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almostfoxglove · 3 months ago

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SIT BACK, BABY

written for @joelmillerisapunk's #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Frankie Morales x f!Reader BODY PART: Thighs | WORD COUNT: 4.1k CW: Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.

SUMMARY: You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Your alarm clock reads 2:02 A.M. when you stir from a sweat-stained dream.

Someone is breaking into your apartment.

Or sounds like they're trying to break in, at least. The awkward stabbing and metal scrape of disobedient picks and keys. A sudden fear cleaves through you, skull to stomach, and just like that you’re wide awake. Then you hear a familiar voice mutter, “Fucking please—”

And you sigh. You’re not in any danger.

Yellow light leaks into your apartment from the hall where you find your mountain of a neighbor slumped on his knees at your feet, one hand raised at the level of your lock, a silver key pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

He tilts his chin up, letting you glimpse beneath the brim of his navy ball cap the glassiness of his warm eyes, the flush of his cheeks. His lips part, bewildered or lost. The man looks hopelessly drunk.

“Haanng on,” Frankie grins, squinting up at you. “You’re in my apartment?”

He drops his hand and his apartment key slips from his grasp onto the floor, unnoticed by him. You’ve lived across the hall from him for two years, steadfast in your belief that fucking anyone who lives in your building—or frankly, within a three block radius—is a hideous mistake. Has that made your hopeless crush on him any less… crushing?

Absolutely fucking not.

Now, seeing Frankie on his knees is doing something terrible to your brain. Giving it all sorts of ideas. You blame his jeans, the brawn of his thighs—how badly you’d like to sink your teeth into them surprises you.

“My apartment, actually,” you correct, lifting one finger to point over his shoulder, across the hall. Frankie turns and, sure enough, recognizes his apartment number gleaming on the door.

“Shit,” he says. You make a point of staring him dead in the eye even when you’d usually look away, just so you don’t look at his legs. The spread of his knees on the carpeted floor.

Doe-eyed, Frankie blinks up at you—helpless as a pup—as need stirs in your stomach. The urge to hold him. To take care of him for a while.

“I’m a lil’ drunk,” he admits in a whisper, like it’s a secret, like you wouldn’t have known.

Scoffing, you shake your head. “You don’t say.”

He buries his face in his palms and groans quietly, embarrassed. “Hermosa,” he muffles, making your mouth go dry. When his hands drop, his gaze lands at your feet, rising slowly to your legs—he turns, you think, the color of a berry. Something that bursts red against your fingertips in summer.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Frankie says plainly, his eyebrows high on his head.

Shit.

You cross your arms over your chest as if that’ll hide your legs, bare beneath the t-shirt you sleep in. You can’t remember what underwear you have on, if it’s a cute pair or a laundry day pair, and pray quietly that he can’t glimpse them from where he’s sitting, though he probably can. What’s worse, though, is that you can tell Frankie’s not trying to peek. He’s looking you in the eye—respectful, it seems, even on the verge of a blackout.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you say, trying not to blush. “Y’woke me up.”

Poor, drunk Frankie’s face just folds. Devastated to have bothered you—he huffs softly, lets his eyes stutter closed, dark lashes shivering on his cheeks. It really isn’t fair, how cute he is like this. Grown, drunk men are idiots. Nuisances, at best. And yet here he is—this broad mass of a man, solid in his calm, easy way—managing to be both out of his mind and entirely endearing at the same time. It’s almost annoying, how not annoyed you are to be disturbed from a fit of slumber. You’re sort of glad.

“M’sorry,” Frankie mumbles, staring at the floor. He lifts one finger and with your breath held you watch it move slowly toward your foot until his fingertip meets your bare ankle. Softly, so softly. You hardly feel it, this small touch, his fragile apology.

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. It’s like he knows you’ve had some stupid crush on him for two years.

“Come on,” you say, as you crouch down to retrieve his forgotten key, then his arm, warm and solid in your grasp. “Think you better get into bed.”

He giggles as he lurches to his feet, thankfully able to stand after you steady him and release the weight of his arm. Cheeks warm, you walk his key across the hall, unlock the door, and step aside for him to go in with a sweep of your hand.

“How embarrassed should I be tomorrow?” Frankie asks, coming to stand at your side to stare down the tunnel of darkness formed by his entryway.

You shrug. “Willing to bet you won’t remember this in the morning,” you say, smirk nagging at your lips as you nudge his key back into his hand.

At the contact, he turns, face shadowed by his hat and curls licking playfully beneath the brim, and though you expect him to laugh or smile there’s not a drop of humor in his expression—he looks, you think, disappointed. Like maybe he doesn’t want to forget. Squinting, you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment, but Frankie doesn’t move. He blinks drowsily at you, bottom lip pouting again.

This is probably the most you’ve ever spoken in one go.

The closest you’ve ever stood.

“Pope’s never gonna le’me live this down,” he mumbles.

You huff a short chuckle under your breath and set one hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, to urge him inside—clearly the man’s never going to go in on his own.

“That one of your broad shouldered friends?” you tease.

Frankie only budges a step closer to the doorway, frowning as he rolls his shoulders, standing up a little straighter as if to make a point. “Yes,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you tease, then drop your hand from his back. “You’re very broad, too.”

“I feel bad I woke you up,” Frankie says softly.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, and you feel it again—that impulse to hold him, make it better. Rub his shoulders or something, just to help him relax.

“It is,” Frankie mumbles sorrily.

“Did you mean to wake me up?”

He sighs. “No.”

“Were you trying to break in, or did you get mixed up?”

“Got mixed up,” he admits quietly.

You catch his gaze and offer him a small smile. “Then I forgive you,” you say. “No harm done, seriously. You’re not the worst person to find at my door.”

This seems to settle him, at least a little, because with one final, frowning huff Frankie surrenders his guilt and nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, and time stands briefly still as he moves toward you—leaning in to graze his lips against your cheek, his stubble brushing your skin.

You stand, statued by your surprise, unable even to breathe.

“G’night, nena.”

“Goodnight,” you choke out, grateful that in his state he doesn’t seem to register your shock or the tremble in your voice. If he weren’t drunk, you’re pretty sure that would’ve snapped you. You’d have told him right now and right here that you’ll take care of him, help him unwind a little—that you’ve wanted to touch him for two years and it hasn’t gotten any easier, orbiting him without the guts to swing yourself closer to his gravity.

But he is drunk. Three quarters out of his mind, if you had to guess, based on the clumsy muddle of his footsteps as he at last sways into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. Leaving you breathless in the hallway, alone.

In the morning, you wake to a band of sunlight searing through your curtains. You’ve slept through your alarm all the way till ten, and lift your phone to find a text waiting on your lock screen, sent two hours ago.

Think I owe you an apology, neighbor.

Groggy, you frown at the string of digits you don’t recognize until the night comes back to you, piece by piece. Your heart stutters as you sit up in bed, letting your bedsheets pool in your lap as you type out a reply.

How did you get my number?

Also, you got up at 8am?? Are you even alive?

You get a reply only minutes later, while you’re brushing your teeth.

Told the building manager that I was getting your mail and wanted to return it. Little scary how few questions they asked.

You scoff, only to have your phone ding again immediately.

Sure hope I’m alive. I have a very thoughtful neighbor to thank for getting me home safe.

You spit into the sink, then rinse your mouth, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Thoughtful, huh?

Pretty, too. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned that yet.

Still feel bad about last night. Let me make it up to you.

No more than six hours later, you’re pulled from whatever TV show’s been rotting your brain all afternoon by a steady knock on your front door. Your skin twinkles with nerves.

You’re fully clothed this time—showered too, thankfully—and when you open the door Frankie isn’t on his knees. He’s standing, curls squashed beneath his hat, t-shirt stretched across his chest, in black athletic shorts baring him below the knee, as he holds up two plastic bags that fill the hallway with a smell you know all too well: takeout from the Chinese place you love down the road. When your eyes round at the sight, Frankie grins, letting you glimpse the dimple that winks from his cheek.

You see, too, his exhaustion. The navy shadows bruised beneath his glassy eyes. He may be alive, but it’s painfully obvious that he must, beneath that smile, be suffering a brutal hangover. And he’s bringing you food—too generous a gesture, you think, for such a small crime.

“Hoped you might like this place,” he says.

“You really didn’t have to—” you start to say, but Frankie shakes his head before squeezing past you in the doorway to come inside.

“Only fair,” he insists, and you shut the door while he toes out of his shoes, thoughtful enough not to drag dirt into your apartment as he breezes into your kitchen like he’s done this a hundred times before. Opening the bags, cracking each container, fishing through drawers until he finds your cutlery. Domestic and entirely alien: this man you’ve known for two years who’s never entered your space, making himself at home. Trying to serve you.

Dumbstruck, you watch him, unsure what to say and the longer you do, the more the ache of him seems to radiate. You swear you see him wince when a drawer slams too hard, when he looks up accidentally into the ceiling light. With one hand, you reach out and turn the dimmer switch to soften the lights over his head, and Frankie looks up from the styrofoam containers to catch your eye.

The grin drops from his face. “Shit—is this too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

Frankie wipes his hands on his thighs as he rounds the kitchen island to stand before you, dark lashes batting worriedly over his freckled cheeks as he lowers his head to meet your eye. “If you want, I can just leave you with the food. Don't wanna be here if you don't want me to be.”

A soft scoff leaves your lips, the first breath of disbelief disguised as laughter. “Frankie,” you breathe, and his chest puffs at the way you say his name. “You look like you feel like shit. Your head must be killing you. And you brought me food.”

His jaw ticks, and you wonder if he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you, too.

“No more fussing over me,” you say, lifting your hands slowly to rest on his shoulders.

Frankie flinches but doesn’t pull away, his warm eyes flickering between yours like he’s trying to unpuzzle you.

“Let me help,” you say.

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, sounding winded. Desperate. He shakes his head.

With a soft grin you slip your hands down his arms—firm and hot beneath your palms—to guide him toward your couch, warmed by a box of sunlight cast through the windows. Frankie sits with a gentle sigh, biceps tensing beneath your grasp, not yet sure what to make of you. You give his arms a light squeeze, flash him a grin you hope might ease his nerves, and sink to the carpet between his knees.

Frankie’s eyes go black.

The air simmers, woozy as the space above molten tarmac in the dead of summer. It’s a kind of spell, you think. His sharpened breath. Your hands slipping easily over his bare knees. And it’s obvious: the riot of guilt surging behind his lust-blown eyes, his instinct to politely turn you down as you rub his joints softly with your thumbs.

“Don’t have to,” you tell him, careful to hold his eye so he’ll see you mean them. “But I’d like to, if you want. Could take care of you for a while.”

Frankie lets out a ragged breath, and his eyes slam shut before he drops his head on the back of your couch. “Shit—are you—shit.” He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes, groans quietly, and from the floor you watch the way his whole body shudders as he struggles for air.

“That a yes or a no, let’s eat Chinese food?” you ask softly, hands frozen on his knees until he answers. “Either is good.”

“Shit—yes, that’s a yes,” Frankie pants, still hiding behind his hands with his head tipped back.

You lift one hand from his knee to reach for him, curling your fingertips around his forearm, pulling it away from his eyes. “Mírame,” you say, and it’s possible Frankie comes undone right then and there—chest deflating, arms slumping limp into his lap, head lolling to look down at you in disbelief.

Lips parted, his tongue slips across his bottom lip, sending a thrill through your body and a sudden stutter to your heart. But this isn’t about you; it’s about him, so you squeeze your thighs together as Frankie shifts his hips on the couch and nods shakily.

Oh, this is dangerous. How he already looks ready to fall apart beneath your hands. You might never get enough of it.

Testing the waters, you slide your hands slowly up his thighs just far enough to brush your fingertips to the hem of his shorts, the roped muscles in his legs tensing beneath your caress. “If you want me to stop, just say, okay?”

Frankie shakes his head, licks his lip again, and your eyes follow the glide of his tongue. “Not gonna want you to stop,” he breathes, as his cheek dimples with the flash of a sheepish grin.

You hum softly, shuffle closer to the couch, encouraging him to spread his legs wider with a press of your hands. “Just sit back, baby,” you murmur.

So he does. Frankie grunts as you patiently knead the mesa of his thighs—the hills of muscle bound tight beneath golden skin, so hot to the touch—and lower your lips to lay a kiss on his knee, glancing up through your lashes to gauge his reaction.

He rewards you with a needy groan that goes straight to your cunt.

You smile against his skin, let your hands wander, thumbs digging into his thighs as you work loose their knotted web. Humming, your hands slipping beneath the black curtain of his shorts to stray higher as you work, you slide the flat of your tongue up his inner thigh and Frankie’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck—nena, shit,” he pants, just before one hand bolts out to cover the crown of your head, stilling your movements.

You take your mouth off him and look up, basking in the abyss of his dark eyes and the red of his neck. “Want me to stop?” you ask.

Immediately, Frankie’s head shakes nonono as he gathers your hair in his fist, holding it back from your face. “Que cosa mas linda. So fuckin’ pretty.”

It’s easy, but you knew it would be, watching his body twitch and melt beneath your ministrations, the caress of your attentive hands. The wet suckle of your lips and tongue rising towards his hips. Slowly, you unwind him. Let him dissolve into your couch, always with some sweet nothing on his lips that could ruin you if you let it—mierda, feels so—so fucking good, perfect hands, holy shit, tan suave.

The taste of his skin is a balm in itself, heady, a little sweat-kissed, addictive. With his shorts shoved high on his hips, you latch at the supple flesh of his inner thigh and suck, drawing a tortured whimper from Frankie as he shivers, his chest rising faster with every breath.

“Shit—por favor, please,” he begs, as the hand in your hair gently scratches your scalp. It’s so gentle you almost believe he doesn’t know he’s doing it—that touching you like this, so tenderly, so ruinously, is to Frankie instinct alone.

“So sweet to me,” you murmur against his thigh, licking the pink mark you’ve left on his skin. “So strong, so warm. Just wanna take care of you, Frankie. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Hermosa,” he groans, desperate now, his cock twitching beneath the black of his shorts.

The square of sunlight glows over you both, warming you just as much as his body. Beyond the cracked window you can hear the chirp of birds finding their way to each other, the squeal of distant traffic, the churn of wind through the alley. All of it—all that raucous city noise that used to keep you up all night—feels tranquil now. A serene soundtrack whispering below the rasps of Frankie’s pleasure.

“Wanted to for a long time,” you tell him, before latching again at the top of his other thigh, marking satin skin with a matching brand. “Wanted to touch you so bad.”

He’s gasping now, lungs desperate for air like he’s been running, and his other hand grabs hold of your shoulder to pull you closer. “Would’a—” he wheezes, and lets his head drop back against the couch again like it’s too much to look right at you. “Would’ve let you if I’d—fuck—if I’d known.”

You hum against his leg, reach both hands high enough to dig your thumbs in the crevice of his hips, and Frankie jolts, hissing a strangled fuck before settling again, more liquid than before.

Higher, your mouth climbs, desperate for more of him. Electric with the feeling of his need, the way his hands keep you near to him—thumb sweet on your shoulder, fingertips drawing little circles on your scalp. It’s possible you’ve never liked pleasuring someone so much, and you’ve liked it before. But Frankie responds to your every movement and breath, every change in pressure or place, strung taut as a bow that’s fighting not to snap.

With a final glance up at Frankie, his head hung back to unveil the gold of his throat, the stubble scattered along his jaw, you nuzzle your nose gently against his crotch and feel his cock throb, hitting your cheek.

“Baby,” he whines, hand tightening in your hair.

“I’ve got you,” you coo, and draw your own out of his shorts to hook into the waistband. “Gonna take you out now, is that okay?”

“Fuck—yes—fucking yes it’s okay,” he begs, and the light sting of his hand pulling your hair tighter paints a smile on your face.

Slowly, you peel down his shorts and find no boxers beneath them, only the heavy length of him which bobs up against his t-shirt, thick and swollen and aching. “No underwear? Frankie,” you tease, and he chuckles hoarsely as you cast his shorts aside.

“Laundry day,” he wheezes, and you click your tongue before scooting forward until your chest presses against the cushions, framed by his legs.

He’s beautiful like this, destroyed but in the good way—dragged out of his head for a while by your dutiful hands, your thumbs digging into the meat of his thighs. His cock leaking and twitching every time the warmth of your breath fans over his soft skin.

With one hand, you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, and the whimper that leaves Frankie’s lips in reply might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wet your tongue along his length, tasting the earth of him before wrapping your lips around his tip, trading off between suckling and licking.

The hand in your hair locks up suddenly, not moving your head but clamping down hard. You moan softly and he twitches on your tongue. Grows harder, somehow, when a moment ago you’d have thought it impossible.

“Ay,” he croaks. “Fuck—your fucking mouth, baby.”

Perhaps this is what emboldens you, makes you sloppy—just as needy as him. Drool slicking to his length as you bob, drinking in his every moan and babble. Your fist pumping what you can’t take, jaw aching around his girth. Frankie might come apart at the molecules, you think. Evanesce cell by cell, held in the heat of your mouth as you swallow around his length, forcing the head of his cock to the back of your throat.

When you gag, eyes watering, heart a hummingbird in your chest, he makes a desperate whine and his hand tenses on your shoulder.

You’d stay here the rest of the night, if he’d let you, but he doesn’t.

Frankie thighs twitch, breaths coming faster now, shorter. Close.

“Necesito sentirte,” he says as he squeezes your shoulder again. “Please—shit, gonna come if you don’t stop—fuck, nena, please let me feel you. Wanna feel you so fucking bad. Wanted you—fuckfuck—wanted you the day you moved in.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you see his hat has tumbled off, leaving the crown of his head a mess of flattened down curls broken up by the occasional stray, and something about how he looks in this moment, fuckedout and gone and desperate, makes you want to stay right where you are.

Still, you hollow your cheeks as you ease off him with a wet pop, one hand pumping his thick cock while the other rubs his muscled thigh. You shake your head, bottom lip bitten. “Next time,” you promise, with a smirk rich on your lips. Then you’re on him again, throat open and accepting as he teeters on the edge of falling apart.

“Mmmph, shit—nena, so good, oh my god,” Frankie gasps, hands back in your hair to hold it out of your way. “Gonna make me—fuck, where do I—where do you—”

He doesn’t get the rest out; the moment you slip your hand beneath his balls and sink your lips to the base of his heavy length, taking him to the hilt, Frankie comes with a sudden cry. Warmth pumps down your aching throat as he pants, fingers tangled in your hair, and you swallow it all hungrily while you moan.

He whimpers when you lift off his spent cock to look up at him with a satisfied grin. If you thought he looked ruined before, you were wrong. This is what he looks like when you’ve wrecked him.

“Come here,” he croaks, then with a grunt Frankie yanks you off the floor and onto his lap to envelope you in his arms. You settle on his thighs, try not to swoon at his strength, and when he kisses you it isn’t at all what you’re expecting—there’s no roar, no taking, not a drop of desperation left in him at all. No, Frankie kisses you wholly, gently, all lithe tongue and sweetness and gratitude, and the longer it goes on the more you both smile, struggling to kiss around laughter and teeth.

When he pulls back, his pupils are still blown but warm too, so warm. His face and beard gilded with late afternoon light. He strokes a thumb across your cheek, then bumps his nose against yours, and you sink against his chest to chase his mouth. Before you can, Frankie's arms lock around your waist; he throws you down onto the couch, pinning you beneath him with a smug little smile.

“This time I get to taste you, hermosa,” he promises, then seals it with a kiss.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

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#triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #francisco catfish morales fanfic #PPCUBodyWorshipChallenge #myfics #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #almostfoxglove #fic: sitbackbaby #smut #fluff #guys i got this down to 4k do i get a gold star???

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daycourtofficial · 6 days ago

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Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 14.7k | warnings: depictions of violence, gore, blood, bodily harm

Summary: your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Author’s note: happy Gingerfucker Week to all who celebrate!! My first post has to be the most anticipated gingerfucker fic ever - otherwise I’m sure yall would kill me lmao

“Eris, we’ll be fine. Feyre wouldn’t let anything happen to us. But if it would make you feel better, you may winnow us there.”

The babe in your arms slept softly, the smallest crop of red hair peeking out from his swaddled head. Atlas was so tiny, yet had grown so much in his one month of living. The last babe you remember spending prolonged time with was your younger sister, and even though a baby’s basic needs were the same, caring for a wingless babe felt different, almost unnatural.

Being a young female in Illyria meant spending many hours and nights helping the other females with their young. Atlas was likely the first babe without wings you had ever seen. It still surprised you to rub your hand across his empty back or that you didn’t have to stretch his wings multiple times a day.

Only a quick winnow trip separated you from your nephew, leading your impatience to grow with each moment Eris spent rifling through trunks. You were dying to see the toddler, having missed several months of his life due to your brother’s refusal to see you. Things were still rough between the two of you (not from your lack of trying), but they seemed to be improving. It felt right to spend a few days there - to let your family see Atlas, hold him, spend some time with the three of you. It might be foolish, but a tiny babe is enough to have at least some of the pressure off of your mate.

Your words did little to slow him as he flitted about the room, a cloud of anxiety following him as he searched for something you weren’t entirely sure existed. He moved about the room, opening trunks and moving their contents around before closing the lid in a huff. If you weren’t getting annoyed at the delay, you would be amused by his antics.

“Er, if it’ll really make you this upset, I can wait until tomorrow when you’re able to stay with us.” The possibility that Eris was purposely stalling wasn’t lost on you. He was less than thrilled about this visit, however he was unlikely to ever stop his mate from getting what she wanted.

“No, no, you were adamant about arriving tonight so you could see Nesta on her birthday and- aha!”

From one of the seemingly thousands of chests around your room, all full of gifts from every High Lord, advisor, and courtier the two of you had ever come into contact it seemed, Eris procured a tiny yellow blanket, one end of it full of stuffing to give the illusion of the head of a duck. He raised it quite proudly as if it were a trophy, gallivanting over to the two of you as if he were a prized mare.

“What is that?”

“It’s Atlas’ favorite blanket.”

You squinted your eyes at him, clutching the babe tighter to your chest. The blanket looked brand new, unmarred by the constant stream of dribble Atlas left everywhere he went. Eris ignored you in favor of situating the blanket into the crook of your elbow, situated next to his son. “He’s three months old, he doesn’t have a favorite blanket.”

“Surely pregnancy has not completely rotted your brain. This is his favorite blanket.” He ignored the glare you sent his way, furthering your annoyance. You gripped Atlas tight in one arm, using your free hand to smack Eris’s bicep. An incredulous look overcame his pale face as he turned back to you. “You’ll wake the babe - set him down before trying to get physical with me.”

“I’ll get real nice and physical when I throttle you.” Your threat was not received as you had intended. Instead of coiling in fear and cowardice, your mate moved about, putting everything back into all of the various chests. “Then you’d be late for dinner and breaking Madja’s rules, and I never took you for a tardy rulebreaker.”

“I can throttle you without breaking Madja’s rules.”

“My love do not pretend if you were to kill me you wouldn’t be riding my cock as you did it.” You gasped, moving to press Atlas further into your chest and covering his other ear with your hand. You hissed his name, sending a barbed spike down the bond in frustration. Eris’s hands met his hips, amusement quickly turning into exasperation. “He’s asleep.”

“He can hear you!”

“He is in a deep sleep from spending nearly an hour on your tit. He’s going to be out for the next hour or two.” Eris felt your frustration through the bond, placing his hands on your shoulders, causing you to look up at him. “Come now, I’ll escort you both to Night, see that you are safely in Feyre and Rhysand’s care, then I’ll come back here until tomorrow.”

Eris moved past you, grabbing the bags you had packed before putting them across his shoulders. He reached an arm out, taking Atlas from your hands and securing him to his chest. You reached out, already missing the warmth of your babe, a hand pressed to his back to feel his slow breathing. Eris moved his free hand up to your face, fingers soft caressed your cheek.

