus looks at you like you’re the sun. Like you hold a weight of significance, a tapestry to his existence.

“I know I’ve said this a thousand time before, but I’m sorry. Truly. You don’t deserve to be involved in this.”

You feel yourself smile; tears threaten to slip from your saddened eyes. 

“I would usually say it’s alright, but I don’t think I can say it for everything that has happened. But, thank you.” 

A hand reaches for his, gentle and soft to the touch. You feel his fingers twitch under your hold.

“Truly.”

Theseus looks at you like you’re the sun.

Theseus looks at you…

Theseus…

Suddenly, you find yourself in a narrow bus. You see him blinking wide-eyed at you, his expression paled. You had said – no, asked something. 

“No. I don’t think we do.”

You see it, the pain in his eyes, the sadness in his tone. It clenches your heart, but you don’t know why.

That was the first time he had lied to you.

…

You hear your name.

Distant but frantic. It repeats again and again and again.

A grip on the curve of your shoulders, and you find yourself back in the narrow, unknown room you awoke in moments ago.

But then you see his eyes, his tousled hair. It’s him who calls you.

“Theseus?” you breathed, disbelief flickering in your wide eyes. Without a second thought, your hands reach out to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his dress shirt as if to ground yourself in the reality of his presence. A counterpoint to the disarray within your mind.  

But as Theseus meets your gaze, a furrow forms on his brow, and a shadow eclipses the warmth in his eyes. The frown, subtle yet profound, settles an uneasiness in you. Your grip weakens.

“We need to go. Now.” His tone is cut-throat, laden with urgency, and you cannot help but jolt at his words. You find your fingers slowly releasing their hold as the weight of his statement settles in the room.

He pulls away and reaches for your elbow, swift and deliberately, that reflects the gravity of the situation. His touch is so firm that it prompts you to stand. Questions hang heavy in the air, but you know you’re in some kind of trouble. Yet, you catch your eyes lingering on the dark look in his own, and you can't help but think he's changed since you last saw him. Since you last remembered him.

Something feels…wrong, but you don’t give yourself a chance to even think about it before you’re being led out the door. 

The narrow corridor stretches ahead, dimly lit, bricked walls with a single lamp casting a glow across the space, revealing its worn walls and your flickering shadows. The air is cool, carrying a faint scent of dampness that permeates the space. All you hear is footsteps reverberating along the narrow passage, echoing against the walls. You realise you are underground and feel your stomach lurch at that thought, making your skin crawl.

“Come on.” Theseus pulls you along, the grip on your elbow never weakening. You can feel the tension emanating from him, the stiffness in his movements, the rigidity of his jaw.

You find yourself staring at the back of Theseus' head, studying how the dim light catches on his hair. He seems so different.

“Where are we going?” You finally ask.

He doesn’t respond.

Theseus continues to pull you down the corridor, and you take the time to scan your surroundings despite the quickened pace. You see the occasional rusty pipes that snake along the ceiling, contributing to a low mechanical hum and the flickering of overhead lights that seem to swing periodically at a light rumble that makes the ground shake for a second or two.

Then, he eventually comes to an abrupt halt, revealing a dead end. Your feet stagger back, trying to stop yourself from bumping into him. You see Theseus' brows furrowed in thought, eyes darting between the walls, searching. His fingers trace the rugged surface and abruptly pause as you catch sight of a carving on a specific brick, nearly invisible.

Theseus taps it, and a warm glow emanates from the wall. The carving becomes illuminated, and the wall seems to dissolve into seemingly ethereal dust. It shines golden under the dim buzzing lights. What once was a wall reveals an entrance to an alleyway; it greets you with a rush of cool air and the sounds of the city.

You step through the entrance after Theseus as he beckons for you to follow hurriedly. Yet, your focus is elsewhere as you close in on the intricate symbol carved into the brick. As you inch nearer, the features sharpen, and a sudden recognition sparks within you.

It's a Gardenia, delicately depicted.

Gardenias always had a particular significance in your life, and it’s all because of your mother. That same Gardenia on your mother’s necklace is an heirloom that spanned many generations. It was important and personal to her, and you don’t know how or why it is doing here.

Flowers for your mother – a bouquet of Gardenias.

The bigger picture materialises as if the puzzle pieces are beginning to click.

Your place in the unfolding mess remains unclear, but it hints that you've anticipated the arrival of this revelation for a long time.

Theseus is calling for you, a slight note of panic in his voice, but you ignore his calls, remaining rooted in place. As you watch the glow that details the symbol disappear, you wonder if Theseus knows everything, even though you swore you never told a soul.

Unless…

You still don’t know how you got your memories back.

As you finally turn to Theseus, there’s a gripping sense of uncertainty. His approach, marked by a frustrated expression, erodes the strong familiarity you once held for this man, a trust built in such a short time. With each step towards you, that trust begins to dissipate.

That vulnerability quickly turns to anger – betrayal.

“What the hell is happening, Theseus?” you question fiercely, pressing him for an explanation. 

Again, Theseus dismisses your insistence and attempts to reach for your arm, but you instinctively step back, maintaining a wary distance. 

“Answer me.” you insist, voice growing louder, eyes boring into his.

His gaze lingers on your face, and you watch his expression harden, jaw tense.

“Look, you’re in deep trouble right now and it’s best we leave right now he’ll come looking for you.”

He.

Not they. Not she.

Not The Restoration Movement. Not Morrigan.

Something is very wrong.

And his eyes. You can’t quite place it, but something about the look in his eyes has shifted. They look so different.

In moments like these, you aren’t sure what to do, but you know to trust your gut. Your mind races at the possibilities of how this could all end, and the only thing you can think is to run.

And so, you run.

—

Theseus believes he has only survived through self-deceit – the deception of his ability to stay grounded and keep his emotions at bay. His heart was never to be trusted, never to give in or give up. Yet, how does one cope when a situation relies on promised perseverance but is tangled amid his emotions he suddenly lacks control of in your presence?

Theseus knows there was something between the two of you, but he will never admit it despite his now aching heart caused by your sudden disappearance, even though you might as well be considered dead to the muggle world. The thought of your death pulls his thoughts to the night he first met you, how an unforgivable curse nearly struck you, how you looked at him, knowing you couldn’t have survived if he hadn’t been there in time. 

Merlin, he hopes you aren’t dead.

No, you’re not. He knows it. You’re relentless. So relentless that death would never want to claim you without a fight. So relentless that you manage to squeeze yourself into his thoughts at every waking hour. Every fibre in him wishes he hadn’t let you slip away that day, wishing he hadn’t abandoned you, betrayed your trust.

He wishes you hadn’t agreed to leave.

To leave him.

Now all alone.

Alone.

Theseus was never certain of his feelings for you when you were ambling within the expanse of the four walls he calls home. Whether affections were simply out of pity or was it his admiration for your entire being, your perfections, blemishes, and everything in between. Yet, at this very moment, he couldn’t be more unequivocally sure that his affections are true because presently, you have consumed all his waking days and nights, leaving a hollowed space perhaps once filled by your presence. The constant worry in his brow made his eyes tired but sleepless due to his fear of the worst for you.

