#he should only be eating dew drops and
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ill be honest the only person I have ever seen I would describe as waifish is reportoftheweek
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is that tax fraud?
for @corrodedcoffinfest warm-up round prompt ‘taxes’
rated t | 671 words | cw: language | tags: they’re just so stupid, and I love them, look Steve is here!
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
“What the hell do you mean you’ve never filed taxes?” Jeff asked Gareth as they sat around trying to write a song.
Keyword: trying.
Now it looked like they were gonna be figuring out how to keep Gareth out of fucking prison for tax fraud.
“I thought our band accountant handled it!” Gareth exclaimed.
“We don’t have a band accountant! The label just handles our money!” Jeff exclaimed back.
“Okay, let’s calm down.” Eddie, the voice of reason at this moment, held his hands up towards them. “Technically, Gareth only turned 18 two years ago. That’s only two years of back taxes. And if he’s honest, it’ll be fine! He probably didn’t even make enough the first year for them to care.”
“Well, I did get an inheritance from my grandpa who died,” Gareth said unhelpfully. “Does that count as income?”
Everyone stared at him in shock.
“This is a joke,” Freak said from his spot on the couch. “Has to be.”
“Oh my god, our drummer is actively committing tax fraud,” Jeff put his head in his hands.
“Guys, it’s fine! I’ll just file it all this year,” Gareth assured them.
“We should call someone. Right? Someone should be told about this,” Eddie started pacing the floor, wearing a trail into the shag carpet.
Who even put shag carpet in here? Shag was terrible.
The door swung open and Steve walked in holding three large pizzas and a grocery bag full of sodas.
“They didn’t have any Mountain Dew, but that’s probably for the best. You guys have a conference call in an hour so eat up,” he said as he started setting everything on the coffee table. He looked around when he realized it was way too quiet. “Everything okay?”
“Stevie. I fear our drummer may be going to prison.”
Steve paled. “What? Why?”
“He forgot to tell the government he has money. For two years.”
“He what?” Steve looked at Gareth to explain.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to file my own taxes! I thought we had a guy!”
Steve looked between all of them. He looked at Gareth.
“You do have a guy. The label provides a guy. I think his name is Sam? Maybe Shane.” Steve shook his head. “Either way. You have a tax guy. He filed for all of you last year.”
You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
“What do you mean? We all filed for ourselves last year. Except Gareth, apparently,” Jeff was frowning at the floor.
“Uh, well, you may have given double the money, then,” Steve laughed, though this wasn’t exactly funny.
“So let me get this straight: the label provided a guy to do our taxes without telling us. We all file our own taxes after this guy already did. No one caught it. Gareth’s the only one who hasn’t double paid into the fucking government?” Eddie asked, face red with shame or anger, it was hard to say which.
“Yeah, appears so.”
“Fuck you guys. Had me worried I was going to prison and I’m the only one who’s done shit right!” Gareth laughed. He reached for a slice of pizza and sat back in his chair, smug smile on his face. “Feels good to have my taxes paid.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Freak rolled his eyes. “So how do we get money back if we double filed?”
“Not sure we can,” Jeff sighed. “Probably isn’t worth figuring it out anyway. It’s not like we were rolling in for last year’s taxes.”
“But this year…” Eddie started.
They all looked at each other and nodded.
Yeah. This year would be different. They’d skyrocketed after the release of their first album and their first tour. Money was…pretty fucking great.
“So…pizza?” Steve asked.
They all nodded and started grabbing for their food.
“If you guys want, I’m sure Nancy can try to find a way to get money back. She’s good at that stuff,” Steve suggested.
“Nah, she’d call us idiots.”
“Well, if the shoe fits.”
“Hey!”
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this fic took too long to commit to digital paper than it should have, but it's done, so let's focus on that.
i have incorporated a few of the headcanons i listed in another dedicated post. or, at least, i tried.
synopsis: a strange routine has settled between you and colonel könig, your direct superior. one unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, after you got over the shock elicited by the reserved, dreadful giant seeking you out for comfort you did not imagine him needing… and the fact that he seems to need it from you more often than you from him. but an unspoken agreement is still an agreement.
warnings: unethical power imbalance, ptsd, dub con to full con, muffdiving for comfort, maledom to malesub, crying, heavy petting, orgasm control and denial, könig is a pet, slight degradation, praising, humping, cum eating, dispassionate fingering, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably.
word count: 3887
A/N: if you're unsure whether to read this fic or not, here's something about me that might help you decide:
i like my porn grotesque and sentimental;
i like my men dangerous, submissive, pathetic (affectionate) and in tears.
a less blurry tentakönig than his previous appearance is once again here to kindly remind us that the following is aimed at an adult audience. please, respect this.
you are walking with a couple of new recruits along one of the corridors of the base’s building. from out the windows, the light hardly makes a difference, too weak at this early hour to lighten the interiors. chill still blankets you like dew on the grass outside: it hasn’t abandoned you since you woke up for drills.
this isn’t the fastest route to report for training, but there is still time, so you don’t fret. you chat lightly, nodding here and there in spite of the little interest you have for the banality of the noobies’ small talk, when the sound of heavy footfalls echoes ahead.
you hear him before you can see, the sight of colonel könig’s imposing frame following close behind the sound of his stomping gait. your comrades hesitate only a moment, going quiet and halting to salute the higher-ranking official. you don’t.
you are too busy taking in könig’s haunted eyes locking on you, a shiver running down your spine as soon as you notice how crazed they look. two dark pits in the holes of his mask, staring ahead through heavy eyelids smudged in black. your body has stopped moving before your brain could take stock of it; his pace has only increased.
there is not a doubt left: you are his target.
the colonel ignores the recruits and, without even slowing, seizes you by the waist with an arm, lifting you bodily and dragging you along with him. you do not fight it. instead, you gesture towards the hesitant others to go on without you and, after an awkward glance exchanged with one another, they are swift to follow your unspoken advice.
if something unethical is going on between an official and a private, neither of them wishes to witness it. the less they know, the safer their positions within their employer’s company.
you watch their shadows disappear on the wall, behind a sharp corner, and the bitter stench of tobacco mixed with acrid breath hits your nostrils, even through the fabric of the colonel’s mask. it makes you think how many hours he has been up, how long he has been storming the base looking for you, how many times he has choked the desire to drag you from your cot in the middle of the night with yet another cigarette for that smell to linger so thickly…
until the distraction of smoking stopped being enough to help him hold back.
he drops you to your feet, unceremonious, back against wall and falls to his knees, masked head reaching above your waist as he hastily unbuckles your belt. it jingles sharply in the gloom of early morning quiet, the padding of his thick gloves hindering the deftness of his movements, but not his will.
«colonel…», you hazard, voice small. but all you receive in response is more of his frenzied panting and a jolt as your belt is finally torn from your trouser’s loops.
one of his hands disappears under the trail of his mask, teeth pulling at glove, before brash fingers are back to tug at your button and zipper. you relent, disliking the idea of having to request another standard-issue uniform so soon and manage to get your hand under his, removing every obstacle along his way.
könig barely glances up at you in approval. he swipes down trousers and underwear in one pull with a groan. you barely see the pale, scarred skin of his lower face flash in the dim light as he lifts the dangling ends of his mask just enough, that his head already dives between your legs.
his thick fingers hold the softer flesh on your inner-thighs apart with such urge you sense with certainty you will find them bruised, as the colonel easily covers the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, uses it to spread your lips, so his can attach to your soft, delicate folds and suck enough to make you ache in both discomfort and desire.
«colonel…», you try again to little avail, the wet, smacking sound of his mouth on yours getting louder as he presses his lips, his chin, hard against you, his panting soon turning to satisfied groaning.
«make me…», he rasps hot against your skin while snatching one of your hands and planting it firmly on top of his own head, pale stubble of hair stinging your palm through the neck-hole of his t-shirt-mask.
as if you could really make colonel könig do anything in this state.
so desperate that his hips thrust back and forth of their own accord. they have been since the moment the colonel dropped in front of you to lose himself in his self-assigned task. they always do when his lips can taste your juices – or those of any other, you presume. they fuck empty air, occasionally swatting your legs as he laps at your cunt with wanton greed unknown to you before you and the colonel were introduced, large, gloved hand still covering yours, squeezing your fingers as he fantasises about you forcing him to pleasure you, like he requested.
it’s more of an instinct, an uncontrollable tic for him, than a genuine attempt at release for himself. he doesn’t even register how he could dry-hump your boot to get himself off, so completely taken by his visceral hunger for you while in the unshakable grip of whatever darkness stirs within.
the one that guided his actions so far. the one that guides his actions often.
you are certain he revels in the feel of your sex against his tongue more than you in the feel of his tongue against it; as if every lick and suck brought him closer to a salvation otherwise denied.
this confirms the initial suspicion that formed in your head as soon as you looked at his grey, dire eyes as he came at you like a battering ram: another one of his night terrors. another phantom lingering in his wake.
you don’t know what it is he sees in the back of his skull every time he blinds himself from sight, when exhaustion claims him and he has no choice but to succumb to it. that is the one thing that still remains a mystery and you won’t prise. you can imagine the horrors, you have seen it before, and that is not the kind of information you force out of someone, no matter how erratic they behave because of it.
his messy slurping is getting out of hand; the way he traps your lips and folds in his teeth and pulls on them, before burying his tongue in your slit to harangue your too-sensitive nub with his nose becoming unbearable; his feasting off of you far rougher than usual.
«col--- könig!», you finally call, voice stern, and his head lifts, chin glistening with spit, before the lower hem of his mask falls back down, sticking to it.
he looks at you as if he were seeing you for the first time today, fury, if not sated, at least subdued, for now. the troubled look so vivid in his eyes moments ago dulls enough that it’s only a pale, threatening glimmer on their glassy surface.
you carefully pinch the hem of your clothes, slowly lifting them to cover up. he stops forcing your thighs apart, so you can adjust your uniform around your hips, gaze still boring into his as you refuse to avert it from his unreliable nature, hoping it will be enough to stay his brash hand.
instead, he helps you with the button, then shuffles back a little, signalling he is no threat to you. he never really was. not willingly, at least.
«belt!»
he swiftly collects it from where he discarded it earlier in his state of rash lust and mysterious turmoil and coils it tidily around his fist, before placing it in your outstretched hand.
he watches, still on his knees, as you loop it back in place and buckle it close, his breathing quiet again.
«könig», his eyes are back to yours as he expectantly awaits for your next words, «to your quarters, colonel.»
you are the one to lock the door behind the two of you with the colonel’s implicit blessings. both of you know what comes next, yet könig does not move, waiting for your say.
so you do. you inhale deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to recollect yourself, knowing now that the distance between you, modest though it may be, will still be the same when you reopen them.
«kit off, colonel», there is no harshness in your voice, but it sounds authoritative all the same.
könig complies, ridding himself of any encumbrance save for his mask, then stands there, further waiting. you don’t allow yourself to indulge in his attractive figure too long, even when his arousal is difficult to ignore, pointing straight at you, leaking thickly.
«come», you barely open your arms and he goes down to the floor, crawling towards you. you meet him on the tiles, slipping your back against the door and settling in a squat as you invite him to join you, invite him closer.
now he can touch you.
he hugs your waist tight, almost dragging you down with him, but careful not to. his head immediately finds shelter in the hollow of your neck, silently begging for comforting touch you are now willing to provide. your hand is soon going through his short-cropped hair, mindful not to lift his mask.
not until he is ready to do it himself, or give you leave to.
there, on the floor, you both find your peace. the peace of liminality: fleeting, for it won’t last and, therefore, all the more precious. he barely moves, trying not to burden you with his conspicuous weight, even when, after a while, even your well-trained thighs and knees need reprieve from the squatting.
you sit down, legs spread wide to make room for könig as he slots himself between them, ruined, scarred lips tracing your throat downwards, then up again as his hands open the top of your fatigues, where more of your skin can be freed for him, covered only by your tank top.
he needs that contact. close. warm. reassuring. even when he unshackles your breasts from the trappings of your attire, mandated down to your underclothes, it is not out of need of his loins that he does so.
you hold him to your chest and soon, you feel his throat tremble. hot, wet tears melt his face, safely hidden against you, breaking the soft murmur of quiet breathing in low, reluctant and shameful sobs the colonel holds in until he cannot any more. a litany of exhalations and mutterings in his native tongue pushes out of him to take their place.
delirium
you hold him tighter as one of your hands finds its way under his mask to contour the battlefield that is his face. unevenly raised scars older and newer that litter his skin welcome the pads of your fingers as you wipe the tears with your palms, gently stroking.
he glances up at you, miserable, bloodshot eyes supplicating for things he couldn’t name if he knew what they were called.
«shhhh», you reassure him that there is no need to ask for anything as you begin to lift his mask, slowly enough to give the colonel time to object. he doesn’t and the fabric swishes off his head quietly.
now he is fully bare. a level of nakedness that you are sure not many have had the chance to witness.
your hold tightens around him and your hand runs through his matted hair, his damp cheeks, contouring the crooked shape of the left cheekbone, the one that broke and never healed right, dabbing at ever-renewing tears as he curses a past to you unknown.
the colonel shifts his heavy eyes, voice louder as he hisses at an invisible figure that hangs in the air of his memory, right next to your head, then shelters his face in your bosom again, crumpled on his knees, fingers digging the sides of your back, which he easily hugs.
you haven’t stopped stroking his hair a moment, holding the colonel as tightly as you’re capable of, trying to hush his whimpering with voice steady and secure.
you don’t know what could reduce the epitome of man such the colonel is, or at least, presents as, to this shaky mess and, at this point, you hope you never learn. the slump of his otherwise proud, muscled back looks pitiful as you stare at it. it brings a bitter scowl to your lips. what, indeed, could possibly have brought reserved and competent könig this low, in front of you?
you remember a tune you once heard him hum when he thought no one was there, or when he was so lost in thought that he did not even realise doing it, more likely. you intone it to the best of your memory.
this seems to soothe the colonel, enough that he is quiet, save for the occasional shaky gasp that still seizes his throat. he soon joins you, voice off-key and hoarse, to complete it with sparse words you couldn’t possibly know.
you try not to think of the consequences of missing the daily training, yet have no intention to ask the colonel to vouch for you. you want to keep this strange moment all to yourself, separate from your quotidian routine. a slice of time in an alternate place, cut away from your everyday reality.
yours and könig’s alone.
your thoughts are interrupted by the colonel’s mouth, warm and hungry. it wraps about the tips of your tear-stained tits and sucks, finally driven by different needs than consolation. your body responds right away to the ravenous love bites he marks on your skin, another blemish of his you will carry with yourself. a memento that this was not some daydream that never really was outside of your imagination.
your nipples pebble in his mouth and, as he steals another gasp from your throat, his demeanour emboldens. his large, rough hands cup your breasts while his teeth move to your neck, your jaw, your lips.
you are weak to his advances. you don’t deny him. yet it leaves you wondering who is taking advantage of whom.