The world changed around the three of you, Atlas shifting slightly beneath your hand as the orange curtains you recently had hung up on the brown paneled walls were exchanged for the light blues of the foyer of the River House. Atlas didn’t stir, but the sudden change in the world made you slightly dizzy. It had been months since you had last winnowed, a fact more pronounced by the stagger in your stance.

Eris had been writing to Rhysand, requesting special permission for him to winnow directly into their home. In true Rhysand fashion, he turned it into a much bigger spectacle than it was by placing special limitations on it, telling him he’d change the wards when everyone departed at the end of the week. His letter contained an additional note at the end, stating, “I will, however, allow Atlas in through the wards permanently in case he were to be a savant and learn to winnow and his first action be to leave you.” You had sent Rhys a responding scathing letter using words Eris was not entirely certain were real.

Feyre and Rhysand were waiting in the foyer, Feyre quickly standing off of Rhys’s lap to embrace you. Feyre always treated you differently than the others did, perhaps because she knew how awful it could feel to be as no more than an extension of Rhysand. Or perhaps because she knew what it was like to go to the ends of the earth for your mate.

You melted in her embrace, her lilac and pear scent a bit flowery but welcome. Her hug was gentle, careful not to squeeze too hard, something the High Lady had to work at perfecting after being turned high fae. It had taken years for her to master her grip strength. That time was not missed, however, the crushed door handles were always a source of amusement.

“Eris,” Feyre smiled, reaching her hands out after untangling herself, shifting to look at the High Lord, “hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.”

You giggled, pushing Eris toward her outstretched arms. She cooed at the bundle as it was put into her arms, her fingers moving the blanket so she could see his face. She made little faces, the Cursebreaker nowhere in sight as the babe reached out for her, gently grabbing her loose hair.

“He looks just like you, Eris.”

“How unfortunate.” Rhys ignored the pointed look he received from Feyre, picking lint from his jacket as he strolled forward. You stayed silent as he wrapped his arms around your body, and you couldn’t help but melt a little in his embrace. He was an asshole, gods was he an asshole, but he was still your brother and you loved him so dearly. You could feel the tension slough off of Rhys’s shoulders in your embrace, hoping this weekend could be a step forward for all of you.

Eris leaned down, kissing Atlas on the forehead before softly rubbing his head. He gurgled in response, causing Feyre to chuckle.

“I just want to eat his little cheeks! Nyx doesn’t have his chubby cheeks anymore, it’s a real shame.” Her hand gently smoothed over Atlas’s cheeks as she spoke, her heart breaking over realizing just how much her little boy had grown.

“He’s not on the menu tonight, Feyre.”

“I know, but I just want to eat him! He’s truly adorable.” Feyre continued making faces, certain she could get a tiny giggle from them. She puffed her cheeks and moved her lips a bit, deflating at the indifference Atlas showed her.

“I trust that your wards are secure enough for the two of them.” Eris cut into the discussion, having noticed the sun moving through the windows. Stacks of papers sat on his desk waiting for his eyes to peruse them in preparation for the next day’s council.

Rhys rolled his eyes, nearly scoffing at the male’s tone. “If they weren’t sufficient, would I allow my mate and son to live in them?”

“Rhysand, I am not in the business of trying to make sense of every decision you make.” Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre’s voice cut through the growing tension, extinguishing the sparks the two High Lords were sending each other. “That’s enough, thank you Eris for winnowing them here. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

His amber gaze was glued to the tiny bundle before dropping the bags he was holding. The Autumn High Lord did not want to leave his son. He was still so small and so vulnerable. He remembered all of his brothers at such a size and it never ceased to amaze him how much newborns truly depend upon their parents. He looked back up to his mate, one last confirmation needed. A slight nod was all it took before he cupped her jaw, swiftly kissing her forehead.

“I will see you all tomorrow, then.”

Feyre had left quickly after Eris’s departure, returning Atlas to your arms before checking on Nyx. Truthfully your sister in law looked exhausted, and you were sure she was taking any opportunity that Nyx slept to take a nap of her own. She had written to you just last week that Nyx was in a sleep regression and she and Rhys were not having a great time. You had offered to reschedule your visit, but Feyre insisted you come and outright demanded to see the babe. She had said Nyx had lost his baby smell ages ago and she was convinced smelling it on Atlas could get her through this sleep regression.

You sat in Rhys’s study, Atlas sleeping on your chest after having just fed and changed him. Before running off, Feyre had given you one of Nyx’s old onesies, the pale babe in your arms looked so out of place in the black fabric. It felt so strange to be back in Rhys’s study - it must have been at least two years since you had last been in this room. It looked exactly the same - the massive portrait of Feyre looming over the two of you. So much had changed the past few years, and yet nothing had. Rhys looked exactly the same sitting across from you. If you placed Atlas down, it would be as if you had never left.

“Watch out for Cassian.”

Rhys’s words confused you. You waited for further explanation, looking up to find Rhys’s gaze on Atlas. Deciding he likely won’t tell you, you asked, “why?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning from the shift in weight. “He followed Feyre around for months, asking to try some of her milk.” He laughed at your grimace but continued. “Someone told him the health benefits of breastmilk and he’s more than determined to get his grubby hands on some.”

“Eris will be thrilled to hear that.”

You could hear his retort clear as a bell in your mind. “A bastard so desperate for a mother’s love he’d suck random teets to get it.” You decided it was best kept to yourself.

You ignored Rhys’s scowl at the mention of your mate. “Do you think he’s trying to convince Nesta to have a babe so he can take the milk for himself?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. Nesta kicked him out of the house for a few days because he wouldn’t stop trying to make everything into a deal to impregnate her.” Rhys was smiling at the memory of a downtrodden Cassian slipping into the River House one night, Feyre passing him as he grumbled about her sister. You laughed softly at Cassian’s antics.

It felt strange to be back here - in the Night Court, in the River House. As if you hadn’t left, your family continued on. Their lives continued with or without you. Your heart felt a slight twinge at the realization. You would choose Eris again and again, but you did miss the everyday antics of your family.

“Have I told you that Eris’s hounds detest Lucien? He visited a week prior and two of them worked together, one in front and one in back, to table top him into some mud- what is that face for?” Rhysand tried to recover the earlier smile, his mouth slowly forming into a grimace. It was impossible not to notice - he looked as if he smelled something terrible.

“Nothing. Just remembering something I have to do.” A lie. Your blood was heating beneath your skin. It annoyed you to no end whenever Rhys lied to you, something you hadn’t been able to shake since childhood. It made you irrationally upset, hormones raging through you.

“No, it’s because I was talking to you about Autumn, wasn’t it? Can’t you at least pretend to care about my life?”

“I do care.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to give off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes remained sharp.

You stood slowly, ensuring your feet were steady as you rose with Atlas. “I won’t sit here and listen to you lie to me, Rhys. I thought we were past this, I thought things were different now.”

“They are different.” His curt responses caused your nostrils to flare, your jaw tightening with every word.

“Because I made them different?”

“Your words, not mine.” You groaned, feeling like a little girl before him. He looked like he were dealing with a petulant child, his gaze only adding more fuel to your anger.

“You are so..” you trailed off, not knowing where to start. Pigheaded, brainless, annoying, condescending.

Rhys’s mouth turned into a snarl. “Think any harder, why don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You cradled Atlas’s head closer to your chest, placing a hand over his ears. “You’re such a dick, Rhysand. You can’t stand that I have a life away from you and this court.”

“I tolerate it.”

Your jaw dropped as his words tried to take shape in your mind. “You tolerate it? What the fuck does that mean? I’m trying to open up to you about my life, Rhys. About my home. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Fix the things you broke? Why don’t you just go back to your new home, then, if Night is so inferior you have to cross courts for cock.”

You stilled, slowly turning towards your brother, head cocked. The tension had reached its boiling point but you weren’t shying away from it. “Is that all you think of me then? Someone who gave up her title, her name for love. That I did it all for a quick fuck?”

“Don’t act as if you gave it all up for him.”

“You forced me to!”

“I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He rose to his feet, his hands slapping on his desk accenting his words. The air went cold at his words, the insinuation lingering.

“That’s rich, Rhysand. You spout off about choices, but really it’s always ‘option A: what Rhys wants’ or ‘option B: perilous death and despair’.”

“Maybe it’s because if I don’t guide you, you make stupid decisions.” His eyes flickered to Atlas, and your blood boiled beneath your skin. You took a step forward, jaw clenched as you snapped at him.

“Are you insinuating that Atlas was a stupid decision?”

“I’d never insinuate what I can convey with words.”

Tears stung in your eyes, one landing on the tiny head in your arms. The room was too stifling, too suffocating. You had to go anywhere but here.

“Well, if insinuations are out the window, listen to me loud and clear: fuck. you. Fuck you, Rhys. Sorry I don’t fall into line with the path you planned out for me. Sorry for making my own choices. Sorry that the Mother made plans for me and didn’t ask for your input. And I am terribly sorry for Feyre because you are an asshole!”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You winnowed into the void. If you heard Rhysand’s voice for one second longer, you’d say something horrible. Irredeemable. Anger simmered at his words, claws desperate to come out and stoop to his level. He never understood your choices, never tried. No matter how many times he had promised to listen, Rhys had never tried to fix the walls he had put up between the two of you.

The world shifted as you thought about your home in Autumn, the brilliant leaves of the forests, the warm spices of the kitchen, your mate’s touch. A blur of colors passed and your throat tightened as shame washed over you. Eris was right - you shouldn’t have come. You needed more time. Rhys needed more time. You clutched Atlas tighter, taking comfort that you had him, at least.

Mind hazy, you moved through the courts, the world flashing with sunshine, the rush of an ocean, and the patter of rain until your magic unraveled, and the two of you fell from the air onto your back into a wooded area. At the impact, Atlas sniffed and then whined as he rubbed his face against your shoulder.

You took in your surroundings, opening your eyes to the bright afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Your eyes darted the area, looking for any signs of life as you laid still. Atlas moved in your arms as you maneuvered the two of you, trying to sit up to lean against a tree for better sight. Once you were certain no one else was around, you pulled Atlas away from you, unwrapping him from his swaddle to assess him for any injuries. His wailing was piercing through the woods, a sure cry to any creatures that were here.

You shushed him as you checked him, content that his worst injury was being woken from a nap. His cries were lacerations on your heart, each tiny inhale causing so much distress. It nearly cracked you in half, deep breaths a half hearted attempt at self-soothing.

The land was unfamiliar, nothing about it gave you any information about where you could be. The two of you were surrounded by trees, none any species which were familiar. The green leaves blocked out most of the sun, occasional streaks of light passing through. This didn’t feel like any of the solar courts - did you winnow past the mountain? If you had, you would have landed in Winter, or if you veered off course in Summer. Maybe you overshot and ended up in Spring?

The two of you moved about the area, your feet crunching on dry leaves as you went. You hadn’t made it very far before stumbling over a large root, some how hidden beneath your skirts. You barely caught yourself, the jerking motion causing another round of screams to come from Atlas. His little face was so red from crying. You looked back to the spot you had landed, hoping to sit back against that tree once more, but the land behind you wasn’t what it had been. In its place was a swampy scape, several inches of water that would have made your trek impossible. You clutched Atlas tighter to your chest, tucking his head beneath your neck.

You swiveled your head around, breathing labored as you realized you were somewhere you haven’t been in centuries. Where the land was nonsensical and ever changing, where horror stories began and ended. The land above the mountain where atrocities occurred in the caverns and tunnels beneath it.

The two of you were somewhere in The Middle. A land no court wanted for themselves, the tireless mazes too much for any fae to justify living in.

A land no one wanted to be lost in.

Pumpkin wandered into Eris’ room, the small pup clearly lost without Atlas to follow around. Eris ignored the whimpering from the hound, the beast having grown incredibly close to his son in a short span of time. It was sweet the way the hound trailed behind him when he was carrying Atlas, shushing and singing him to sleep. Eris was especially happy to see Pumpkin and Clover standing on high alert whenever Atlas was being fed. It soothed some part of him to know even in moments he had to step away from, his family was well guarded, even if just from his brothers.

Eris reviewed his notes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin at the distance between him and his family. He’d never deny you anything, but if you had had any doubts about spending a night without him, he wouldn’t complain about your presence in Autumn for one more night.

Pumpkin whined once more, Eris’s pen dropping at the sound. His chest felt hot with anger, something he’s unsurprised by. Any visit with Rhys often left the two of you fighting, your anger flaring through his veins as you fought. Your own feelings were compounding his own, utter annoyance at the meeting that kept him away from his mate.

Eris felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly pulling him from his seat. Everything inside of him was pinging, his chest felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. What was happening over there? He waited a moment, trying to parse out each emotion. The anger in his chest subsided, every instinct inside of him urging him to go. He abandoned his notes, watching the brown hues of his study swirl and churn into black and blues.

Feyre looked about the office, confusion crossing her blue gray eyes as she didn’t find who she was looking for. “Rhys, where’s your sister?” Feyre’s voice echoed across the room as Rhysand took another sip from his glass of whiskey, slumped in his chair.

“Autumn.”

Feyre looked around, as if he were lying, covering up her hiding somewhere in the room to surprise her. “What do you mean she’s in Autumn? She was supposed to stay here for a week so we could spend time with her and Atlas.” Rhys shrugged, his eyes unable to meet Feyre’s, “she left.”

Feyre’s eyes were skeptical, certain that her mate was leaving pieces out. Things had been tense, but surely it didn’t take her mate three hours to scare off his sister?

“Did Eris take her back? Change his mind about his mate being here?”

Rhys gritted his teeth at his brother in law’s name, sinking into his chair slightly, “no.”

Feyre ticked her jaw, determination flooding her to understand her mate’s standoffishness. “Was she upset by our accommodations?”

“No.”

“Did Cassian annoy her into leaving?”

“No.” It came out as a growl, causing Feyre’s eyebrows to raise. “Just cut to the chase, Feyre. Ask what you really want to know.”

“What did you do?”

He sucked in a breath, as if the question were shocking. “Words were exchanged.”

That was all Rhys was able to get out before the doors to the room burst open, the wood hitting the walls as all of the heat was sucked out of the room, everything going cold as the High Lord of the Autumn Court stormed in, his rage palpable. Cassian trailed behind him, trying and failing to hold him back, unable to stop his path.

The redhead looked around the room before he stalked over to Rhys, grabbing the collar of his tunic before his hand connected directly with his eye, spitting out, “where is my mate?”

Rhys wrapped his hands around Eris’ wrists, trying to get him to stop. Cassian’s hands wrapped around Eris’ biceps before quickly pulling them away, his hands smoldering.

“Stay back, pigeon, if I find out you had a hand in this I’ll burn more than just your hands.”

Eris was a blazing storm inside of the house - his flames were erupting over the surface, turning the room red with heat. Dark tendrils of shadow coated the flames, attempting to extinguish them. The flames burned a bright blue in response, whirling around the tendrils, burning them up.

“Did my sister come to her senses and leave you? Ran off with one of your more capable brothers?” Rhysand’s smirk dropped as Eris hauled him from the chair, pressing his back to the wall. Eris’ long fingers dug into the lapel of Rhys’ dark coat, the fabric singing as the redhead pressed him into the wall.

“Watch your tongue, Rhysand. It would be a remarkable mount on my wall.”

The two males snarled at each other, Rhys moving his leg out to get Eris off balance. He faltered just enough for Rhys to get momentum, swinging his fist into Eris’s face.

Feyre and Cassian were scrambling as the two continued their brawl, both High Lords successfully bruising the other.

“Where is she, Rhys? Have you locked her away in a tower, thinking I wouldn’t notice?”

Rhys pushed Eris off of him, hands moving to straighten his jacket to find his lapels singed off.

“Perhaps you need to hone your abilities at hide and seek before Atlas is older.” Rhysand’s nonchalance caused Eris’s anger to burn brighter, certain the day was going to end with the Night Court in ashes.

“Why can’t I find my fucking mate but I can feel her desperation and fear in my chest?” Eris’s words clanged through the room, everyone stopping to take in his words. Feyre moved closer to him, her voice soft. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“I mean,” he snarled in Rhys’s direction, “something's very wrong. She has never felt like this in my chest before. Not even during labor. She’s panicking, I have never- never felt this from her before.”

Feyre turned to Rhys, her eyes wild with concern. Eris was quick to interject, his voice echoing through the room. “No, don’t do this. Don’t be communicating where I can’t hear it. This is about my mate, I deserve to hear it.”

“You don’t deserve-” Feyre’s arm on Rhys’s bicep stops him. “Rhys, where is she? Where’s Atlas?”

The High Lord of the Night Court’s chest was heaving with each breath, certain a rib or two was broken. “They went back to Autumn.”

“They haven’t arrived in Autumn.”

Rhys went pale, concern taking over his features. “They must be. They winnowed away ages ago - did she go straight to bed?”

The words fueled his rage once more, his voice on the edge of despair. “She is nowhere in Autumn.”

Trudging through the forest, you weren’t certain which way you were headed. You tried to feel for that bond with Eris in your chest, trying to pull it taut to receive some direction but whatever cord it created merely tugged you in over a dozen directions, the strength of each pull ebbing and flowing with your breath. You felt Eris’ concern grow as you stood, looking in all directions.

The trees were too tall for you to see the sun - it would give you some indication of which direction to head. Autumn laid in the southeast of The Middle, but navigating through its woods would still be impossible even with the sun’s guidance.

You cursed your hothead, annoyed you couldn’t just run out of Rhys’s study and go hide in your room until Eris came back. Surely you could have tried to mend things with Rhys, not just going on the defensive?

You spun in a circle, nearly tripping over more roots before deciding to just pick a direction and go. Atlas remained calm in your arms, what little power you have going to soothe him. Your breaths were slow and deliberate, trying to keep yourself calm. It was working enough to soothe Atlas and to keep a level head, and that was all that mattered.

You would need a source of water soon. It felt like you were moving on a downward slope, keeping your eyes peeled for any creeks or streams nearby. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck, sticking to the hair that covered it. It was oppressively muggy, the air feeling heavy with humidity.

Time was hard to track in the Middle, every moment stretching endlessly as you continued to walk a path that seemed to never change. Each tree looked the same as the last, no distinguishing characteristics to help you track any sort of progress.

Perhaps you were stuck in an endless loop, circling the same bit of land over and over until you collapsed from exhaustion.

“Running from something?”

A high pitched voice caused you to stop mid stride. A sinister tilt to the question that caused you to secure Atlas to your chest before your feet went flying without turning to look at the source.

Eris paced across their floor, a thin layer of fire coating his skin and clothes, a small trail of flames followed his path on the floor.

“I would prefer if you didn’t leave scorch marks on my floor.” Rhysand’s voice was buzzing in Eris’s ears, much like the annoying pests of Summer.

“And I would prefer my mate to have a better family, preferably one who doesn’t allow her to leave unattended so soon after giving birth.”

Eris was itching to unleash his anger, desperate for some fight to break out to let out a fraction of the rage that had nestled in his gut.

“My sister’s been strong-willed since she was born, anything she gets her mind on she does.” Rhys strode closer to Eris, looking down at the new High Lord. It hadn’t even been two full years since the magic had chosen him. The newfound power that thrummed within him was an adjustment, but he had quickly taken the reins of it. Now he felt like nothing more than a vessel for the well of magic inside him, set to erupt any moment.

“And yet, she’s not foolish enough to believe she could winnow across Prythian unless she felt she had no other option.”

“What are you insinuating, Eris?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Rhysand. I’m speaking directly. I apologize if my language is too complex for your pigeon brain to understand.” Something in Eris snapped before he pushed Rhysand up against the wall, his head thumping against the wall as flames licked around Rhys’s skin, not burning, but restricting. “My mate felt so unsafe she took our babe and her chances of going anywhere but here.”

Every other word was enunciated with Eris shoving him into the wall, “and now you better pray to the Mother we find them both unharmed or your mate will rule this court alone.”

Rhys snarled at the threat, a rebuttal dying on his tongue as someone pulled Eris off of him, shoving him into a chair. Eris’ snarl died as he met the eyes of the eldest Archeron, the only person in this court he truly tolerated.

“Killing Rhysand can wait. Unfortunately, he may be helpful in finding her.” Nesta’s voice was a pleasant surprise for Rhys, probably for the first and last time. He took in a deep breath, the flames gone from his neck, before he straightened his jacket, moving toward the maps Azriel and Cassian had been looking over. The two Illyrians had been having a discussion of their own while Eris and Rhys fought, both too caught up in plotting to pay mind to the High Lords. Cassian’s thick fingers trailed a path from Velaris to where they knew the Forest House was located.

“Eris would know the second she stepped foot in Autumn, Rhys would know if she were in Night.”

Azriel stood rigid, his wings tucked in tight behind him. A formidable strategist determining the right course of action. “She could be anywhere in Day, Dawn, or Winter.”

“Or in The Middle.” Just the name gave Nesta chills, the phantom feel of the Kelpie around her. She swallowed harshly, the action feeling more restricting than it should.

“Lucien’s in Day, I could fill him and Helion in there while Azriel goes to talk to Thesan. Mor can go to Winter. Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, and Eris can look around the Middle. Elain, you stay here, take care of Nyx. If she comes back, let the twins know and they’ll contact us.” Feyre looked around, wanting to see how everyone felt about the plan. Everyone was on edge, this relief team more likely to implode on itself than succeed.

This was a tragedy and everyone had a finger they wanted to use to pinpoint the source.

Trees were a blur, hitting the ground in swift footfalls, every breath not big enough. There was no cleared path to take, the brush and bramble catching on ankles. Blood dropped from the nicks and cuts of thorns, but the urgency to run never stopped.

Atlas continued crying, soft wails coming from him as you pulled him closer to your chest, trying to quiet his pain.

There was no way to know where you were going, paths changing as you moved down them, but you continued forward, deciding it was your best option. You knew whoever found you was still following you, their breathing so loud it felt like they were right behind you.

Sudden sharp, shooting pain caused you to fall, your ankle caught on something as you fell forward. Quick thinking had you turn on your side, taking the brunt of the fall, except some thorny vines sliced through the swaddle, cutting Atlas’s arm.

Brows cinched together, the pain from your foot almost unbearable. Eyes were pinched closed, not wanting to see what had caught your foot. Whatever it was was still there - and was crushing your leg too. It took everything not to wail out in pain, matching Atlas’s cries. You breathed in through your nose, lifting up your skirt enough to see the metal bear trap that had clamped shut around your left leg, blood rushing out in spurts.

The sight caused bile to catch in your throat, quickly moving your head to the side to expel it.

Trying to sit up and assess the situation was no longer an option when the hunter appeared, her strong hands wrapping around the trap and tugging your body toward her. A scream ripped from your throat as blood gushed out of the wound, hot pain causing your vision to darken with each tug of the chain. Atlas was wailing, the protective arms of his mother insecure for the first time. His grip loosened on the duck blanket he carried, the yellow fabric turning brown with mud.

The Inner Circle and Eris were divided into teams, each taking on their own travels. Once everything was agreed upon, Eris was the first to winnow away, grabbing Nesta by the arm to take with him. She struggled in his grip as the world blurred around them, the smell of the unforgiving forest burning Nesta’s nose. Eris held tight against her as the familiar smell of burnt umber filled his nose, the two reappearing in his study.

Nesta searched the room, never having set foot in the Autumn Court, much less the Forest House Eris resided in. She looked at the papers scattered across Eris’s desk, eyes quickly scanning for anything of interest. A quick, high whistle startled her, bristling in his grip before a large hound came barreling through the door. A second, longer whistle came before the beautiful, sleek hound stopped before Eris.

He wrapped his hand around the hound’s collar before winnowing the three of them once more. Nesta’s head spun as the ground slipped from beneath her feet once more, the back to back winnowing causing her to stagger once they landed in a forested outcrop.