Dread fills his senses, and tears threaten to seep through the cracks of a carefully sculpted, hard-headed man he had spent years practising, performing as a so-called war hero. Theseus never let himself cry, especially over you, not even when you parted with a touch to his cheek. Not even when he set his eyes on you again and you were completely unaware of him. 

Yet, it’s the possibility he has lost you forever that he’ll never see you again. Never.

Theseus breathes a shaky breath, fingers clamped in his trembling hand as he tries to remember what he’s been told to do. To find you. To stop Morrigan. To stop whatever mess he has landed you in.

No, you’re not. You’re not dead. He reminds himself again.

The sun had set moments ago, darkness creeping between the cracks of light, shimmering from the candle alight by his tableside and the flames of the fireplace. Its crackling grounds his very notion of stirring into panic. Theseus finds himself tucked in the same corner of his living room, and his couch now houses a collection of books and particular pieces of evidence of your whereabouts.

He merely fears this has everything to do with Morrigan, the Restoration Movement, your supposed living brother and perhaps your mother – also dead. Theseus gains a strong premonition, a gut feeling that your disappearance is all a part of a larger plan than he had initially expected. Your disappearance may have caused a flurry of commotion amongst the Aurors. Still, the ministry has its sights on the movement rather than your supposed connection as more than just your brother, which Theseus feels strongly about. Yet, with Travers breathing down his neck to arrest Morrigan and her acolytes, Theseus needs solid evidence rather than vague instances and misdirected clues that all seem to lead to spiralling trails.

Frankly, his career is at stake, but he couldn’t care less.

He just wants to see you again.

Theseus heaves, fingers carding through his deep brown locks when his eye catches sight of the only two letters that he found to be related to you in one way or another. He finds himself drawn to it, finding the letter from your brother within his grasp for what seems like the millionth time this month. The same words, again and again, were already engraved in his mind.

When he shifts his elbow, the letter catches the candlelight from behind, and something immediately seizes his attention. Something he hadn’t recognised before now.

Inscribed in the very material of the parchment – the symbol of a Gardenia, its intricate lines glowing against the candlelight, seemingly burning. Theseus props up in his seat, back straightened, shoulders tensed, and eyes wide.

Bloody hell…

He scrambles for the other letter, holding it up against the light, eyes settling on the darkened edges of the page only to discover the very same symbol.

A Gardenia.

How could he have been so blind?

It must have been instinct when he decided that the two letters were puzzle pieces meant to be joined. Theseus would try anything at this point.

Seemingly, luck was finally on his side when he pressed the letters together, above one another – new words formed before his eyes, written with burning lines, every curve of each letter appeared between the gaps of the original text to only form a new paragraph.

Sister,

If you're reading this, I'm likely gone, and you're in trouble. Morrigan and The Restoration Movement hide a darker truth. Their agenda involves our mother and a woman named Miriam Monet. I'm unsure of the details, but Miriam plays a crucial role. Stay safe.

As his eyes shift down the page, his heart nearly stops when his name comes into view.

To Theseus,

If you see this, my sister is in danger. You know more than you think.

TAGLIST (tagging everyone who commented in my last post just because it's been awhile <3):

@crumpets-are-better-with-jam

@inlovewithfictionalcharacters27

@aterriblelangblr

@yournewmommy

@mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@never-let-them-change-your-self

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Chapter 8/?)

Series Masterlist

Alicents pov

I can't hide the smile that has plastered itself to my lips. I can't believe what has just happened, what I had just felt. 

Powerful.

I felt powerful as I held Caraxes maw in my hands. I felt like a Goddess among men when his amber eyes looked into my honeyed brown. I felt like I had nothing to fear when he nuzzled into me. 

It was so different to when Rhaenyra forced me to meet Syrax. How those ice blue eyes stared into my soul and seemed to frown at it. How Rhaenyra didn't guide me only rested my hands upon her growling beast. I still remember the warmth of Syrax's flames. The heat felt scorching, thankfully I could only imagine what the pain of it licking my flesh would feel like for the Dragonkeepers intervened. 

But with Caraxes, it felt like he saw each part of me, the good and the dark and still he bowed his head and nuzzled into my chest. And though he isn't the most appealing dragon to look at I know now that each time I see his silhouette I will feel safe once more.

But most of all I smile because I finally feel free. Someone is courting me with my permission. Not my Father's, not the King's, mine. 

But just as that thought comes does another one rise that swipes that joyful grin from my lips. 

He is married.

Gods how could I have forgotten this? He's married. Oh and Rhea Royce is not a woman to look down on. She is well taught with the sword and even better with a bow and arrow. She at times makes men look like fools. 

And you just tried to take her husband Alicent. Gods, you’re so stupid! I think as I burst into a sprint towards my bedchambers to cry my shame away before begging the Maiden for forgiveness. 

I fall onto my bed feeling myself sink into its plush comfort as the warmth of my mother's quilts welcome me. I faintly hear Beth shooing the other maids away before feeling a dip in my mattress.

“What is wrong, my Lady?” She asks, rubbing my back. I know she is worried for her strong Iron Islands accent is coming through clearer. I know she tries to hide it but I love it, always had since I was but a little girl of four and she was put in my care. 

But instead of responding with my idiotic choices I only sob harder.

“Ha-has the King-” She starts before she clears her throat. I hear her choking back her own sobs before she finishes her sentence. “Do I need to inform the maester to make me a tea? I have been feeling parched.” 

I realize now what she thinks happened. That the King has finally done what we both feared. Beth swore if he did she would help me, and she would make sure no one knew. I know now how she was going to smear her own reputation as a kind old woman who loves her husband dearly. Or mayhaps she was going to ruin one of her girls? She has four to pick from for this task she brought upon herself. 

It with this that I finally rise and look at her tears still streaming down my face and snot most definitely along my upper lip. 

I must look a mess. I think before responding to her inquiry.

“No, no need for tea. I'm sure water is perfectly fine.” 

I see her shoulders sag in relief at my words a smile rises to her lips and the whispers of ‘thank you Mother, thank you’ barely audible before she turns to me again holding my hands in her cold weathered ones. 

“Then tell me girl, what has you in such a state? Because I will find out and I will give them a piece of my mind one way or another.” 

I can't help but giggle, wiping my tears and looking at the only person who held me as I sobbed for my Mother. The woman who forced bone broth down my throat when I became too thin to even sit up. The woman who saved me. 

“I didn't get this dressed up just because wanted to.” I whisper and can't help but pout when she throws her head back laughing. 

“Well I already knew that!” She exclaims before taking my chin in-between her fingers and lifts my head once more so she can look me in the eyes again. 

“Why did you dress like this girl?” 

I hesitate for but a moment before looking her in the eyes and only finding kind warmth in her aqua blue pools. 

“The Prince.” I all I say with a sigh but from the tapping on my chin I know she wants more.

“He asked me to meet him at the Dragonpit, and I went.” 

She nods her head, her eyes still shining with confusion but I see her piecing the story together bit by little bit. 

“So that's why you stink like a demon from the seven hells?” 

I guffaw at her words, slapping her hand playfully. 

“I stink of dragon you old bat!” 