«turn around, colonel», you forcefully grab a tuft of könig’s hair and pull the roots to show him you meant it. again, he complies, even though you can sense a note of disappointment.
he sits in front of you and you kneel at his back, bodies pressed tightly together as you reach around to knead his stomach, muscles flexing involuntarily as your hands descend. the thickness of könig’s abdomen forces you to struggle to reach his cock, but you can work with it. you already have in the past and the fingers now curling around the root of it confirm it.
your hand barely contains his heft, but it is quick to move along the heavy organ all the same. you squeeze, a groan reaching your ears as his flesh throbs back your touch, fingers tracing pulsing veins along it until they come away wet, foreskin rolling down softly almost on its own.
enough with the toying. you want to hear the colonel, könig, gasp and whimper as desperately as when he was weeping, but for rather different reasons. your determination spurs your movements and you start stroking his cock in earnest, wasting no more time.
it feels more aggression than service, almost violent, the way you abuse his cock with your hand, but you know he can take it. can take it. the man demands it. you know by the way, uncomfortable though it is sitting on the floor like that, he bucks his hips into your fist, meeting your downward slide with a jolt from his loins.
and when you torture him with your delightful touch, only to open your fist, enough for him to feel the silky warmth of your palm, but none of the friction, he whines for your hand back. he wines oh-so-sweetly for it as you mock him in pointed whispers in his ear.
this only riles him up more, forcing the most endearing of sounds through his broken lips. so you grant him his wish, hugging his girth in your fist and returning to your task, skin sliding smoothly with könig’s own wetness.
you repeat one, two, three more times, delighting each one in his reactions, until you force him to pleasure himself with your hand.
you hold it still around him, making him work for his release, his hips back to their frantic bucking, until you cheat him out of his pleasure one last infuriating time.
he curses in his tongue, that much you understand without need for translation, as you rise from the floor to stand a little distance away, in front of him.
«silence, dog! you know what i want, now.»
his chest heaves visibly as he peers at you from below, almost hateful in the intensity of his leer, but he obeys. back on all fours, he crawls towards your outstretched hand, seeking contact once more.
you stroke his face, damp and exhausted-looking, by now: «you’re a good, obedient dog, colonel.»
he hums at the praise and lets you guide him closer to you by his hair as you extend your left leg towards him, planting the heel of your boot to the floor. he observes while you let a glob of saliva trickle down on its tip and shuffle your foot to spread it on the rest of the black leather surface.
you lean towards him: «you know what i want from you now, pup.»
könig nods, then positions himself atop your boot, thighs straddling each side of it, disappearing it from sight with their large, powerful muscles. he stares up at you as he rubs his cock against the squeaky-clean, smooth leather you maintain in impeccable condition. he would do so even if that hand of yours caught in his hair weren’t twisting his neck backwards enough to relish in the sight of him.
his slower, sensuous movements begin to grow more haphazard once more. you are sure he will give himself rope burns with the laces if you don’t let him find relief.
«go on, colonel. i want you to come. now.»
he buries his face between your thighs as his hips keep working your boot, rubbing his cheeks against the rough fabric of your fatigues, lapping at it with his tongue, mouth hungry for the warmth and sweet taste of your cunt, just below the clothes, yet out of reach for the colonel until you decree otherwise.
he will have to settle for breathing in its scent, especially after those theatrics of his, earlier this morning.
finally, his penance is served in full. he moans against your crotch as he floods your boot with his seed, breath scorching as his mouth seals against your trousers to quiet his pleasured utterings.
his tongue is dry when he sits on his haunches to recover his breath.
you pet könig’s head, sweat wetting your palm as you run it along his skull: «you are a good pup, colonel», he basks in your praises, eyes almost beaming, «but do you know what a really good pup would do, now?»
he nods, sparing you the breath to tell him and immediately goes down to your boot again, lips and tongue working, relentless, to clean it from his mess. he doesn’t come up until not a single trace of his juices is left on your footwear, nor the floor around it, where it trickled.
you watch him swallow the last of it. No complaints.
that’s when you kneel to encase his jaws in your hands, so you can tilt his head towards you: «you were perfect, colonel.»
you can feel all the tension leave könig’s body. as for the anguish that plagues his spirit, you have done what you could.
colonel könig’s uniform looks impeccable on him. it hugs him perfectly, as if every piece of it were not lying crumpled on the floortiles only minutes ago. his mask is back on his head, shrouding his face as he likes. he waits by the door, gaze illegible, with a glass of apricot brandy in hand whose bottle he retrieved from one of the drawers.
he offered you some, but you declined. even if you could bear its taste, you don’t feel like indulging in spirits when your day has yet to begin. he shrugged and went to lean against the egress wall. he’s still sipping on it to rinse his mouth as you readjust your own fatigues.
you nod your head in goodbye and make to leave, but his figure doesn’t budge. you wait for an explanation. all you get is his gaze trailing behind you as he eyes his large desk, instead.
you sigh, considering what he is offering. your absence must have been noticed, by now and you don’t think a few more minutes will make a difference. in truth, your unsatisfied arousal is probably tainting your common sense, but you already said no to the brandy. it wouldn’t do to leave you superior without saying yes to a kindness he offers.
you nod and he sets his glass aside after emptying it. the temperamental giant easily lifts you again, this time much calmer and gentler, allowing you to find balance by gripping his shoulders as he walks towards the elegant wooden surface.
he rests you on it, sheltering your head with his arm and taking a few steps back as he waits for you to undo your trousers and pull them down enough. you do, clumsily, but quickly and you see him return, towering from above, eyes vacuous and inexpressive now that his mask is back on his face.
he repositions you to his liking, bending your knees to your chest to grant himself a nice view of both your face and your cunt, dripping from all the pent-up energy you accumulated during your session.
he ungloves his right hand, bringing the fingers to his mouth to wet them more out of habit than need, then plants the left one beside your face as he leans over you, mask hovering above you, brushing your face as his fingers find easy way inside you.
he gets working right away, no preambles, rather utilitarian in his approach. his thick index and middle finger squelch rhythmically inside you as his thumb covers your clit. he attacks your sweet spot right away, curling his fingertips as you bite hard on your lower lip to stifle your noises.
the recent memory of him kneeling at your feet, obedient and desperate, coupled with a few more pointed, circular motions and you’re convulsing around his hand, arms instinctively sheltering your eyes from his as your back arches. you feel him retreat right away, his job done and you can finally readjust your clothes for good.
you glimpse könig sneak the fingers he used on you under the hem of his mask, the sucking sounds you hear as you buckle your belt around your waist eloquent enough. he doesn’t seem satisfied until he has licked all of your humours from them, then his glove is fitted back on.
now you can leave.
thank you for reading.
let me know what you thought, if you feel like it.
and please, if you enjoyed it, consider reblogging.
#call of duty#cod#cod fanfic#könig#konig#könig cod#konig cod#könig mw2#konig mw2#könig mwii#konig mwii#könig x reader#konig x reader#könig smut#konig smut#submissive!könig#minors dni
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Material Boy
(This one is available on AO3)
When he’s not busy being a vigilante, Tim likes to think that he’s a pretty simple guy. He has normal, civilian friends. He's awkward when he talks to people he wants to bang. He likes skateboarding and playing Warlocks & Warriors. He dropped out of high school.
He also, like many kids of his generation, grew up collecting superhero merchandise and memorabilia.
And yes, maybe he never got out of the habit of collecting super-trinkets even after joining the vigilante game — a fact he keeps between himself and God, he can only imagine how much shit Steph and the others would give him if they knew — but it's not like he steals stuff from the heroes he knows. He just... buys things. A lot of things.
Which brings him to his current problem: the amount of merchandise created depends a lot on a hero's popularity. This means that Superman has insane amounts of merch. Wonder Woman and Batman too, to a lesser extent. In Gotham, Robin does pretty well for kids' stuff, and Nightwing has inspired more than one, uh, adult line of toys.
…But Red Hood? As tacky as brands can get with their products, they know better than to create merch of mass murdering rogues and villains, and unfortunately people aren't sure whether Red Hood qualifies a good guy. This means that Tim's haul is Very Poor when it comes to Hood. Which is an issue on account of Tim's massive crush on Jason.
How is a man supposed to pine in dignity when he can't even find a decent body pillow to warm his lonely bed? How?!
Tim obviously has to fix this problem. He has to rehabilitate Red Hood and ensure a steady supply of bling for his display cases. And shelves. And furniture. And possibly wardrobe, he's not picky.
He has to.
Which is why he ends up raving about Red Hood, his crime-fighting exploits, and his charity work on social media. He uses all of his covers' accounts and even creates a few more, enthusing people and posting praise until, finally, his amateur PR campaign snowballs.
He knows his job is done when his hashtags start trending outside of the Gotham metro area, and the first Red Hood plushie comes out of Build-A-Bear.
___________________________
Jason is bemused when he first gets wind of his rising popularity. Sure, it's nice to be appreciated and the genuine testimonials from Gothamites warm the cockles of his dead, dead heart, but where did the hype come from? And why are people trying to ask him for autographs? He's a crime lord! He's dangerous and scary, and people should definitely not feel comfortable enough to ask him for selfies!
…Oh fuck, is that it? Is someone trying to sabotage his reputation?
Disturbed, Jason reaches out to Oracle for some help with finding the person behind this heinous plan. He's not entirely sure why Babs laughs for five minutes straight after hearing his question, but she eventually tells him that the original accounts extolling his virtues belong to Red Robin's covers.
Shrugging to himself, he suits up and heads to Tim's nest. He busts in, ready to deliver the wrath of the Hood on Tim for making him look like a hero when he's a Very Mean, Very Dangerous Badass… only to find Tim eating Froot Loops out of some violently lime liquid, while wearing what looks like chibi Red Hood pajamas, complete with little cat ears over the stylized helmet.
Suffice to say, that display takes the wind out of Jason's sails. He holsters his weapons back and takes off his helmet so Tim can properly appreciate how appalled he is before speaking.
"Okay, what the fuck, Timbo?"
Tim blinks. "You wanna be a bit more specific there?"
"I wouldn't even know where to start. Just. What the fuck."
"Well, I'm having dinner?" Tim tries, shoving a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.
"Froot Loops in, what is that, cucumber juice? That's dinner?" Jason stares harder.
Tim swallows his spoonful thickly. "It's Mountain Dew, actually."
"Okay but that's worse. You get how that's worse, right?"
"Did you seriously come here to talk about my meal plans?"
"I came here to ask why you decided to ruin my street cred, and to kick your ass—" Jason winces as Tim eats another mouthful, "—but apparently you're doing a great job at hurting yourself on your own."
Tim gives him a blank look. "I ruined your street cred? How?"
"You told people I'm a hero," Jason says accusingly.
"Ah, I see what the problem is. Look, Jason, this might come as a shock to you and I understand if you need to take a minute to process this very new piece of information but… you are a hero, dumbass."
Jason seriously considers throwing his helmet at Tim but, with the state Tim is in, he's pretty sure it would feel like pouring water on a drowning man.
"I'm not the kind of hero they make jammies of! I mean, what the fuck are you even wearing?"
Tim pulls on his shirt to show off the design, perking up. "These? They're Red Catting Hood limited edition PJs. They're cute, right?"
You're cute, Jason mutters under his breath, before taking a few menacing steps forward. "They're ridiculous. I'm not a cat. And I'm definitely not cute."
"We're going to have to agree to disagree there."
Jason stares at him. "You think I'm cute?"
"No, I think you're a cat," Tim deadpans, still eating his disgusting mixture.
"I… I tried to kill you, remember?!"
"Yeah, you did. And now I have little cartoon kitties of you on my jim-jams. Life's full of curveballs, isn't it?"
Jason is pretty sure he's having a minor breakdown in Tim's kitchen. He opens and closes his mouth silently several times, confusion robbing him of his words. Tim watches him for a couple of minutes, then he stands up and shuffles closer to pat him on the back.
Jason lets out a very unmanly squeak of horror when he spots matching Red Catting Hood slippers on Tim's feet.
Tim shushes him. "Hey, it's okay, dude. I understand that you don't know how to deal with people expressing positive emotions in your direction after getting the Bruce special growing up, but it's gonna be fine. Just breathe. You'll get used to it."
Jason stares at Tim with wide eyes. Then he gently takes him by the shoulders.
"Timmers. Tim. You crazy little birdie. Telling me I'm cute, talking about emotions... Are you okay? Is this a cry for help? Talk to me."
"You ask me that now?" Tim gives him a judgmental look. "I can't believe that's where you draw the line. I mean, where's your 'Be my Robin' enthusiasm?"
"It drowned in your bowl of Mountain Dew next to the Froot Loops. No, but seriously. If I'm your last resort, then you can tell me what's wrong. No need for tacky PJs, I'll listen."
Tim's eyes narrow. "Okay, then listen to this. First of all, my PJs aren't tacky. Second, I like you, dumbass, and yeah, I think you're cute. And third, I hyped you up on social media because I wanted Red Hood merch for my collection."