Eris quickly let go of her, his ears and nose twitching for anything he could pick out. Satisfied the area was secure enough, he gave the command to Clover, telling her to fan out. He was certain she knew Atlas and his mate by name, but nonetheless he provided a discarded shirt to her. She took large inhales, memorizing the scent before she ran off, her nose to the ground. She weaved between trees, dodging above ground roots with practiced ease.

Eris didn’t wait before taking off in a brisk pace after Clover, boots stomping through the muddied ground, his boot prints replacing paw prints in the soil. Nesta tried to keep up, her form trailing behind Eris as they moved through the landscape.

The Middle was unlike anywhere else in Prythian. It was what Nesta expected faelands to be when she was a mortal girl. Roots snarled over barely forged paths, an attempt to trip up any travelers. The landscape was hazy, almost dreamlike. There was an idea of what you were looking at, but the longer you looked, the more confusing it became. Hairs stood on end, a perpetual feeling of being watched followed travelers as they moved across paths.

Paths were nonsensical - rivers flowed up the mountain, ending wherever they wished rather than venturing out to the sea. Nesta’s limited experience here before was enough to know she did not care for the creatures that lurked here.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp, looking in every direction, desperate to pinpoint and remove the feeling of being watched. Eris trudged ahead, uncaring of Nesta’s plight behind him. He made no attempt at stealth - whatever they would find out here, Eris wanted the beast to know he was on the move. A bark up ahead quickened Eris’s pace, a catch in his throat at what his furry companion may have found.

The barking continued until Eris reached a break in the trees, finding Clover sat on her haunches. Tears sprang at his eyes at Clover’s discovery, crouching down to investigate further. He knew what it was, even covered in dirt and mud. He had handled the thing just hours prior.

Nesta caught up to the pair, pressing her hand to a tree, trying to catch her breath. Eris was hunched over something while Clover whined softly next to him, sitting perfectly still. His arm reached out, pulling something from the mud. He motioned Nesta over, pulling her water skein from her before pouring some out onto the muddied thing. The clear water ran brown, the dirt clinging to the object before running off it. Eris’s fingers rubbed at the spherical shape to reveal yellow fabric. He poured more water, draining the entire skein, to find a tiny yellow blanket with the face of a duck sewn onto it.

Darkness swam at the edge of your vision, everything feeling so bright as you were dragged through the dirt. Your fingers pressed hard into Atlas’s blanket, a firm grip desperate to keep him as close as possible. His cries were causing pain to swell in your breasts, your body not knowing the difference between his hunger and his concern.

Your body ached, the pain ricocheting through every crevice. You grit your teeth, not wanting to give the female any satisfaction.

There were rumors of fae who roamed The Middle. They were an interesting subspecies of fae - their movements were said to be jerky and strange, their bodies having adapted to the constant change of their homelands.

There was no known record of how many there were or anything about them. They were urban legend during Amarantha’s reign, thought to lurk the woods to drag anyone who fled her captivity back to the Evil Queen herself.

Rumor turned into a nightmare as she grabbed you by the bear trap, your cry of pain echoing through the trees, certain the blades were going to cut through the bone. A gutteral scream left you as she pulled you up by the ankle, shoving you into what seemed to be the back of the wagon. Somehow you still managed a tight grip on Atlas, his wails blocking out all sound. The wretched creature pushed the two of you up, your ankle catching on something too dark to see as she pushed you further in. It smelled awful, the stench of urine and vomit coating your nostrils.

Her rough, barklike hand let go, the pain subsiding enough to look around. You felt woozy from the blood loss, certain you were going mad when you heard barking somewhere in the distance. There wasn’t much in the back of the wagon - a wooden floor covered in various dark, unidentifiable stains.

Your thoughts whirled with self-deprecation, this whole situation being preventable if you had just stopped and waited.

Patience was a virtue you certainly had not acquired.

It was getting harder to stay awake, the pain overbearing. Sweat made your clothes cling to you, nearly chafing from the dryness. The last thing you thought of before drifting off was that the barking sounded like home. It sounded like warm pumpkin bread and cold nights spent by the fire.

The wet blanket squished between his fingers, water evaporating off the surface as he boiled with anger. The air around him seemed to silence, waiting to know what the High Lord would do next.

“Clover, find.” His command was razor sharp, the smokehound racing off, her muzzle to the ground. Eris ended many of his days with Clover, the hound loose, the need to hunt satiated as she found whatever it was she had been looking for. The thrill of not knowing what the two would find.

It was the worst hunt of his life. The uncertainty of how it would end. Most hunts saw him thirst for blood, content at culling the populations of the prey animals around Autumn.

This hunt was nothing like that.

He waited for his trusted companion to return, not wanting his own scent to interfere. Clover was the most clever dog he had bred, but he wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Nesta!” The voice shouting for the Valkyrie wasn’t too far away, his deep, loud voice not causing Eris to look away from where Clover had descended to.

Nesta wasn’t surprised Cassian had found the pair - her mate had spent the entirety of her time in the Middle tugging and pulling at the cord connecting them. She could feel his concern through it, the concern deepening each time a sound spooked her. But Nesta kept him at an arm’s length. She knew that cold rage that still lingered inside her at Feyre’s near death.

She knew exactly how Eris felt both now and about Rhysand in general. They both were members of the ‘resignedly having Rhysand as a brother in law’ club.

Nesta responded by pulling the bond, tugging Cassian in their direction. She could hear branches breaking and curses shouted before the two Illyrians made their way through the trees. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, the dried mud nearly up to their necks. Nesta couldn’t help the small smirk that formed at seeing Rhysand’s appearance so unpolished.

“Nes-” she quickly cut Cassian off, holding a finger up to him before turning back to Eris. He stood still, lingering on the path his hound had taken away from them. Rhysand observed him too, and Nesta was certain some barb laid on his tongue. Before he could, she brought the two up to speed about the blanket in a hushed tone. As she was finishing, a high pitched bark echoed through the wood. Eris took off in a sprint, the three quickly chasing off after him. They ran several miles, barely keeping up with Eris’s pursuit.

Eris met Clover’s barking, the hound circling a wagon, keeping the owner from getting into the front. The hair on the hound’s spine was raised, her teeth bared as she snarled and snapped at the fae. The horses attached to the wagon were startled by the hound, causing their own commotion. The pauses after their whinnying should have been silent, the space between brays a reprieve. Instead it was filled with the sound of a wailing baby.

Clover’s teeth clacked at the stocky female, sinking into the fabric of her pants and letting go before she was swatted. The hound had repeated this over and over again, not having received a command to go in for the kill. This hadn’t kept the hound from drawing blood as she nipped, her own territorial act over his master’s family. Blood was dripping from the female’s leg, thick, green liquid falling in puddles on the ground.

The other three fae weren’t far behind Eris, quickly approaching the scene not a moment after him. Cassian moved toward the wagon while the others approached the female Clover was on the verge of mauling.

Rhysand flicked his wrist, the reins restraining the horses disappearing, the pair running off. Their hoofbeats got quieter as the fae were surrounded on all sides. She looked between the four sets of eyes, certain the dog was her best bet. The most unlikely of allies banded together as a pack offering no escape.

Cassian climbed into the wagon, his weight shaking the cart. The bounty hunter flicked her forked tongue out, her hand reaching for something on her belt. A shadow lashed out, wrapping around her forearm, causing her to let go of her belt. She shrieked in pain as the shadow twisted her arm behind her back.

The clearing was dark, the only sound came from the bounty hunter’s mouth, cries of pain swallowed them as arm cracked and bent in every direction. The wind caught beneath the bounty hunter’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

“Cassian?” It was perhaps the only time Eris had referred to the general by name. His tone was stern, a voice he had used for centuries as a general himself. But something desperate creeped at the edge of his voice, a reality he didn’t want to consider.

The one where he was too late. That this was the wrong wagon. That his mate was somewhere else and this was a waste of time.

Cassian’s silence forced Eris to move, his feet jumping off the ground without him telling them to. He lunged forward, catching the fae offguard as he landed on her.

Eris laid on top of the bounty hunter, her long sharp nails scratching at him. One of her arms was still behind her, but she was determined. He didn’t register the fabric she ripped through, uncaring at the scratches on his arms.

“Cassian, are they alive?” His question was accented with the sharp thud her head made as it hit the ground. She was snarling up at him, her lifeless eyes dark as she peered up at the High Lord.

“Have enough coin for the pair?”

Eris’ fangs grew longer, the High Lord’s second form desperate to come out. His fingers quickly changed to talons, the nails biting through the fae’s skin, causing her to cry out. She began thrashing once more, Eris’ weight pinning her down. He was snarling, practically spitting as he couldn’t contain the rage boiling inside of him. He heard shuffling behind him, Nesta or Rhysand moving to help Cassian.

“They’re breathing!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it, the sounds blurring together. It sounded like Cassian, but all his mind could make out was they were alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was enough to tide him over for now.

“Take them to the Forest House, my healers are on standby.” He didn’t know if they responded, if they even looked his way, if they tried to argue. That thrumming need inside of him to protect his mate felt satiated enough knowing Nesta or Cassian was with her, that they were en route to Autumn. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold the loves of his life as they went back home. He was desperate to know how they were, to listen to the beating of their hearts.

His gaze narrowed back on the creature beneath him, her brown skin turning red beneath him. His heart was miles away, but it would eat him alive to see a fae with such audacity not receive their comeuppance.

“And what was the price on her head? How much was she worth to you?” His tone was ice, his question not a rhetorical one. He wanted to know how much this lowlife wanted for the two most precious things in his life. His wonderful mate, his equal in every way. Atlas, his darling boy. To consider them nothing more than traded goods made his stomach churn.

The bounty hunter couldn’t answer, her throat drying and desperate for water with every breath. The air was unbearable hot, but she managed to whisper out, “five thousand gold marks.” Once the words escaped her lips, the hard metal of coins pelted her face. She winced from the pain. Eris ignored the resounding crack in the air, metal meeting bone.

“Here, take it all.”

He poured more coins onto her, winnowing them from somewhere. He could barely think straight, every fiber of his being thrumming with revenge and anger.

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

But really, what is the life of a trafficker?

Every breath was difficult, her lungs ached with heat. Fire caught around the pair, the flames staying low to the ground. Eris still sat atop her, unmoved by the flames circling their bodies, slowly making their way closer to the tree like fae.

“Take them back.” Eris’s command was directed to the group behind him, if they were still even there. He had no idea - his world had become so small. It was just him and this fae now. “Take them back to Autumn. Now.”

Her tongue dissolved to ash in her mouth, unable to speak. The High Lord grabbed more coins, shoving them into her mouth. The gold coins began losing form in her mouth, a river of melted gold pouring down her throat. It burned as it moved through her body, all of her organs alight with heat and fire.

Eris watched as her eyes dried out, as she tried to scream but was unable to. He watched as she thrashed beneath him, begging for mercy as if he were a kind and just god. Eris didn’t believe in the old gods, but if he did, he knew they would approve. He watched for several moments before her body slowly began turning to ash, carried away in the wind.

He didn’t linger long after the remnants of her floated away, not even looking back before winnowing back to Autumn, rematerializing to find the Forest House in chaos. Servants moved quickly through the halls, hurried footsteps as they carried linens and rags toward the team of healers he could hear yelling down the hallway.

“Call off your guards.” The first words to greet him were from his brother in law. It was a voice he could never get used to, the smoothness grating.

Eris’s mate and Rhysand looked strikingly similar - same violet eyes, same feline-like face. But Rhysand didn’t look right in the Forest House. He didn’t carry with him the warmth that made his mate look so at home here, as if the entire court had been made in preparation for her.

Rhysand seemed so out of place in his sister’s home. The once close siblings’ stark differences could not be ignored.

Eris waved his hand noncommittally, the guards lowering their swords from Cassian’s and Rhysand’s necks.

“They let me bring her in before threatening me, at least.” Cassian’s joke doesn’t land, the silence bouncing through the hall before Eris moved forward, his path straight to his bedchambers. It was a guess - the correct one - as to where they’d put you to look over you. He stormed into the room, a fierce blaze on the wind as he moved inside. You had been placed on the bed, the healers circling you tending to every inch of you.

The bond shook with anger, that golden string practically vibrating with urgency at the mangled mess that had been your ankle.

Nesta was standing off to the side, holding Atlas as he cried.

“I didn’t want to leave her alone. I haven’t taken my eyes off her this whole time.”

It felt like the cord around his heart had divided into two - one path to the bed, his bloodied mate, the other to Nesta and the tiny bundle that laid in her arms.

He knew which you’d prefer for him to go to. You had an army of healers around you as you laid unconscious, but all Atlas had was Nesta.

“Give him to me.” The tone of the High Lord. Nesta slipped the small babe into Eris’s arms, “they looked him over. He has a scratch on his arm, but otherwise fine.”

The worst feeling his son had experienced up until now had been the harshness of birth. The sensory overload of the world - how loud and bright it was after being evicted from his dark and cozy home. He had not known physical pain, had never been exposed to it. Every fae held him with such tenderness, it was impossible for Eris to rectify that his son, barely a month old, knew the atrocities of fae.

“Someone will check my son every half hour, ensuring he is in good health.” None of the healers answered, but Eris had known them long enough to know they heard him. He took a breath, holding the bundle tight to his chest. Atlas’s cries slowed, softening as he felt the familiar comforts of home.

Amidst all the chaos of the room, it seemed almost like they were alone. Eris’s ears twitched, listening intently to his son’s breathing.

A commotion was heard through the door, but Eris ignored it, opting to let himself feel the comfort of his son.

Shouting could now be heard, breaking the stillness he had artificially created.

Eris wretched open the door, searching for the source of the yelling, only to find Cassian and Rhysand fighting with the guards at the door.

His jaw tightened, his mate’s family a permanent fixture beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Everyone stilled at his words, the hall clearing of commotion.

“Never mind. I do not care. You have done enough. Her family,” Eris nodded towards Nesta and Cassian, “are allowed to stay. You,” he pokes a finger into Rhys’s chest, the tip singeing his shirt, making the black shirt slowly turn ashen, “are not welcome here until she says so.”

The two males continued staring each other down. Eris didn’t blink as he addressed the crowd, “if any of your thoughts align with your High Lord’s words from earlier, I suggest you leave now before I have to disgrace myself with the sight of you once more. Otherwise we have accommodations you may stay in.”

The redhead went back inside to his mate, shutting the door on Rhysand. Eris slumped back in the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Small flames erupted from the hand not holding Atlas as he flexed his fingers, trying and failing to burn off some of his anger. It was all consuming - the death of the fae responsible doing little to quench the adrenaline pumping through him.

Eris couldn’t stop the biting words coming from him, couldn’t stop the waves of anger coming off of him as the healers worked around him. Your hand stayed still in his, his grip firm as he let loose words he didn’t truly mean.

“Why are you out here?”

“I want to be in there, but that Night Court healer kicked me out.” The anger had lessened the longer Eris had sat in the hallway, his mind clear of the chaos anger brings to the forefront.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, “you take commands from old bitties now?”

“I do when they tell me to come back when I won’t set the curtains on fire.” Lucien looked down at his eldest brother. A fixture in his life, someone so tall in his memories, now looking so inconceivably small as he sat on the floor. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but at this moment he was nothing more than a concerned mate. “And now I feel no better than a kicked hound.”

“You’ve never been one to let being kicked keep you down.”

“I wasn’t the one who got kicked.” Eris’s words were cracked as they came out, finally verbalizing the guilt that had been gnawing at him for hours by this point. It wasn’t very freeing, but it felt surprisingly good to share the feeling with Lucien.

“I wasn’t there-” Lucien was quick to cut him off. The love of your life in danger indirectly because of you was one few understood. “And if you were, this would never have happened.”

Eris stayed quiet, a sight so unfamiliar to Lucien. He looked to the door, surprised at Eris’s lack of desire to have the last word.

“Where is Atlas?”

“The Archerons are watching over him. Your mate arrived just before I was removed from my own bedchambers.” Lucien was certain it wouldn’t take much to procur that story from Elain. His smile was hard to contain imagining the healers tossing him out.

“Do you trust them?”

“They are three rooms down in a windowless, winnowless room.”

“So you trust the viper?” The fact Eris allowed them to take Atlas away from him was proof enough for Eris’s feelings about the pair. He didn’t want to mention how he wasn’t even trusted alone with Atlas yet.

“I suppose I do.”

A pregnant pause settled between the two, their gazes coming together to look at the door. They sat in silence for a while, neither looking from the door, their minds stuck on the possibilities that laid behind it. Eris tugged at the bond in his chest, desperate to feel his mate on the other side of it. He kept his face neutral at the silence that followed.

“It will likely be a while before she wakes.” A hard truth even harder to verbalize.

“I did not come here for her.”

Lucien’s voice came out strained and soft, so unlike his usual confidence. It betrayed his worries - his concern for not only his friend and new sister, but for the brother next to him. Eris was cruel, playing the part Beron had wanted for so long it was difficult for him to untangle every memory for the truth behind it.

Lucien knew Jesminda wasn’t his mate, but the grief that nearly consumed him whole was real. He hated Eris for playing the part of dutiful son, but he had played the part of rebellious son. Were the roles they played assigned or did they have some choice in them? The rebellious son returned home to the legacy the prodigal son had dismantled.

“I mean, I did come for her. I want her to be alright.” Lucien leaned against the wall before sliding down it, sitting next to Eris, facing the door his brother’s mate lay behind.

His unsaid words hung in the air and, shocking both of them, Eris reached out a hand, desperate for some familiar touch. Lucien took it with little hesitation, squeezing softly. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he just sat in his brother’s company like this or the last time he had touched Eris.

Despite the circumstances, it felt easy.

The two sat in silence for a while, the air heavy and stifling with uncertainty.

“Lucien, I..”

Eris trailed off, not sure if the language existed to convey how much fear lingered in his chest. He felt your pain bouncing inside of him like a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel you any longer. He couldn’t take a moment to linger in the part of his chest that was normally bursting with everything you. He didn’t hear any music, the silence almost deafening. Lucien squeezed his hand again, “I know.”

“No you don’t.”

Lucien shrugged, his long hair swishing with the movement. “I don’t know.” He brushed some of his hair off his shoulder, “but I know you look like shit.”

Eris didn’t need to look down at himself to know that his brother was right - he hadn’t bathed since they all went off looking for you, certain there was debris and blood all over his clothes and hair. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his chest, his skin itchy from the contact. The larger of the two made a big show of sniffing the air, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Smell like it, too. But that’s nothing new.”

Eris growled, unable to ignore his brother’s taunts. “At least I am not a smartass.”

“Ah,” Lucien tutted, a smug look on his face, “now we both know that is a lie. Autumn’s High Lord, starting your new tenure off on mistruths. What a look.”

Lucien’s feline smirk lessened a bit as he looked at his brother with something bordering on fondness. “I will take up the hallway guard if you go bathe. Really, you want your mate to smell you like this? If she doesn’t leave after that, I will be certain you’ve poisoned her mind somehow.”

“I am certain that would be the worst of my crimes.”

“I would believe so, forcing the mother of my babe to believe she was in love with you.”

Eris hissed in response, his knees popping as he stood up. Lucien ignored his brother, his barbs continuing.

“To think the mother of my child could be in love with an old, decrepit thing like you. Witchcraft, I say.”

“You’re not going to be speaking for long if you keep this up.”

“He does look rather like me, don’t you think?” Lucien grinned, something big and wolfish. The look only a little brother could have at getting beneath his brother’s skin.

“And why is your son so pale?”

Lucien shrugged, unbothered by Eris’s irritation. “Ran out of pigment. Who am I to question the Mother?”

“Ran out of my pigment my ass,” Eris muttered, finally moving down the hall to some bathing chambers.

“Do all High Lords speak with such vulgarity or just you?”

Eris responded by slamming the door, blocking out Lucien’s laughter. He didn’t linger long in the bath, the extra two hundred feet of distance felt like too much space between him and his family. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien was right - having the grime removed from his skin made him feel more capable of handling things. Fresh clothes made him feel more like himself.

His brother was still in the hallway when he returned, his head shaking slightly when he saw Eris walking in his direction. The healer must still be tending to you. He stopped at the door next to yours, turning the knob before walking in. The two older Archerons were in the room, his brother’s mate carrying Atlas in her arms. Eris’s son appeared to be in good health - so far each check proved the same, and despite the physician's groaning, he continued them. Elain seemed happy to carry Atlas around, her soft voice explaining to him the recent travels she and Lucien had gone on.

“Tulips of every color covered the fields. I’m sure one day Lucien and I can take you to see them.” Her vivid descriptions of the continent wasted on the babe’s ears. Nesta’s gray eyes looked toward the door, watching as Eris entered.

“Elain, the High Lord’s going to have you killed for speaking of kidnapping his son.” He couldn’t help the slight tilt to his mouth, some deep part of him appreciating Nesta’s attempt at normalcy.

“Nonsense, Nesta. If I had Elain killed, Lucien would mope about the house for the rest of his life.” His hands reached out, gently taking Atlas from Elain’s hold. “You keep him entertained for me. I owe you a great debt for it.”

The middle Archeron never knew how to respond to Eris, having only truly interacted with him a handful of times up to this point. She swallowed, thinking of all the stories Lucien had told her about his eldest brother and how language was his preferred method of battle.

“Perhaps you could entertain him with the dog toys?”

Eris tilted his head, his thumb stroking down his son’s back as he bit back a laugh. He knew any Cauldron fated mate of Lucien’s and sister to Nesta was surely somebody of interest to him, but Elain had yet to show anything Eris found to be interesting - until now.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded, wondering if he had underestimated his brother’s mate. The weight of the day had exhausted him, his bones begging for respite. Now that Atlas was in his arms once more, the tiny bundle so warm, his mind drifted to his bed where his mate currently laid. Your fate was still questionable - the healers were certain a full recovery was the most likely outcome, but when had the most likely outcome ever happened with Eris? Had he forged a life for himself only for it to be ripped away from him - the mother wanting him to know what happiness could be so he could feel its absence?

The air held a hint of awkwardness as they all stared at each other, Eris doing nothing to improve the warmth of the room. The two sisters filed out quickly, their voices directed toward Lucien as they left. The click of the door behind them was a beautiful symphony to Eris’s ears. To be alone with his son at last. It had only been twelve hours, but it was more like weeks had passed since he had seen Atlas’s small face, kissing his forehead goodbye. Nothing had felt off - no sense of anxiety overcame him, no fear for his family. Just annoyance and sadness at being away from them.

Eris gently cradled Atlas’s head as he made his way up the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard, back cushioned by pillows. His son had been restless in his arms when he took him from Elain, his little arms and legs trying to disturb the perfectly swaddled blanket around him.

The room had no windows and technically connected to his private chambers. When he was a boy, he had a full time nursemaid stay in here. Once he outgrew her, the space became his own private sanctuary. Many nights were spent hidden in this room, no concept of the passage of time as he poured over books, back curved in desperation to stay awake so he could finish it.

The shelves still lined the walls, but he had some of the furniture removed should his mate eventually want her own chambers.

His muscles ached less the longer he stayed still, and he softly piled up pillows on each side of him. Atlas was stirring in his arms, tiny coos that were endearingly pathetic. He broached a long finger close to Atlas, tiny hands wrapping around it as he settled back down. If he could, he’d strip his shirt to allow his son to rest on his skin, but thought better of it. The jostling would wake him for good, and he’d be doubly upset to know he was on someone’s chest who wasn’t his mother.

The sound of deep breaths was all that could be heard in the room as Eris used his magic to put out the lit candles littering every surface. The darkness of the shadows made his eyes heavier, but he fought to stay awake, not wanting to let his guard down.

“My beautiful son.” Hushed words filled the room, the warmth of his voice almost visible in the darkness. Atlas didn’t acknowledge the words, content in his slumber and being with his father. His body felt warm in Eris’s arms, Vanserra babies always running hot.