She only laughs more though almost falling off the bed in her fit. I at times think she laughs more than a flirtatious lady in search of a high standing husband. 

“Same difference if you ask me.” She says in that twange once more before waving her hand for me to continue. 

I stop for a moment deciding if I should tell her. I have no reason not to, she is loyal to me but it is my Father who pays her. Would the smell of gold sway her? 

No, Beth would never betray me even if it meant her death. I me for gods sake she was ready to ruin one of her daughters or granddaughters for me the least I can do is give the rest of this blasted story.

“He asked me to court him.” I finish and I already know the words she will say next before they even leave her throat.

“The man is already wed! Oh Alicent, what were you thinking?” She says in a tone that says she is far from pleased. 

“Obviously I wasn't, hence my sobs because I am nothing but a stupid little girl.” I respond falling back against my pillows looking up at my canopy. I remember counting all the stars and butterflies seen into the fabric as a child, I still do from time to time if only for nostalgia. 

Perhaps now is a good time? I think before Beth grabs my arms and pulls me back up to look at her.

“You listen here girl, you aren't stupid. Far from it. You are brilliant, why else would King Jaehaerys ask for you to comfort him in his dying days? Are you young? Yes. Are you naive at times? Yes. But this does not make you stupid do you hear me?” She all but roars at me. 

I only nod before falling into her arms and crying into her chest. She strokes my hair and hums some savior chanty to calm my hurt soul.

Daemons pov

I sit in my study staring at a sealed letter from my Bronze Bitch. There is no telling what it could be. A death threat? Gotten my fair share of those from her in our marriage. A demand for him to act like a husband? Too many of those had come only for him to be treated like shit on someone's boot. 

Well you won't know if you don't open it. My brain helpfully reminds me.

And with that I break the seal and open the scroll prepared for the worst and never expecting the best. But as I take in each letter, each word, each sentence I realize it is the best outcome. It's a letter with her signature at the end of a dotted line only waiting for mine so our marriage can be annulled. 

Though just as the shit eating grin spreads across my face, do I remember that Viserys had no reason to do this unless his idea is actually going to happen. Which can mean only one of two things.

One Rhea asked for the annulment and Viserys finally gave in. Though this is unlikely as she swore to make my life like the seven hells were following me. 

Or two, Viserys actually plans to make it where my child with my new wife will be his heir. Also unlikely as he never wanted me on the throne so why would he want my child upon its cold seat?

Yet again only one way to find out. My brain oh so helpfully reminds me yet again. 

With an annoyed sigh I stand papers in hand and begin the walk towards my brother's chambers.

I can't help but pinch myself every so often along the walk just to make sure this isn't a dream. 

I never liked walking around the Red Keep at night. It always has a chill that even the Northerns complain of. But it isn't just the cold wind, it's something else, it's the feeling that even if you are alone in a hall you're being watched. That no matter where you hide someone is always watching, waiting. It's not a pleasant feeling to say the least, so I try and stay out of the keeps halls at night. 

I watch as Knights and Lords stumble down the halls towards their chambers. A lady trailing behind them. I already know what they are up to, I even know two of the women they are bringing with them. For I myself have already had a taste of them, one of which I know is the man's wife. 

She was a wild thing too. I think with a wicked grin as I pass her. 

But as always the walk to my brother's chambers always seems too long, and yet too short. 

Not enough time to think and too long not to. I think before making a resounding knock on my brother's door.

I wait but a moment before raising my hand to start slamming my fists against the door when I hear a tired. “Come.” 

I take this as all the invitation I need and enter, closing the door behind me just as quickly as I entered.

“Brother, what brings you here?” Viserys says trying to hide the fear in his voice and tremble in his hands. Though he was never good at lying.

“My dear Wife sent me this letter. I thought you may have something to do with it.” I say tossing the annulment papers into his lap before plopping into a chair and picking up one of his little stone soldiers.

“Careful with that.” He scolds, snatching the figure from me as he reads the paper. 

I watch as he reads it carefully before taking in my wife's signature. 

“Well…” I ask trailing off to see if I can catch any reaction to the letter but strongly Viserys is stone faced. 

Perhaps he can lie? I muse to myself before almost laughing out loud at the thought. 

Viserys sighs looking down at his stone soldier before looking me in the eyes.

“I had a hand in this, yes. Though I was hoping to announce it to you on the morrow. But it seems your wife was eager to get rid of you.” 

I scoff at the obvious jab before turning to him once more. I see the way he eyes me warily, I see the way he flinches each time I shift in my seat. I know he's afraid of me now, mayhaps he always was.

“And this news?” I ask with a wave of my hand. 

I know it is a waste of time acting like I don't know already, but it is just oh so fun watching Viserys squirm in his seat. 

“The realm chose me, they would not stand for a woman to take the throne. So I would need to take another as wife, though that is now out of the question.” 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the face Viserys is drawing this out. He never was one to just get to the point, always needing to make one sit there and pray he'd shut up and finish the tale. 

“And I cannot have Laenor sit the throne. For that would cause more outrage than my daughter upon it. For he's not even a Targaryen by name. And sadly with you being a warrior you may die younger than I.”

I sigh looking up at the ceiling as Viserys continues to just list every reason why instead of just saying it. 

“So I've decided to annul your marriage, let you pick a new wife of your choosing. And the first boy you have, shall be my heir.” 

Wow I'm surprised he didn't make it last two hours like he did when he was telling Aemma was pregnant the first time. I must before looking him in the eyes again. 

“Is this a jest?” I implore not wanting him to think I already knew. 

“No, though I understand why you would think as such” He says sincerity in his voice.

I only stare at him for a long moment before snatching the annulment papers back and taking his ink and quill scribbling my name along the dotted line before handing it back to Viserys.

“So now I'm a single man?” 

“Now you're a single man.” He confirms.

Not for long, I'll be taking a Little Hightower you have been wanting. I think before standing bidding my goodbyes and walking out of his chambers. 

Now to find out what her favorite flowers are. Every woman likes flowers. I muse with a new skip in my step as I traverse the Keep in search of my Little Hightowers lovely maid named…Betty?

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I sweat I'd be lost without you girly!

I would also like to thank @thecutestgrotto for making the divider. I truly love it!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @seaevans @edensfanfictionsuggestions @yn-jackson @fictionlurker @marvel-is-my-obsession @ninihrtss @zara-zara11 @lady-ye @nommingonfood @dreamlandcreations @baybaybear1

[vafibrearts]

Hello Friends and Happy Tuesday!

With the release of Bonnie Hunter's part one instructions last Friday, I am so sad to already find myself falling behind on this quilt along. This is, of course, because I want to finish piecing my blocks from last year's mystery quilt before I get started on this new one!

Knowing that, I thought it might be fun to take a look at my history of making Bonnie Hunter mystery patterns! Short though it may be, I feel I've learned a lot of new skills and techniques through these mystery projects, as well as having learned quite a bit about my own stylistic preferences!

Check out the Fibre Arts blog to see how far I made it on each of these mystery projects and to read more about the choices I made along the way!