Jason takes a second to let that confession wash over him. He regrets removing his helmet. He's blushing, he knows he's blushing. In fact he must have been a redhead in another life, because he must be reminiscent of a tomato at this point, and oh no. He's a grown-ass man, why is he blushing like a nerd for this incredibly sleep-deprived, adorable maniac?
"You have a collection?" he squeaks.
"Uh, yeah. I started it when I was 4." Tim raises his eyebrows. "But nevermind that, are you seriously going to leave me hanging? I just told you I like you, man."
"I don't know what to say," Jason chokes out. "This... You're—I'm not good for you."
"Sorry but the entire internet would disagree. You're a hero, remember? And I can take care of myself, thank you very much. I don't need to be patronized."
Jason gestures at Tim's dinner. "That is demonstrably false."
Tim pouts. "Well. If you were my boyfriend, you could make sure I eat properly."
"Is that what you want? To be my b—" Jason's voice breaks. He swallows before trying again. "To be my boyfriend?"
"I mean, yeah?" Tim shrugs. "That's not why I hyped you up, I'm not kidding about the merch thing. But. Yeah. That would be… Good. Nice."
"Oh."
"Is that something you'd like too?"
Jason licks his lips. "Yeah, I—I think so. Yeah. There's just one thing though..."
Hope sparkles in Tim's eyes. "What?"
"It's just... I can't let people think you like me more than I like you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means—" Jason tugs on the fabric of Tim's PJs, "—that for every Red Hood item you own, you have to get me some matching Red Robin merch."
Tim grins a wide, bright, genuine smile that almost offsets the deep purple bruising under his tired eyes. "It's a deal."
___________________________
(They show up to the Manor together two months later to announce their relationship. They walk in hand-in-hand, Jason wearing a Red Robin hoodie, Tim in a Red Hood henley. Damian doesn't even have to pretend to gag at the sight.)
#jaytim#jason todd#tim drake#if you're wondering why Tim didn't just commission some artist for Red Hood merch#well that's because he can't flex online about owning limited editions if there's no market other than him#kieran writes
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When You Feel Safe, When You Feel Warm
WC: 1,4K
Relationship: Swiss/Rain/Dewdrop
Tags: Hurt/comfort (the hurt is just being tired on tour), fluff, very mild pet regression (i generally don't think it should count but tagging just to be safe? ig), kitty dew if you will, they're soooo in love <3
Touring is tiring, and all the exhaustion makes Dewdrop a bit… different? All the cuter, if you ask Rain and Swiss.
Read under the cut or on AO3.
He was exhausted. Again.
They all were, obviously, touring was extremely tiring, but Dewdrop was on a verge and everyone could see that.
It was always the same.
First, he was getting snappy, lashing out at everyone for no reason and feeling bad about it, because they didn’t deserve it. They treated him like a fragile piece of glass, if anything. Most of the time Dewdrop hated it, but when he was already too tired to even let out a snarl after tripping over Swiss’ phone charger, he secretly appreciated it. He wasn’t an asshole on a daily basis, like so many people seemed to be sure of, but it was one of the stages of his exhaustion.
Then there was a shutdown.
Dewdrop’s packmates were lucky if they heard one word from him during this stage. He didn’t have the energy for speaking, or anything else, anymore, he had to save all of the small bits he had left into playing the shows. His mates would have to force him to eat and drink then, too, because the only thing he knew was playing.
Something weird happened after that. First few times everyone thought it was Dewdrop getting better, maybe he slept better, but no, it was the highest possible level of his exhaustion, and they learned it quickly. He would start speaking again, smiling, laughing even, being more active in general, but the way he was doing all that wasn’t exactly how he carried himself normally.
Getting off stage after a ritual Dew would all but glue himself to Swiss, Rain or both of them, nudging their shoulders with his head, trilling quietly. This was a small alert, but an alert nonetheless. He was tactile, yes, but he wasn’t a fan of showing affection so openly in public, as they were, only really doing so during the rituals, claiming it was for the show.
When someone would take off the fire ghoul’s helmet, his own hands feeling borderline useless, he’d start chirping, rubbing his face against them, their arms, chests, necks and faces (if he could reach) and whining if his request for attention wasn’t fulfilled.
In the dressing room, the first thing Dewdrop would do was drag someone, ideally Rain, to the couch, making him lay down as he situated himself between his legs. His face would drop to the ghoul’s belly as he purred, claiming his spot for the next fifteen minutes at least.
No one really knew why that was Dewdrop’s exhaustion response, but no one complained. They hated that he was so tired, yes, but extremely clingy cat-like fire ghoul was something they all did enjoy experiencing. Very much so.
Today everyone knew what version of Dew they’d get after the show. He was still quiet before it, focusing on the preparations, but he noticeably started to switch during the performance already. So then, of course, he ended up doing what had been done by him so many times before.
The fire ghoul rubbed his helmet, instead of his hands which was more usual, all over Rain for the better part of the ritual, whispering and laughing into his ear whenever he could. He didn’t pick up much of it, but even the slivers of Dewdrop’s voice after practically not hearing him at all for the last few days made his heart ache in the best way possible. He stayed glued to the water ghoul’s side during the bows, abandoning his typical spot next to Mountain. His happy chirp when he got placed between Swiss and Rain could be heard by them even over all the still overwhelming noise, making them giggle to each other at the simple yet so adorable display of his love for them.
When they were free to go backstage, Dewdrop wrapped both his arms around Swiss’ own, headbutting his shoulder. Rain stayed close behind the two, not wanting to risk Dew panicking, but also refusing to let them out of his sight for his own selfish reasons.
Before they reached a dressing room Dewdrop started muttering something under his breath and whining, his head rubbing against the multi ghoul more frantically, from time to time getting it tilted back or to the side and shaken. Swiss, with one of his arms effectively trapped, couldn’t do much but Rain was already on it, elegant fingers undoing the laces on the back of Dewdrop’s helmet. He dragged the balaclava down too, and when his mate was free, his glamour slowly wearing off too, he let out a happy sigh, his eyes slipping shut for a moment as he melted against Swiss. He chuckled, reaching to run his fingers through the mess on Dew’s head that they usually called his hair. He gave him a gentle scratch behind his ear, spot they knew the fire ghoul loved, and was rewarded with another pleased trill.
“Let’s get you inside, love,” Rain pushed him forward gently, a few steps and they were in the room. The water ghoul put Dewdrop’s helmet and his own away, taking off as much of his uniform as he managed before his mate started whining again.
Finally, when Rain plopped down onto a radioactive looking couch by the wall, Swiss got freed as Dewdrop launched himself into the water ghoul’s open arms. He crawled on top of him, ending up with his face buried in his chest as Rain gently, as to not tug on the sweaty knots, played with his hair. Swiss managed to change, in the meantime, grinning incessantly at the beautiful background noise that Dewdrop’s loud purring was. He prepared some comfy clothes for Rain and Dew too and packed up some of their stuff.
“Okay, princess, we can get going,” the multi ghoul announced, addressing Rain.
“Pssst, love,” he leaned down to whisper into Dew’s ear, hooking a stubborn strand of golden hair behind it. He moved his head up, resting his chin on Rain’s sternum as he blinked at him sleepily, “we gotta head back to the bus.”
Dewdrop half whined, half grumbled, tightening his arms around his mate’s waist. Swiss giggled above them, crouching down to run his big hands over the fire ghoul’s back, “Come on, I’ll carry you, doll.”
A bit reluctantly Dewdrop peeled himself off of Rain, only to be immediately scooped up into Swiss’ arms. Another trill sounded from Dew, as he shoved his face into the multi ghoul’s neck and let himself be carried through the venue’s seemingly endless corridors.
The next thing Dewdrop knew he was being tossed into a small bunk on their bus. His eyes widened and he let out a small panicked sound when Swiss’ arms left him for a moment.
“Shhh, you’re okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured and soon he did crawl into the tight space after his mate and wrapped him up in his arms. Swiss turned them so his back was to the bunk’s wall and Dew’s to his chest.
Before the small ghoul settled fully, though, “Mhm… R- Rainy?”
“He's coming, bug,” Swiss mumbled into the crook of his neck.
True to his word the curtain was peeled back again after a moment and Dewdrop was met with a sideways view of Rain’s smiling face, “Hi, love.”
“Hi,” Dew giggled and he suddenly got hoisted back and turned again by Swiss’ arm across his chest. With how much, or rather how little, space there was in those bunks they had to really work to make it work for them three.
Swiss laid down flat on his back, Rain curled into his side and Dewdrop sprawled out on top of them both, all their tails tangled. He had his face buried in between his mates’, both Rain’s stubble and Swiss’ moustache tickling his cheeks in the best possible way.
At one point Dewdrop's hands drifted down from where they were curled around his mates' necks, one landing over Swiss' soft tummy and the other on Rain's bicep. He moved them up and down for a few moments, as if he was shy to get to what he actually planned on doing.
He did, though. Dew slowly started squeezing his fists and pushing them down, soon fully kneading his ghouls, relaxing all three of them even more.
“Hey, Dew?” the multi ghoul whispered before any of them truly dozed off, nuzzling his nose into Dewdrop’s hair. His mate perked up at that, cocking his head to the side, a quiet ‘mrrp’ sound escaping him, making both Swiss and Rain absolutely melt. “God, you’re so cute. I love you so much.”
“You’re like a little kitten,” Rain mumbled from his spot where he was partially hidden by a curtain of gold, “you know that?”
As if it was supposed to be an answer, Dewdrop chirped happily and let the noise bleed into a steady purr as he rubbed his face against Swiss’ shoulder. Both his mates chuckled and kicked up their own content rumbles, tightening their hold on their sweet little kitten.
When they’d wake up the next day, Dewdrop would still be tired, they all would, but with a prospect of spending all their days like this together, again, they’d survive.
#hypnone writes#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#dewdrop ghoul#rain ghoul#swiss ghoul#fanfiction#fluff#kitty dew
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Angst promt 15 with Dew being mean to Phantom/Aeon in the beginning :)) either pure angst or hurt/comfort you choose -🌧️
Part 10293839 of dew doesn’t know how to cope with his trauma.
Warnings for: dew being overly cruel, like he’s really mean to phantom to justify his own trauma. Aether is said to be dead here, Detailed descriptions of dealing with grief, morally wrong thoughts, it’s angst.
No I don’t think dew is bad, this is all based in real grief. He’s not right but he’s not a bad ghoul. I want to make that clear. Dew tries to make it right in the end, this is a lot of him working through his own feelings. I didn’t leave it sad forever.
-
Sometimes dew feels like the perfect tragedy.
A fairy tale of love and loss that you tell your kids at night to not make them greedy. To teach them to enjoy what they have, to stop complaining.
A fucked up fable of a being forced into a shell that’s not his by a lover he no longer has and truly his own skin feels like his mates mausoleum.
His self hatred falls upon phantom most of the time. A better target than his own flesh and bones in his head. It’s a silent agreement between the ghouls to never mention it, to make sure phantom and dew don’t stay alone together too long but the only verbal concerns come from late night whispers in low lit rooms of the house.
Dew feels unjustified in his hatred, knows it in fact. Can’t rip away the feeling of phantoms existence being wrong. It punches him in the chest everytime he sees him, when he sees his guitar, when he sees him practice his magic. It’s wrong and gross and dew feels disgusted with him, like a cheap puppet of someone he loves.
He wonders if he could make phantom into a bad dog. If he will lash out when scared. Something tangible to justify his hatred. A bite wound to justify his fear. It’s part of the reason he’s so cold to him. His own civil war of wanting to leave the kid alone, knowing he’s done nothing wrong, and wanting to hurt him so phantom can hurt him back. He wants tangible evidence of phantom being cruel to him back so much he could almost taste it. He’s sick, he’s disgusted with himself but dews never been anything but stubborn. A malicious brain worm that will only feed on seeing his own manipulated proof that the kid can be fucking cruel too.
Dew gets worse with his gross brain parasite. Dropping his obsession with aether to instead obsess over being correct and justified in his feelings. Hes lost this much, he can’t stand being wrong on top of it. He has to bite his tongue every time he sees phantom to not immediately try and cause an issue. The common smiling face makes him want to smack it off of him, the sound of Swiss giggling at phantom antics makes him want to scream in rage that he’s not all that special, aether didn’t deserve what happened to get that thing to replace him
The ghouls notice a clear change in him that never leaves. Dew turning from an inconsolable grieving mess into a vengeful creature who they barely can even talk to anymore. All of his words ooze venom, the looks he gives anyone who even go near phantom have them cringing in their own discomfort.
Phantom gets the worst of strange feelings. Summoned into a pack of those receiving the news of the loss of their friend. He feels immediately outcast, though they’ve all worked to remedy the feelings, it still eats at him more than they’ve told him it should. It probably lingers from dews stares but he can’t help but feel as if he was born with the original sin he can scrub his skin of. Maybe if dew accepted him he wouldn’t feel sick everytime he was in a group setting, or maybe it’s truly always going to be like this, phantom doesn’t know.
It’s not his fault he’s curious, the hint of his name having him tune into different conversations using his quintessence to help. He should’ve known better than to use it on dew though.
Mountain approaches dew first about the problem. Phantom watches him finally chase after him to his room after dew came down to grab water, immediately retreating upon seeing phantom sitting on the couch.
Dew what on earth is your problem?
Mountain speaks quietly, barely enough to hear even with his magic
Are we really doing this? You know my fucking problem mountain!
Dew is a bit louder, doesn’t care if anyone hears, it’s a painful thought.
You’re acting like a child. I know what you’re going through but-
You have no idea what I’m going through
He sounds on the verge of tears
You have to learn to accept it. You can’t keep doing this, you’re tearing the pack apart with your shitty attitude
Fuck you, he’s the one tearing us apart, I didn’t do anything
It’s one thing to assume what’s wrong, but for phantom to hear it? The words hurt physically, but he’s unable to stop himself from ignoring the conversation.
Phantom didn’t do anything and you know that
He’s the reason aethers dead. Aethers gone and we got a shitty fucking child to replace him and you expect me to be ok with that?