“I will always find you.” Outside the moon rose high in the air, the cold bringing a slight frost to Autumn. The midnight hour was one Eris made most of his best kept promises, all relating to the mate from the Night Court he found centuries ago. A tradition he unknowingly passed on to doing with his son. He was so pale, cheeks flaming pink.

Atlas didn’t know his father was High Lord or general of Autumn’s armies for centuries. He had yet to experience the parts of himself that Eris wanted to keep hidden. Eris’s eyes closed slowly, lulled by his son’s breathing, content to know that for now, his son only knew him as a father.

Eris startled awake, something prodding at his arm. A groan escaped his lips, his brother’s scent filling his nose enough to rouse him from slumber. He must have slept off the adrenaline, his heart rate a more regular rhythm.

“She’s asking for you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eris scolded before he shot up, nearly jumping off the bed.

Lucien rolled his eyes, Eris’s annoyance growing further at the action. “You had been awake for days, Eris. You needed the rest. Don’t they say to sleep when the baby sleeps?”

Eris ignored his brother as he remembered his last moments before he fell asleep.

“Where’s Atlas?”

“Cassian has him.” Eris shot his brother a glare.

“That’s not funny.” Lucien’s hand went up in defense. “Atlas is asleep on Cassian, and Elain and Feyre are with him if he wants any help.”

“When did you move him?”

Lucien shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You didn’t want to let go of him.”

Lucien’s words were nonchalant, an air of not knowing to them. Why would Eris ever let his son out of his arms again? He had already been exposed to the horrors that lay outside his father’s arms - he wouldn’t let it happen again. He left Lucien in the room, the hallway much quieter now. So much had happened in the past few days, and yet the halls of the Forest House were unchanged.

Eris stood outside the door, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Heat danced at his fingertips, a small attempt at having any control over the situation.

Big, violet eyes looked back at him as he opened the door, something settling in his soul. His mate had a plethora of pillows behind her, each one working to prop her up to be sitting. Long black hair flowed around her, lacking its usual shine. The dark hair highlighted just how pale she looked, but life was slowly returning to her face. A blanket covered her lower half - for the best, perhaps. The tight lid he was holding on his rage was sure to give if he were to see her injuries.

“Hi, Er.” Your voice cracked with trepidation.

“How is the pain?” You looked down at your bandaged ankle, not moving it to check if the pain was still there. The wound only stopped pulsing with pain recently. Though you had been mostly unconscious, flashes of light and intense pain lingered in your memory.

He continued standing in front of the closed door, keeping his back to it. His eyes were focused on your face, watching every slight movement.

“It’s not so bad with the tonics Madja provided. She said the trap got to the bone of my ankle, so I should limit putting weight on it for a week.”

Eris nodded, the healer telling him much of the same. He had been trying to work through solutions to keeping his stubborn wife bedbound, not quite above shackling her to prevent further injury. A bassinette already sat next to their bed - maybe he could have it moved to his side so he could pick Atlas up and bring him to her.

Eris nodded, staying uncharacteristically quiet. His feelings were dulled in your chest, muffled by a blanket of privacy neither of you used before.

“Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued staying by the door, his tone growing slightly sharper. He was being petty and spiteful and you were having none of it.

“Tell me how you feel. You have never hidden your anger from me.”

“That is because I have never felt such anger at you.” The room was cloaked with Eris’ words, not quite stifling the roar of the fire. “I cannot lose you. Either of you.”

His words were soft, nearly a whisper, but the crackle of the fireplace gave hint to how deep the anger ran.

“I know.”

He kept speaking, not acknowledging your words.“You are far too precious to me. Please, don’t ever risk yourself to escape Rhysand.” His words surprised you, a new wave of guilt overcoming you. Your actions had been done out of anger, winnowing when you knew well enough you shouldn’t.

Everything could have ended so differently. And for what? To get back at your brother?

“Look at me.”

Eris had moved closer to the bed, as if his confession were a bridge that led him to you. His fingers moved slowly, gripping your chin. “There were a hundred better options, including asking the other bats to fly you home. Do not be so foolish with your life. With Atlas.”

Home. How that word had changed over the centuries. It was the cabin in Illyria, your mother and brother and sister inside, occasionally housing Cassian and Azriel. It was being four years old and scraping your knee and Rhys doing everything to dry your tears and make you laugh. It was flying with Cassian, determined to finally beat him in a race, chastisement over how knotted and wind whipped your hair had become.

And then it was Eris. Late night rendezvous turning into a permanent fixture. It was eating meals at the large, expansive table with two chairs right next to each other. Hounds lazing about the house, one practically laid out in every room in the massive dog beds you had insisted on. Warm colors making everything so vibrant.

And now it was Atlas. Two chairs soon becoming three. Two toothbrushes that would become three. A bassinet beside the bed. Teaching him everything he needed to know, his own neck unable to support the weight of his head.

Tears clouded your eyes at wholly dependent upon you he was and how you wholly failed him today.

“I was a fool. I- I could have gotten Atlas killed or taken. I am- I will never allow my anger to cloud my judgment when it comes to Atlas.”

“Or you.” It felt like a gentle caress through your chest, so many unspoken words in those two.

“Or myself.”

The words felt like a truce, like you had both arrived to some understanding. To further prove it, you gently patted the bed next to you, eager to feel more of your mate’s warmth. He climbed on the bed, sliding in next to you.

It was his preferred side to sleep - the left side, facing the door. It allowed him to come and go more easily without waking you, to keep himself between what laid in the world outside the confines of your marital bed.

Anger bubbled back up in your gut, remembering the bounty hunter’s wretched face, the immense delight she had found in your agony.

“Is she?”

“Dead? Yes.”

The confirmation did little to ease the panic inside. She had been so close to hurting Atlas, so close to selling him away. It was an anger you were certain you would carry until you died.

“My only regret is I didn’t do it myself.”

“Rest assured, my mate. I took care of it.”

You leaned into his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He laid above the blankets, his feet crossed at the ankle. He looked so prim and proper, it delighted you a bit.

“And Atlas?” His arm wrapped around you, his hand stroking your cheek lazily.

“He is safe with Lucien as we speak.”

“I don’t think anything’s safe with Lucien.”

His grip on your head was soft but firm, keeping you close to him. His thumb started moving on its own, his body so content to be next to yours once more.

“I thought-“

“I know.” And you had known. His panic was all you had felt before being rescued. It would have been easy to drown in it if it weren’t for the instinct to protect Atlas.

“But we are okay.”

But for how long?

“There’s a note on the side table.”

Eris had to change the subject, unwilling and unwanting to face his emotions head on. Your eyes moved to find Rhysand’s delicate penmanship on the fold of the paper, the letters of your name in grand, swooping movements of the pen.

“Can I see it?”

You could feasibly reach it, but your arms felt so heavy. Your body was still so tired, movement a burden to worn out muscles. He reached over you, careful not to lay his weight on you, keeping the paper folded as he handed it to you.

“You’re not going to peek at it?”

“It is your correspondence.”

You rubbed the paper through your fingers, not certain if you were ready to know its contents. You wanted to read this alone, not have Eris coloring your feelings.

“Can you bring Atlas in here? Madja said I can hold him.”

Eris nodded, slowly untangling himself before leaving. The click of the door prompted you to open the note, some small part of you wanting this to be between siblings. Hope had bloomed at the sight of the note - a ceasefire, maybe. Or maybe it would contain the tenderness Rhysand had so adamantly kept locked away the past few years.

Eris had been adamant his relationship with Lucien was his to navigate. He wanted Lucien to feel Eris deserved his company, not coming around because Lucien likes Eris’s mate.

And so this letter was yours. Rhysand was your brother. Any tenderness or ire or passive aggression from him is yours to decide what to do with.

The letter sat next to you, your mind lost in thought when Eris returned with the small bundle in his arms. Your chest lightened at the sight, the tight grip of anxiety around your heart lessening with every step Eris moved forward until your son was tucked back into your arms.

“And he’s okay?”

“Yes, he’s been looked over at least a dozen times by now. His worst injury is a scrape on his arm that has already healed.”

You gazed down at the impossibly tiny thing in your arms, taking in the features of his smooth, pale face. He was beautiful and he was yours.

“I am sure the extent of his injuries is in no small part due to your quick thinking.”

“Eris-“

“You are littered in cuts and scrapes, bruises everywhere. Do not think I can’t be both angry and proud of you at once.”

You preened a bit at the compliment, your mate’s pride in you always making your heart swell. “And if I did risk injury to myself for him?”

“Then you’d be the female the Mother mated me to, the one I had sworn myself to so long ago.”

It was quiet, two pairs of eyes looking down at the young boy between them. He was so small, so unaware of the danger that had surrounded him for several hours. To him the afternoon was different and scary in a new way: utter exhaustion had left her unable to stop her emotions from spreading and he felt his mother’s fear bubble in his belly.

“I haven’t seen such injuries on you in so long.” Centuries ago, the blonde male had dropped off the Night Court princess in Autumn, her beautiful wings haphazardly cut off. The outpour of blood seemed endless, Eris not knowing how you still had any left. He could still smell the blood and vomit, the scent had stuck to his walls for years to come.

“It would be the greatest disservice for Atlas to not know his mother.” Eris couldn’t say more, couldn’t verbalize the fear that was easing off his chest. It would gut him to not have anyone to share Atlas growing up with. He would go on without you for Atlas, but he wouldn’t be the same. How much pain can one bare before it consumes you whole?

The room was silent, the small family huddled together, enjoying their reunion. Warmth radiated around the room as two sets of eyes watched Atlas smile.

A soft knock at the door woke you from the sleep you had dozed off into. You were alone - Eris’s scent still lingered, likely having left not even ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath, feeling around in your chest for him. All that was found at the rope that tethered you to him was a sense of calm and pride. He was definitely with Atlas, hopefully eating a meal as he cradled his son to his chest.

“Come in.”

The door opened, your brother’s head popping in through the door. Rhysand looked so out of place here in Autumn. His violet eyes screamed ‘wrong’ as he stood out from the background. You had the same eyes as him, but they seemed wrong here.

He kept his head low as he walked in, varying degrees of guilt and shame pouring off of him. The magic inside of you was slow to return, but Rhysand’s emotions wouldn’t be a mystery without them.

“Hello.”

“How cordial of you.”

“Well, when in Autumn.” He shifted on his feet, taking your silence for confusion. “Historically Autumn is a much more proper court than Night.”

An awkward tang filled your mouth with each word. “I am aware.”

The two of you looked at each other, the silence in the room settling over the siblings. So far from their younger selves, so many atrocities laid between them. An observer would think they were strangers from the odd tension in the room.

Speaking was the hardest either had done.

“I am sorry.” His words were slow and deliberate, emphasizing each syllable to truly show he meant it. His shoulders hunched slightly, Cassian’s words from an earlier conversation swirling through his head.

We’d expect that kind of treatment from your father.

“When was the last time you said that to me?” Rhys was never good at apologies - every one had been followed up with “but-“. It would have been more sincere for him to apologize for his actions hurting your feelings.

“Far too long.”

Silence. You waited, wanting more from him. You were tired of fighting with him, a constant battle for choices already made, each party wanting to be the victor. It was exhausting and with a new babe, something had to give.

“Rhys, this is my life, whether you like it or not. I can’t- I’m not playing games with you anymore. I don’t care if you like Eris or not, but you have to believe I can make my own decisions. You have to trust me.” Your earlier words seemed to finally get through to your brother, his shoulders slumping in some form of concession. “I can’t keep doing this merry go round of things seeming to be better just to blow up again.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” The question flew from your mouth without thinking. “I kept this a secret for a century, Rhys, because you reacted exactly how I expected you to. You don’t - you used to trust me, let me make my own choices, but since that night you haven’t.”

You were growing wearisome from this argument, the fight draining you of what little energy was left. You pointed to the water cup on the nightstand, Rhys picking it up and giving it to you. He hovered next to you, staying at your bedside.

“I am sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you.” The water helped ease the slight headache that was building, and gave you something to do while you took a moment to think on Rhysand’s words.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” His voice broke as he spoke, a desperation lacing his words. “But how can I trust anyone else to care for you? How could I live with myself if I let you be with him only for him to hurt you?”

“He’s a good male, Rhys.”

“I want you safe. I want what’s best for you.”

“And he is. If I told you Feyre was no good for you, what would you do?” He quickly looked away, proving you right. His hand tugged at his hair, an action he hardly ever did.

“I was scared. When Eris came in and you were missing, I was scared. Cassian had to talk me down from blowing up the entirety of the Middle.”

The truth finally came from him. Every discussion, every argument, all Rhys would talk about was his anger, the betrayal. He kept his emotions so tight to his chest, they were suffocating him. You kept quiet, letting him continue.

“I was scared that it finally was happening. That another court was finally going to finish what Spring had started. I thought Eris had done this somehow, wanting us to discover his deeds. Wanting to basque in the glory of getting the upper hand over me.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, his hands shaking as he brought them to his face. Unshed tears lined his violet eyes, the depths of sadness keeping your gaze. “But it was me who led you to danger. It was me who couldn't keep you safe.”

A sob tore through him, the sound of the last wall between the two of you collapsing. You moved over on the bed, allowing space for Rhys before patting the bed. He stood before sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes, and laying next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he draped his arms around you, clinging tight.

He clung to you as he sobbed into your shoulder, your own tears falling on top of his head. How had things become so twisted? How had your relationship crumpled this much?

The High Lord’s embrace allowed the emotions of the day to crash into you, clutching his shirt tight in your fingers. The soft silk was such a contrast to the pain in your chest.

Rhysand was your brother, the only person alive who loved you before you were born. He didn’t have to know you to love you.

Rhys had always told you he loved you before you were born, something you had never grasped until Atlas. Seeing something so small and tiny and knowing you would go to the ends of the planet to help them.

“You didn’t get to meet Atlas.”

He stayed in your arms, a less than dignified sniffle coming from him. When was the last time you had seen Rhysand cry? Those nights he would find you in Feyre’s absence when she was in Spring, letting you soothe him to sleep? Or was it when Nyx was born and Feyre nearly died?

“Do I even deserve to at this point?”

The two of you were the sole survivors of a noble family. An entire family gone in one night. You leaned further into him, nose pressed against his bicep. He was warm, the citrusy scent coming off him made so many memories flash through your mind: learning to fly, lounging in his study as he worked, intense chess matches that left everyone mad. Centuries of baggage laid in the space between the two of you.

The second part of his scent was the soft undertone of sea salt that always reminded you of home. Your mother smelled like sea salt and caramel, a scent that always made your mouth water for sweets and feel safe. She was gone, had been for so long your memories of her were blurry from use, but so much of her lay in the male next to you.

There was no way back to her or the rest of your family, gone for centuries now, memories so replayed they were memories of memories by now. But you still thought of them often. You were thinking of your mother when you spoke once more, thinking of the excitement Rhys had to finally have a little sister.

“Yes, you do.”

Author’s note: AHHHHHHH wasn’t that great ❤️

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog

Thanks for reading ❣️

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x y/n

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eternalsunrise · 3 months ago

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call my bluff.

deadpool (wade wilson) x gn! reader

word count: 2.1k

summary! deadpool and you have an unorthodox dynamic. every time the masked man ends up in your neighborhood, he can’t seem to stay away. you’ve never seen his face or even heard his name, but the two of you are in a game of flirtation with no end in sight. as the tension is raised, both of you wonder, is there something more here?

tags! reader is a regular citizen, talk of reader wearing a skirt but i don’t think i used any pronouns? HEAVILY suggestive but no smut, alcohol mentions, i wrote this with comic deadpool in mind but could easily be ryan’s as well!!

notes! the collective d&w brainrot has caused me to open tumblr and actually complete a fic. hope u love it <3 abs

“taxi!”

the crisp night air nipped at your legs as you stepped off of the sidewalk and onto the edge of the street for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. you waved your hands semi erratically, jumping up and down as to try and make yourself take up more space so that the bright yellow vehicle would take notice. instead you watched as it zipped right past you, short term deja vu happening once again.

you threw your arms down in defeat and stared up at the night sky, “fuck!” you sent your frustrations up to the half of a full moon you could see, the other portion blocked by skyscrapers. how is it that this city was known to be crawling with cabs and you couldn’t even flag one of them down? were you on some kind of taxi blacklist?

whatever the reason, you decided that between your horrible luck with public transport and your dead cell phone, you might as well start the trek home.

your body buzzed with the alcohol from the evening; your night out with friends had veered into the early morning hours, and you promised them you’d be able to find your way home. blacklist or not, the city was walkable and you were tired of waiting.

so you crossed your arms over your chest, a half baked attempted at hiding from the chill of the city. you started walking in the direction of your apartment, craving the touch of warm sheets and pillowcases.

after a few minutes of sharing the air with faint car horns and the buzzing of people’s air conditioning units, you heard something else. someone else.

you weren’t naive, the city never sleeps, and there were bound to be people out just like you. however the path you chose was definitely less trafficked, and general paranoia was starting to set in. after all, you’ve been the only person for the past three blocks, only sharing the sidewalk with stray cats.

the thought that someone was behind you forced you to sober up quickly. ice cold blood replacing the warm alcohol that was coursing through your veins.

the footsteps are louder now, matching your heartbeat patting against your rib cage. you wonder why they haven’t walked past you yet. were you being followed? taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag slowly. you retrieve your small weapon of defense, ready to face off a potential threat. whoever it was, they were behind you now. you figured your best bet was fight AND flight. attack and spirit off.

you hear a wolf whistle, deep and slow, right in your ear. it’s now or never.

you whip around and shove your arm toward the nightcrawler (pervert?). you open your mouth to let out a scream and clench your eyes shut. you’re surprised when your voice is muffled by…leather?

“oh cupcake, this is adorable! where’d you get this, amazon?”

you open your eyes and are stunned to lock them with a sea of red and black. your eyes trail upwards, spying artificial whites and a mask you’ve grown familiar with. the original terror you felt starts draining from your body, and is replaced by shock and a strange sense of relief.

deadpool has one of his gloved hands locked around your wrist, long index finger just barely lifting yours off of the trigger of the object in question. a travel sized, hot pink, container of mace.

you open your mouth again to speak but find his other hand muffling your airways, his large palm covering your mouth and tip of your nose. you frantically grasp at his arm with your free hand, yanking it away from your face.

“you know sweet thing, if you wanna walk around this late by yourself, you’ll need something a little more industrial. i actually know a guy if you-“

you take in a giant gulp of air and clutch your chest, trying to slow down your heart rate, “what. the FUCK is wrong with you?” you cut off deadpool’s rambling, staring at his blank eyes.

the merc tilts his head to the side as if he was a confused golden retriever, “really? you wanna trauma dump right now? well…” he clears his throat, voice dropping an octave to portray faux sincerity, “i guess it all started in third grade…”

you groaned and rubbed your face with your free hand, the other still in control by your assaulter, “you could’ve announced yourself, you gave me a heart attack! what are you doing following me anyway?”

deadpool finally releases your hand, his own finding home on his hips, resting right above his two holsters. “well i saw you wandering around like carrie bradshaw. and i may not be your mister, but i was hoping to give you something Big.” he shrugs as if that response was as normal as discussing the weather. you shove your measly can of mace back into your bag.

shaking your head, you turn on your heels, starting to walk away. you plan to continue your trek home, confident that the anti hero would be quick to follow behind. “how hard would it be to just say you want to walk me home?”

you’ve been playing this game of back and forth flirtation for a while now, and you knew that deep…deep…deep down he was masking true concern for you.

deciding not to answer, deadpool took just a few of his large strides to end up by your side. “what are you doing walking alone looking like that anyway? admit it! you were hoping i’d show up.”

you look at him with glassy eyes. now that your guard was fully down, you started to feel the effects of those three tequila shots you took as a send off to your friends. maybe those weren’t such a good idea. the way you’re looking up at him make’s deadpool’s wade’s stomach turn, and he has to clench his fists to control himself.

suddenly he’s forgotten why he was on this side of town in the first place.

you let out a laugh full of teeth, “oh you wish! i haven’t seen you in a few days though, had to go out to fill my needs elsewhere.”

what you two have has never went beyond casual flirtation, but the idea of you being under someone else sparks a match of jealously. but wade knows better. and he knows that slight stumble as you walk, your hands pulling the skirt of your outfit down.

deadpool hisses as if you’ve hit a nerve, “ouch baby, i didn’t think i’d be third wheeling with you and jose cuervo tonight.” he spots a car driving toward the two of you and acts quickly; he places a gloved hand on your waist and moves you away from the sidewalk. he doesn’t miss a beat, you don’t even realize you’ve switched places.

you’re looking back up at him again as you walk, this time reaching up and tapping the handle of one of his sheathed katanas, “what about you killer? you been thinkin’ about me?” you’re teasing him, but a small part of you hopes he’ll give you a genuine answer that aligns with what you want to hear.

his mask creases as he raises his eyebrows and you can’t see but wade is giving you a smirk that sits on the side of his mouth, “oh you know it sweet thing. every time i’ve slid one of these bad boys in and out of a bad guy, it reminds me of what we could have.”

deadpool lets out a dramatic sigh, reminiscing on something that hasn’t even happened, “but their screams usually ruin my hard on, i think your’s would have the opposite effect.”

so much for your genuine answer.

you blame the red on your cheeks and buzzing feeling on the alcohol, pushing the thought of the real cause into a box and storing it in the back of your mind. how embarrassing to feel this way about a masked weirdo that sometimes strolls through your neighborhood. you didn’t even know his real name. hell, you’ve never seen his face!

after a little more walking and a lot more sexual tension, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment building. you turn to face your escort for the evening, flashing him a grin full of drunken glee, “well this is my stop, thank you for the company mr. pool. i’ll have to repay you somehow.” your tone teasing but borderline suggestive.

deadpool nods and taps his chin a few times, “you’re right cupcake….since you’re offering…” he trails off, his voice growing deeper as he bent down to be eye level with you. your throat hitched, a gasp getting stuck there, not expecting him to call your bluff. “i take payments in the form of cash, debit, or check!”

he taps the tip of your nose and shoots back, standing up straight.

oh right! no way this guy would ever actually take you up on your banter! and that was a good thing…right? you decided to end the night now, preventing your drunken state from dragging a masked man into your home.

you rolled your eyes and braced your hand on his broad shoulder, stepping on the tip of your toes and placing a kiss on the side of his mask, the textured material tickling your lips. “goodnight handsome.”

you leaned away from him but trailed your hand down to rest on his chest. hey! the tequila was making you brave.

deadpool, no wade—deadpool—no! wade felt like he was about to fall backwards like a cartoon cat after getting hit with a sledgehammer. it had been a long time since his suit had experienced anything that gentle, he felt this was about to go down a dangerous path.

wade stared down at you through white lenses, his gaze bouncing between your hand and your lips. back and forth like a game of table tennis.

he watched as you bit your lip and held his gaze. your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, the street lights illuminated your face in a way he’s never seen before. he wonders if potential onlookers could see small hearts surrounding his head.

wade feels a thought go through him, as if it swept in on the early morning breeze. a thought that he felt insane (shocker) for having even for a moment.

standing there with you, he wants to be himself. he has the urge to be vulnerable; rip his mask off and be wade wilson with you. for you. in this moment he wants to be more than the merc that flirts with you. wade wants to be with you. he wants…..fuck he wants to take you inside and make sure your body leaves an imprint in the mattress that’ll be there for weeks. stop looking at him like that, his pants are getting tight.

and there’s deadpool. he imagines tiny versions of himself stabbing katanas into the hearts around his head. they let out sad whines as they deflate and fall onto the sidewalk below him. he needs to get a grip.