[boneblushed]

But on a Wednesday, in a cafe

muggle!au, James x fem!reader, I’m going through a really tough break up right now so writing this = therapy

I’ve been spending the last eight months / Thinking all love ever does / Is break, and burn, and end

Perhaps you should be used to it by now, this never-ending chasm of pain that begins and ends at the base of your ribcage.

It’s a deep, aching hurt, the kind that promises to linger until you’re forced to surrender. A draught of cool air pulls through your chest, alerting you to the tired heart squeezed within it. Every time you think about him—about the life you shared—it breaks and splinters, rocketing another of its shards into the surrounding structures. A dreadful pang.

Who knew love could hurt this much?

It’s taken a while for your heart to look the way it does. A few weeks ago, it was held within your shaking palms, wrung through with desperation as you begged him to return. Here… take it, please? It belongs to you… it’ll always be yours.

Prior to that, when the aching wounds were still fresh, you wove bandages from hopeful ignorance, fastened them with blind faith. No, love couldn’t possibly be as fickle as he was making it out to be; you couldn’t let yourself believe it was, you’d simply have to bide your time until he came to his senses.

Until he told you how wrong he was, how much he didn’t mean any of it. Of course I didn’t fall out of love with you, of course that can’t just happen; I love you, I’m sorry, forgive me?

And pathetic as your broken heart is, you would be ready to do so, no matter the stakes.

It makes you stomach roil as you think back on it now — the power he had over you, how callously he wielded it every time you spoke. Has. Present tense. The fissure deepens.

It’s terrifying, how quickly your world can shrink into nothingness. Once upon a time, you’d considered him your soul-mate—your person—and now it’s as though the pair of you are strangers, even less than.

It’s true what they say, indifference pierces deeper than hatred. After all that you’ve been through with him, all that you’ve shared, how are you supposed to simply move on and find love elsewhere?

The cobblestone path you walk along is well versed with your rumination. A quilt of autumn foliage crunches underfoot, a petrichor rich scent present in the air. Every shop window you pass boasts Thanksgiving deals that you ‘just don’t want to miss!’; it’s nauseating as much as it is heart-breaking, having to do the holidays without him for the first time in six years.

It’s probably pity more than it is fate that leads you to the new cafe in Godric’s Hollow — you’ve shed far too many tears for the Universe to bear, plagued with motion sickness from how quickly your sadness turns yearning again.

You miss him. It’s right there in your eyes, how much you miss him. James’ on barista duty whilst his colleague Remus mans the register; the latter may discern the melancholy in your features, but it’s James who recognises the exact significance of it.

He’s been through it before, you see, with Lily Evans. His gaze softens, dappled brown eyes falling over you in paces, and he wracks his brains for things he’d have wanted when he was going through the worst of it.

Except, the one thing he wanted no one could realistically give him — Lily. Who’s your mystery boy? Is it truly as over as your eyes say it is?

“Uh, hey,” you greet. Your voice doesn’t crack as much as it’s barely loud enough to register.

“Hey,” Remus responds, sending you a small smile. Playing it cool whilst his knee nudges James’ under the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Just an iced latte please,” you answer. “With oat milk, if you have it.”

Remus punches in your order as you reach for your wallet. The cappuccino James’ making overflows.

“Shit!” He curses, jerking back his hand hastily, the skin scalded. Droplets of burnt coffee fly onto the machine as he shakes them off.

You startle, turning to look at him. “You alright?”

“Coffee’s on us,” James replies, reaching over Remus to cancel the order. His peripheral vision catches the incredulous look he sends him, but he thinks it a disservice to look away from you in this moment. The melancholy in your eyes ebbs a little. James’ heart soars.

“Really?” You ask, your voice a little louder now.

“Oh yeah,” James responds, faux-serious. “You’re our fiftieth customer today.”

“You’re lying,” you say, a flicker of a smile on your face.

James shrugs, grinning handsomely. “D’you want the free coffee or not, oat milk?”

You raise your eyebrows in response, pretending to zip your lips and throw away the key. James nods approvingly.

He discards the dregs of the cappuccino he was making, starting anew with his gaze flitting over to you intermittently. You watch the trees sway through the high windows to the left of you as you wait, your hands clasped in front of you, one wrist held in a palm. He knows, as he watches you, that you have to go feel all of the pain to see a way out of it.

So he keeps his mouth shut for now, and hopes this cafe will become a regular haunt.

Weeks, a month, two passes. He takes it slow. He thinks your dreadfully pretty but that’s besides the point right now; when he was grieving his relationship with Lily, all he wanted to do was mope and be left alone. No number of Sirius’ “friends” could quell that deep, overwhelming hankering in his chest.

“Hey,” you greet one day, resolute.

James raises his eyebrows at you. Remus is off sick. “Hey?”

“I’m paying today.”

James snorts, shaking his head. “No way.”

“I’m tipping heavily,” you warn.

“Wow,” James sighs sadly. “Like you would any other employee, huh? And here I thought we were friends.”

“Shut up.” You scowl. Not really; it baffles James, how your features can still look so sweet when they’re contorted all angrily. “You’re right. You don’t even need this job.”

The thing about James is, his family owns half the establishments in town square. He’s one of those enigmatic personalities that you’ve always known to rule your hometown; around when you are, dancing around the corners of your gaze, kind and ever-present but never very important. Until now.

He grins handsomely, dropping into a curtesy. He oozes fondness and it makes you forget things often. “Nepo baby at your service, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I don’t get about all this,” you say. “You don’t… why’re you wasting your time here? Is this gig just a way for you to pick up chics?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“James.”

He grins wider, raising his arms in surrender. “Full disclosure?”

You cock your head to one side, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Well… it actually started as a way to fill my time,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I went through a pretty tough break up last year, and I couldn’t bear to be sat at home hurting over the same shit over and over.

“So dad got me this gig. I didn’t even get paid in the start, honest. I barely did anything; made like, one coffee over eight hours. But I was around people, and that helped. I don’t know.”

You swallow. It sounds far too familiar to your own circumstances, and a distant ache rings through your chest — a reminder. “I know the feeling.”

“And then I met Rems, and introduced him to my mate Sirius,” he continues, raising his eyebrows. “Turns out they’re fucking mad for each other, who’d have thought it? And it just reminded me… I don’t know, that there’s still hope.”

Another pause. You know what he means, but you want him to say it anyway, for your own sake.

Your lashes flutter closed. “Hope?”

“To love again. Eventually.”

His rough timbre reverberates through your insides. You nod, slowly, and when you open your eyes, unshed tears darken your lashes. James frowns, but he doesn’t intervene. He knows this feeling; his own heart mourns its melody.

He hands you your coffee soundlessly.

“Thanks,” you says, your voice cracks.

When you turn around, you know you’ll be back tomorrow. And then the next day, a few days after.

You aren’t sure when you start believing it too. But slowly, slowly, without even knowing you are, you begin smiling more. Ruminating less. No one’s ever given you this many free coffees in the past. James’ tally surpasses your ex-boyfriend’s by week four; the small talk’s more about you than about him, and he learns your quirks with this startling sincerity that you didn’t think you’d ever experience again.

The more you see of James, the more you recognise how much love your past relationship lacked. Strangers, friends, more than. All you did was blink.