I’m done. Fix your attitude. Get help. You know you’re wrong.
The tears flow down phantoms face. Bile burns at his throat and he can’t help but look around for someone, anything to comfort him. Maybe he is some shitty child.
Mountain rests his hands on phantoms shoulder to warn him of his presence before sliding next to him and pulling him into his arms.
“Did you hear any of that?” Mountain asks, worried but knowing the answer.
Phantom nods his head
“He’s wrong. Dew will get over himself, don’t listen to him. He’s going through a lot but you’ve done nothing wrong bug”
Phantom tries not to directly sob into mountains shirt, hiccuping and biting his cheek
“If he didn’t mean it, why would he say something like that?” His voice cracks through his tears
“Grief makes people do stupid things. He’s looking for someone to blame so he can take it off of himself. I promise it wasn’t your fault though”
They hold each other, mountain squeezing phantom tight enough to release some of his own feelings.
Dew is a direct contrast to the warm embrace happening downstairs. Sitting alone in his room, barely a thought besides his own internal rage and these days it’s all he really does. Sit and stew in his own self pity, praying that maybe if he hopes hard enough everything will go back to normal, though he knows it won’t. A vicious never ending cycle.
His bed is cold, has been for months. He yearns for someone to save him though is utterly convinced he must deserve this. It must be some kind of punishment for something he’s done. It’s fitting for a monster of his kind, to want something so much but to know you’ll never deserve it.
Phantom was gifted with a different kind of quintessence than aether and omega were, less medical and more thoughtful. He was naturally empathetic, to a fault at times. His magic made him feel things others felt deeply, able to control their emotions with just his finger tips.
He decides to confront dew, a peace offering, an apology, he doesn’t know but he can’t stand the situation. He can’t stand having someone he should care about be practically fading away because of his own hurt he’s never been shown how to deal with properly.
“Can we talk?” Phantom knocks on the cracked door, opening it far enough to see dew sitting on his bed, still staring at the wall.
“Nothing to talk about” dew says nonchalantly
“I’m sorry if I did anything to you” phantom starts
“You’re fine”
“I’m sorry that I annoy you”
“It’s ok” dews tone gets more annoyed everytime he speaks
“I’m sorry about what happened”
“What?” Dew finally turns his head to look at him
“You didn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry no one’s ever tried to help you” phantom practically whispers
“They did try”
“They stopped. You’re still hurting and they stopped. They gave up. And I’m sorry”
“Why do you care? I’ve always been mean to you” dew looks like he may cry himself
“I can’t blame you, it’s not fair what you’ve been through. You’re allowed to grieve in your own way since no one ever showed you how” phantom steps into the room. It smells odd, like dew hasn’t showered in a couple days. Old plates of food and bottles of water stack his bedside table, the other looking pristine and untouched with a book sitting on it. Phantom looks at the book for a couple seconds too long before dew speaks again
“It was his. It’s the last thing he read.” Dew almost smiles, “his nightstand still smells like him”
Phantom doesn’t speak, just nodding along. He doesn’t know what to say, but dew takes the silence as a chance to keep going.
“Sometimes I can smell him on you. Quintessence has a scent to it, it’s smoky and sharp, Swiss gets it too when he’s been using magic.” He chuckles “I know he’s been training you. I wish aether could’ve”
“Really?”
“He would’ve loved you bug”
#oof#one day I need to make a post about what happened to aether#but have this for now#I hurt my own feelings as usual#cw angst#the band ghost#ghost#nameless ghouls#ghost bc#fanfic#wrath writes#dewdrop ghoul#phantom ghoul#angst
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Ruined
Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader
Oneshot
summary: a chess move gone wrong. but it brought you two back together, so how can she complain?
thank you anon 🫀 for requesting this! you’re so loved and appreciated <3
Word Count: 2.257k
When the invitation comes in the mail, you think nothing of it. Because of your job, Waystar was always trying to kiss your ass and trying to convince you they were the perfect employer.
It was also because of your previous relationship.
Even though you and Siobhan had been separated for a few weeks now, you weren’t sure that many people knew. Not only did Royco execs invite you to try and convince you to ‘join the ranks’, they’d invite you to try and get closer to Shiv. The daughter of the man in possession of the biggest media conglomerate in the world, a mega billionaire.
You assume this is just another dinner to kiss ass to prospective employees. You didn’t really mind, though. It’s free food, and even though you’d never admit it out loud, a boost to your ego.
Post breakup with Shiv felt apocalyptic. You didn’t want to eat, sleep, breathe. But you had to. You had shit to get done.
You’re happy for the excuse to get dressed up. It makes you feel good about yourself, and god knows you need that right now. You stare at yourself in the mirror, dark colored turtleneck and high waisted pants accentuating the curves of your body. You gloss your lips, mentally preparing for the night out.
The place is gorgeous, as always. The hallways are dimly lit, warm orange light dappling the space around you. You find yourself with a finger sandwich in hand, waiting for dinner to be announced so you can congregate in the dining room with everyone else and actually eat.
You watch as Logan Roy plucks a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing servant. If he was here, then that means this thing was important. But that raised a question- why are you here?
Your answer arrives right with Siobhan Roy. You spot her the moment she sets foot in the room. Despite how messy your brakeup was, you just couldn’t get yourself to get over her. She’s radiant, beautiful like the sunset, like the time-old glaciers, like the condensed dew on an ageless bottle of wine. She lit up your world, bringing day to your dystopian world of eternal night.
She was stressing over something, you could tell, even from across the room. Her shoulders were set tautly, her phone gripped in her hand. Her eyes sweep hastily over the gathered people, and yours subconsciously follow. You recognize all the high profile politicians, the big whales of finance and business. You’re beginning to feel out of place.
Lost in your daze, you don’t realize as she steps up beside you. When she speaks, you think you’re dreaming for a split second. In recent history, the only time you’d ever heard her voice, spoken to her, was in the depths of your mind’s eye.
“Are you fucking with me?” Shiv hisses from beside you, fake smile pasted to her face.
You’re taken aback. “Hello to you, too,” you mutter in response.
Her hand falls immediately to the small of your back, and she steers you away from the crowd. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I was invited. I didn’t fucking drop from the face of the Earth after you broke up with me,” you say dryly. Once you’re out in the hall, her voice raises slightly from her original whisper.
“Who invited you? How the hell are you even here?”
She leads you into an empty spare room and shuts the door firmly behind her. “What the fuck, Siobhan?”
“This is a dinner to introduce an acquisition. I would know if you were hired by Waystar. So why are you here?”
“Like I said, I was invited.”
“Why? For what?”
You scoff. “How encouraging of my career,” you drawl.
She snorts in response, turning to pace the room. “What’s he up to? Do you know?” she asks quickly, referring to her dad.
“How should I fucking know?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I didn’t know we were on speaking terms, anyway.”
“We’re not,” she spits. “Not after what you put me through.”
“What I put you through?” You laugh. “Siobhan, you dumped me because you were too busy fucking your work rather than me.”
She barks out a laugh. “Is that how you see it?”
“That’s how everybody but you fucking sees it. You got angry I wanted to talk about the fact that you did nothing but work, and work overtime, and neglect me, that you ended things and ran,” you spit back, voice dripping with venom.
She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry I take my job seriously.” Her bracelets tinkle as her hands flit back down. “And that’s not what happened.” She twists to face away from you, hands carding through her hair.
“Then, pray tell, what did? You didn’t exactly wait around for me to even process. This is the first time we’ve spoken since then.”
When she turns back around, tears dot her waterline. Your chest swells with anxiety, struggling to differentiate between the stone-cold killer Siobhan and your sweet Shiv.
“I’m sorry, I’m deflecting. It’s not like that, I swear,” she says, voice cracking. “Oh, my fucking god. I got fucking scared, baby. I have all of these complicated feelings for you, and when they never went away, I got scared. I realized I loved you, that I love you, and I got horrified I’d fuck things up.”
Your heart flutters at the pet name. “That’s not a fucking excuse, Shiv. You left me by myself. You never even said goodbye properly.”
“I know, I know it’s not.” Her face drops into her hands. “It’s just… I can’t bear the idea of getting hurt. Being hurt by you, no less. I’d never recover. I haven’t recovered. I can’t move on. I can’t think of beauty without thinking of you. You’re in every goddamn sunrise, piece of jewelry, every starry night sky. Nothing I’m scared of matters anyway, because you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”
You’re rendered speechless. Your mouth opens, then closes. You don’t know what to say.
“I can’t,” she says weakly. “I compare every single person to you. And every single time, I love you so much fucking better.” She chokes on a sob, face still covered by her hands.
Without thinking, you step towards her, taking her in your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder as sobs rack her body. You’d never, ever seen her like this. Not when you were together, not in any sort of public media. You rub soothing circles into her back.
“I’m sorry,” she laments, her voice wavering. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve never let you go. I want you back. I need you back. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this bullshit. You’re it for me. You’ll always be it for me.”
“Shiv,” you breathe. “Shiv, take a breath. Come on, you’re working yourself up.”
She obeys, attempting to regulate her breathing. She sniffs roughly, wiping at her eyes, before pulling away from you and turning her back to you.
“What I did was inexcusable,” she says, voice quieter. “I… I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. I’m sorry. I love you.” She inhales shakily, her hands smoothing down her blouse. “Dad knew what would happen if you came today. I need to go.”
Without another word, she leaves you behind.
You see no point in sticking around. You’re confused, strangely swelling with love. You want to both chuck your phone into a river and pick up and dial her number immediately. You hunt around for someone who can get you your coat, and before you know it, you’re out in the blistering cold by yourself.
You spend the rest of your night face down in bed. You’re so conflicted. Does she want you, or does she not? Should you contact her first, or can you still hold onto the hope that she’ll come find you?
The night drags on, and there’s nothing. Early the next morning, you bolster the confidence to send her a text asking her if she’s alright. Your anxiety runs rampant the moment you hit send, and your face burns with heat. You both pray she answers as soon as she sees it and pray she never sees it at all. You want to belt your phone at the wall.
You find yourself at a coffee shop at seven thirty. You need to get out, to think about literally anything else. You have the day off, and you’re not sure if it’ll be good or bad for you yet.
The moment you set foot in the shop, you see her, and she sees you. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing an old sweater of yours. This is when she’s prettiest, you think. When she’s not playing the game of succession, not strategizing, just sitting comfortably in her skin.
Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying. She beckons you over, doe eyes still glinting with tears.
Hesitantly, you go over and sit across from her.
“How did you…?”
“You come here every day,” she says quietly. She pushes a cardboard cup of coffee towards you. “I never forgot your order.”
You murmur your thanks, taking a sip. “We should talk,” you say stupidly.
“Yeah. We should,” she responds, folding her hands together and setting them on the table in between you two.
“Can we just… talk things through?”
“I want that. Please.”
You sit back in your chair, unsure of where to begin. “Did you actually mean it? Last night, I mean?”
“Everything I said. I would’ve stayed, but… ironically, duty called.”
“What’ll change?” you ask softly. “If we… if we try again?”
“Everything,” Shiv whispers. “You’re my world. I can’t go a second without thinking about you. You’re my top priority, I swear. I’ll never fucking leave your side again. I was a shitty girlfriend before. But I’ll change. I’d do anything for you.”
“I missed you,” you choke out. “So much.”
She loses it a bit, too, tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. You reach across the table and wipe it away. “I did, too. I missed you.”
“Do you want to come home?” you ask, hopeful. She smiles.
“Finally. I’ve been living in a shithole with my cousin since you.”
You roll your eyes, knowing she’s playing it up. She takes your hand, and before you know it, you’re sat on the couch, making out. Her fingers dig into your jaw, keeping your mouth locked with hers. Shiv kisses are hard, needy. She’s been waiting for you, craving you the last few weeks.
She pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck. “Shiv,” you say breathily, not expecting it. Despite her fervor, she’s gentle, successfully pleasing you.
“Shh, baby. Let me do this. Let me make you feel good. I need to make it up to you. I was an asshole.”
You laugh. “You’re just being territorial.”
She sighs, leaning back and inspecting a developing purple hickey on your skin. She buries her head into your shoulder after dotting soothing kisses along the new bruises.
“I love you. I’m sorry,” she says into your skin.
“I love you too.” Your hand strays to her back, stroking lightly.
“I promise I’ll do it right this time,” she murmurs. “You’ll never stop feeling fucking amazing.”
“I hope you’re right,” you respond.
“Really. I’m going to be better.” She kisses at your shoulder. “I’ll start skipping meetings for you.”
“You don’t need to neglect your job, Shiv.”
“I want to, anyway. I want to spend every second right here, with you.”
Your hand smoothes down to her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “As long as you’re happy.”
“I’m so fucking happy. You make everything better.”
Shiv slips out of your grasp, padding into your kitchen. You stay sprawled out on the couch, content.
The days go by slowly, and you’re grateful. The two of you spend morning tangled together, nights intertwined. You come home to her, she comes home to you. You never leave each other without a kiss goodbye, and you never say anything before kissing hello.
Shiv wasn’t lying. She prioritized you, and solely you. If she couldn’t come home on time, she’d send flowers and crawl into bed with you late at night, peppering your face with kisses. She’s become more affectionate, her touches always lingering and her always curled up against you.
You make sure to never neglect her, either. Despite your massive differences in salary, you make sure to give thoughtful gifts, and kiss her whenever you can. You find that you enjoy cooking for her, watching her face brighten whenever she eats something she likes.
You’ve both begun to keep pictures of each other in your wallets. You always catch her staring at a miniature portrait of you in her hands, her thumb gently stroking over your face.
Every night, your bed is warm with affection. You never feel alone again.
When it happens, she doesn’t get down on one knee. It’s when you’re both half asleep on the couch, your head cradled in her lap when she shows you the ring. She giggles when you let her slip it onto your finger, the word fiancé falling giddily from her lips.
You spend a moment rummaging around in your purse, then hurry back to her, another ring in hand.
She kisses you so hard your head spins.