“sweet dreams angel face. oh! if you need me throughout the night, just scream out of your bedroom window! screams of damsels in distress are like my mating call.”

you retract your hand with a giggle that makes that stupid thought come back into deadpool’s head.

you hesitate. wanting to say something but…deciding best not to. you turn around and walk up the stairs to your door, ignoring the fire in your stomach that’s been growing after each flirtatious jab.

you hear him start to speak as soon as you put your key into the lock, and you turn around almost too eagerly. you want him to say what you’ve been wanting, craving to hear. you want him to enable that dark part of you; the part of you that wants more of him. the part of you that knows he’s wrong. that he’s got to be walking danger.

deadpool points at himself, “but babe, if you see a way less sexy guy in a suit responding to your call. one that has ugly little spider webs all over him? slam the window shut. you want nothing to do with that guy, trust me.”

your shoulders drop, an exhale released. you give him one last shake of your head, and a barely there smile, before you’re inside your home. the bubble that surrounded the two of you bursted.

the door shuts behind you but the masked man stays in place. he stares at the spot where you were just standing, thinking about all the other routes this night could’ve taken. he isn’t right for you. he should leave you alone. wade knows that. too bad deadpool’s never been a good listener.

#marvel #marvel x reader #deadpool #deadpool x reader #wade wilson #wade wilson x reader #deadpool and wolverine #x reader #deadpool fic #marvel fic #mcu x reader #mcu #mcu x you #deadpool x you #deadpool fanfiction

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banj0possum · 1 year ago

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Okay hear me out: yandere harpy. The reader is on a hike or something and he notices them and is immediately enamored. He grabs them and keeps them in his nest and because it's so high up they can't get down on their own 😳

Lovey Dovey

Harpy x GN Reader

CW: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome

first day back from my hiatus and were already on some more sweet sweet terato ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ ive never written a harpy before but by golly ive been wanting to for a while! thank you smallcactus22 for requesting!

🪶 All you wanted was a fun adventure away from work, a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a colorless cubicle for god knows how long.

🪶 You wanted, no, needed a vacation. You looked through the many websites that showcased lovely tourist spots like beaches and retreats, all either a little too shady or way too expensive.

🪶 One caught your eye though, an ad for a hiking trip across a mountainous landscape filled with lush greens and lovely pink flowers, it was pretty affordable too. You immediately booked a spot on the hiking trail and wrote up a letter to your boss that you'd be on vacation for a few days.

🪶 When you finally came, you were already enamored by the scenery. Everything was a pink and reddish hue from all the petals that fell from the trees. You saw a person holding up a sign that said, "Hiking Trail!" and quickly ran up to the group of people supposedly taking the same hike as you.

🪶 The tour guide explained the history of the trail, it sounded more of a legend or myth however, with him speaking of an ancient race of humans with the ability to fly.

🪶 You thought nothing of it, probably just a part of the place's culture or something, you then followed the rest of the group to start the hike.

🪶 You couldn't help this uneasy feeling of being watched while on the trail, like there was something following you as you continued along the red path surrounded by pinks and blueish greens. It was probably a wild animal or two, you were in a forest after all.

🪶 On the other hand, Kalva could do nothing but watch you from the dense flora he was perched within. He's seen humans travel through the harpy infested woods before, all of which were uninteresting as a dried leaf on the ground.

🪶 So when he laid his eyes on you, it felt like an arrow to his chest. He was taken aback by how cute you were, so soft, so graceful. With the shawl you had on he would've mistaken you for one of his kind if it were not for you walking alongside other humans.

🪶 The harpies were very weary of humans, especially tourists. Only the few that have grown up near the mountains know of their existence, one that is protected lest danger falls on them like the old dragons of legend that was wiped out by greedy humans who thought of themselves as divine saviors in a world of evil.

🪶 Even with all these thoughts swirling in his head, he thought you were different. You didn't look at all like the other tourist who were babbling to themselves about who knows what with their funny black bricks that sparked now and again. They were so clumsy and ditzy compared to you who was just admiring the scenery around you, truly in the moment unlike the others who only cared for a nice photo or two.

🪶 After about an hour, the group stopped at a rest stop to take a break, you kept watching the flora dance and sway as everyone else drank and rested their feet. You treaded deeper into the pink forest, making sure to keep the rest stop in sight.

🪶 Just then you hear rustling from above, a large shadow gliding past you from overhead. You would think it was a bird if not for the size of the shadow. The shadow circled around you, as the shaking of the leaves above grew louder and louder.

🪶 Now your uneasiness is back tenfold, your heart racing as you frantically look around.

🪶 There was nothing there however, and you breathe a sigh of relief before turning to go back to the rest stop.

🪶 You yelp as you are, however, met with giant yellow eyes staring at you. You trip on a tree root and fall on your butt as a man half covered in feathers stared at you, penetrating your very soul.

🪶 You try to scramble away but the creature keeps walking nearer and nearer, his head cocking to the sides like that of a bird.

🪶 Your back meets with a tree as you're left in the mercy of this massive birdman in front of you. You feel tears starting to form in your eyes as a taloned hand reaches to your face.

🪶 You were surprised at the gentle touch you felt on your face as Kalva wiped your tear away, cooing softly.

🪶 "uhm...hello there?" you mutter.

🪶 "hello..." He replies in a raspy but quiet voice.

🪶 "Wh-who are you?" you ask, the tension in your body dissipating as you get more comfortable with him, well not really comfortable, just a little less tense as you were before.

🪶 "My name is...Kalva..."

🪶 "Kalva..I'm (Y/N).."

🪶 His pupils dilate at the sound of your name. He mutters it to himself like a word he wished to remember.

🪶 He sniffs at you, all over your body and clothes, focusing then on your bag. You reach inside and take out some crackers you packed for the hike and gave it to him. He was confused at first, never seeing a seed or insect like it, but was then greeted with a wonderous sensation of sweet and salty. He squawks happily, nuzzling his head into your chest, making you a tad bit surprised and unsure of what to do now that a bird man creature thing is cuddling you in a forest. You placed a hesitant hand on the back of his head and started petting him, he started cooing very softly, that must mean he's happy.

🪶 You then hear the tour guide call for everyone to continue on the trail, you greet Kalva goodbye and try to walk away when you're suddenly grabbed by your shoulders and lifted up. You yelp and scream, asking to be put down but the harpy ignored your pleas and flew high up into the mountains.

🪶 Oh what a day it was for Kalva! He knew the little human was the one! They fed him, they preened him, just like a good mate would! He must have been very good as his courting! Of course, his little mate couldn't have seen it from down below, but they surely would have if they accepted him so quickly right afterwards!

🪶 Finally they reached his perch atop a tall mountain. It was a giant circular hut of some kind made of branches and lined with colorful flowers and leaves. Inside, his nest was filled with cotton of the softest kind, only the best for his mate! Little baubles and shiny trinkets hung from the curved ceiling and trinkled softly as they shook. He placed them down as they shook in fear at the height.

🪶 Kalva landed next to them cooing and chirping comfortingly, don't worry my lovely! You won't fall from here! I will protect you!

🪶 It was like this for days; you trapped a thousand miles high in a nest you can't escape from otherwise the harpy would find you and carry you back. He would leave for hours at a time, offering you food and small gifts he's found he thought you might like, some of them things left behind by other tourists like a water bottle, a book, a hat and a few others.

🪶 At night, he'd pull you into a warm embrace under his wings. He can't help but stare at you as you snore peacefully under him.

🪶 Of course you were frightened to the core the whole time, but you tried your best to explain to him that you weren't his mate and that you needed to go home, but he kept insisting that you two were meant for each other, for him to coddle and fed you and you to love and preen him when he returns home.

🪶 He dreams for you both to have chick of your own, the idea of coming home to the happy chirping of little hims and yous gave him a happy giddy feeling.

🪶 After a while you figured getting down on your own wasn't an option and Kalva was your only hope in returning to the familiar world below.

🪶 You started talking to him more, books he would bring home, you'd read to him, food collected would be shared between you two.

🪶 And somehow, throughout this whole process, you managed to grow quite close to the man.

🪶 He understood English more, now collecting other foods like stolen snacks from tourists instead of bugs and wild fruits he'd usually eat.

🪶 You found yourself missing his company when he was away. He'd chirp happily as you rushed to hug him as he lands in your shared nest after a hunt.

🪶 Soon enough, he'd trust you to explore the mountain's peak outside of the nest. There was a lovely little lake next to his abode with a tree bearing red fruits. In the distance you could hear the faint calls of other harpies.

🪶 All you wanted was a fun adventure away from work, and you were given more than what you've bargained for, a glimpse into a hidden world of creatures far beyond your imagination, with one of them being your very loving mate.

and as a bonus, Kalva doodle for yall <3

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robo-writing · 25 days ago

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Sometimes I sit here and think about baby Logan, you know the one from the first X-men movie? With the grey hoodie? Yeah that baby Logan. Anyway, I think about Deadpool pulling worst Logan into more time shinaganen shit and of course worst Logan’s gf (who was his gf in his last universe but of course died during the attack, but this one either never met her universe Logan or something) and somehow, she runs into baby first Xmen Logan wearing the grey hoodie and running around clueless as where the hell he is, until he bumps into a surprisingly pretty woman who for some reason is cooing over him and calling him a precious baby,(and did she just pspspspsps at me?? I’m not a fucking cat? No the hair doesn’t look like cat ears?! The hell wrong with you lady?!) and he only gets her name before a older version of him in a gaudy yellow suit shows up to grab her and take her away, grumbling about having to keep track of two overgrown toddlers while a mouthy guy in a red leather suit says some stupid shit before following after the older version of Logan into some strange portal. Of course soon after baby Logan gets found by Xavier and when he ask who the woman named y/n is, Xavier just looks at him confused. (Of course perhaps that Logan will meet y/n a few years down the road, or he never sees her again, a shame really, she was quiet a looker, despite being so weird, he can stand being called a baby or a kitten by her again)

Waking up in a strange building is one thing, but walking out of an elevator to find a woman starting him down is another—especially when she keeps calling him kitty.

“Oh my god, look at you! You’re so young!” Her voice is high-pitched, oohing and ahhing at him like some kind of attraction. Maybe it’d piss him off more if you didn’t look so cute doing it.

“Cute lil kitten aren’t you? And your ears are so fluffy!”

You reach up to touch his hair, and he would grab your hand if someone else didn’t already beat him to it.

A gaudy yellow suit is the first thing he sees, then—what the fuck?

“Doll, I told you not to go wandering off,” the stranger says, and it’s now that his day goes from bizarre to fucking impossible because he’s staring at himself. Older, sure, but his voice, his body, damn near everything—

“Oh peanut! It’s time to go!” Says another man in a bright red jumpsuit, and he can hear the other man groan in response.

“Alright, you heard him.”

“Aw,” you complain, following after the two of them. “Wanted to pet him before we go.”

You wave to the younger man behind you, giving him a wink along with your name. “Come find me when you’re all grown up kitty! I’ll be waiting for you!”

“Wait—!”

His words fall on deaf ears, the trio disappearing soon after in a yellow doorway. His jaw drops, unsure of what just happened was real or if he’s just high as a fucking kite.

After a couple of introductions and many confused glances, he finds out that the three people he met are not students or professors, and that no one in the room had ever seen them before. Years pass along with many, many, life changing events and his odd welcome party becomes a memory of the past.

That is, until he finds out Charles has hired a new school counselor, and she looks just a bit too similar to be a coincidence. Once he gets over the shock he extends his hand, to which you accept.

“Names Logan.” He says, and you give yours in return, the same name you gave him all those years ago. It’s now that you point to his hair with a small smile.

“Do you style your hair or does it always come out like that?”

His eyebrow raises, unsure of the line of questioning. “Not really? Why do you ask?”

You open your mouth, then close it with a shake of your head. “Forget it, you’re gonna think it’s silly.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan replies. “Try me.”

You bite your lip, debating on whether you should speak, eventually choosing to bite the bullet. “Well, it’s just that your hair kinda looks like ears. Y’know, like a cat.”

His chuckle is instant, evolving into a laugh. You’re getting more and more nervous, afraid you said something wrong until his head gives you a good pat on the shoulder.

“Y’know, you’re the second girl to tell me that,” he muses, leaning in close. “But come to think of it, ‘kitty’ has a better ring to it, don’tcha think?”

#robo speaks #ask #robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #if the writing style seems off I literally wrote this in 20 minutes no editing #it’s 3 am 🫠

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trappolia · 7 months ago

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── KISS ME ONCE AND KISS ME TWICE AND KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

silver vanrouge. silver dreams of you, always you. it only makes it far more painful to break from the chains of malleus' curse to seek the you that exists beyond his dreamscape.

Silver has always taken his time with you.

He has never been able to tell you why. Lilia says that it is just the way he is, ever since he was a boy; he plays by the rules, he goes by a routine that is, as much as possible, not too affected by his strange sleeping habits.

it is why he goes through the meticulous steps of courting you, offering you flowers and gifting you with thoughtful trinkets and even writing letters for your family while your worlds remain separate. It is why it had to be you to take the first step and kiss him one night during a star-gazing date because gods damn it all, you’re sick of waiting.

( Silver had laughed and laughed that night as you apologised for your callous actions; because you were so cute, because he was so in love, because it had all felt like a dream come true when he allowed himself to ignore tradition to cup your cheeks and pull you into another kiss. )

Silver discovers very early on that even when he takes his time, it's all still overwhelming. Like a dream come true, he used to tell Lilia in bouts of deliriousness when he was still caught between dream and reality and his mind was too muddled with sleep to care about embarrassing himself in front of the fae who had raised him.

Like a dream come true.

But what is his dream, exactly?

A cottage deep in the forest of briar valley, with ivy growing up the walls and over the red-tiled roof. Soft, packed dirt with growing flowers of all kinds, spring blossoms of pink, yellow, blue, red, protected by a low wall. There are no horrors with dripping ink and dragging claws, no glowing emerald eyes or scaled wings. Just grass and flowers and sky and nothing.

No. Not nothing. Because there's you.

"I just cleaned, so remember to take off your boots by the door!" Silver hears you call out from inside the cottage. His chest quakes as he lets out a ragged breath, his bag dropping as he rids himself of the extra weight.

The floor below his dirty boots is clean slate compared to the cluttered kitchen to his left and the living area to his right. Silver sees the same threadbare couch by the stone fireplace, cluttered with throw pillows and blankets and an unfinished knitting project. The couch is old. Used. Loved. There are some closed doors beyond the stairs, but Silver doesn't have to check to know what lies behind them. His old childhood bedroom where Lilia used to tuck him in. A bathroom that has been flooded one or more than a few times when he got too carried away with playtime. The small study where he used to have his lessons on reading and writing.

There's something about the sight of his childhood home that sets Silver off, as if he’s caught in crosswinds, but he fumbles his way inside anyway, toeing his shoes off out of ingrained politeness. His footfalls feel heavy and light all at once against the wooden floors as he walks — almost as if by habit — to the kitchen where he had heard your voice come from.

"There you are," you beam at him, putting a kettle of water on top of the same stove that Silver had watched his father cook his meals so many times. Your brows furrow when you notice the strange expression on his face; the emotions whirling in his aurora irises like a hurricane and the trembling of his bottom lip.

You frown, wiping your hands on a cloth rag. "Silver? what's wrong?"

Silver lets out a ragged breath, his hand shaking as it comes up to cradle your own as you cup his face in your palm. What is wrong? This is all he's ever wanted, isn't it? A life with you in the woods he had grown up in, free of worries and dangers and hurt and anger. He's built a home with no fear, no yelling, no uncertainties. Just like the life lilia always wanted to give him.

It's a dream come true.

"You're a dream," Silver whispers when he realises, his hands coming up to cradle your face in turn. He's shaking, he knows that even with his mind whirling, but he just can't help it— he has to touch you, make sure this isn't— this isn't a nightmare—

No. No, no, no. Malleus wouldn't do that. This is his dream. This is what his heart has always yearned for.

"My dream."

"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up in that soft smile that Silver oh so adores to kiss. "What's the occasion?"

"I—" Silver opens his mouth, but no words come out. What can he say? What can he do, knowing that this is all he's ever wanted, but this is a dream. This is a dream and you're not real but gods, does silver want you to be.

A beat passes, and your smile turns sad.

"You know, don't you?"

Silver feels his heart ache. He wants to tell you no. No, please keep this veil over my eyes. Pretend i don’t know this isn’t real. Please. Please.

You reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with such tenderness that he feels like crying. “You’ve always been so smart, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” he allows himself to say, because this is the least he owes you— this perfect imitation of you that his mind, Malleus’s magic, has managed to conjure, because in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve managed to ingrain yourself into every fibre of his being so that even under this spell, all Silver can dream about is you, you, you.

Silver doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't, he really doesn't. There's something in him that pulls at his heartstrings, tugging at every vein and nerve as if begging him to stay, please stay. There must be a reason why you're always falling asleep, why this had to happen. Just stay. This is a dream come true, why would you want to wake up?

“You’re still there,” Silver says in a voice so small, it feels like he’s a little boy again, crying and clinging onto Lilia like the fever that sticks to his skin and reminds him of his mortality.

“You’re still there, and I’m here.”

His childhood home is small, but within the cottage and with your hands cradling his face, the thick walls feels unnaturally closer, like something is breathing on the back of his neck. He’s reminded of you, somewhere in Night Raven College, trapped within your own dream. Do you dream of him, he wonders? Has he become your new dream, just as you have become his?

Will he ever see you again?

Silver can't bear the thought of you somehow waking up from your dream — a matter of when rather than if, because Silver knows that you've always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations like this — and realising that he had left you alone to stay in this eternal sleep, with this dream– this illusion of what could have been.

“I have to go,” Silver whispers, and his heart breaks because this might be a dream, but it’s still you. How can he tell you he’s going to leave? He can’t do that. He can’t break your heart like that, he can’t—

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry— I'm so, so sorry.”

He expects you to stop him. What do the stories say about dreams where you’re supposed to be kept unaware, blissfully oblivious to the fact that this utopia is not your reality? Silver expects this dream version of you to pull some sort of trick to lure him back into your trap—

But instead you just smile softly, reaching out to stroke his face, "How lucky I am to have someone like you love me."

Silver hears something crack, resonating in his soul. Is it the chains of Malleus’s magic breaking its hold on him, or the last pieces of his heart shattering at last? He doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s both.

But whatever it is, Silver knows he doesn’t have much time. His hands cup your cheeks, pulling you close to him with the desperation of a dying man.

He feels you gasp against his mouth, lips parting and allowing his tongue to slip inside. He maps the cavern of your mouth as if immortalising it in his mind, like he’ll never see you again after this— because that is very well a possibility, no matter how he tries to ignore it.

Silver kisses you like it’s his last day in this godforsaken world, because it might as well be, and great seven, he should have done this every time he kissed you. He should have kissed you first. He should have kissed you every moment he could instead of taking his time because now he can hear the sand running in the hourglass, and he’s blind to how much time he has left, and he just wants to see you in the flesh again, please, please, please—

The two of you part an eternity later, but it still feels much too soon. There’s so much love in him, and too little time, and Silver feels like drowning.

"Wait for me," Silver pleads. He'll make this dream come true, he swears. He’ll give you all the love he has in this wretched body of his, and then some. He’ll never sleep again even, if only to make this dream come true.

"I will," you whisper breathlessly—

—and with a bittersweet smile and a final, fleeting kiss to his lips, you let him go.

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deconstructthesoup · 10 months ago

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Okay, now that all of the Bad Kids have their new art out... I can finally freak out/gush over/analyze it, because I didn't have the energy to do posts for every single one.

GUYS

Fig!!! My girl!!! The mismatched shoelaces! The bass guitar from Gorthalax! The phoenix feather earring for Ayda! The fishnet! The classic leather jacket/gray band shirt/red pleated skirt combo! The fingerless gloves! THE CHAIN WALLET!

KRISTEN IS BUTCH. Let me repeat that---KRISTEN! IS! BUTCH! And she's wearing the yellow jumpsuit that we saw in her figurine but she still has the purple in her backpack and her staff and her TIE-DIE SPORTS BRA! And she's got a new hairstyle! And a rainbow bracelet AND a lesbian bracelet! THE TEDDY BEAR! THE ICE CREAM SANDWICHES!

RIZ HAS AN UNDERCUT AND GLASSES AND HE KEPT HIS TATTOOS!!!! We've got the briefcase! We've got the angelic weapons! We've got the sword of shadows! We've got GADGETS! WE EVEN HAVE ARO/ACE RINGS! He looks so cool and nifty and crafty and BADASS! My boy has grown!

Gorgug. Oh my god, I can FEEL the "going into a worry" energy radiating from this. But he's got the axe! He's got artificer goggles and tools and a rucksack! He's FINALLY got the emo ripped jeans that he always deserved! He looks so sweet and huggable and perfect! AND HE HAS THE BIG HEADPHONES STILL!

ADAINE. My god. I love this girl so much and her art is perfect. She has patches on her jacket! We can see the cool design on her shirt! She's got high-fantasy boots and belts and she's got her new arcane sword! BOGGY IS THERE! And she looks so lovely and cool and her hair, oh my god, her hair is perfect! I'm so proud of her!

And lastly, the man, the myth, the LEGEND. Fabian looks perfect. Everything from the sword to the sheet to the expression to the tap shoes is spot-on. And his outfit? He's got harem pants! He's got a stylish shirt! He's got wraps around his hands! He's doing a dance move! Man-bun Fabian is now officially canon!

(Also, I'm never gonna shut up about how the Bad Kids are now all spellcasters, and almost all of them are different than how they were in freshman year because that's how growing up works! Fig's ditched College of Whispers as she learns to be truer to herself and has claimed the coolness of College of Lore, and she's got some warlock action to be closer to her dad! Kristen's a Twilight Domain cleric instead of the Life Domain, and I remember being so excited when that became official because that domain is so freaking cool! Riz is an Arcane Trickster, just! Like! Penny! Gorgug's an artificer as well as a barbarian, which is one of my favorite classes, and it looks like he's leaning even further into it! And we can't forget Fabian double-classing as a College of Swords bard! It's so beautiful! It's amazing! Maybe we'll get Adaine doing a martial multiclass to round out the "we're doing different things!" ANYTHING'S POSSIBLE!)

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fig faeth #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #adaine o'shaughnessey #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #i'm never gonna shut up about this art #it's healed me i swear to god it's perfect

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yan-lorkai · 7 months ago

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Was listening some horror stories while I finished some projects then got inspired by it and wrote this. Hope u guys like it <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic yandere content, kidnapping, murder. Probably typos too.

"Nuh-uh, dad!" You looked at the book Lilia carried with him. He had read this book for you a thousand times and a pout formed on your lips, already thinking how you would have to bear this torture again.

There was nothing wrong with the stories, per say. But they get a little old and boring when you had heard them this many times. And Lilia was quite forgetful so asking him to buy other books wasn't always a successful endeavor. Though when you asked him to create a story he told you he wans't creative enough either. You aren't having any of that. You were tired of hearing about snow white, rapunzel, ugly duckling and all the classics. You wanted something new and today you would have it.

"Tell me another story, please!" You asked, making your best puppy eyes at him. Those eyes worked on Silver and Sebek, so you wanted to try on him as well. His reaction was different from the one you were expecting though, Lilia smiled and patted your head.

You loved having him read to you - it was your favorite activity to bond with your father, where you solved mysteries with him and laughed at silly pickup lines, but Lilia was still fond of the classics. There was though another book, called The General Tales. The author was unknown and the cover was painted a dark red, it was strange. And you hadn't the chance to read it because your father was very conscious about it, hiding when you so much as glanced in its direction.

You could only suppose it was a horror book. But you were already quite grown up. You were almost 13 years old! You could sit through any story he read without having nightmares! He didn't seem to agree.

"What am I going to do with you, little batty?" Lilia mused to himself when you showed the book. There was an excited glee in his eyes whenever he looked at it, as if it contained his favorite memories; little did you know what was written on those pages and how much blood they had seen. How much blood Lilia used to write those same pages.

He smiled finally. Dangerously, like he did when you pranked him and he was plotting his revenge.

You make space in your bed for him to sit beside you and he opened those secret pages you had always wondered about. They were yellowed by the time and some were dog eared, written in a beautiful yet hushed cursive. You were fascinated.