Though of course, you’d be lying if you said the melancholy didn’t wax and wane, flow through you in waves that make your entire being crash ashore.

James knows this. He still feels the odd pang of heartache at the thought of Evans.

On Christmas Eve, the air feels different. The melted snow in your hair glistens in the warm light of the cafe, and for the first time since he met you, James sees it reflected in your gaze.

“The usual?” Remus asks in lieu of greeting.

“Times two, if possible Rem,” you say. You turn to James. “Coffee?”

James startles for a moment before he regains his composure, his wide, brown eyes falling over your in paces. You’ve always been breathtakingly beautiful, but something about your features seems different now, better.

Softer. Healed.

“You’re paying though, right?” James asks, faux-serious.

“I see,” you reply, folding your arms across your chest. “As long as it’s not a date, you have no problem paying for things?”

“Shit,” James wolf-whistles approvingly, jumping over the counter so he’s standing right in front of you. You gaze tilts, messing with your centre of gravity. “This is a date, huh?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you want it to be?”

James raises his in tandem. “If that’d make you happy.”

A pause. “You know,” you say quietly, breaking eye contact. “After my break up, I didn’t think anything’d make me happy ever again.”

James’ features soften. He reaches forward and cups your jaw, returning your gaze to his. “And now?”

“Can’t you see it in my face, James Potter?” You smile poignantly. “Yes is the answer to your question, by the way. It’d make me very happy.”

Behind you, Remus begins to clap. James groans and drops his head to your shoulder, deftly flipping him off. “Don’t fucking start, Moons.”

“Are you kidding? Coffee’s are on me, by the way. Pads is going to fucking die when he finds out.”

But on a Wednesday in a cafe / I watched it begin again

[stitchy-face]

Of Calibreon - The Needle

According to the theologians, the universe is actually a great shroud, stitched with stars following along on embroidered orbits. Though speculation runs rampant as to whether or not it was sewn with intent or if it simply arose of its own accord, what is agreed upon is that at one point, a great weaver emerged from this formless fabric, and was struck with a spark of inspiration.

Needle in hand, the Weaving God shaped the world, hemming the corners of its continents, rounding out its oceans, and filling its kaleidoscopic, quilted realms with cottony clouds, forests of felt, and silken rivers. However, in his frantic creation, the Weaving God overlooked a few, wispy threads: formless, shapeless things – barely fit to call lint – that eventually grew listless, straying far from his Needle, and collecting within the cracks and crevices of the world, wallowing that they would remain forgotten for eternity.

That is, until the Needle found its way to them.

Even today, the exact nature of the Needle – and the mystery of how it found its way to the Formless Fabrics – is the subject of significant theological contention and controversy. While some claim it was willingly granted to the Formless, so that they too could shape themselves and their world, others speculate it simply slipped from the Weaving God’s weary fingers. Others, still, theorize that an ambitious tangle of threads, frustrated with their forgotten state, had stolen it for themselves out of spite.

Regardless of its origins, in time, the Formless Fabrics took the Needle and wove themselves bodies of flesh and blood. The Gehen were the first to arise, threading wings to their backs with which to soar the indigo-dyed skies, before bestowing the Needle to a bird, which carried it to the other Formless Fabrics in its beak. When the Saecair arose and needle-felted their ferocious fangs and horns, they originally found the arcane artifact within the center of an ancient, split-open tree, then planted it as if it were a steel seed. The Merfolk would then find it within the sands of an isolated shore. The Centaurs, Weyr, Vampyre, and Humans all followed in time, until ultimately, a fissure split the earth, and spit the Needle out to the Formless who would shape themselves into Dæmon.

The Dæmon, however, revered the earth, and shaped their scales to resemble lustrous minerals, with molten, boiling blood rushing throughout their rocky cores. Instead of seeing the Needle as a gift from the Weaving God, they saw it as a Hammer inherited from their earthen father, and thus, their birthright. While the remaining Formless Fabrics languished – slowly, sorrowfully unraveling – the Dæmon fought off those that threatened to take their Hammer, and forged their own ferocious beasts of war with it…

… Until the “Magpie” – a daring Gehen whose true name is lost to time – heroically rescued the Needle from the searing heat of the Daemons’ forge-temple, and embarked on a perilous odyssey to return it to the Realm of the Weaving God, with their enemies in hot pursuit, and a war raging across the world.

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hi! it's been far too long since ive done this, but classes have been kicking my ass. next semester is my last at this college, so i'm trying to get as much done as possible <3

thank you to the lovely @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me, and to everyone who has been tagging me in my absence!!

tagging @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @viss-and-pinegar and whoever wants to do this and hasnt been tagged!!

this week, i bring the rough draft of the rewritten first chapter of An Inner Sanctity. ancano wakes up to find himself in an unfamiliar setting with intense pain he can't find a source for… and someone else in the cabin with him.

The room was dark. Lit only by a hearth, or some other fire. He could almost hear it crackle, if not for the shooting, electric pain digging into him like a hot knife. It ran in wild arcs from his lower spine, up through his shoulders and down through the legs, into his head until it pounded. He strangled a cry mid-way from his mouth and choked on air, face balled tight in an effort to shut it off, but that only served to intensify the tension in his head. He laid back on the pillow, coated in a new layer of cold sweat, lungs ragged in their attempts to keep any air in them. He tried to move, kicking his legs like stubborn carts laden with ore, but they were too heavy to move under the quilts and his own exhaustion. The pain dulled, first a slow glimmer of softening, then it dissipated into thudding behind his eyes. His ears pounded with blood rushing through them, his muscles heavy and uncomfortable. It was as though he had been speared through with a burning iron blade, but as he lifted his shaking hands to his face and touched the skin beneath, he could not feel anything out of the ordinary. His features were a bit sharper, perhaps. And the thin, oily coat of sweat didn't help any matters, either. He couldn't tell where he was, nor why the room was dim, nor why the quilts were there. Was he asleep? How long had he been asleep? The last thing he'd seen is that wave of… What was it, was that magicka? Not like anything he'd ever seen before. But it had slammed into him, knocking him back towards a wall, and a force had shocked through him to his core, and then…

A door opened near where he lay. Ancano shut his eyes. He slowed his breathing as the trudge of footsteps drew closer, a bowl sloshing with water. The guise of sleep would afford him enough time to take them by surprise, to shove them aside and paralyze them before he made his escape. Then, he'd run to the Thalmor Embassy and let them know what had happened at that dreadful College, barring a few details, of course. After all, it was only natural that the one to wield such an artifact such as the Eye should want to keep it for himself, is it not? A warm, wet washcloth swept over the ridge of his brow, the hand who held it moving in slow, gentle motions. He could feel their fingers as they gripped the cloth, and brought it down to his cheeks, over his eyes, and around his mouth. It took all of his strength not to protest the sensation, but he remained still and quiet as a corpse, and allowed the motions to fall over him. The cloth set aside somewhere, the same hand dipped something into the water, before he felt bristles moving through his hair. The motions were careful, pushing back the front of the lengths with the wet brush, ensuring that the one who held it did not harm him. Strange, was he perhaps in the care of a Dominion medic? Is that, by some miracle, where he'd wound up? The brush set aside on a wooden surface - to Ancano's chagrin, as he had enjoyed the little bit of comfort the brushing sensation provided - the mysterious hand returned, moving the cloth down his neck, and around his chest. They moved it along the ridges of his collar bone, and when he opportunity struck, he lurched out his hand like a snake's mouth to prey, eyes shot open as he got a bleary, unclear look at the figure. "Explain to me who you are, and what you are doing, or you will be missing a hand very shortly," he sneered in a hoarse voice, the threat taking the figure by surprise. As he began to register the figure before him, recognition came through the sound of their own voice, the person shoving against his hand on their wrist.