“I love you. I love you so much. And that’ll never change.”
#shiv roy#siobhan roy#shiv roy x fem!reader#shiv roy x reader#shiv roy x you#siobhan roy x you#siobhan roy x reader#succession#succession hbo#shiv roy oneshot#succession oneshot#oneshot#wambsgansshoelaces#succession x reader#requests open#constructive criticism welcome#I’m getting more comfortable with the part of me that loves women#succession fic#shiv roy fluff#fluff#angst to fluff
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12 Days of Christmas: Day 1 - Secret Santa
hello all! this is the first installment of @abiiors 's 12 Days of Christmas !!
NOTE: this is a continuation of Nothing's Changed, a oneshot I wrote a few months ago. i would say you should read it beforehand just so you know what's going on
You weren’t nervous for the faculty secret santa, you’d seen a billion listicles of good generic gifts that could fit just about any of you coworkers.
It was only as you slyly opened the folded piece of paper you drew from the box and read the name, a shock went down your spine and you broke into a cold sweat. Ross.
You could argue it was silly to get so worried. You had your lists! But with Ross…it has to be special. You had to get him something meaningful–this was your first Christmas together, and granted you’d already ordered him a stack of vintage records of albums he loved, but you knew you couldn’t flake out and get him…a box of chocolates, for example.
But you had to be careful, anything too special could set off alarm bells in everyone else’s heads. It was common knowledge that you were friends in uni, and when given the chance you would be glued to each other’s sides, but there were policies about fraternisation between colleagues and you couldn’t lose this job.
You wracked your brain from the Wednesday morning of the name draw, up until Friday afternoon trying to think of something–anything–for Ross.
“You still here?” Lou said, popping her head through your doorway. “I thought I’d be the last one out of here tonight!”
You laughed–your neighbouring drama teacher was known for spending her evenings building set pieces and readying props and costumes for whatever performance her classes were doing next. “Just…milling around…”
“What’s up?” In the few months you’d known her, it seemed Lou always had the knack for sensing when someone was off; she’d know to send a student to the school nurse just with one glance at them.
“It’s silly, really…” You trailed off.
“It’s clearly bothering you, what’s up?” She persisted, taking a seat on the desk closest to your work station at the front of the room–where Ross would sit to eat lunch with you everyday for the past 2 months.
“I just don’t know what to get my secret santa–I know it’s stupid to get all worried about it–just…you know, I need it to be perfect,” you answered.
Lou let out a sigh. “What are you doing tomorrow? We can go into town and I’ll help you find a gift.”
You breathed a sigh of relief at the idea of help. Though, how would you go about with Lou’s help without her cottoning on to the fact that the one reason you were so nervous was that you didn’t want to toe the line of co-workers and romantic partners too much around the people that couldn’t know.
“And maybe I’ll find something for my gift,” she continued. “What do you get Jimmy in Geography, anyway?”
“A map?” You joked.
“Well I imagine he probably has enough of those laying around,” Lou answered with a grin. “Who do you have anyway?”
“Ross.”
“Ah, right, I get it now…” she commented before leaving, calling out a quick ‘I’ll drop by at 10!’ as she strolled out the door.
~~~
It wasn’t as cold as you expected the next morning. The sun had come out and there was a light layer of dew over the outside frames of the windows of your flat. You could even get away with just wearing your coat with a normal t-shirt for once.
You spoke to Ross the night before–he had grading to do before the end of term so he was spending his whole Saturday in a hole in his living room, surrounded by four classes worth of history essays to read. You were grateful he didn’t ask what your plans were, you just left it at a ‘then I’ll leave you to it’ and he seemed satisfied with it.
And in a stroke of rare luck, Lou was at your doorstep at 10 on the dot, with two oat milk lattes in her hands. It was never her forte to be on time, but you were glad your morning wasn’t full of anxiously waiting around for your coworker–and now friend.
“So what are you thinking?” Lou asked as you strolled through the crowded street mall you found yourself in. She pointed to a fancy cosmetics shop. “Cologne or something maybe?”
“Not personal enough, I think,” you answered. “Why couldn’t I just get someone I don’t know anything about?!”
Lou laughed. It made you realise you may have been overthinking it just a little. You’d known Ross for years, you loved him… You just had to go with your gut.
“You and Ross are close, huh?” Lou continued after a few moments of silent strolling.
“In uni…we were inseparable,” you replied. “Like really close.”
She gave you a look, wide eyes. It was a silent question. Just how close? You gave one curt nod in response, a sign that you couldn’t talk about it, but it was clear what the answer would be.
Suddenly you felt like a weight had come off your chest. Finally you were honest to someone about Ross. You realised you didn’t have to completely hide your relationship, you just had to be careful about it. You immediately caught onto the notion that by and large you didn’t need to overthink this all; just go with your heart, and you’ll find the perfect gift for the most perfect man.
Walking past a jeweller, a gold glint caught the corner of your eye. It was a display in the window–a gold chain, not too delicate, but thick enough for you to see it immediately. You made a b-line for it without even looking to Lou. Every link interlocked with each other and laid so smoothly.
You remembered Ross wore a thin chain in university–you remembered it dangling over your face as he hovered above you, begging for him to drown you in kisses yet again. At some point over the years he must have either lost it or forgone it as a growing moment. You missed it tickling your face, hiding within his chest hair like a hidden treasure waiting to be unearthed–you got butterflies just thinking about it.
Sure, it was a little out of the price range for the gift exchange, but you always took those sorts of things as just a guideline. You and Lou walked out of the little family-owned shop with a tiny navy blue bag in your hand and a spring in your step.
~~~
You kept one eye on the small wrapped box under the tree in the staffroom during the staff party. Even though no one, bar Lou, knew what it contained, you were still worried someone would take it or misplace it or mistake it for their own gift. Through drinks and shallow conversations about your holiday plans and picking at the spread of potluck appetisers provided but almost everyone in the room, every so often you would just quickly glance to make sure it was still in it’s spot sitting atop a wrapped cylinder that you could only guess was a candle–it made you giggle to yourself to think that someone panicked and grabbed the first think they could think of, the most basic gift imaginable.
You spent most of your time glued next to Ross. He looked so…beautiful in his knitted red sweater with his hair pulled back like usual. You just couldn’t wait for him to open his gift. You couldn’t help but stare at the glint in his eyes as he chuckled along with the group at Kerry from biology’s story about her sons’ antics.
After about an hour and a half of mingling, it was finally time for the gifts. You all sat in a big circle around the staff room as Principal Janine handed out the wrapped presents. You giggled at the gag gifts, smiled at the sweet gifts, and tried to hide your confusion at gifts that were clearly some kind of inside joke you weren’t privy to.
Janine finally picked up the box for Ross. “And this one’s for…Ross!”
You could barely contain your excitement as he began to tear at the corner of the wrapping. You could tell he was being gentle with it, trying to ignore the spurs of “rip it!” from the group. He looked inquisitively at the small velvet box once it was free from the paper.
“Open it,” you whispered from beside him. You almost missed the glint in his eye as he slyly glanced at you. You knew you’d already given the game away–he knew it was from you.
The gold chain didn’t sparkle as much as you hoped under the fluorescent lights of the staff room, but it still caused a mist in Ross’ eyes just the same.
“So who do you think it’s from, then?” Lou asked with a grin–after all, she was there with you when you bought it.
“It can only be from one person, I reckon.” He smiled and placed a firm hand on the back of your shoulder.
You could’ve melted under his touch then and there. Even with all the private escapades you had gotten up to, nothing could compare to the adrenaline rush you felt at the tiniest amount of affection you could show each other in public.
“Well, I noticed you don’t wear one anymore! I thought you could get a little nostalgia from it!” You were smiling so wide, it looked like someone had stuck a clothes hanger in your mouth.
You noticed that underneath the tree was beginning to get sparse. Only about half a dozen gifts were left, you wondered which one was yours.
Janine grabbed a bulky, square-shaped, wrapped box and read the nametag on it. She joyfully passed it to you.
You couldn’t help but immediately tear the wrapping, making just an ounce of the mess you used to love making on Christmas morning when you were a kid.
It was a bottle of perfume. Not just any bottle. Britney Spears’ Midnight Fantasy. You let out a deep chuckle once you’d registered what it was–the perfume you were just about addicted to in uni, you pretty much had a stockpile running of them for your full 3 years there.
You heard a laugh from beside you. Ross had a smile just as wide as yours, his cheeks had all bunched up and he got those little creases at the edges of his eyes that you loved so much.
“Of course!” You bellowed. You realised everyone else in the room looked confused, you thought it’d be kind to clue them in. “I was obsessed with this perfume in uni, like, I don’t think I ever wore another perfume then.”
“Never! We knew you’d be coming when we could smell it while you were still a mile up the road!”
~~~
Ross’ cheeks were lit but the LED tealights surrounding your flat. You set up a picnic of sorts–inside, of course, no one in their right mind would stay outside in the freezing temperatures for longer than necessary–with an Indian takeaway.
It was small moments like this, the intimacy, that made you appreciate Ross even more. You’d thought it out and come to a conclusion; you didn’t mind that you couldn’t be all love-y with each other in public, it was the private times that counted, and with each interaction you could feel yourself falling further and further.
“I hope you like it,” you said, when discussing your secret Santa gifts–coincidentally to each other.
“Are you kidding, love? You’ll have to wrestle it off me now!” He smiled, a little wonky from the two bottles of wine you’d shared that evening.
You giggled. “I’m glad, and likewise with the perfume I…I can’t believe you remembered the exact one.”
“Of course I did!” He replied. He placed his plate on the picnic blanket that was sprawled out on your living room floor. “I actually have something else–to go along with it…”
He shifted and turned to dig through his bag, normally filled with supplies for school and his laptop. He retrieved a brown paper binded scrapbook.
“This was the-uh-second part of the gift,” he continued. “But I couldn’t quite give you this bit in front of everyone else.”
He handed you the book, and you finally got a good look at the cover. There was a picture of the two of you back from some university party back in the day–probably scoured from someone’s Facebook memories. You tried to hide your cringe at your outfit, not quite something you would wear today.
You began to flip through the pages. Photos from your year together, tickets to the films you saw at the cinema, a concert ticket or two as well. Each page had a little paragraph written right onto it in Ross’ scribbly yet concise handwriting–sometimes explaining a memory of a day in the fall when you got excited to watch Hocus Pocus with him, or a poem about snow falling down on you and resting in your hair.
You flipped to the last page, there was a lengthy letter written.
My love,
If all is going as planned, I’m watching you read this right now. I could stare at you forever, you know that?
You looked up to see Ross smiling at you, you couldn’t help but let out a schoolgirl-like giggle.
Even though you’ll vehemently deny it, the truth is you are the most beautiful sight in the world. Ever. I will never get sick of being graced by those eyes, the curve of your neck into your shoulders, your arms that you swear dangle just a little too far to be proportionate, and those hips–my word, those hips.
I could go on about your looks forever, but that is barely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the marvel that is you. You’re always so kind, so caring, and you’re the smartest in most rooms you’re in.
For a long time I thought the only chance I had with you was gone when we split so long ago. I must’ve accrued some bloody good karma to give me a second chance at loving you. I know it hasn’t been that long this time around yet, and I know we’re bound for a hassle the longer this goes on, but I want you to know that I’m in it. Whatever it takes, you are staying in my life and there’s not a chance I’m letting you go again.
All of this to say, I love you.
Your Ross
P.S. Don’t feel pressure to say it back or anything. It’s just important that you know.
You couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was heat spreading all across your face and neck. You realised you hadn’t looked back up at Ross yet–you just couldn’t help but re-read the last few lines of his letter. I love you. I love you. I love you.
When you finally looked back at him, you could see his smile had faltered just a little. He was worried about your response.
You tried to find the words to tell him how you felt. How perfect this all was.
“Sorry if I…overstepped,” he started. “I just had to get it out, you know? Like there was this-”
You cut him off with a kiss. A deep kiss. The kind that did all the talking for you. The kind where you didn’t care that your teeth hit each other on impact and your neck was craning in an awkward position and all of Ross’ weight was settled on one hand leaning on the carpet and it was beginning to aggravate the skin on the palm of his hand.
In the end, none of that mattered. Because you loved each other, and after so long without one another that was the most important thing in your life.
#christmas75#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald imagine#ross macdonald fanfiction#ross macdonald fic#ross macdonald blurb
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Don't look at me like that
Dew has chronic pain.
Characters: Dewdrop, Omega, Aether
Word count: 503
After rehearsal, Dew knew something was wrong. His hand would not stop trembling, and he knew the feeling. The exhaustion in his limb, the start of a burning pain. He did not tell anyone, because why would he? It was always the same.
When he woke up the next day, everything felt fine, there was no pain, no cramping, no trembling. That was until he wanted to change his shirt and then suddenly there was the pain, it came out of the blue. Dew cursed his element change for the millionth time, why were his limbs so fucked up? Why him? It simply was not fair. Out of habit, he pressed it against his chest, holding it there like a dinosaur carrying his arms.
He went for breakfast and began to make himself a toast. Aether’s eyes were on him all the time. And when Dew managed to drop the toast, the quints gaze went to worried.
“Don’t look at me like that”, Dew said, rolling his eyes. He felt the burning ache, the way it radiated through his wrist to his thumb and arm.
“Stop acting like everything is fine”, Aether answered, and Dew felt everyone's eyes on him. He looked down and grabbed his toast again, only to realizes he should not do that. Placing his hurting hand flat on the table, he used the other to eat.
“Everything is fine”, he finally said nonetheless and heard the audible breath of Mountain next to him. Like the rest of the pack, the earthghoul did not believe Dew.
Later, the small ghoul went out, walking through the ministry gardens, resting his hand in his pocket, after stretching it a few times. The pain was not gone, but relaxing his hand helped a bit. He knew he should ask Aether for help; quintessence always helped, but he did not want to bother the other again with his stupid needs. Especially not after earlier.