Lilia waited till you made yourself comfortable, laying your head against his chest and body nestled into his side, so he turned some pages, humming to himself. You could only think what kind of story would he read to you. You could only hope it was scary. It wans't night time yet and even if you got scared then surely at night, when he put you to bed, you would have already forgotten all the gorey details. Right...?

"There was a couple who lived happily at the woods," Lilia's deep voice started its tale and you closed your eyes to fully immerse yourself in your imaginnation as you listened to him. "but then a plague started to poison the soil and their crops were destroyed. The walk to the nearest village used to take a whole day to go and another to come back. The husband tried to hunt animals to feed his lover and their one year old child but he failed each and every time. Without other options he started traveling to this village."

"Wait, what about the plague?" You asked fulled with curiosity. Then you through to yourself why they didn't tried to make it go away somehow.

Either they tried and didn't worked. Or they didn't even thought about it. Nonetheless, you brushed it off as they don't having this knowledgment. But this bugged you for a second. Humans and faes knew about plagues and how to get rid of them, they been doing this since they were brought to existence.

Your question made Lilia smile cheerfully, you observed. He must be proud of you for asking this, as he had homeschooled you and used to brag about how smart you was to anyone who wanted to listen - he'd brag even if they didn't want to hear. "Ah, you see, they were bad people. The soil knew this and rejected them, my dear."

Well... Growing in Briar Valley you knew this was probable to happen. Fae were internally linked to their florests and woods, and rivers and oceans, and everything nature could touch. That was also why Lilia raised both you and your older brother, Silver, in the woods. He used to take both of you to fish, and swim and watch the dawn all the time. Though time changed and life got busier, maybe you ask him to take you fishing again someday. Or to go camping somewhere.

"Makes sense, what happened to them then?"

"The man bought everything he needed, every last golden coin spent. But he had food for months to come, he was already imagining what his wife would cook on the way back when an incident happened."

Lilia turned the page and you could see a little drawing of a man horse riding into the horizon. Then he started reading again after taking in your expressions.

"A stag came running at him, the horse didn't react at time and both animals collided. Wounded, the animal couldn't walk and neither could the man who had fallen and sprained his ankle. Snow was falling, surrounding him like a veil, all the food he brought with their remaining gains lost there. He thought to himself 'I'm going to die certainly', rejected he was once, rejected he was at that moment. Lost and in pain, feeling miserable, he tried to stand but failed. Every attempt more painful than the other. A river was falling from his eyes when he finally gave up."

Your heart ached at this. But you hoped for the better. Freezing and being left hungry during winter sounded like hell. Lilia pinched your cheek when he noticed you frowning. He laughed at the face you make at him, annoyed at your father's antics.

Lilia smiled. "Nope. Nope, instead he had heard a voice from the woods, a hooded figure was suddenly standing in front of him. He could only see the figure's blood red eyes."

"Oh no, did he die?"

You looked at your father. "Your eyes are red!"

Lilia nodded, his leg bouncing with how excited he was from reading this story. "Do you think the hooded figure was me?"

"Well, it was?" You replied with another ask. Your father didn't respond.

Instead he continued reading. "If I save you, what can you get me in return? The hooded figure asked, crouching to be on the man height. Their touch was tender as they wiped his tears and looked at him, but there was something in them that make him tremble more than snow could. There was something truly evil behind those eyes, something terrible behind that smile. The man didn't answer nor said anything for various minutes. Though for him, hours seemed to have passed. Maybe even years as he looked at those eyes."

"Nah, I didn't think it was you," You thought out loud. "Your eyes are very beautiful and gentle."

Returning your little compliment, Lilia squeezed you in a side hug while laughing. "Oh, thank you sugar. Your eyes are beautiful too."

"But they aren't red as yours." You pouted.

"You wanted them to be?" You nodded. Nor you or Silver have his red eyes. But you wish you had. His eyes were unique, were cute but also intimidating. So intimidating when he wanted them to be that you were imagining that the hooded figure had those same eyes.

You both stayed in that hug before you remind him to read again. There were fewer pages to go now. And again there was a drawing, this time you could see the man with that figure chatting while snow pilled beside them, as if the cold didn't bothered them. Then on another page he stood up and a carriage had appeared, he held the wet food in his arms, saving whatever it was possible to save. He would go back home to his family.

But at what price? It wans't written. The author had keeped too vague.

"When he arrived home, with a new horse and a carriage, which the hooded figure told him to sell for its quality was impressive and he would gain even more gold than he had spended, he was his child running at him, happy that their, uh, father had finally returned. The entire time though, the man could still feel the figure's eyes on him, could see those eyes in his mind. But he pushed those thoughts out of his mind, held his child and whirled around with them to they laughed. He watched them disappear back inside when they got too cold. And then he explained what had happened to his wife, she deserved to know."

He explained this incident with the stag, about the hooded figure and the deal he made with it. And very lowly he whispered how he wouldn't follow his part of the deal - and lying to a fae is something one must never do. Something he shouldn't have done. But he did. And that's the soil reject them even more.

Beneath the earth it was possible to feel the tremors or the wind that pushed everything out of its way. Lilia read how the man dealed with each and every tribulation, how he passed the trials and went his way around the deal, doind the bare minimum to ensure only his and his family safety. He only forgotten that the figure could see him.

"Then one night the hooded figure came to pay him a visit. It knocked on the door and it smiled when it saw the wife holding her child, looking at it with clear fear in her eyes. Like her husband, the wife was trembling in its presence. She let it enter, if anything because she couldn't send him away, she didn't know with what she was dealing, she couldn't act wrong and jeopardize her child safety. Instead she played the role of a welcoming hostess."

Lilia paused a second to breathe then he smiled as if he too was imagining what happened next. Pressed against him you were still. Were it going to kill everyone?

"Please, you may sit here. Do you want to eat something or perhaps are you thirsty? She asked. The air around them was tense. Though her child was poking the stranger without fear, filled with innocent curiosity. The figure picked the child and looked at their eyes. A carnivorous smiled streched on it's face. 'This will be not necessary' the figure said.'"

Another dramatic pause. It was so silent you could hear the birds flying from a considerate distance. It was so silent that you could focus on the blood flowing on your veins. You were anxious to know what happened next. And your father seemed to take fun on this, delaying his narrative to look at the drawing of the figure and the child. This one was colored and you noticed that the child looked just like you. Same hairstyle and same color eye, even same skin color.

You didn't know how to feel about it. You was thinking about what the figure would do to that child. Coming from a horror book you had only one guess. Lilia though didn't share your apprehension as he started narrating again.

"'Call your husband and let's eat. Together. No lies this time or this cutie will pay the price.' The figure warned her. But it know what was fated to happen. The couple were liars and no good persons. Of course they were going to lie. When everyone was seated to eat, the wife served first her guest then her husband then her child and finally herself; though the figure was still holding the child. The wife looked like she wanted to ask something but held her tongue."

Lilia licked his fingers and turned the page. Your heart breaked at the drawing. It seemed painful and explicit but you keeped yourself from looking away, you asked for him to read and you wanted to hear and see everything.

"'Open wide, little one.' The figure told the child, holding Its own spoon of soup to feed the baby. The mother seemed alarmed by it as if she had just done something stupid. And she did, poisoned the figure's spoon and plate, and food too. She held its hand and looked at it with pleading eyes. She fell to her knees, afraid for her child's life and security, stuttering and mumbling. 'please, don't.' she asked it. And a laughed escaped the hooded figure's lips, so sweet, so dangerous, he looked at the child who made grabby hands at the food. 'I said no lies yet you lied to me, tried to deceit me when I've been nothing if good for the both of you. And what did I asked in return? Say it, word by word, to her, mighty husband.' The wife looked at her husband."

"But it was so vague... Dad, what did it said?" At this your father patted your hair, twirling his fingers in your hair to distract you. He almost never replied to you in these moments, wanting you to draw your own conclusions. Still you wished he answered you on this matter. You were too curious and inquisitive.

"'I want you to restore the crops with this insecticide I'm giving you, I want you to make house for the birds and for you to clean the rivers when they thaw. And... And I want your first-born, f-for them to take your place, a-a life for a lif...' The husband answered, without finding his wife's eyes. Though he didn't looked at her, he knew how the color vanished from her face and how she was stunned into silence. He had never mentioned the part where the figure wanted their child, had he done that she would killed him herself. Her pregnancy was problematic and painful but she was so happy that her child was here now, she was delighted to her their little laugh and see them starting to walk and talk. And he stole all this from her."

You gripped your father's arm, you aren't expecting this betrayal. You expected the hooded figure to be the killer who would slaughter everyone and then dance upon their corpses. But there was something intimately sad knowing that someone so close as a father to his own child, could be a liar. You felt a bad taste on your tongue. Though part of you was excited to see where things were going now. Would be possible for this story to have a happily after all? Part of you didn't know but you hoped so.

"'You lied to me? About this?' The poor wife was inconsolable, struggling even to stand still as her whole face burned with ire. She knew nothing could be done. Maybe it was her own fear, maybe it was the figure's presence who seemed to feed into her negative feelings, the next second she threw herself on top of her husband punching and screaming at him. Her chair had fallen to the ground with her plate, food flying everywhere. The hooded figure sighed but tucked the child's face in his neck for them to not see this. The couple flighted like two angry kittens, disjointed, clumsy, without really knowing where to hit to hurt more. It was pitiful to watch. It hummed while the scene unfolded before its eyes. They fought and screamed but the figure still soothed the scared child who gripped its clothes hard. It prevent them from turning around, holding them tightly against it. 'Just a second, little one.' it told them."

A knife fell from the table when the husband managed to kick his wife off him. She hitted her back at the wooded table's leg but took the knife and looked at him with bloodthirsty eyes. She tried to stab him but he dodge and evaded every attack, he laughed at it. And she was feeling angry, so angry she'd die if she could kill him and then the entity who watched them in silence. "I hate you. You ruined everything. You couldn't even do a thing right!"

Her words were words of a frightened woman and, above all, a mom who knew she had lost her child. The precious child who bringed so much life and happiness into her life. You felt sad at this. They were both bad. The husband for making the deal and then not following it, and the wife for trying to poison the hooded figure without trying to ask what it wanted. You wonder if things would have ended differently if they didn't lie.

"The husband could only smile and roll his eyes at this. Nothing he could say was going to be enough, nothing he could say was going to comfort her or save them from their demise. The fight ended when he twisted her own arm and stabbed her with the knife, twisting. She fell on the ground painfully, blood painting the carpet. The last thing she saw was her child sleeping on that creature's arms."

You sniffled, trying to stifle your cry so not get attention of your father. But he was perceptive, always was. He could know what you were doing even if he wasn't in the same room you were. It was a dad instinct kinda of thing, you thought once.

Lilia patted your head, letting you feel what you were feeling without commenting on the small tears that rolled down your chest or tease you. He had told you and Silver multiple times to not be ashamed to cry or feel freely, to not repress your emotions. And you weren't ashamed by it. But you did thought you were overreacting a little. It was just a story after all!

"The now armed man swinged at the hooded figure, tears falling from his eyes the same way they have fallen weeks before. This time though he had an ever more serious reason to cry, he had killed his wife. He lost the one he loved it and it was all that hooded figure fault. Or so he said to himself, still lying. Fighting though was futile, his effort was futile, he was no match for the figure, so agile and fast, even if it was holding a sleepy baby on its arms, it still could fight with ease as if battle and fight were it's old friends. It killed the man easily, with a swing of it's hands and a little magic, the man joined his wife in the afterlife where she would want him down eternally."

You jumped a little when he closed the book, looking at him in disbelief. The tears had dried on your eyes but they were still a little red from crying. "That's how it ends?"

Lilia nodded then added. "Though there's still a line. It goes like: the entity looked at the child affectionately, it had what it wanted, it had the child. The hooded figure finally lowered the hood from its face, revealing its young and yet deceitful appearance. It was a he and he looked at the child gently. 'I'm going to call you Yuu. Fufufu, how does that sound, Yuu?'"

You whined in surprise. It was your name! You liked to think that your name was unique and no one else had it, just so you could feel a little special, but at that moment you didn't know how you felt. There were so many plot twists in that story, your mind seemed to run a marathon by how hard you were thinking about everything. Only thing you could muster was. "They were dumbing, lying to a fae."

Though you wonder... Why there was a drawing of a child so similar to you and that also has your name? You searched for you father's eyes and found him him staring at you. But he wasn't staring how he used to stare, it was mischievous, evil. Dangerous. You found out that you couldn't move, paralyzed in fear while his eyes searched for something inside your soul. Whatever it was he seemed happy, his gaze softening as the minutes passed, his headpats returning slowly.

"How does tea sounds, little one?" He asked. It sounded like death coming from him, Lilia managed to even burn the water. You mumbled something, too busy thinking about the story to care that you were about to be poisoned by Lilia's tea. There was many puzzle pieces missing for you to complete the entire frame.

Maybe someday, Lilia thought with a smug smile.

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere lilia #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia x yuu #yandere lilia x mc #yandere lilia x reader #lilia x mc #lilia x reader #lilia x yuu #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #tw yandere #platonic yandere #male yandere #gender neutral reader #lorkai oneshot

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hedgehog-moss · 10 months ago

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I realised I hadn't posted a greenhouse report since spring, and today seemed like a good day for a 2023 home-grown food review!

2023 was a great year for fruit; my apple & plum trees were so generous! In the greenhouse my most successful crops were tomatoes, red chilli peppers, beans, and pickles. I was able to make spicy plum chutney using my own plums, onions and peppers:

On the other hand I was unlucky with my non-greenhouse vegetables, there were so many insects this year and my courgettes got absolutely decimated. But then I complained about my bad courgette luck to some neighbours and was gifted 9 courgettes and 3 pumpkins. I spent the first half of my autumn cooking and freezing and pickling and preserving to try not to let anything go to waste; I made:

7 jars of pesto (with greenhouse basil); 8 jars of pasta sauce (with courgette-pumpkin-tomato-red peppers-onions-basil, + parmesan); an unknown but large amount of pumpkin-tomato soup (I put them in empty glass bottles and freeze them); 7 jars of spicy plum chutney; 2 small bottles of spicy oil for my pizzas (with some of my chilli peppers; the rest are still drying by the stove to become chilli powder); 5 jars of plum jam and 3 of blackberry jam (I also froze several kg of whole blackberries for winter desserts); 6 jars of pickles (they are delicious!! I'd never pickled pickles before this year, I'm really happy with the result); 12 small bottles of elderberry syrup; 4 large bottles of elderflower syrup; hundreds of little apple sweets; several bottles of apple juice; an absolutely dizzying amount of apple puree / compote / jelly, because I refused to leave any leftover apples for the dormouse population. They are not my friends.

(If you think I'm being too mean to the dormice, please know that a) they are unrepentant thieves; b) I became so competent at hiding my apples that a dormouse ended up sneaking into the shower at night to eat my soap. My bar of homemade (not by me) goat milk soap. It's hazelnut scented so I guess if you're a rodent it just smells like lunch.)

I took some stuff out of the freezer just long enough to take this family picture; though I already gave away a lot of things to guests and neighbours, so it's just what's left! (I also froze enough chopped onions to last until summer I think)

I am terrible at labelling my jars; in my hubris I always assume I'll just remember where I put which kind of sauce or flavour of compote. I never remember. I end up having to give my guests mystery jars, like "this is fruit jelly! Made with... fruits"

So it wouldn't get too monotonous I added various fruits to my apple purees: apple-raspberry, apple-blueberry, -plum, -blackberry... I also made a few jars of apple-pineapple-pumpkin compote because I had too much pumpkin and I regret not focusing on that from the start, this combo tasted so good and was the most cheerful yellow colour.

I finally used my last apples last week, making apple-quince paste which is currently drying in order to become sweets. I bought some pretty & thick paper to origami a few boxes to put them in, so I'll have New Year presents for my courgette-providing neighbours. <3

(My cats are currently banned from this room so they won't try to lick the fruit paste) (they don't even like it, they're just cats)

#crawling along

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pastafossa · 3 months ago

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Pastafossa's Daredevil Masterlist

To stop my massive Matt Murdock x Reader fic, The Red Thread, from devouring my Daredevil masterlist, it now has its own masterlist, which can be found here! For organization’s sake, I’m still leaving the fic link and summary here. All of the romance in the fics below are Matt Murdock x Reader, save for those fics where there is no romance mentioned.

🔥 = Smut // 🌧️ = Angst // 🌻= fluff // ⚡= Reader Favorite // 🐧 = Set in The Red Thread fic universe, though not always required reading

Full Fics

✞ “The Red Thread” [AO3] (F!Reader)🔥🌧️🌻⚡

It's said that every soul is connected to another by a red thread, and that these two souls are destined to meet. The thread, though it may tangle or stretch, will never break. That's not your experience, lucky or unlucky enough as you are to see the strings that bind people together. A red thread is developed and grown, not born, and you've worked hard to weed out any semblance of crimson that might cling to you. You pay your bills, you keep your head down, and you find whatever lost people or items you're hired to sniff out. Then the Devil of Hell's Kitchen tags along on a job, and your plan falls apart.

✞ "Moan For Me" [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!reader)🔥⚡

You wanted every last bit of him, whether his body wanted to give it or not, and he’s just as eager to share.

✞ "Ode to a Coat” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again set shots. Matt wears his new coat to Josie’s and your thoughts turn to pure sin.

✞ "Do I Need to Beg?” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Inspired by Born Again's leaked trailer showing Matt with a beard. After a long trip away, you come home to Matt sporting a new beard. Fortunately, he's been missing you, too...

✞ “This is a Code-F” [AO3] [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

Matt gets the flu, and it’s up to you to look after him. How hard could it be?

✞ “It’s Really... Yellow?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt the new red and yellow suit is terrible. Unfortunately for Foggy, you find Matt just as attractive in red and yellow.

✞ “A Brief Existential Crisis” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

After the events of She-Hulk, Matt requires a little pep talk... and maybe some head scratches while you’re at it.

✞ “I’m Sending A Raven” [AO3] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

After you're kidnapped by The Man in the White Coat, Matt and his allies are in a race against time to save you. But will he make it before all hope is lost? (Now with fanart. Click with caution, it's dark)

✞ “Hubris” [AO3] [Tumblr] (Vague MM x F!Reader)🌻

Bucky Barnes and Matt Murdock are human disasters without a lick of sense. At least Sam and you are there to keep things under control.

✞ “I’ll Be Better, I Promise” [Tumblr] (GN!Reader)🌧️⚡

You get insecure and think Matt deserves better, so you try to leave him.

✞ “Appreciation” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻⚡

You show your appreciation for Matt’s chest by planting your face in it while he teases you about it.

✞ “Poor Thing” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Somnophilia' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ “Sharing is Caring” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🔥

Based on the prompt 'Are you blushing?' and '69' for Tuna-Tober 2024's prompt challenge.

✞ "Memory” [Tumblr] (F!Reader) 🌧️🐧

Amnesia angst in which The Red Thread’s Reader loses her memories of her romance with Matt just before she comes back from her 3 months away.

✞ “Haunted” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌧️🐧

A sequel to the above. You give yourself one month to see if your memories return, but Matt finds himself in a depressive spiral over the loss of what he had with you.

✞ "We’re Not Keeping Him” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

You bring home a kitten and Matt is resistant... at first.

✞ “What Was That?” [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt and you have to stop into a haunted house and things get spooky, at least until Matt’s catholicism saves the day.

✞ “The Biggest Tree In All The Kitchen” [AO3] [Tumblr] ( F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt figures out you want a big Christmas tree, and the two of you attempt to drag an 18-footer into your apartment. It goes as well as expected.

✞ “And The Holly Cookies, Too” [AO3] [Tumblr] (F!Reader)🌻🐧

Matt is determined to be your Christmas cookie taste tester, even if it kills him.

Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ What If: Matt presents you with a courtship rock in front of the penguin’s zoo exhibit, and Foggy loses it. (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ What If: You and Matt develop a tradition of hiding the rock for each other to find when either of you has a bad day. (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ What If: Matt is marrying you and gets a penguin cake topper (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ How on earth did Matt get his new red and gold Daredevil suit through airport security? (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Matt is basically a big cat, which means you have to cup, smoosh, and kiss his face at least once. (GN!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ A peaceful start to Valentines for you and Matt (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Art-inspired drabble of you topping Matt (art included) (F!Reader)🔥

✞ To contrast above: Devil!Matt topping and biting you (F!Reader)🔥⚡

✞ Matt Murdock and his sensitive thighs (F!Reader)🔥

✞ Melting Matt Murdock with some head scratches (F!Reader)🌻🐧⚡

✞ Matt Murdock hearing you sing under your breath in Josie’s (F!Reader)🌻⚡

✞ Ask response drabble: “What would Jane and Matt get each other for Christmas?” (F!Reader)🌻🐧

✞ Tuna-Tober 2024 prompt: flower crowns (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Crying (GN!Reader)🌧️

✞ Headcanon drabble: Hands

✞ Headcanon drabble: Romance (GN!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Affection (GN!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Scars (F!Reader)🌻

✞ Headcanon drabble: Sex (F!Reader)🔥

✞ “Do you think Matt’s skin is more or less sensitive when he’s drunk?” (GN!Reader)🌻🔥⚡

Flufftober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Winning A Teddy For The Other (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Lazy Sunday (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Pillow Fight (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Love Notes (GN!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Sleepy Kiss (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Silly Traditions (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Costumes (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Flirting At Work (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Caught In The Rain (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Cuddling and Snuggling (F!reader)🌻

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Up Against The Wall Kiss (F!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Fall Asleep In My Lap (GN!reader)🌻⚡

✞ Flufftober '21 drabble: Holiday Traditions (F!reader)🌻🐧

For other characters and prompts, see my Flufftober '21 list!

Kinktober '21 Ficlets and Drabbles

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Telepathic Sex (F!reader)🔥🐧

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Sensory Deprivation (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Temperature Play (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Praise Kink (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Biting (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Bondage (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: In Public/Stealth (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Edging (F!reader)🔥

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Masturbation (F!reader)🔥⚡

✞ Kinktober '21 drabble: Gags (F!reader)🔥

For other characters and prompts, see my Kinktober 2021 list!

Headcanons

✞ Headcanon: Four random headcanons for Matt Murdock and You🌻

✞ Headcanon: Matt is a great cook, he’s just a little unconventional about it.🌻⚡

✞ Headcanon: Does Matt Murdock like getting pegged? 🔥

✞ Headcanon: How Matt hugs you🌻

✞ Ask: “Thoughts on Dominant Reader with Matt?” AKA: Why Matt Murdock is a switch. 🔥

✞ Ask: “What kinks do you think Matt has?” AKA: answer followed by a fic-list of ten of Matt Murdock’s kinks with you. 🔥

✞ Ask: “What are some other pet names Matt might use for F!Reader?”🌻

Find more Matt Murdock on my Flufftober 2021 and Kinktober 2021/2022 lists!

#matt murdock x f!reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #fic #fanfic #reader #reader insert #x reader

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shreddedparchment · 7 months ago

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The Garden Gate

Pairing: Medieval!Loki x Reader Word Count: 6,514

Warnings: smut, mentions of infidelity, language, bodily fluids, jealousy, Loki in a poofy shirt

A/N: Well, I haven't done this in a while. I had to go look for an old post to see how I used to do these openings. LUL Anywho, y'all can thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for this one. She sent me a picture and then I asked her for three characters and three scenarios and this one is the one that spoke to me the most. I did put my own spin on it but that's just me. Anywho, I'm not sure how many of my old readers will read this but I hope y'all like it. Anything y'all have to say about it is also greatly appreciated. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs!!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Your family’s fall from grace had been nothing short of spectacular.

It had started first with the crumbling of respect from the men and heads of other houses. The gentry had taken offense to the shame of your father and eldest brother’s retreat at the battle for Carmine Valley, so named for the blush of trees that peppered the expanse of lush green and the strange but beautiful red waters of the central lake.