"Let me go, damn it! I'm just trying to help you!" Their protests came out more surprised than scared, and at that moment Ancano got a clear look at the individual before him. He loosened his grip, watching the Mer rub their wrist and pout a little, their dark hair falling over their shoulders in curls. His eyes widened involuntarily as he looked up at them, brow knit in confusion. The last memory that he had of this figure was that of them trying to kill him. "Athenath?" He uttered, throat unusually dry. The Altmer turned their attention to him, giving a nervy grin as he continued to massage his wrist. They then let the hand fall to their lap, looking over Ancano curiously. "Yes, and I'm gonna assume you've always had good grip strength." He frowned. Attempting to push himself up onto his elbows, another crack of pain whipped through his lower spine and into his extremities. Whatever noise he must have made, it was enough to make Athenath flinch, before they began to lower him back into the bed. "Hey, don't do that, not yet," they chided as Ancano's lips ran with haggard breaths, "you're not… well. I mean, I don't think you're sick, but you're definitely injured, though Lydia said she can't find any signs of physical injury. I can't, either, besides some cuts and bruises from… Well, you shouldn't worry too much."

He sneered. "Don't worry, I won't," he replied, words dripping thickly with sarcasm. The other Altmer rolled their dark eyes, and while Ancano had known they'd spoken, and he'd returned his own words, it was as though all sound came from across a corner, down a hall, somewhere out of touch. All he saw was his own pulse-spot-spattered vision, and the gleaming of the hearth reflected in the surface of the water that they'd been using moments prior. He had never known that he could get this thirsty. His tongue laid as dry and sharp in his mouth as a chunk of sandstone, all thoughts focused there. It would be pathetic to ask for water, to beg like a dog, but he found he did not have to, as Athenath pulled over a silver pitcher and poured him a glass. They set it aside, and with as much care as he could muster, began to shift Ancano to sit against the pillows. He winced and gagged on the pain, but the other took his time, and Ancano swore in that moment he almost heard reassurances, words meant to soothe so bitter and mocking in this light. When it was all over, however, he was seated, with the pillows against his back, resting on the headboard of what must have been a makeshift bed, as it was too hard to be a bed used regularly, and too lumpy to be one he was expected to sleep on for much longer. Well, he certainly hoped so, for if he had to sleep on this mattress any more nights, he might burn the entire place down with everyone but himself inside.

[mudandmire]