It was just a little pain, nothing like the one a few months ago, where he nearly threw up because of it. But it was annoying and he hated it. He just wanted it to end, was that too much to ask? He was not expecting to see Omega, a few meters away from him.
“I can smell you from 200 meters away, Dew, just come here”, he called and Dewdrop obeyed, walking the last steps.
Omega held out his hands, waiting for the fireghoul to place his smaller one in them, and Dew did, because this way he would not need to bother Aether.
“You need to stop overdoing yourself”, the older one said, carefully massaging his quintessence in Dews wrist. The sore muscles, began to loosen up immediately.
“I didn’t. It was just there.”
Omega let out a sigh: “It’s mostly your hand, no? Why not talk to Copia? He could get you a brace for it, maybe that would help.”
“Haven’t really thought about it”, the guitarist shrugged.
“Then think about it now.” Omega gave him a small smile.
Dew nodded: “I will.”
___________________
Projecting on Dew is my new hobby. The writing is bad, but my hand hurts again and i needed to do something to keep my mind entertained and not constantly thinking about my pain. So i make it Dews pain hehehe
#dewdrop ghoul#omega ghoul#aether ghoul#ghost band#the band ghost#ficlet#Also mr.darcy gif becaus i love that man#chronic pain#eros writing
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Ghost bc Whump Month Day Two: Collapse
Little late with these but better than never I guess!
TW for a character forgetting / neglecting to eat
You never minded working hard, and it wasn’t that you were trying to grind yourself to the bone. It was just, easy to forget about everything else on tour. There was always something. Last minute costume fixes, scheduling issues, keeping the bus clean. And the ghouls. The ghouls. Swiss and Dew making a mess after one of their shenanigans, Swiss and Dew at one another’s throats, trying to get Mountain up for rehearsals— The point was that there was always something to do!
And today was one of those days. Everything that could go wrong, was kind of going wrong. First, you were up early to get coffees and breakfast for everyone because a particularly plucky fire ghoul fried the outlets last night and no one had had time to repair them yet. Thankfully, Aether was up early too and offered to come with and help you bring it all back so you got some mercy there. Then you broke up a squabble about who took the last cinnamon roll and went about making calls to reschedule interviews, make sure the venues were prepared, let the hotel know you would be late to check in because of course, the bus was having problems.
You’d been busy. And breakfast was far gone. But you still had work to. So, you ignored the neglected rumblings of your stomach and your shaky hands and pushed through the best you could. It was your turn to clean the bus anyway, and you were nearly done, only the kitchenette left. You’d eat as soon as you were done. You’d bent down to pick up a fork you’d dropped while doing the dishes when footsteps resounded behind you, coming to a casual stop.
“Hey sister, do you know if we have any crackers left?” Dewdrop asked, yawning. Probably just got up from a nap.
“Um.” You frown, standing up. Blood rushes from your head and you steady yourself with a hand on the counter, little black spots slowly creeping their way into your vision. “Check the cabinets,” you sigh. “Can’t remember.” Every second that goes by the black spots creep further and further in. You shake your head, gripping the counter. Just push through. Almost done. You take a glass from the sink, fumbling for the dish rag.
“Hey, you good?”
“Hmm?” You turn around, leaning back on the counter. Dew’s voice is coming from somewhere, but right now you can’t possibly pinpoint exactly where that somewhere might be.
“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice is hollow, and why is everything spinning? The glass slides from your hand, shattering on the floor with a loud crash. “Shit!”
“Oopsie Daisy,” you mumble. You hear a distant “Fuck!” as the world goes black.
“She just went down.” A cold sweat sweeps over you, and as you crack your eyes open, you’re vaguely aware of two shadowy heads looming over you.
“Did she hit her head?” There’s cotton in your ears, fuzzy, muddled.
“Nah, caught her before she fell.”
“What happened?” You groan, trying to sit up.
“Hey, hey, hey, easy.” Aether’s guides you up to sit slowly with firm, gentle hands on your shoulders, and you blink in confusion.
“You passed out on me,” Dew says softly. Then there’s a glass of water thrust into your hand. You take a small sip, and then another. The cold water soothing your befuddled mind, lifting that heavy fog.
“We should get you to your bunk. You need to rest right now,” Aether murmurs. All you can do is nod weakly, letting the Aether ghoul help you up from the floor and walk you to your bunk. He settles you in with a cold facecloth on your forehead, saying he’ll come check on you in a bit.
You’re alone for a few minutes, finishing off your glass of water when there’s a knock on the outside of your bunk. You pull back the curtains to find Dew holding a plate with some crackers, cheese, and a few candies on it
“Feelin’ good enough to eat something?” You offer him a small smile and scoot over on the smell bed, patting the empty space next to you in offering. The fire ghoul huffs, but takes your offer, handing you the plate before settling in, tucking a hand behind his head.
“Thanks,” you murmur, gingerly taking a bite out of a cracker. When it doesn’t upset your stomach, you wolf it down, putting a slice of cheese on the next one.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he chuckles, and you nod.
“Got busy.”
“I know. You’ve been going non-stop all day.” He frowns at you, a very unfamiliar crease forming between his brows. He’s worried.
“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly around another cracker, and Dew shakes his head.
“No, no you don’t have to apologize. It’s just—you scared me is all.” He grumbles it out, a hand scratching at his brow. And your heart melts a little bit at that. You snuggle closer to the fire ghoul, and though you’re fully expecting him to pull away, he doesn’t. “C’mere,” he mutters under his breath, sliding an arm under your head, pulling you into his side. You rest your head on his chest, feeling Dew tuck you under his chin, his warmth calming you.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” You shrug.
“Worrying about me.” A puff of soft laughter tickles your hair.
“Someone’s got to.” You merely hum, finishing off your snack and popping a candy into your mouth. Dew places the plate on the floor, and for awhile, the two of you lie together in total silence; him, petting your hair and gently purring, you with a small smile on your face.
“Can’t believe you said oopsie daisy before passing out,” Dew snickers, and you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.
“Shut up!” you groan, but you’re laughing along with him.
“It was cute.”
“Yeah?” You crane your neck up, and he looks down at you, grinning in amusement.
“Yeah.”
The exhaustion of the day is getting to you, and Dew’s warmth and the sway of the bus are certainly not helping. You fight to keep your eyes open.
“Hey,” Dew murmurs, noticing as you try to rub the sleep from your eyes. “Just sleep, you got nowhere you need to be.” And as though he’s pulling the thoughts straight out of your mind, Dew adds: “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You smile into the fire ghoul’s chest, and with the feeling of his cheek resting atop your head, you drift off into much needed slumber.
#the band ghost#ghost bc#ghost bc fanfic#whump month#dewdrop ghoul#sodomizer ghoul#dewdrop x reader#nameless ghouls
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Second [Book 7 Spoilers]
It is when the opportunity arises that the young prince escapes the Wild Rose Castle to the wood. His dearest teacher's cabin lays within the thicket, as far from home he's ever gone on his own (and really, the only place he can go alone).
The excitement, the thrill that builds in Malleus's chest thrums almost wildly as he manages to slip the guards, and make his way down the familiar twists and turns. How he can see the world up close that is normally through open windows, or closed. If he's lucky, beside a gargoyle before someone sees.
The birds twitter in the distance, the scampering of woodland creatures greet his ears. The smile? He can't suppress it. Lilia's return whispers through the halls! How can he wait to hear of the wonderful adventures he went on? To lands that are only pictures in books and woven tales? Places so far beyond the Valley's reach, across the great oceans surrounding them!
His steps give pause as the sounds of humming reach his ears. That's...
Different.
"There, there, eat up, little one." The soft, crooning voice. It... it is Lilia's, but has he ever heard it?
A laugh; and soon the sound of something else. A strange, squelching sound.
Now he approaches with cautious footfalls.
He's about at the cabin door--"Ah, Malleus." Lilia's voice comes from inside, "Come in."
Taking the invitation, the fae prince opens the door. Coming inside to the mess of a cabin that his teacher keeps. Stuffed full with things, cluttered as he likes it--the opposite of the strict neatness he demands. But it isn't that which catches his attention, it's...
The sleeping bundle in Lilia's arms.
A babe. A human babe.
And stranger still, this adoring look on his teacher's face.
---
When Malleus arrives, Silver stands, asleep. The child is now four. Lilia has gone off more frequently with his adopted son in tow, trying to unravel the mystery of his strange lure to slumber. As a babe, it wasn't known until the then-toddler slept so strangely that someone pointed it out (the Zigvolts, if Malleus recalls). Then, started the General's quest to discover the cause. Thus far? None.
"Silver." A firm tone to rouse him.
Aural eyes open. The pure jewels one might pluck for display at their rare color. "Ah! Mawwe!" He blinks several times, and resumes his task of folding the sheet he had in his hands.
That he still has that childish lisp surprises him. Memories of long hours to fix and pronounce things properly when he still toddled around like that flit through his memory.
Before he could always keep his tail, wings, and scales under wraps. That was next.
"Ah, there you are Malleus." Lilia greets with a smile. "I'm making dinner! You should stay for a bowl~ It's quite a nice stew..."
"I mean not to impose." A quick, polite refusal. "My visit is brief."
"Oh?" Lilia's blood red gaze looks over him curiously. "What are you out for today, then?"
"We are out of dawn dew drops." The flower's name is easy off his tongue. "It is faster to collect it myself rather than wait."
"Good, a head start on your lesson." A nod of approval. "One must learn to cultivate things on their own as well. Being able to appropriately identify and prepare ingredients is of high use."
There's a warmth in his chest at the approval.
Lilia bends down, scooping up the four-year-old in his arms. The brightest smile on his face. "Come, Silver, you can finish that after dinner~"
Malleus nods his head in parting, before heading off. The blooms are close...
But what a difference... when was he allowed to finish an immediate task, later?
---
The high score on his paper isn't perfect. Malleus frowns at it again; he has many points of contention with the historical records kept by humans. It shows in his essay grades for Trein's classes. He has more than once had to bring in a personal book to prove his point and perspective. This must be one of those times.
The comments in red are of an attached sheet, referenced in their textbook, which was wholly incorrect. A deeper frown graces his lips.
Silver takes the seat nearby. A similar frown to his features. It's rare to see him so unsettled. The flipped-over page glances quite the low mark. Ah.
Lilia stops between them. "What's wrong with both of you...? Oh?" He's glancing between their papers, but stops on Silver first. "You fell asleep? Well, that does happen." A hand gentle pats Silver's shining locks. He is aptly named. "Go talk to Trein for a make-up portion to finish, we all know you can't help your sleep spells." There's a glance around, before pressing a kiss to his temple. "Don't be so discouraged, you've always perked up and made it through when it matters most."
"Thank you, fa--Lilia." It seems to lift him.
Then, the old fae leans over. "Hmm... that's disappointing."
It's like a knife to his heart.
"It is another disagreement. I will procure the tome to argue my points in the morning." He replies, clipped and easy.
"Well, fair enough then, Malleus." A nod. "Humans do have such a unique perspective on history..."
It throbs.
---
Blot crystals scatter around him. The sleeping forms of students around; the thorns woven around. Blooming dark roses...
And there's Lilia, clutching to Silver, to protect him...
Slowly, he takes a seat beside the sleeping pair. A hand reaches out, to brush away Lilia's bangs. He looks at peace, and that is the point. To give them the sweetest dreams while...
"Why have I never been enough, Lilia?" The bar has always moved forward. There might be a moment of satisfaction, but that's about it. There has never been that sweet, tender care that he sees right now.
"Second to a human child..." A murmur.
His hand moves, brushing over Silver's open, vulnerable throat.
Why not?
Why not...
Claws press a moment. Slow, careful. It's a consideration. Easy.
Yet he doesn't. Malleus's hand retreats, the King of the Abyss fights the urge. No, no. No.
This is not the way at all.
But wasn't it tempting?
A glance back to the Phantom, tugging it along as he resumes his work. There's far much more to be done.
#malleus draconia#twst silver#lilia vanrogue#book 7 spoilers#twst writings#twst writing#twst fanfic#twst fanfiction#twst wonderland
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A New Male (Part II of II)
Rhysand's Sister!Reader x Eris
Holy fuck I am so sorry this took me so long! I should have made it three parts instead but I just wanted to finish it for you guys! I hope yall wanted soft Eris, because this is so mushy but I also love it
Again, timeline and character development not really canon, so just go with the flow! Here is Part I
Warnings: Mentions of character death, swearing, smut, Eris cares too much about fashion theory
Word Count: 13.5K
You unsurprisingly found yourself ending up in the Autumn Court again, dew clinging to the hem of your skirts and fog winding around your wrists. You’d followed the sunset from the gloomy Court of Nightmares, chasing the golden skies and beams of light kissing the clouds, a sight so often shielded with storm clouds in your home territory.
Wings tucked in tight behind you, you stepped over logs and maneuvered around muddy leaves, looking around, searching for a certain fireborne male. With your hair pinned nearly behind your head, only a few tendrils now slinging around your pointed ears, you craned your neck from side to side, eager to cover as much ground as you could, desperate to find your new friend.
Those amber eyes found you first, though, from his spot perched on a thick tree branch spread high above you. He’d winnowed as soon as he noticed you in the court, wandering through the dense forest. He was quick to scent you, the faint oenothera and cool brisk night, even from his position just outside the Forest House. As his ears picked up on the sentries discussing the sudden intrusion, he quickly ordered them to stand down, ensuring he would investigate the trespasser.
Don’t tell Beron.
Eris could not stress it enough.
He’d winnowed his way through the woods, finding new hiding places until he decided he was finally close enough to you, perched up atop the highest tree branch, watching as you searched for him. It made his heart flutter, unable to stop the small smile that pulled at his lips.
It didn’t hurt that you had donned your dress with the tightest bodice, corset pulled so tight that your chest was pressed against the fabric, pressing up toward your collarbones with every breath you took.
And maybe you had done it on purpose.
He winnowed down a few feet in front of you, tall, lean body hidden by the fog. He was quick to step out, though, perfectly in your path, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath hitched in your throat, head stuck on a swivel, as you straightened your back, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.