Had Lord Odinson’s own knights not been flanking from the western ridges, the valley would have fallen into the hands of the northern enemy forces. A great loss seeing as the valley was the largest producer of grain and vegetables in the kingdom.

The fallout had been catastrophic. Both your father and brother had been sent to the wild woods to the southernmost parts of the kingdom to work off their shame and languish in the dangerous labor camps where men were said to be torn into shreds by beasts as large as a carriage.

Even though you loved them very much, you couldn’t help the anger within your veins at their betrayal to not only the kingdom, but to your very family. The abandonment that their retreat meant. They knew what doing so would do to you, your mother, and younger brother.

If it were not for the King’s good nature, you’d have no doubt found yourself working in some brothel alongside your mother leaving your younger brother, at the tender age of seven, exposed to the worst parts of society.

The seediest brothels were not above selling children, you knew. No matter that the King had signed a death warrant for anyone known to sell or buy said company. It was the worst of sins and it breaks your heart to know that one man’s generosity saved all three of you from that life when he could have very well condemned it.

Knowing this–knowing how bad it could have been–doesn’t change the fact that your life now is still torture. Torture of a different kind, but torture all the same.

The King’s kindness came in the form of service. While your family was stripped of all titles and wealth, you’d also lost your beloved.

That is the true source of agony in your chest as you struggle with the bucket of waste water you’re holding, trying desperately not to slosh it around too hard. The last thing you want to do is to go to bed smelling of someone else’s bodily fluids.

The thick wool of your simple navy dress and the apron you keep tied over it are both great for absorbing disgusting materials. Already in need of a wash, the white ruffle along the neckline is frayed and yellowing despite the gown being only a few months old.

Edging along the courtyard wall, you try not to rush. The exhaustion in your body begs for sleep. Even months later the labor of working in the castle as a servant to former peers has not grown easier.

Wincing as the rough rope of the bucket burns the center of your palms, you almost sigh but instead freeze at the sight before you.

You’d know his silhouette anywhere.

The light is low here, a small lamp just beyond the open garden gate illuminates them from behind and hides their expressions but you don’t need to see to understand.

Her lips are parted, head pressed back against the door, hand braced against the warm brown and ornately carved wood. Her legs are parted a little too wide, a subtle motion of his left arm and the bunch of fabric around his forearm tell you enough of what you’ve stumbled upon.

You’re embarrassed and try to fade back into the darkness of the small courtyard behind you.

His shoulder length hair, black as a raven’s feather, is disheveled. You notice her hand gripping it tightly as his arm pumps.

A wispy, sultry moan slips through her parted lips and you stumble, gasping your own bit of surprise as you try not to spill the bucket’s contents.

A small splash, luckily away from you but the shuffle of feet and the rustle of fabric tells you that you’ve been noticed.

You look up, Lord Loki stands facing you, hands fisted as she hides behind him quickly adjusting her skirts.

“Oh, it’s you,” Lord Loki says, disdain in his voice.

Everyone here hates you. You already know this. Your father’s sins are your own. Nothing can change that.

“Finally where you belong,” the girl says and you recognize the voice with a small shock of pain in your chest. “You smell like piss.”

Lord Loki chuckles and you shrink just a little. More embarrassed by your own situation than catching them in the act. In fact, you’re disgusted by both of them, not only because of their audacity to do this at all, but because the woman whose fingers Lord Loki were just in is also your once beloved’s fiance.

Your former confidant. Lady Amora Antress. You’d once considered her your closest friend. Now here she stands, betrothed to one brother while fucking the other. The venom she spits at you is also unappreciated and painful to hear.

How long had she hated you before your downfall? How long had she waited before pursuing Thor?

“Aren’t you going to reply to her ladyship, servant?” Lord Loki asks, gleeful mirth in his voice as he takes a step towards you.

You bow your head even more, holding the bucket in your hands as still as you can while your hands struggle with the burn of the rope.

Amora scoff, “Pathetic. Leave her be, Loki. She’s where she deserves to be. She’s not worth the breath in our lungs.”

You don’t mean to cry. The utter betrayal of your once friend hurts more even than the loss of your once future husband.

“Are you crying?” Amora laughs, moving around Lord Loki, her shoes clicking against the brick of the courtyard. She stops in front of you, arms crossed over her ample bosom, still exposed more than it should be from what she and Lord Loki were just about to do. “You’re pathetic. The least you could do is be invisible while you serve.”

You say nothing, fist tightening around the rope. Pain shifts into rage at the cruelty in her words.

The wind blows and you can smell the scent of their near copulation. Luckily, it’s driven away by the vines of jasmine that creep along the tops of the brick wall.

She doesn’t deserve Thor. But you know that he never deserved you either. The rate at which he moved on…

Almost as if she’s sensing your thoughts, she takes a step closer and drops her voice to a whisper. You know Lord Loki will still be able to hear.

“Poor little flower, so careless and trusting.” She smiles. “You know it was so easy to seduce Thor. Even before your disgrace of a father betrayed his kingdom, Thor came to my bed often. Such a chaste little thing you were. You had no idea that every night after he whispered sweet promises in your ear of a happy future, he was burying his cock deep in my cunt, whispering how glorious I felt around him. Promising that even after you married, he would slip away and fuck me because no cunt could be as good as mine.”

Whore. Your heart shattered. Finally your eyes met hers.

She took a slight step back at whatever she saw in them. The hatred coursing through you set your teeth on edge. You wanted so much to rip her hair from its roots. If you could gouge her eyes out with your fingers without the consequence of a beheading, you would.

Perhaps she could see that promise of death in your eyes.

She scoffed, a reaction to whatever fear she felt in that moment.

“Now, now, ladies.” Lord Loki chastised, “Let’s keep things civil.”

“Civility? From a servant?” Amora looked at him then back at you, her hateful smirk twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask.

No…this is her true face. Her long blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes might make her superficially beautiful, but you can see the true ugliness in her now.

“Trash knows no civility.” She spits.

Done with this encounter you make to move around her to finish your duties. You need rest. Body and now soul exhausted, the sanctuary of your quarters beckons like a beacon.

She steps in your way, smiling cruelly as she does.

You make to move around her again. She blocks you once more.

Body shaking with rage, you don’t bother stopping this time as she steps in front of you. Instead you let yourself fall against her, your bucket sloshing loudly as you angle the wide opening towards her.

The smell of piss and shit slices through the scent of sex and jasmine.

Amora screams, stepping back quickly until she bumps into Lord Loki who quickly pushes her away from himself, a wrinkle of disgust on his handsome face.

The green damask pattern of her silk gown grows slowly darker as the piss soaks into the fabric. A dark brown stain sets in towards the bottom.

“You probably should have moved out of my way, my lady.” The casual tone of your voice, the respect you can now fake like a professional grifter sounds so real that your taunt sounds like an apology.

“You bitch!” Amora growls.

Lord Loki catches her by the arm before she can move towards you.

“Perhaps, Lady Antress, you may want to go and change? If what you say is true and my brother will seek you out, I doubt very much he’d desire your company if you smell like shit and piss. No matter how delicious your cunt may be.” Lord Loki’s smirk gives away his delight at Amora’s distress.

Almost as soon as he’s grabbed her, he drops his hand and angles himself away from her slowly to avoid being soiled as well.

“Forgive me, my lady,” you curtsy, a perfect bow. “It was an accident.”

Amora glares at you then looks at Lord Loki who has taken to pressing the fingers of his right hand against his nose to shield from the smell, affixing her with a look of amused disgust.

Amora huffs, “Fuck you.” Then turns and stomps past you across the courtyard and disappears into the castle.

“That was nicely done,” Lord Loki says once you’re alone.

You give him a quick curtsy and move towards the gate to toss the remaining waste where it belongs in the river just past the far end of the large hedged garden.

Ignoring the sound of his following footsteps against the gravel and footstones, you wander through the fragrant rows of flowers.

“If anyone had been watching, no one would have doubted your sincerity with that apology.” He declares, hastening his footsteps to catch up with you, settling in to your right as he matches your pace. “I’m impressed. You never gave me the impression that you even knew how to lie let alone be deceptive.”

Grinding your teeth, you attempt to ignore him. You don’t engage.

He reaches out to grab your arm but you stop and twist away from him, disgust on your face as you stare at his left hand pointedly.

For a moment he looks confused and then laughs once in realization and takes his hand back.

“You won’t tell my brother, will you? About my…meeting with Lady Antress?” Lord Loki doesn’t sound like he actually cares.

You know that he and Thor never truly got along once they were of age. As children they had been inseparable. You’d followed them around and they’d welcomed you into their company as a playmate despite your gender.

Not until you also were of age did you realize that your parents and their parents had seen your friendship as an indicator of good fortune for a future marriage.

As the elder brother, Thor had been chosen. Your heart, having been devoted to Thor even as a girl, had been so full. Eagerly you’d thrown yourself into the arrangement of your marriage. Only now did you begin to realize that perhaps your heart had been the only one truly invested in the promises that Thor had made.

Agony cuts you again, tearing your heart apart a little more as the feeling of stupidity makes your eyes prick with tears again.

“Did you truly not know that Thor and Amora were fucking?” Lord Loki asks, voice devoid of anything but genuine curiosity.

A tear slips down along your cheek as you turn and resume your walk. Lord Loki follows.

“You wound me.” He says, voice low. “Were we not also friends before?”

Scoffing, you readjust the bucket and wince at the pain of the rope as you feel your skin break. You drop it, Lord Loki stepping back quickly but nothing splashes out this time. Most of the contents were currently soaking through Amara’s gown.

You lift your hand up, staring at the peel of skin and the slick of the pink muscle beneath as red begins to pool along the edges of the tear.

Just another wound. It’ll seal and heal and scar, joining the others on your once smooth hands.

The bite of pain gives you a reason to let your tears fall. You don’t hold them back as you sob quietly, uncaring of the audience to your humiliation.

“He’s an asshole,” Lord Loki states, stepping up in front of you. “Always has been. Arrogant, proud, and foolhardy. Thinks with his cock more than his brain.”

Again, you scoff. The irony of Lord Loki, whom you just caught fingering your former best friend in the garden, telling you that Thor thinks first with his cock does not escape you.

Lord Loki clears his throat, embarrassed?

“If I’d been your betrothed,” Lord Loki continues. “I’d have worshiped the ground you walk on.”

“You’re a liar, and just as susceptible to Amara’s games as he apparently is. Does it make you feel happy to sleep with your brother’s fiance? Does it give you pleasure to betray him?” You spit at him, angry at yourself, at Thor, at Amara, at your father and brother.

You’re just so angry. You’re always angry now. Even when you’re sad, you’re angry.

“Are you really worried about my betrayal against him when Amara just exposed him for the hypocrite he is?” Lord Loki demands, a little affronted by your ire.

Biting down hard on your lip, you squeeze around the wound on your hand.

“You’re all hypocrites. All of you deserve each other.” You realize and reach down to take the bucket again but are stopped by Lord Loki’s hand as it takes hold of the bucket for you.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything and instead moves towards the gate at the end of the garden.

Quickly, you hurry after him, eager to take the bucket from him before anyone might look out onto the grounds and see him interfering with your duties. The punishment you’d receive would be painful.

“My Lord, please,” you finally beg, unable to really catch up with his long legged stride. “I’ll be punished if they find out.”

Lord Loki says nothing but strides out through the gate into the wooded expanse behind the garden.

Expertly, probably from the many hunts he’s gone on around the castle, he winds through the trees towards the rushing river whose roar you begin to hear.

“My Lord,” you hurry after him, nearly catching up but then he turns and disappears behind a tree only to emerge before another one. “Please,” you beg.

Taking a quick glance behind you towards the castle and its countless illuminated windows, you don’t see anyone watching but panic has begun to take hold.

He shifts and turns, stomping over the wild grass, the occasional crack of twig or fallen branch as he steps onto it, eaten by the rush of the water now louder.

You’re almost running now to keep up with him and still you lose sight of him when he turns around a particularly large tree. You stop beside it, scanning the area for him desperately.

The dungeons are so damp this time of year. You don’t want to get locked up if you can help it. Illness is something you don’t have much experience with and with your body weak and unhealthy now compared to the grace and flush of perfection you’d been with money and a constantly full belly, you might succumb to any serious illness.

You don’t want to die, despite the hardships you face.

With no sign of him, you move towards the section of river you always go to empty your buckets.

Minutes later you break through the treeline and spot Lord Loki crouched by the water, damp bucket set beside him now empty and rinsed.

Breathing heavily, you try to catch your breath and press your hand against your thundering heart, forgetting for a moment about the wound there and hiss.

Lord Loki rises, turning to look at you with a furrowed brow as he shakes the water from his hands and dries them on his dark emerald jerkin. He pulls down the puffed sleeves of his black shirt, fastening them around his wrists again but only finishes one before he’s holding his hand out for you.

“Come,” he orders. Not a request.

You don’t move, holding your wounded hand still as you watch him, pale skin nearly glowing in the light of the moon.

“Come here,” he orders again and this time you move towards him only a step. He steps towards you once, his hand held up again with more emphasis. “Shall I say please? Am I wrong? Were we not also friends?”

He smirks, amused by your hesitation for some reason.

Asshole. How dare he throw the past in your face. It’s coercion to remind you of your bond as children.

Unwilling to let him get the satisfaction of seeing you be defiant, you close the distance between you.

He takes your hand, holding it up close so that he can see it clearly. The moon is bright enough that he can and he pulls you towards the river’s edge. Squatting down again, he pulls you down with him.

You kneel, inching towards the edge as he pulls your hand into the water.

A hiss escapes your lips as the water coats the wound, tugging at the bit of skin still holding on until it tears free.

He holds it under the water for a minute then brings it back up to examine, pulling your arm so that you shift to face him and he does the same, kneeling before you.

“It’ll scar,” he realizes, but notes the other small scars that now cover your palm underneath the base of each finger.

You watch him as he traces each scar with his thumb, the golden emerald ring on his finger cool to the touch after being submerged in the cold river water for a bit. It feels nice against the heated skin of your palms. The friction of the rope burning them both.

“I remember when your hands were soft,” he notes.

Self conscious, you make to yank your hand from his grip but he tightens it and meets your eyes in silent order not to try that again.

Holding your gaze, he brings your palm up towards his mouth. Heart hammering against your chest, you try again to yank it from him but his lips close around the wound.

A strange tumble of knots in your stomach work their way up into your chest and constrict your heart.

More strange than that, a shift between your legs has your face and neck burning. Ears so hot that the breeze of the late spring air feels cold in comparison.

“Stop that,” you tell him, voice weak from shock at both his actions and your body’s reaction to it.

He does. Pulling your hand away from his mouth to look the wound over.

“The bleeding stopped,” he states, then reaches for your apron.

The tearing of fabric sends our heart seizing but more arousal pools between your legs. Embarrassed, you look away from him as he wraps your hand tightly. He must have dealt with many small injuries on his hunts because he ties the wrap around your palm securely and nothing save for cutting the fabric away will undo it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and deep. Almost dark in the way it slithers across your skin in a sultry embrace.

“No.” You answer honestly. “And it’s probably only because I caught you and you didn’t get to stick it in Amara.”

He releases your hand as you pull against his grip but he reaches forward to place his hand on your cheek. His left hand.

You almost pull away but remember him drying his hands on his vest. He’d deliberately washed both hands. Why?

“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I would have worshiped the ground you walk on. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m a servant,” you spit, turning to look at him with anger and betrayal. “Anything you do to me will be forced merely by the fact that I cannot deny you anything you might want.”

Lord Loki frowns.

“You think so badly of me?” He wonders, hurt in his green eyes.

Your mind flashes back to your childhood. You, Thor, and Lord Loki running to the stables of his estate. You fall. Both Thor and Lord Loki stop but it’s Lord Loki that rushes back to you, helping you up and dusting you off as you cry loudly.

Thor rushes away, laughing in his eagerness to mount his horse.

More memories of your childhood assault you with images of Lord Loki and his kindness. Frequent acts of compassion and what you might have once considered friendly love. Thor’s are fewer and mostly contained to the days after your betrothal had been agreed upon.

“You will never be a servant to me,” Lord Loki assures you.

“It is what I am,” you counter. “You cannot simply ignore it.”

Lord Loki sighs, “You’ve always been so stubborn.”

He lets his hand glide down along the side of your neck, over your shoulder, down along your arm, and then he settles it along the side of your waist, the shape stiff thanks to the corset underneath.

It’s almost unbearable that he’s here, in your shame of servitude. His touch is confusing. You almost ask him why it feels so strange but instead focus on what’s most important.

“Is it true?” you ask, voice wary and quiet.

“Is what true?” There are so many things you could mean, you realize.

Part of you almost doesn’t want to know. So you hesitate.

Something softens in Lord Loki’s eyes as if he suddenly knows what you’re going to ask.

“Were…did Thor and Amara…?” You shake your head, trying not to let the pain show.

“Yes,” he answers, voice firm. He wants you to know that it’s true. No hesitation in his answer. “A few times even with you nearby. You almost caught them a handful of times. Were you only a few moments earlier or later.”

Head falling, you can’t help the tears that spring forth. So much of your past had been a lie. The strength of your house. The friendships you held dear. Your betrothed hadn’t truly loved you. If he had, he would not have betrayed you.

“My brother paints a pretty picture. Despite what he wants others to think he is changeable. He is impatient. Clearly that was his undoing with you. He is rash and prideful. He doesn’t think about what he does before he does it and because he would be insulted by it, would it not be sweet revenge to dangle what he wanted most in the open for all to see?” His words are slow and sure.

The last bit of his speech is careful and calculated. You can hear the manipulation in his words even though he tries not to let you. You’ve known him too long. Lord Loki also changed when you were betrothed to Thor. A shift of his usual kindness had taken place and the sneering Lord had been born. Intent on his own machinations to pry forth the dreary truths of his life.

He’d never been cold and harsh but he became so after your engagement. Thor had called him a snake and even then you could see it. The skill with which Lord Loki had developed his manipulating tactics and the precision with which he enabled them are known to you.

So you know what he’s saying even if he won’t say it clearly.

He takes hold of your chin and slowly lifts your head until he can see your eyes. There’s a strange eagerness in his own greens as he tries to read you. There’s a question there, an uncertain probing as his hand at your waist grows tighter, wrapping around to rest on your back, arching your body towards him.

That strange feeling between your legs surges. It’s Amara’s sneering face that breaks down your defenses. It’s the pride in her words as she’d bragged about being with Thor while you were still betrothed to him that shatters your will.

You do want to get revenge. You want Thor to know that you don’t care anymore. That he means as little to you now as you did to him then.

And what better way to show him that than with the one person he’d hate it happening with the most?

He might overlook some random stablehand. He might ignore some merchant’s son, even if he were above your station.

With Lord Loki…the bite would be as harsh as the sting of Amara’s venom was to you.

“Loki…” you whisper and he surges forward.

His lips are over yours, moving and massaging as you at first merely take his kiss.

He hates it. He pulls back and tilts his head the other way, kissing you more enthusiastically, trying to draw some type of reaction from you.

It’s taking you longer to submit than you thought it would take.

He pulls back one final time and tilts his head back again before this time pressing his lips against your own slowly. He doesn’t move then but instead waits, puckering against yours as he tugs you towards him instead of shoving himself onto you.

Strong lithe arms wrap around your waist and pull you up onto your knees and against his chest. He holds you so close, so tight. It isn’t rough or demanding but needy. As if he can’t get you close enough to his own body and he can only draw you closer and closer in the hopes that it’ll fill something in him that needs filling.

You place your hands on his shoulder as you tilt your head back with his kiss.

Finally, you find the strength in your body and pucker your own lips and return this gentle kiss.

Shock flashes in his eyes as he opens them to look at you. You watch the confusion bloom in them but then shut your own and give in.

Loki’s lips part and envelop yours. It shocks you the way it sends those knots back into your stomach. In response you do the same, enveloping his lips with your own.

Loki’s hands splay out against your back and he groans as he opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue slides against the crease of your lip in question.

In answer, you open for him and welcome his searching tongue with your own. The taste of him, the scent of him, it overwhelms and you gasp as you lose yourself in the moment.

You feel his hands drift around to your front, his right sliding up along your bodice until he can cup your breast, a groan slipping through his lips as he breaks your kiss and traces wet open kisses along your jaw, neck, and shoulder.

“Loki…” you gasp without ever having given your mouth permission to speak.

He bites your neck when you say his name. You moan and he licks the spot to soothe it.

“Loki…” You whisper again.

He’s driven mad by it and before your mind can understand what is happening, he’s laying over you, hands moving wildly underneath your back, running along your sides, fumbling around until he finds where your dress is fastened and he pulls at the ties.

“Should I stop?” He asks, breathless and looking as if he would like nothing more than to keep going.

“No.”

“Mm,” he moans and kisses you again, tongue claiming your mouth as his own.

You can feel him tearing away your apron and then your dress. Too eager to pull it off you completely, he merely shoves it down so that he lays spread out along your waist.

He looks down at you, the corset you wear hiding very little of your breasts. He kisses them each in turn, the soft fleshy bits that pool up above your undergarment.

You shudder at the touch of his lips.

“Has anyone kissed you here before?” He wonders. You’re not sure if he wants an answer or not but you shake your head anyway.

As he nuzzles the soft flesh, his hands work on the corset, pulling at strings blindly until it gives way and he pulls it off of you exposing you completely.

The cool air of the night perks your nipples more than his touch already has and he takes both breasts in his hands, pushing them together as he stares to the point of embarrassment.

Before you can cover yourself, he takes one into his mouth, suckling softly to draw soft moans from your open mouth.

He sees it, your gaping mouth, and seals it with his own, his tongue nearly in a frenzy as he devours your whimpers.

Cool air hits your suddenly exposed legs. You gasp sharply as he thrusts suddenly and the hard press of his cock rubs against you, shielded only by the fabric of his pants.

“Shall I stop?” He asks again, hands running down along your torso where he takes each breast in hand, massaging them slowly before rolling each of your nipples in slow deliberate circles.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s almost torture when he removes his hands from your overheated body. But you enjoy the sight as he removes his jerkin, followed shortly by his shirt. His body is sculpted but tight, not bulky. Lithe limbs hard and eager as he reaches down beneath your skirts in search of what he desires.

He hisses when his fingers touch you, soaking wet, and you reach down to hold his wrist not to stop but simply to hold on.

The thought crosses your mind that he’s already had someone else like this tonight and it almost makes you pull away. You’re so close to stopping but he sees the thought in your eyes and leans over you, removing his hand he leans over you, pressing his chest against yours and silencing your thoughts with a slow kiss.

It burns through you, the meaning clear.

“Shall I only touch you from now on, darling?” he whispers, kissing your chin then suckling along your throat.

He’ll leave marks…

“Tell me and I will only touch you.” He promises.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Loki.” You chastise him, mood nearly breaking again at the memory of the endless promises Thor had made you.

“I will never break a promise to you. Tell me to refrain and I will. I meant what I said,” he kisses his way up to your ear, licking the shell of it before hot breath sends your skin prickling. “I will worship the ground you walk on if you will only let me.”

He thrusts again. You shut your eyes, gasping at the cock straining for freedom.

“H-How do I know I can trust you?” You ask, unintentionally letting him see how desperate you are to do so.

He kisses you again, genuine and hungry for it.

“Give me a week and I shall truly prove it. Trust me until then and you shall see the depths of my willingness and devotion.”

He thrusts again and maybe you’re a fool for allowing yourself to consider this when he’s got you right where he wants you, but you nod.

“Only touch me,” you order him.

He smirks. He reaches down between your legs again and with one finger slowly strokes from the bottom of your cunt to the top, the lurid sounds of your wetness poignant despite the rushing river beside you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises.