Contact

Azris Week - Day Three: Contact

~~~ So how about...fluff. @azrisweek day three is here! And we continue on the excitement with this prompt which I waffled on not gonna lie. But ultimately this is what I ended up with; a lil treat from the canon lore (universe/place??), which I don't often do so this is wack. Thank you to everyone posting this week and also those reading and liking - you all make my day and literally my heart feels light when I see you little guys in my phone <3. Alright, enough, enjoy!! :D ~~~

“Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.” — The Iliad.

Far Too Honest

Eris learns quickly in his and Azriels growing partnership; the Shadowsinger has no patience for his vast, vapid verbiage.

That is to say: Azriel cuts through his bullshit with the skill and delicate precision he wields with his daggers.

Eris sit's at his desk with it's guttering candlelight. Silver streams through the patterned canopy and slips across the deep mahogany floors. The shadows stretch long, their edges wavering at the corner of Eris’s eyes. It could, of course, be strain from how long he’s been staring at this written proposition from the representative of Agriculture in his fathers council. The words are small, skittering in the dim candlelight, but that doesn’t explain the disquiet sense of knowing that crests along the nape of his neck and down the slope of his spine.

He straightens in his chair, the proposition all but forgotten as his breathing goes shallow: waiting, listening carefully for the softest whisper of sound behind him. The shadows in the corner of his room, the places he’d never think darkness could fit to accommodate, deepen like ink spilled in a pool, and then—

“It’s late, Shadowsinger.” Eris croons, slumping back in his seat, the very picture of nonchalance.

Azriel melts out of the very fabric of the wall Eris had been staring at—darkness tangible and material pours over his shoulders, shrouding the shine of his cobalt syphons. It seeps down the contours of his armored body before falling to the rug and dissipating. There’s wisps of shadow that still cling to him when he steps away from the wall, but Eris had only ever found him after he’d mysteriously appeared; never has he seen the process. A strange, tangled birth from the creeping darkness of his room.

“You’re not asleep.” Azriel says, his voice low. It’s not a question, Eris thinks most likely he already knew he wouldn’t be asleep.

“Would you prefer it if I was? Would certainly make this torturous confrontation less so.” He waves a careless hand to the tossed and creased emerald sheets and quilt of his bed.

Azriel tilts his head, enough that Eris can catch it in the weak light of his chamber. Quiet falls, yet Azriel doesn’t hasten to break it, instead studying Eris with those bright, hazel eyes. Listening into an invisible, untouchable voice—probably telling him about the dark, half-moon bruises under his eyes, the sluggish bleeding of his picked at cuticles.

“I think you would prefer if I wasn’t here at all.” His arms cross over his chest, a single dark brow arched even as his mouth creases in a frown.

“Now what would make you think I don’t absolutely adore your company, Shadowsinger? You’re a complete delight at all hours.”

Azriel takes a couple steps closer, his features carved into harsh lines. “Would you like me to come back in the morning?”

Eris falters, just for a heartbeat, before a scoff slips from his lips and his hands fold together under the safety of his desk. Free to rub and pick to his hearts content. “I didn’t think my comfort mattered to you so much, I'm touched.”

“It doesn’t,” he turns briefly toward the bed and the mess Eris had left behind with all his tossing and turning. “But I don’t want to deal with you when your tired and talking around the conversation even more than when you’re well rested.”

“‘Well-rested,’” he hums, “not sure I’m familiar.”

Azriel sighs deeply, walking closer to the desk with a pensive look in his eyes. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Relax, Shadowsinger.” Eris huffs, his knee bouncing under the desk, an itch in his calves and thighs he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how he twists his legs. It’s what dragged him out of bed in the first place—like the constant jump of his mind from problem to problem to problem accidently side-tracked down his body and stored in the bones of his legs. “I am at my best at all times of day.”

“Not night, then.” He replies shortly.

“Oh, so the bat can be clever? Not just boringly blunt.” Eris sneers.

Azriel narrows his eyes down at him. “I’m still waiting for an answer, Lordling.”

"You’re no fun.”

Azriel remains unmoved, his lips pressed together so tight the color leaches from them entirely.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to repeat the question.” He gives Azriel a bland smile, mocking as he looks up at the lit features of his face. He’s closer than he realized, shifting nearer while Eris remained distracted by his own mind games—the pick of his nails at the raw skin around his fingers, the agitated bounce of his knee.

It’s a complete surprise when Azriel—in a movement so swift Eris blinks and misses it—reaches over and tugs his chair out from the desk. The legs screech against the floor, and Eris feels his hackles raise, mouth fallen open in shock as he’s physically tugged up and out of his seat by his wrists.

“Are you mad—” he hisses, anger and no small amount of caution flaring in his golden eyes as they flicker around the room, landing on his double doors with a stiffness drawing up his spine.

Azriel ignores his squirming, locking his fingers around his wrists where he can feel the rabbiting of his pulse against the thin skin. “I want you to look me in the eyes and answer the question, Eris.”

He goes still, a light flaring in his gaze at the sound of his name. His tongue, pink and wet flicks out to his lips. “You’ll get me caught, arrogant bastard.”

“I’ll let you get back to your habits if you answer my question.” With a quirk of his lips, his eyes fall briefly to Eris’s fingers where his hands are still locked in Azriel's grip. It’s not punishing, and if Eris pulled hard enough he could dislodge himself free—yet he keeps his hands there, swallows against his dry throat, and avoids Azriel’s piercing gaze.

Heat steals across the bridge of his nose, burns against the tips of his ears. “I told you; you have to repeat the question, Shadowsinger.”

“Hm.” Azriel hums softly, head tilting again. The fingers around his wrist pulse, just once, so softly Eris would take it for his own heartbeat. Understanding floods him. Eris knows what he’s listening to. His heart lurches, pressing hard against his ribcage and Eris wonders if he would see the imprint of it on the fabric of his tunic if he looked down. “I know, for a fact, you don’t.”

Eris opens his mouth, a defense mechanism at this point, melting from the inside out from a combination of Azriel’s grip and his bright, hazel eyes that have starred in too many dreams to be considered a blip.

Azriel’s fingers press down, and Eris’s mouth snaps shut as his head lowers, drawing closer to him. Enough that a single breath separates their mouths—and Eris shouldn’t be focusing on it, but it’s all he can see, his head a white water rush of his racing pulse—

“Eris.” Azriel says, his low voice sharp. “If this partnership is going to work—a partnership you made a deal for—I will not tolerate this kind of complex, verbal avoidance. It’s bullshit. Tell me what you think, you’ve never hesitated before.”

“I…” He swallows hard, a tendon feathering in his jaw. Simple, useless words like bile fill his mouth and he works against it. “I don’t—”

“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?” Azriel asks again. He doesn’t need to, and it breaks the seal against Eris’s lips.

“No,” he almost shouts, surprising himself and flinching back at the echo of his own voice—louder than it’s been in a while. “I don’t want to—I’m fine to conduct business, now.” He’s embarrassingly breathless, molten in the Shadowsinger’s hold.

At the though, he squirms against it slightly, Azriel tightening his grip in warning. “You don’t want to what?”

“Why do you act like you care?” Eris's mouth twists, bearing a dismissive scowl. There's a wild gleam in his eyes as his nostrils flare and for the first time the scent of cedar and the faintest hint of something smokey, like fyre whiskey, greets him.

Azriel breathes in deep, head rearing back slightly as if realizing how close they had grown in the undiluted heat of their conversation. “I don’t work with beings who say one thing, but mean another. Bad for business.” He grumbles, gaze cast to this side.

Blinking, Eris grits his teeth against the wave of despair that rises with a vengeful force in his chest. “Of course, wouldn’t want my serpents tongue meddling with your saintly High Lord’s schemes.”

“I said that wrong—”

“I’m really, quite sure you didn’t.”

“Eris,” The air shudders out of his lungs, a full body thing, and suddenly Eris watches as his features grow closer when he rests the bridge of his forehead against his. “For some, unexplainable reason, I want you to tell me things. True things.”

His mouth shuts with a click, swallowing the knot in his throat as he closes his eyes. Eris near melts into the line of his frame, feeling their noses brush against each other. There’s a part of him, try as he might to drown and subdue it, that longs for this. The breadth of Azriel's shoulders and the sweet sincereity of his mouth. He's already taken up by so many, and so much, but if Azriel asked—if he let him—Eris would carve a small spot in his chest that he could settle on like a bird on it's perch.

The longing of it, how soft he melts in the continuing heat of Azriel's presence, makes his mouth unguarded, his tongue dangerous. His heart is most especially vulnerable to the small, infinitesimal spark of hope lighting in his chest.

He wets his lips. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight; I couldn’t sleep.” The secret is dragged from the depths of him with the same finesse as lobbing a stone into a still lake. It falls in-between the space of his and Azriel’s bodies—but Azriel doesn’t miss it.

“Nightmare?”

“It—ever since Koschei.” Is all he manages to say until his throat clicks and he chokes off.

There’s the slightest increase in pressure when Azriel presses his forehead closer.

“I have them, too. Koschei.”