“Welcome back,” he mused, arms crossed over his chest, smirking hanging on his lips.
Couldn’t stay away, you wished to say. “Happy to see my welcoming committee, once again,” you replied nonchalantly, dropping your shoulders in a shrug.
Eris smiled, stepping closer to you. “I was beginning to wonder when I’d see you back in my Court.”
You returned the smile, praying to the Mother to hide the blush on your cheeks - or at least have him chalk it up to the cold evening air. It’s not like you’d counted how many days had passed since you’d last been to Autumn.
But you were waiting for the exact moment when you could slip away and race back to the red haired male.
Rhysand and your father had been called to the Illyrian camps unexpectedly. You’d been left with his larger friend in charge, the big brute that couldn’t go two hours without eating. You were able to coerce him into a dinner with your finest maids, the most beautiful ones you could find - them, and about twelve bottles of your father’s Faewine.
You slipped out of your room not a moment too soon, and were able to catch the sunset on your flight to the Autumn Court.
“Miss me that much?” Your voice was as smooth as that gods damned Night Court silk he despised so much. While he decided you didn’t look bad in it, actually quite pleased with how you looked barely wrapped in the dark material, he would much prefer to see you in something corduroy.
Eris couldn’t suppress the chuckle that left his chest, a low rumble, yet such a boyish laugh. “Who else would I be able to share my family woes with?” He quirked an eyebrow in your direction.
You nodded, suddenly remembering the weight your own family had been putting on your shoulders lately - and how much of a risk it truly was to see Eris. You bit your lip, looking around at the forest floor. Colorful leaves scattered the damp earth, clumps of mud and dirt caked at the bottom of the dying shrubbery. “No fire or knife throwing?” You asked, desperate to talk about anything other than your family - or his.
Understanding of your conversational change, Eris strode to one of the fallen tree trunks, sitting on the dark bark. His legs spread slightly, dark pants stretched out, matching the dark blue suit jacket he wore. “Not tonight,” he replied, looking up at the sky. “Just out admiring the sunset.” A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?
You nodded, strolling over to take a seat beside him. You held your wings up high, tightly pressed to your back, keeping them out of the mud and out of Eris’s way. “That’s what I was going to say,” you replied, with a small smile pulling at your lips. A white lie shared between friends, then.
Without another word, Eris leaned backward, drinking you all in: the way your dress hugged your curves, accentuated your chest, nearly glowing under the setting sun. Your hair curled perfectly over your ears, exposing your long neck and shoulders. Your dark wings flexed behind you, held high by your immaculate posture, fit for a queen on her throne.
It was a sight Eris wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon.
Much to your dismay, as soon as you opened your mouth to make a snarky comment about the young heir apparent, your stomach growled, interrupting the near expired silence. You felt your cheeks burn, hand clenched to your stomach as you tried to laugh it off.
Eris laughed, too, a genuine one, showing how caught off guard he really was. “You okay there, little bat?”
You were simply on fire at that point.
You huffed a laugh, forcing yourself to ignore his commentary - unable to decide if you liked the sound of it or not. “I skipped dinner,” you replied. Skipped dinner to escape Cassian in the Court of Nightmares, to find you. “And then the flight over here…” You had to travel across nearly all of Prythian to get there - not a small feat, especially not in the dress you wore, and not on an empty stomach.
Eris rolled his eyes. “Nothing here worth skipping meals for.”
“You’ve eaten the Nightmare gruel before, no?”
Eris barked out a laugh, smiling broadly, eyes squinting at the corners. “As much as I’d love to remember the grey cuisine last time I was visiting,” he began, dropping a hand to your knee, over your thick skirts. “I’d much rather not.” With a glint in his bright shining eyes, his wide palm squeezed your leg. “Stay here.”
Before you could even question it, the male was gone, vanishing into nothing but thin air. You cursed yourself, cursed your father for not passing down the strong powers he gave to Rhysand to you as well. You could barely summon darkness as your brother did, much less winnow. You didn’t have the abilities to hide your wings like Rhys - whether he actively hid them or had to summon them through magic - you weren’t sure anybody really knew.
If not for the fading orange sun, you wouldn’t be afraid. The sun set quickly here in Autumn, and you weren't sure how long you would be sitting there without Eris.
Eris, on the other hand, scavenged through the Forest House kitchen. He would run himself ragged to find you something - opening cabinets and oven doors, searching for the perfect treat for you. He knew he couldn’t be gone long - he wasn’t sure how long you’d actually wind up waiting for him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the apple crumble cooling on the windowsill. It was perfect.
He lunged towards the window, stopping only to fix his jacket and run a hand through his messy hair, before he grabbed the dish and a spoon and winnowed back to you.
Eris sat back on the large tree trunk, holding the warm dish between the two of you.
Your eyes grew wide as you observed the dessert, chunks of apple drizzled with caramel and brown seasoning. The crumble on top was still steaming slowly, chunks of dough and oats and something that smelled so sweet. He held it out to you, which you graciously took.
“This isn’t going to be one of those old wivestales is it? The one they tell the children to scare them out of running away?” Your head tilted to the side, holding the delicate white baking dish in both hands. The sweet smell of sugar entrapped you. “Where if they eat the food from the mysterious land, they’ll be stuck there forever?”
Eris’s eyes washed over the smirk that played at your lips. His voice dropped an octave: “Would that be so bad?”
You shook your head quickly, wings shaking slightly behind you. Eris held the spoon out to you, watching you take it and scoop a hearty spoonful of the apple crumble, quickly taking it into your mouth.
You could have moaned - never having tasted such a sweet treat. Solstice dessert came close, but no Night Court dish would have such depth, the tart apple with the big chunks of sugar and allspice flakes. You had heard legends about the infamous Autumn caramel, the viscous golden sugar that could be traded for bags of coins in the other courts.
As you took a scoop of the chunky topping, you couldn’t help but notice how those red eyes watched you, a predator watching his prey, eating the sweet treat, only sweetening you up for his own tasting later.
Gods, and you wished he would.
He knew you noticed him staring. He had nowhere else to look, really. No other sight would have his blood pumping like that: watching you lick the sticky sauce off your lips.
He would forego a hundred years just to see that tongue of yours run across your lips. To watch as your eyes fluttered closed, nearly moaning at the taste.
Your attention was all on him as you lifted the spoon to your lips. Caught in a trance, though, those fiery red eyes demanding all of your attention, a chunk of topping fell from your spoon, landing directly on your chest. Your eyes flitted downwards, you hadn’t expected nearly such a grand display on your end, the wide expanse of your pushed-up chest now the perfect plate for such a delicious treat.
Eris would agree - you were utterly appetizing.
His eyes flicked back and forth, between your eyes, your lips, your chest. His fists were clenched at his sides and he forced himself to breathe calmly. Not one to besmirch a female’s reputation, he held himself back - stopped himself from reaching over and having a taste straight from the source.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, unable to raise his grating voice from the low tenner. “The amount of restraint I have around you.”
You huffed out a low breath, smirking at the poor male in front of you. You swiftly placed the dish down on the ground beside you, not taking your eyes off Eris as you simply plucked the chunk of dough up, holding it up in front of you. You tossed him a sultry smile as you held your hand out to him, but as soon as those lips parted, eyes burning with desire, you pulled back and placed the sugary chunk on your own waiting tongue.
His jaw fell ever so slightly, watching as you reached back out for him, a droplet of caramel - one matching the smudge on your breast - lingering off your finger. You dragged your thumb across his bottom lip, earning a blink and a sigh from the male, as his tongue met your finger ever so gently. You brought your hand back to yourself, licking the remnants of the sauce from your thumb once again, as if tasting Eris instead.
“What are you holding yourself back for?” You breathed, eyes wandering from his blazing red ones to his pink lips, looking so soft, still parted ever so slightly. “I know it’s not for my benefit.”
Eris willed his mouth shut, forcing a breath down his throat. “(Y/N).” Your name was a prayer, a plea, begging for salvation. “If you allow me to touch you, I am not sure if I will ever be able to stop.”
Your heart lurched to your throat, stomach twisting in anticipation as you failed to come up with a response - nothing but his name on your lips as his hand reached upwards, tracing up the outside of your bare arm, eventually stopping at the back of your neck.
Your eyes nearly fluttered at the contact, his warm palm against your cold skin. His fingers stretched the expanse of the back of your neck, from the top of your shoulder to between your shoulder blades. As he leaned forward, your head tilted back, mouth falling open with the softest sigh as his nose brushed against your cheek. He pressed forward, lips tracing the shell of your ear, but not offering you a kiss. You were drawn to him, to his heat, his smell, his touch.
Eris watched you with hooded eyes, as your head fell back completely, offering him nothing but the open expanse of your chest and neck. You felt his breath tickle the corner of your jaw before he pulled away, dropping before you. His nose nuzzled against the freezing skin of your collarbone, lips pressed against your breast, straining against the top of your corset, begging to be set free.
You released a shaky breath, one Eris vowed to never forget, as he kissed his way up your chest, across your cleavage, tongue flitting out to taste the rest of the sugar granules that lingered across your creamy skin. You arched upwards, pressing yourself further into him as your hand fell to the back of his head. Your fingers wound through those red locks, needing to cling to something - anything - to ground yourself.
He followed your lead as you tugged him upwards gently. Eris, ever the minx, though, smirked as he continued his ministrations up your body, offering you small kisses as he worked his way up the column of your throat, nipping at your sensitive skin once he reached the corner of your jaw. You lurched with a soft gasp, hand winding farther around his head, holding him in place.
“Eris,” you mewled, unable to open your eyes, to pull yourself away from relishing in the feeling of the male buried in the crook of your neck. “Please, Eris.”
Music to his ears.
His other hand moved from the death grip he held on your hip, up to cradle the free side of your face. He tilted your head forward, until you eventually opened your eyes to meet his, burning with desire. His cheeks were painted pink, red eyes hungry with desire. “Say please again, (Y/N),” he murmured, pulling himself from the warmth he spread across your torso, looking you straight on.
You licked your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry, radiating with anticipation. “Eris - ” you didn’t miss how his chest huffed at the sound of his name, how he suppressed the groan that threatened to claw its way from his throat. “Please.”
His lips captured yours, so gently you weren’t sure if you would have to beg for him to really kiss you. With a sigh of contentment, like he had been waiting just as long as you had - as if delaying it wasn’t his own doing - his lips moved against yours. You leaned into him, deathgrip on his loose curls, pulling him ever so much closer to you.
Before Eris could drag his tongue across that bottom lip of yours, the one you’d been biting all evening, his ears perked up, catching the faint howl of his dogs far on the outskirts of the forest. He sat straight, hands not dropping your head, focusing on the leering sentries. His eyes fell to yours; while his were riddled with alarm, you looked as though you’d seen a ghost, so petrified of what the High Lord of the Autumn Court would do if he found you in his court… whether he was friends with your father or not, you were trespassing.
“You have to go,” Eris breathed, still afraid to let you go.
“I can’t keep coming back,” you replied, hand settling on his own, the one that still cupped your cheek.
He nodded, disagreement the farthest thing from his mind. “Then I’ll come to you.”
You bit your lip, shaking your head. The Court of Nightmares would notice the moment he crossed their borders, an Autumn male entering their territory without an invitation from the High Lord. He wouldn’t be safe in Velaris, either, not in the sleepy mountain town where he’d stick out like a sore thumb. No way he’d make it close enough without your father or brother noticing.
“You have to go,” he whispered, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “I’ll find you.”
The dogs grew louder, the sound of the males shouting far in the distance encroaching closer and closer. Without so much as another look - another kiss - Eris pulled you up by your hips, hoisting you to your feet and turning you away from him.
You took a few wobbly steps before stretching out your wings, taking off into the dead of night.
________________________________
You’d made it back that evening before Cassian even noticed you were missing, still drinking with the young fawns obsessing over his every move. You shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him take a handful of them to bed later.
The sounds alone echoed against the stone walls of your fathers estate, built into the side of the tall mountain. You laid awake in bed, half tucked under the covers, a plush pillow pressed over your head, trying to drown out the sound of the beastly male and the females crying out in pleasure. The jealous part of you wished that were you and Eris, perhaps hidden away deep in the Autumn woods, the males pointed nose buried in your neck again, or those soft lips between your legs.
You’d pay an insurmountable amount of coins to hear that breathy moan fall from his lips, the low grumble from his chest as he licked his way across you breast. The thought alone had you pressing your legs together.
You longed for his hands to roam the expanse of your body, that damned silk dress you’d worn just for his attention. Discarded in a pile of silk on your floor. Leave it to the Autumn sentries to interrupt you - though, you had heard rumors it was the most heavily guarded court, soldiers who would die to protect Autumn’s secrets and surely would kill anyone unexpected on their land. But the bloodhounds scared you more, no matter how many creatures you’d encountered in your own home court. Their well trained noses would track any being in their lands - no matter how small - razor sharp teeth that could tear them to shreds within the blink of an eye.
You rolled over, kicking the thick blankets off of you, throwing a coat over your shoulders before running through the drawing room and launching yourself off the balcony.
Your wings caught you, splayed out wide behind you, coasting along the quick breeze. You soared over the Sidra, watching the moonlight coast over the rippling waves, the midnight black water shining white in reflection. The trees whirled past, the sweet smell of pine and thick fog had nothing on what you’d seen in Autumn, the lingering smell of pumpkin and cinnamon still swirling in your nose.
You banked back toward the mountain, gliding close to the cold rocks before spotting the small cave you so often found yourself at. You landed on your feet, on the stone that offered nothing more than a couple feet of space, before plopping yourself on the edge, legs dangling off the cliff.
You adjusted the cloak over your shoulders, pulling it over your bare arms, those that Eris had been dragging his own fingers along not long ago, tracing a line of fire up your skin. You pulled the nightgown over your legs, thick socks s covering you near bare feet. The cool night but at you, but it was welcome, much needed to help you clear your head.
No matter how hard you tried to shake off the thought of Eris, the feeling of his touch, the all too short time he spent with his lips against yours, his memory lingered - as did his touch, his warmth, his smell.