One finger. He uses only one finger and the pressure is intense. Sensations you’ve never felt before awaken every nerve ending in your body. His thumb presses against your clit and you nearly sit up with the shock of pleasure that rushes through you.

He adds a second finger, moving slowly as he pumps them in and out.

“Shall I stop, darling?”

“Never stop,” you gasp, still gripping his wrist.

Another smirk on that handsome face, his green eyes dazzling you as he shifts back to his knees.

He licks his lips as he pulls a tie free at the front of his trousers and slowly pushes them lower and lower until he can kick free of them completely.

The length of him is breathtaking. He reaches down and strokes his cock, slowly running his thumb along the shiny pink head before he scoots closer, your skirt blocking him from view.

He rubs himself against you, slicking himself with your own arousal.

There he waits, watching you as you brace your hands on the soft grass beneath you but open your legs wider.

Your eyes meet and both of you know that there will be no coming back from this choice. Nothing either of you do will ever erase this line you’ve nearly crossed completely.

He pushes in slowly, leaning over you as he gets deeper and deeper until he’s buried completely. Chest to chest. Face to face. He grunts deep, face twitching as he settles within you.

It’s so much pressure it’s painful. The feeling of him is so foreign. You’re not sure whether it feels good or not.

“Fuck,” he whispers and tenses then shudders. You feel a wave of heat within you, followed by the sensation of slow moving drippage. “You feel…”

He seems lost for words. Do you feel terrible?

He pulls his hips back just a bit and pushes back in.

You whimper, pushing against his chest to look down where your bodies connect.

“Loki,” you fret.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “Be calm my sweet. I will ease you into this.”

Each thrust into you, his pelvis pushes against your clit and each time you moan, wishing he’d do that more. The feeling of him is filling, strange, but not unpleasant. Just different.

As your body relaxes a bit more, Loki’s thrusts grow faster. You smile unintentionally as he presses against your clit more often.

“You like that?” he wonders, stopping as he pushes all the way in and then rolls his hips against you.

Your responding moan gives him confirmation and he settles himself over you fully.

As he thrusts he presses harder against you, lingering for a moment before doing it again and again. The slap of his skin against yours grows louder and he finds a rhythm that has you both breathless and moaning.

“Loki,” you plead, feeling the build up of tension within your body.

“Come for me, darlin,” he kisses you, subduing your voice as he pumps into you.

You’re unsure for certain what he means but your body seems to listen. You wrap your legs around him, holding him as close as you can as he continues to thrust into you. The sweat of his body glistens in the moonlight. The soft silk of his hair tickles your skin as he arches up slightly so that he can take your breast into his mouth again as he keeps pumping into you.

You feel it…so close.

“Loki,” you whimper, wanting to reach the end of this tightrope.

He growls once and brings his hand down between your connected bodies. His thumb presses against your clit firmly. He presses and presses, rolling it in small circles with such precise pressure.

Your body explodes into endless fuzzy light. You arch into him, trembling as his thumb continues to draw pleasure from you in spasms as he keeps moving his cock in and out.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts and thrusts one final time his whole body tight in its release as that same sensation of heat fills you again.

Both of you seem to have stars in your eyes as he collapses on top of you, kissing you slowly with his eyes wide open to watch the expression of pure bliss on your face.

“I think-” Loki says, pulling back as he slowly helps to pull your dress up a bit to cover your exposed breasts. He kisses each one before he does so. “-it goes without saying that I would appreciate it if I was the only one allowed to touch you.”

You’re floating, swathed in golden light, unable to process anything he’s saying because of the pure escape from and yet complete connection to your body Loki’s cock just gave you.

You hear him chuckle. He pinches your cheek, drawing your attention back to him.

“Agreed?”

“What?” You gasp breathlessly.

“No one may touch but me. And I will touch no one but you.” He declares. “Is that understood?”

The authority in his voice draws your legs wide as that throbbing from before is renewed.

Loki’s face twitches at the movement.

“Show me again,” you plead.

“Tell me no one else will touch you,” he orders.

“No one else will touch me,” you agree.

“If you betray me,” you begin.

Loki’s eyes soften. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

“I promised you that I would worship the ground you walk on.”

He kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your mouth against his.

“One week, my darling. I’ll prove to you my devotion.” He promises.

The sincerity in his voice has your legs spreading again and he hisses as you shift. Inside you, you feel him harden.

“Show me…” you beg.

“You’re going to be insatiable.” He realizes.

And revenge against Thor aside, you realize that being with Loki might be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.

“Do you have any idea how long I have waited to make you mine?” Loki wonders, stroking your cheek.

“How long?” You wonder, reaching up to take hold of his hand.

“I’ll show you.”

There will be NO tags.

#loki x reader #medieval!loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki x reader fanfic #loki x reader fic #marvel fanfiction

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star-har · 4 months ago

Note

Hey! Can i submit a request?

Gojo x Reader playing twister. I just KNOW that man would be funny during that since he’s 80% leg. I need more gojo fluff in my life lol!

Your writing style is so cute. ♡︎

when gojo had come running into your room, squealing about being bored and needing attention, you had originally asked if he wanted to bake cookies.

he had nodded eagerly, pulling you from your bed where you were switching through channels and dragged you into the kitchen.

the next few hours consisted of whining and prying because you wouldn’t let gojo do anything. his job was to cramp your personal space and lick the spoons clean— but according to gojo, it was to actually help you.

he’d grown bored quick, and had sauntered off somewhere aimlessly, scratching his head in a clueless search of something fun to do.

but as soon as you’d pushed the cookie tray into the oven, his head had popped from behind the kitchen’s wall, beckoning you with wiggling brows and a mischievous grin to— this.

“just what is this,” you throw your arms in the air, cringing at the mess he’d made.

the coffee table, originally placed in the centre among your couches, had been shoved to the side with the flower vase knocked over. it’s replaced by a twister mat, spread across the carpet.

he rubs his hands, grin widening. “twister!”

“we are not playing twister,” you say, deadpan, crossing arms on your chest. it’s past midnight, and your limbs are aching for rest. the last thing you can manage is a round of twister— that he’d pulled out from butt fuck nowhere. you didn’t even know you had twister.

“oh, come on,” he throws his hands in the air, pouting. “let’s see who’s the most flexible!”

it’s a minute later that you find yourself bent over the mat, your left foot on red and right hand on green.

begrudgingly, you knock the spinner, feigning boredom as you wait for it’s response. you can’t admit you’re already having fun a minute into the game, anyway— he doesn’t need his ego blown even more than it already is.

“left foot, green,” you announce, adjusting your body as you shift your foot over.

gojo follows in your heed, cackling as he throws a leg across your waist to reach the green, purposely dropping his weight on you. “oh, i have this in the bag.”

with little grace, you thrust your hip up, nearly knocking him to his ass but his foot remains attached to the green circle.

his smirk follows your groan of frustration, and gojo cackles again, loud and obnoxious. despite your initial irritation, you crack a smile— he was only bored, after all.

you flick the dial once more beneath you. “right hand, yellow.”

with struggle, you reach beneath gojo’s chest and stretch your arm wide, dropping your arm on the circle.

“hmm, this isn’t a bad angle,” gojo bubbles with laughter and with a turn of your head, you realise quickly he’s talking about your ass.

you can’t shove him you you deside to elbow him in the chest and annoyingly enough, gojo doesn’t budge, maintaining perfect position.

you continue on, a mess of stretching limbs and nonsense giggling and lazy kissing.

before long, gojo’s lanky frame has spread across the mat in a ridiculous fashion— one arm stretched over your shoulder, leg over your head. you’re struggling just as much, if not more, wrapped around your boyfriend’s wobbling form.

“how you doing down there?” he prods, clearly amused as your arms shake beneath you, struggling to hold you up with the way they’re wrapped among each other.

you offer a sickeningly sweet smile in return. “think I’d be better without your long ass legs suffocating me to death.”

he huffs out what might be his millionth laugh tonight. “you’re just jealous because you’re the size of the seven dwarfs from snow white.”

from there, it’s a fight of who can say the best insult rather than who can last the longest in this game, really.

“right foot, blue,” you announce after knocking the spinner with your nose.

you, being an intellectual individual, move your foot slightly to the left with little scuffle. gojo, on the other hand, maneuvers around you.

the leg thrown over you lands just beneath your hip, holding himself up with the arm across your face.

“see? perfect balance—”

and for a moment, you think he may actually manage to hold himself up. but a second later, his hand slips, and he’s sliding down, falling on top of your, now, flattened body.

you erupt in laughter as soon as his hand slips, flipping over and shoving his body off to the side so you can breathe.

“‘toru! you idiot,” you wheeze and he drags you down, caging you in arms and legs and soap— he’d showered before this. “you could’ve gone the easy way— but no.”

“now what’s the fun in that?” he’s beaming when you look up to him, resting your chin on his chest.

“yeah, okay, mr. perfect balance.” you giggle and push off, only for him to fall back on top of you.

“well,” he sighs dramatically and snuggles into your neck, breathing in deeply. “I guess losing isn’t so bad if it means getting tangled up with you.”

that’s makes you wail out in laughs, knocking your head back as gojo presses kisses into your neck. “real smooth, love,”

“what can I say? you bring out the best in—” he pauses then, slightly lifting up with furrowed brows, a hint of a smile still on his lips. “what’s that smell.”

you frown, calming your bubbling giggles for a moment and take a sniff— something is… burning?

oh no.

you brush past gojo and jump off the mat and run to the kitchen. “my cookies!” you cry.

gojo’s laughing behind you as you shove open the oven and erupt in a series of coughs, black smoke rising from inside.

you throw yourself away from the mess, mouth dropping. “my cookies.” you repeat, this time more solemnly.

“m’sorry baby,” he clutches his stomach in laughter, kneeling over. “those are no longer cookies, though.”

you turn to him, eyes set in narrow lines and lips pursed— you had been looking forward to a late night snack. had spent all of fifteen minutes cutting bars of chocolate into the perfectly-sized chips. “I’m going to kill tou, ‘toru.”

his smile drops and he’s running.

———

i did not know how to write this at first but omg this was sm fun i kinda love how this turned out?!?!

tysm bb for both the request and the compliment, seriously means the world to me and sm more 💗💗

hope you enjoyed!

kisses,

har 🫶

#gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk

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lordprettyflackotara · 8 months ago

Text

if looks could kill || Colby Brock

smut, 18+, minors dni. tw: hate fucking? very angsty smut? some gagging shit too. ngl i got mad angsty towards the end so my bad guys💀

You had some fucking nerve.

As soon as Colby made out your small figure in the sea of everlasting dancing bodies, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He hated the effect you had on him, your smile practically illuminating the room.

It had been four months since you both had broken up, your relationship ending in pure hatred for one another.

He had cheated on you. You cheated on him.

Sam constantly referred to you both as the match from hell.

Colby had purposefully ignored all of that, avoiding you like you were the black plague.

Yet here you stood, boldly and proudly standing at his and Sam’s celebration party.

You were most certainly not invited. As Colby eyed you over his red solo cup, he wondered if he should publicly humiliate you by having security escort you out.

He glanced over at his best friend, Sam, who was laughing at a joke someone was telling him.

Colby sighed as he realized he couldn’t make this about him or you. Sam deserved a celebration.

He couldn’t allow either of you to be the center of attention. And you were wearing such a short dress Colby almost caught a glimpse of your panties.

The brunette excused himself, throwing his empty red solo cup in a random direction. The taste of straight liquor burned his throat, but the flames of his distaste for you were far more engulfing than alcohol could ever be.

You were at the drink table, pouring yourself a shot. Colby towered over you as he forced himself by your side, leaning down to talk in your ear.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He hissed. You shrugged nonchalantly, setting the bottle of alcohol back down on the table.

“This is supposed to be the party of the year, you’d be stupid to think I wouldn’t come,” You replied. You tried to play it cool as you downed the shot, Colby’s hardened gaze not leaving your face. “Besides, I still support Sammy. He deserves all of this and more,” You say. Colby annoyedly looks around, ensuring that Sam’s attention was still on the group he was talking to previously.

“If you actually cared about Sam you wouldn’t be here. We’re a package deal, you know that,” Colby argued. You crossed your arms, staring up at your ex lover. His brunette hair had grown out just a little bit more, his jawline just a tad more defined than the last time you had really looked at him.

“You’re not one in the bedroom,” You replied, causing Colby to snap. You knew the mere thought got under Colby’s skin, every single time. He took a step towards you, staring down at you. “He would never fuck you, get that sick thought out of your head,” Colby growled.

You giggled playfully as you leaned forward, twirling his black tie around in your hand. “You didn’t have a problem with the idea when we were together. What was that you wanted to try? Him fucking me and you watching?” You asked innocently.

That was it.

Colby hastily grabbed your wrist, leading you through the endless waves of people. His grip was harsh and his pace was fast, causing you to almost stumble behind him in your heels. He led you to the closest bathroom, practically throwing you inside. The brunette locked the door behind the both of you, before shoving you against the bathroom door.

“Get it through your thick skull. You’re not welcome here. Sam’s not going to fuck you. Whatever stunt you’re trying to pull isn’t going to work,” Colby said firmly. You never failed to frustrate him, your eyes looking up into his curiously. He took the brief moment to study your face in the odd yellow lighting. Your eyelashes were longer, your lips slightly more plump.

Why were you so difficult?

Colby stepped away hesitantly, allowing you to stand up straight. You brushed off your dress, standing still.

“Why are you still here? Didnt you hear me? Sam’s not going to fuck you-” Colby snarled. You took a step closer to him, yanking him towards you by grabbing his tie. You wrapped your hand in the lacey material, causing Colby’s breath to hitch. Your faces were an inch apart at most, Colby’s cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink.

“You never said you wouldn’t fuck me though,” You purred. Colby eyed you carefully, searching your face for any signs of sarcasm or future torment. You were serious, your grip on Colby’s tie not loosening. Colby stood up straight for a moment, forcing himself away from you.

You were so tempting. His eyes scanned your body, soaking in every curve and inch of your soft skin. Truth was, as much as Colby hated you, he couldn’t find it within himself to get over you. You were like a drug addiction. He found himself trying other drugs to soothe over his lust for you, but those women never satisfied him the way you could.

The way you challenged him. The way you would eventually crumble and fully submit to him. You willingly became his fuck doll in the end, your cunt taking his cock better than any other woman could. Colby licked his lips, unsure if he should take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

“Thats what you came here for, wasn’t it?” He asked you. Your innocent act faded, your eyes darkening as you placed your hands on Colby’s shoulders. “I would’ve taken Sam, but no one is as good as you,” You confessed. Colby bit the inside of his cheek, before his resistance finally faded.

Fuck it.

His lips found yours before you could take another breath. Colby’s lips were as needy as yours, his large hands slithering down your body. Your body was pushed back on the bathroom door, a gasp escaping your lips as Colby devoured the sound. “You’re so filthy. Coming here dressed like that for everyone to see,” Colby panted. His nimble fingers found the zipper to your dress, yanking it down as his tongue found its way into your mouth.

You groaned as his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass, his grip almost bruising. “Says the one dressed in a suit and tie. Did you honestly believe you’d take another bitch home? Some blonde girl that would let you put your tie in her mouth as a gag?” You replied mockingly. Colby smacked your ass, your arguing lighting a fire under him.

This.

This right here is what Colby missed the absolute most.

This was what ignited the flame in his relationship with you, but also diminished it.

Your smart ass mouth.

In a swift motion he yanked off his tie, glaring down at you.

“Open your fucking mouth. I’ve had enough of you talking,” Colby growled. You obeyed him mockingly, flattening out your tongue and opening your mouth for him. For a brief moment the idea of face fucking you into oblivion crossed his mind, but it quickly faded. He didn’t want to use you, he wanted to feel you.

Colby shoved his wadded up tie into your mouth, relishing in the sight of you gagging just ever so slightly.

He began kissing down your neck, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside into the sink. Colby smirked into your skin as he began to suck hickies into your tender skin, your moans muffled by the gag. “Gotta remind you who you belong to,” Colby muttered, littering your skin with bright purple and brown marks. He huffed as he lowered himself down further, his cock growing harder by the minute.

Your small hands found his hair as he kissed your breast, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. His eyes were an endless sea of lust that you were going to drown in. He took your left nipple into his mouth, your muffled groans music to his ears. Your bud hardened in his mouth, the sensation making your eyes flutter shut.

Colby cupped your pussy, teasingly rubbing your folds. He released your breast with a pop, a ring of saliva coating your stimulated nipple. “If you don’t look at me, I stop. You understand?” Colby asked. You forced yourself to open your eyes, to swim above the high waters of lust that were rising. You nodded, looking down at the brunette man as he fully settled onto his knees.

He examined your lacey black panties, smirking.

“You wore my favorite set for me? You really are my personal whore,” Colby snickered. He yanked down your panties in a swift motion, your cunt practically dripping. You spread your legs, giving Colby more access as you tugged lightly at his hair.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Colby murmured, leaning forward. His fanned his hot breath over you teasingly, enjoying watching you squirm. You audibly whimpered, the sound muffled by his tie. Teasingly he kitten licked right over your clit, causing you to buck your hips involuntarily.

“Needy aren’t we?”

Colby’s hands gripped your thighs, before licking a stripe up your cunt. You moaned his name into the gag, your eyes never straying his. Colby’s mouth and tongue were relentless, assaulting your clit and sucking your juices like his life depended on it. He could feel his cock twitch in his trousers, your taste causing him to go feral.

He brought two fingers to your aching cunt, slowly pushing them into your entrance. You tugged at his hair, causing him to quietly groan as he pushed his digits inside of you. Your walls were squeezing around him, desperate for release. “This is when you look your prettiest. Your body begging for me like this,” Colby told you, his eyes wondering down to your cunt.

He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot you like hit most. You moaned loudly into the gag, your sinful noises giving Colby a bigger ego by the moment. That was another thing he adored about you, your ability to involuntarily make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Colby began finger fucking you quickly, your body beginning to tremble as the cord inside of you began to become tighter. He used his other hand to draw fast circles around your clit, your thighs shaking. “That’s it. Good fucking slut. You’re doing so good for me. You filthy thing,” Colby said, swallowing as he watched your thighs begin to tremble.

Fuck. You were a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m gonna cum Colbs- fuck!” You groaned, your words muffled but still coherent through the gag as your orgasm crashed over you quickly. Your thighs trembled as your walls spasmed around Colby’s fingers, the feeling alone enough to haunt his fantasies for the next month.

Colby stood up quickly, yanking the tie out of your mouth and undoing his belt. You smiled as your high began to settle down. “You’re not half bad at giving head,” You teased. The brunette shoved his pants and boxers down quickly, his hands hungrily gripping your waist. “Fucking jump,” He ordered. You did as instructed, your back flat against the bathroom door.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The taunting tone of your voice, the haunting gaze of your eyes. He needed you now.

“You’re lucky I was feeling nice, next time i’ll skip foreplay and just make you take me,” Colby muttered, coating the tip of his cock with your slick. You whimpered as he brushed against your clit, before beginning to shove himself inside of you. “There won’t be a next time asshole,” You argued weakly, your walls stretching out to accommodate Colby’s size.

Your words made Colby roll his eyes, bucking his hips into yours aggressively. You whined as his cock fully sank inside of you, his tip brushed against your cervix. “There will always be a next time. You’re stupid if you think otherwise,” Colby panted, his cock twitching as you squeezed him. He began to move, dragging you up and down on his cock.

You began to groan his name, his hand flying over your mouth. “What did I say? This party is for Sam, not you. So shut the fuck up,” Colby snarled. You bit your bottom lip as you yanked his hand away from your mouth, glaring at him as he hit your g spot. “You’re so miserable Colby. I’m going to find a nice man and settle down one day. You’re going to be the fuckboy of youtube forever. That’s your punishment for what you did to me,” You argued, your words laced with venom.

Colby pinned you flat against the door, his cock buried inside of you as his eyes searched yours for a glimpse of the old you. The one he had before you cheated on him.

“Oh yeah? Guess what your punishment is?” Colby asked mockingly. You raised your eyebrows, before he snapped his hips into yours. You moaned loudly, clamping a hand over your own mouth to keep quiet as Colby’s brutal pacing began to quicken. His hips were relentless, his stamina unfazed as he held your body up against the door.

“Your punishment is this. You feel my cock? How good it makes you feel?” Colby huffed, gripping your skin harshly. You nodded weakly, his cock abusing your cunt to Colby’s liking. “You’ll never be able to replace me. It doesn’t matter what shrimp dick fuck you end up with. You’ll always think of me. You’ll always think of this,” Colby growled. He was going feral, his hips moving on their own as he quietly groaned your name.

You gripped his shoulders, wrinkling his crisp white button up. “I hate you Colby Brock,” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from making anymore unholy noises. Colby grinned at your insult, before watching his cock go in and out of your dripping pussy. “I hate you too sweetheart. But fuck, you take me so well,” Colby muttered. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his cock continuing to use your cunt as it pleased.

His breath was hot as he groaned your name quietly, trying to avoid any outsiders hearing either of you. You hugged him tightly, allowing him to use you as he pleased. You loved the way his cock stretched you out mercilessly, then abusing your g spot into pure euphoria. “Colbs-” You began, trying to warn him of your oncoming orgasm. Colby gripped your flesh harder, as if he were afraid you’d disappear.

“I know baby, me too. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” Colby ordered weakly, his own orgasm approaching rapidly. Your body trembled as you came, your walls squeezing Colby’s cock tightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Colby moaned into your skin. His thrust continued, fucking you into overstimulation as you ride out your orgasm. “Colbs, cum inside of me, fucking please,” You whined. Colby chuckled darkly as he lifted up his head.

He was proud of you in an odd way.

“I knew you were still my cumdumpster,” Colby said darkly, before bringing his lips to yours. The taste of your lips sent him over the end, his cock twitching and spilling his seed inside of you. You struggled to keep up with his needy lips, your body gone completely limp as his seed filled you. He pulled away slowly, his lust fading and usual distaste for you returning.

Colby slowly set you down, doing as he always did. He looked around, grabbing the closest hand towel and running it under the tap water. “Just breathe for me, okay?” He murmured. You did as instructed, focusing on your breathing as he wiped your overstimulated cunt. He cleaned you up, tossing the rag aside.

He handed you your bra and panties, before dressing himself quietly. It always ended this way, the two of you dressing in silence after a good fuck. You never understood why he bothered to clean you up. As you put on your dress, the brunette was quick to help you zip up the back zipper. You both were facing the mirror, the reflection showing people both of you used to be.

You gave Colby one last glance before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving the brunette alone with his thoughts.

He slipped out not long after you, the remaining guest seemingly unaware of the sinful act that had occurred moments before. He snaked his way through the smaller crowd, returning to his place beside Sam. His best friend was happy to see him, giving him a drunken smile.

“Hey dude, where’d you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Sam asked. Colby shrugged, accepting the cup of liquor Sam had passed him. “I’ve been mingling. You know how I am,” Colby lightly joked. Sam signaled for him to come closer, as if he had a secret to tell him. The blonde placed one hand on his shoulder, before quietly telling him the realization he had:

“Y/n is here. I don’t see a problem with her being here but I know you guys have a history so I thought i’d let you know,”

Colby shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, his thoughts circling around being buried in your cunt just minutes ago.

“Thats fine man. I don’t really care. Where’s she at?” He asked curiously. The brunette figured you would’ve left, having completed your goal of him fucking you. Sam pointed at you in the mist of the crowd, an influencer Colby didn’t recognize with you.

He watched as you grinded your ass against the man, his hands gripping your waist. The waist Colby’s hands were on minutes earlier. You caught Colby’s eye, sending him a flirty wink as you continued to dance with the stranger. Colby’s gaze hardened, fire dancing in his eyes of envy as he eyed the stranger.

If looks could kill, the strange man standing where Colby should’ve been would be dead.

The only thing that broke Colby’s hardened stare was Sam’s question:

“Hey dude what happened to your tie?”

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