“Oh.” Eris breathes, relaxing more into Azriel’s hold.

“Somehow, always of you.” He confesses.

Eris can feel the words, they’re so close. The room has completely melted away—every sound and scent. The dripping wax of the candles, the worn leather of his chair. Even the faint smell of damp, churned earth, falls away. Eris is entirely held on an axis point by the vehemence in Azriel’s shadowed eyes.

The chest against his heaves, sudden and sharp. “We should…” Azriel trails off, his voice soft, gaze settling on his eyes, ears, nose, and then falling so lightly it’s barely a moment to his lips.

Eris only has a second to mark the heavy thump of Azriels pulse through his fingers before he’s rearing back. “This isn’t—” his eyes are wild, “we can’t.”

It takes a moment for feeling to rush back into Eris’s body—for sound and sight to come crawling back like admonished hounds. His hands are still aloft, held by invisible clutches because Azriel had removed his touch like it burned him straight to bone.

He clears his throat, casting his gaze down to the brown and maroon patterned carpet and wondering if his legs were shaking or if that was his vision.

“Uh—” his tongue stumbles and it sets his cheeks aflame. “Yes, right, of course that was…silly of me, forget it.” The plea is quiet, supposed to be left more to himself than to Azriel but it seems the sight of him, the very feeling of his nearness, makes his filter faulty.

“No, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have…” Azriel gestures uselessly to Eris’s own hands, then sighs deeply and cards his fingers through the raven strands of his hair.

Quiet falls among them. A silence much like the ones that haunt the Forest House; every empty, echoing hallway, the spaces between the books in the library, the very haloed edge of light the torches cast. All of it is pulsing, threatened and vulnerable.

Eris has never felt so stripped. Down to bone, raw as his bruised eyes and picked cuticles. He tugs at the embroidered hem of his waistcoat, restricting him as if it grew belts and strapped itself around and around and around—

“I don't regret it. I’m not saying I shouldn’t have asked for the truth, I wanted that. I shouldn’t have held you hostage, though. I’m sorry.” Azriel’s got his own hands clasped behind his back as if in penance.

He’s looking at Eris through the sooty spread of his lashes and Eris needs him out. He needs him far, far away so he can upturn his floorboards with his broken fingernails and bury himself away to rot.

The rabbiting thump of his pulse and the tremor running through his hands suggests that he still hasn’t recovered from his proximity.

He tries anyway. “It’s fine.” He whispers, shifting on his feet that have grown spines and thorns and dig into the muscle of his calves with vengeance. He hides the dull prick of pain in the clench of his jaw.

“You can tell me if it’s not—if I crossed a line.” His voice is so soft, quilted and woven as if to draw Eris into it’s bed of comfort and strangle him there.

He should tell him he crossed a line, crossed every line. Should twist his forked tongue and bare his teeth and shove him out the arched window. It would be the wise choice, the most sensible option to keep Eris from let himself wade into even deeper waters.

Yet, Eris can still feel the heat of Azriel's hands around his wrists like a band—the soothing warmth of another body, another soul, pressed to his. The most delicate, tender spot where his heart pounds loud and obnoxious: every lie a jolt, every truth a river. It is his secret, everything that gives him away, Azriel has held with a gentility Eris didn’t know was possible.

Mother strike him down, but he wants it again. The vulnerability. The most pleasant prick of needles in his skin, a fire built log by log in his belly—he wants the touch. Even if it burns.

Eris is the one to step closer. “Everything you did, I wanted you to do.” His heart is racing, sweat collecting on his palms. He has one horrible, stomach churning thought of ‘that was far too honest’ before a gentle touch, hesitant and questioning, brushes against the jut of bone on his wrist.

His head snaps up, Azriel is already looking at him. “Good,” he says, “I wanted to—I want to.” The words are near breathless, a pinch forming in between his dark brows.

His pointer finger and thumb circle his wrist, head tilted in a silent question.

All Eris feels is the rain-soaked rush of relief that floods him. The itch, insufferable and unreachable in his legs disappears. His chest loosens, and for the first time that night exhaustion sweeps over him in a blanketed haze of slow blinking and slumped shoulders.

“Maybe we can continue this delightful—” he cuts himself off with a yawn, startling him almost as much as Azriel.

“Tomorrow—right, yes, I completely forgot how late it was.” The words fall one on top of the other he’s talking so fast, still low, as if afraid to break the careful quiet around them.

Eris stops his spiraling, though it’s hard to tell from the outside, Azriel had gone completely rigid. A sudden swarm of lengthening shadows and stretches of darkness folding over his shoulders and arms. He holds Azriel’s wrist, thumbing over the ridges and caps of his scars.

“I meant, maybe you could stay?” It’s not as scary voicing it as he thought it would be, not after everything tonight. Or, perhaps the Mother has granted him a rare gift and is letting his fatigue untie his reserves.

Azriel’s hazel eyes widen, absorbing the dark of his Illyrian leathers, the sepia tinge to his room. Sooty lashes flutter, and Eris watches with rapt attention.

“You’d be okay with that?” He glances over his shoulder at the spread of Eris’s tousled bed; the emerald quilt and strewn, goose feather pillows.

Eris swallows thickly. Not in fear, not this time, but in pure, undiluted want. “I’ve never slept with anyone,” he whispers, “not like this.”

Azriel doesn’t say anything else, his gaze scans the room and its dim light. He turns with Eris’s wrist still in his hand, and walks toward the bed. It’s not weird—it should be weird, but all Eris can think of as he unbuttons his waistcoat and the restrictive, lavish layers of his ensemble is how comfortable he feels in the dark with him.

“You need trousers.” Eris says, already digging through his armoire for a folded pair of worn trousers he thinks might fit Azriel.

Azriel glances over at Eris with a quirked brow, he’s got one hand on the buttons on the front of his abdomen, undoing them with a practiced ease that comes from a lifetime of repetition. He shrugs the top off behind his back, where it slips in the space between his wings and falls to the floor. Eris watches with slightly parted lips as those great, membranous wings shudder like a hound shaking off its coat. They move in mesmerizing, miniscule ways; how Eris’s fingers would fidget and twitch, his knee bounce—he finds Azriel’s wings mimic those same involuntary patterns of being.

He shakes his head, handing Azriel the pair of trousers. “These should fit.”

“Thanks,” Azriel says, working them up his legs and then grunting when the hem of the legs come up to his calves. “Should?” He asks with a wry smirk.

“Shut up, those are old.” Eris fluffs out the quilt, resettling the pillows against the headboard and straightening the sheets.

Azriel is quiet as he helps fold the quilt over so he can slip into bed. “I’m sure.” He mocks gently, and gets a heavy goose down pillow to the face for it.

His face falls in affront, and no small amount of shock as he freezes half-way onto the mattress. “What—” his voice pitches up, and Eris claps a hand over his mouth where he’s sitting up against the headboard.

“Just get in, Azriel.” A huff comes from behind his palm, breath warming his skin, and he can feel how his lips pull down in a frown.

There’s only the quiet shuffle of fabric and skin. The growing, shifting darkness that cools when Eris blows out the candle when Azriel settles enough. Eris remains on his back, a stiffness solidifying against his spine the longer he lays in the dark with another body, another heartbeat and set of lungs right next to him.

The mattress bounces as Azriel moves again, a sigh falling from his mouth.

“Give me your hand.” He says.

Eris startles, eyes wide in the dark where he can feel his pulse in his sockets. “Why?”

“Give me your hand, Eris.”

Begrudgingly, Eris turns to his side, awkwardly holding his arm out into the dusk. The room only lit by the the silver strands of moonlight through the canopy outside his window.

Azriel’s touch is gentle, searching, he finds the tops of his fingers and starts a path down—it leaves Eris entirely breathless. Working against the burn in his chest and the clinging scent of cedar to breathe in deep.

Eris already knows what Azriel wants, but his heart still lurches up to his throat when his scarred hand circles his wrist.

“Tell me a truth, Eris.” It’s the second time he’s said his name in as many minutes. Eris needs him to say his name always, forever.

He inhales, filling his lungs till there’s a pinch and the releases it, letting his muscles and all the tension built in his bones melt into the mattress. The down pillow moulds to his head, and it feels like he’s sinking somewhere darkness won’t even reach.

He can’t tell if his eyes are closed or if the moon disappeared, but he says anyway to the shroud of shadows—to Azriel.

“Don’t be gone when I wake up.”

Sleep calls to him, a lullaby he hasn’t heard in full for so long. He barely feels Azriel’s fingers tighten around his wrist. He is, however, sent off to rest with the deep, ocean tide pull of his voice from the other side of the bed.

“I’ll be here.”

All there is in this endless sea of pillows and the soft cotton of his quilt is the heat of Azriel's knee that brushes against his, the clasp of his scarred fingers around his wrist. The rest, if there’s more, is null.

~~///~~///~~///~~

hey. hey look listen h ey maybe I just wanted my boys to be soft and say to hell with logic. is that so bad? no. I possess a physical inability to write anything lighthearted without the emotional weight - it haunts me. ALSO I have beef with Illyrian clothing and leathers bc what do you MEAN the buttons are down the back on the sides??? I'm sorry??? Behind big ass wings???? Why not have a wrap sort of style and then buttons or ties in the front panels, like on the sides of the abdomen. I digress, I hope you liked it I've got...things brewing for day four and it's. hm. we'll see ;]