Your wings prickled, goosebumps washing over your skin as you felt another approaching; Illyrian wings appearing far in the distance. You squinted, watching Rhys follow your own path, soaring high before dropping down on the edge of your little cliff. The one you two had been sneaking off to since you were young. When Rhys would take you flying, he often took you here, a nice resting spot while you were still too young and unable to fly for so long.
You’d pushed him off the edge numerous times, giggling as he caught himself in the air, his boisterous laugh bouncing off the sides of the mountain, echoing in the valley below.
“Figured I’d find you here,” he started, taking a seat beside you. His Illyrian leathers were matte under the stark moonlight. Clothes he so rarely wore recently. Not since his time in training, since your mother had been with him at the camp.
“Your friend is quite loud,” you replied flatly, staring down at the rocks below.
Rhys grumbled. “I’ll have to talk to him about that.” You hoped he wasn’t peering into Cassian’s mind, catching him at such an intimate moment.
“You’re back sooner than expected… is father at home?”
Rhys nodded. “We left Azriel in charge of the Illyrians, you know father couldn’t stand being there any longer than he had to.”
You frowned, unfortunately unable to forget your fathers cruel behavior at the war camps. How he’d demand public punishment, chaining the males up for their lashings, demanding the other soldiers to watch in warning.
Something your poor mother would have had to watch, had she not been taken from her family to marry the High Lord.
“You smell like…” Rhys trailed off, dipping his head closer to your hair. “Burning? What is that?” His brows furrowed, washing over your face in worry, looking for any singed skin, any signs of injury.
But it was Eris, you smelled like him, just from your brief moment together; like bonfire, burning embers, like that sweet caramel. You shook your head at your brother, brushing it off. “I was attempting something in the kitchen… didn’t quite pan out.” You shrugged at him, hoping it was enough to buy it.
Either Rhys was not as well trained in sensing smells as he thought, or he simply hadn’t spent enough time with the Autumn heir to pinpoint his scent. Either way, you were grateful.
“Father wants to have another ball in the Court of Nightmares,” Rhys said, thankfully changing the subject. “Something to celebrate the birth of Keir’s daughter.” He pressed his lips together, exhaling harshly through his nose.
“You think Keir is putting him up to it?” You asked, knowing your uncle all too well, ready to draw all the attention to himself, a mask celebrating his new daughter, the blonde babe only a few weeks old.
Rhys held back whatever he was to say. Whatever he was going to say about his father’s plans for her - but Rhysand swallowed down the thought. “Probably,” he sighed.
Your eyes washed across the grey rock, small stones dropping off the cliff edge with each gust of wind. Nobody liked the Court of Nightmares, it was ruled in a constant state of terror, it’s own citizens miserable. You weren’t sure if it was your father or his brothers fault, but neither seemed in a hurry to improve living conditions there. Though the parties were often glamorous, the various courts were too often displeased to travel to the gloomy underworld.
But at least you’d get to see Eris sooner than either of you hoped.
________________________________
The red dress you chose was a bit more suited to the Nightmare style, much more fitted and tighter than your usual skirts. Your mother was never a fan of the less is more style of the gloomy court.
Your father, on the other hand, didn’t understand why you needed to have that silk dyed into a burgundy, the same dark red that matched Eris’s hair. The exact color you knew would drive the territorial male wild.
The maids had done your hair up much like that last time you saw him, but you opted for the high neckline that drew the eye up the long expanse of your throat. The rest of the dress was tight, pulled taught against your bodice and hips, a long slit showing off only one of your toned legs - gods bless the Illyrian gene.
Eris thought the exact same thing when he saw you. Taller than most of the pure Night Court females, and no doubt more intimidating with your wings arched high at your back, he watched you move gracefully across the dance floor, greeting friends and flirting with random males.
You felt Eris’s gaze burning into you, after all, he stood nearly a whole head over the Spring Court male he was pretending to converse with. The Vanserras had dispersed throughout the room, red hair scattered, most flocking to the Night and Day Court females, both of which wore next to nothing.
Cassian appeared at your side, earning a sigh from you, as he attempted to stare down the Autumn male. “What’s with the stick up his ass,” he grumbled, stepping just in front of your line of sight. He smirked down at you, arms crossed over his wide chest.
You rolled your eyes, turning to walk toward the table with the Faewine - Mother knew you’d need it. “That color looks lovely on you, (Y/N),” he continued, falling into step beside you. “Wore it just for me?” You knew he was taking the piss, but you couldn’t help but drop your eyes to the bright red siphons on the backs of his hands. He’d earned four thus far, but your brother promised him and Azriel many more once he became High Lord.
“You must be colorblind, Cassian,” you sighed, brushing it off. He laughed, tilting his head back toward the crowd to find the Vanserra. “Or maybe your more full of yourself than I gave you credit for.”
Cassian took it as a compliment, the cocky male smiling broadly down at you. As you pressed through the mass of Fae, finally finding the wine, your eyes fell onto a pale hand, extending a glass of purplish liquid out to you. You pressed your lips together to suppress the smile that laced your mouth, bright eyes gleaming up at Eris, who, in turn, beamed down to you.
Cassian made haste to snatch the glass, but you beat him to it, taking the cup in both hands and thanking Eris for the drink. “Pleasure to see you again, Lady (Y/N).”
You almost laughed at the formality, so out of place on the male’s tongue.
“None for me?” Cassian mocked, eyes wandering up and down the Autumn male, sizing him up. Eris stood a few inches taller than him, glaring down at the Illyrian from under his eyelashes. He stood lean, unable to match Cassian’s muscular build. You weren’t convinced either was I dominated by the other.
“You have two capable hands, no?” Eris seethed, gaze finally falling back to you, giving you a similar up-and-down. His red eyes lingered on your long leg, your hips and the curve of your breast, hidden beneath the dark red fabric.
Cassian grumbled a response, glaring at the male as his eyes washed over you. Your cheeks heated, uncomfortable with the third-party viewer, standing so close to the two of you, when all you could think about was Eris’s hands tracing that same path down your body.
When Eris’s hand fell to the small of you back, warm fingers brushing against the smooth silk of your dress, Cassian’s eyes flitted to Azriel, who was already halfway across the room making his way toward you. You called to Rhys, testing his newly flourishing daemati power.
Control your guard dogs, you hissed toward him, once you felt his tallon drag down your mental shields just enough.
They’re protecting you. I don’t need that Autumn filth touching you like that.
I don’t need them watching my every movement, either. Tell them to leave me alone. You shut him out of your mind without waiting for a response, eyes falling to Rhys across the room, hanging onto every word Tamlin said. You narrowed your eyes at him, once those indigo ones flitted to you momentarily.
With a roll of his eyes and subtle shake of his head, he glanced toward his two friends, undoubtedly telling them to back off. He turned back to Tamlin as Cassian and Azriel glanced at each other before reluctantly turning to find someone else to bother. “Be careful, (Y/N),” Cassian offered you as he joined his friend.
“Quite the posse you’ve gotten yourself here,” Eris stated, watching the males walk away with their tails tucked between their legs.
You leaned into his touch every so slightly, enough to go unnoticed to everyone except the two of you. His hand flattened against your back, fingers splaying over the top of your ass.
“Eris,” you warned, turning to face him. You didn’t see your father in the crowd, fearful he would find you and Eris standing too close for his liking. Eris was worried about the same thing, actually, but he was too distracted to care about what his father might think about it.
“Dance with me?” He asked, turning you toward the dancing area, where the orchestra had just begun testing their instruments.
Your hand fell to his arm, holding his thick bicep through the heavy fabric of his brown jacket. “I don’t want to dance.”
Fire flashed in his eyes and his jaw set as he stared down at you in complete understanding. “Then lead the way.”
You had to force breath in your lungs, not used to the way his voice dropped when he spoke so quietly to you. His words rattled in your bones.
Taking hold of his hand still behind your back, you brought it around your hip, holding it there, fingers sliding between his. You made your way through the crowd, following the perimeter of the room to avoid as many onlookers as possible.
All you could think about was his lips pressed against your chest, hands following the curve of your bodice as he held you in the woods.
Eris, with something similar on his mind, followed you quietly, glaring at any onlookers who watched your swift exit. He bared his teeth at his younger brothers, whooping far off in the crowd, smiling as the heiress of the Night Court led their brother into her bed chambers.
As soon as you left the ballroom, sneaking through the servant’s exit into the hallway, Eris twisted you around in his arms, holding you firmly by the waist and pulling you flush against his front. His head swooped down to your, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, unable to wait any longer.
Your hands rose immediately to his face, holding his cheeks as you opened your mouth and made to devour him. Fingers rising to curl through his hair, you pressed yourself into him and allowed him to lean forward more, all the way until he backed you into the wall.
You pulled his hair, grasping at the stands to pull him down more, smashing your lips against his. He groaned, hands splaying down your back to your ass, grabbing your upper thighs and pulling you up against the wall, pinned to his torso. Your legs immediately wrapped around him, ankles crossing behind his back. The both of you were immensely grateful for that slit in your dress, allowing you to mold yourself completely to his front.
Your arms wound around his neck, locking him against you, letting him sloppily kiss you, and run his tongue against your bottom lip. With a sigh, you granted him access, not caring how messy the kiss was, or who happened to see.
Eris, apparently disagreeing with the latter, squeezed your ass in his palm, stepping away from the wall, holding you to his chest. “Where am I taking you?” He whispered against your lips.
Gods, right here. Right now. When you didn’t respond fast enough, still enamored with his mouth on yours, he smacked your ass, earning a yelp and small jerk against his front. You rubbed yourself against him slightly, arching your back to press your chest to his, pulling back just enough to stare into his lust filled eyes. “My room.”
“Okay and…” He sighed, dipping his head to meet the side of your neck, just under where your jaw met your neck. He licked a broad stripe over your sensitive skin, evoking chills down your spine. You gripped the back collar of his jacket to steady yourself as his sharp white teeth sunk softly into your flesh. “Where would that be?”
You sighed against him, wishing there wasn’t as many layers of clothes between you. “That way.” You lazily hung an arm out behind you, pointing down the grand hallway. Eris placed a sloppy kiss to your neck as he began his journey, easily carrying you through the empty halls.
He carried you through the cold corridors, following your breathless directions as you planted wet kisses across his jawline. He burned hot, something you chalked up to the fire flowing through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to take you in the middle of the hallway, especially as he felt you bouncing against his dick as he half-ran up the stairs to your bedroom, your warm cunt rubbing against the front of his pants.
“Left,” you whispered, kissing against his ear and he approached one of the final doors. He kicked open the heavy mahogany door easily, letting you reach a hand behind him and slam it shut.
Without letting you go, his lips found yours again, messier than before, one hand framing your face to tilt your head perfectly opposite of his so he could devour you.
He ever so slowly dragged himself to the bed, where he knelt on the mattress and laid you against the plush blankets and mountain of pillows. Your wings stretched out behind you side to side, and Eris’s eyes moved from left to right, taking it in. “Is that comfortable?” You nodded, and barely unhooked your legs from him, just enough so he could lean before you, pulling away only to drink you in.
The most beautiful female he’d ever seen, there laying under him, waiting for him to take her oh so slowly. Eris never thought he had good karma, but that night he felt like the luckiest male in the world.
His hand ran down your front, from your neck to your chest, over the curve of your breast and down your stomach, along that bare thigh. He breathed your name, a sigh of relief, finally able to continue what he’d started in the woods.
He brought his hand up to your face, thumb brushed over your cheekbone as he dropped his other hand opposite of your head, positioning himself over you. Eris leaned in so slowly, pressing a careful, soft kiss to your waiting lips.
It was the kiss he intended to have that first time, so slow and perfect. You hummed against him, hands circling around his neck again and curling in his hair. You broke only for breath, for a split second before capturing each other’s lips again.
You quickly tired of his patience, of that carefully planned out kiss, instead pulling him further into you, legs tightening around him. He didn’t flatten against the mattress until you’d pulled yourself up to meet him, your core pressed into him as he hovered over the mattress.
He chuckled against your lips, pinching your ass before he fully dropped to the plush covers, leaning his weight into you. Your arms wined down his torso, nails raking against the sewn embellishments on the front of his jacket.
“This needs to come off,” Eris breathed, lips moving to skin over the flushed skin under your jaw. His hands fell over your hips, unable to keep still, dragging from your waist to your hips, curling around to hold the soft flesh of your ass that was pressed against the mattress.
“Say please, Eris,” you mewed breathlessly, much like he had said during your last encounter in the Autumn forest. Your hands waded through his hair and down his back, desperate to pull him closer to you.
He sighed heavily, dragging his lips up the side of your jaw, kissing his way up under your ear. His tongue dragged up the shell of your ear as he pressed his cock into you, grinding against you through your thin dress. You let out a shaky breath, wishing you’d made him disrobe before climbing over you. His lips touched your ear as he whispered his plea. “Please, (Y/N).”
You moaned, opening your legs wider for him to settle between, for him to press his cock against your aching core. His hand ran down your leg, exposed from the slit cut all the way up to your hip. His fingertips barely touched you, yet left a wake of fire in their path. His hand found purchase under your ass, where he pulled you upward, impossibly closer to him as he continued his desperate movements, rutting against you. “Please.”
You picked your head up from the mattress, hands sliding across his chest to push him off of you. He sat up immediately, though not dropping his hands from your backside. You stared at him, through half lidded eyes as you reached your arms over your head behind you, unfastening the few buttons at the back of your neck, holding the collar of your dress together.
As you worked your way down, Eris’s hands fell from your ass and instead joined your own hands, moving back so you could sit up and he could unfasten the remaining buttons. His long arms stretched behind you, giving you the perfect opportunity to work on the layers of hooks and buttons lining the front of his suit.
The golden hooks were quick to unfasten, and you pushed open his suit jacket so it hung loosely off his shoulders and you made haste on the white shirt underneath. Eris’s movements slowed as he became distracted with your work. You pulled the cotton material, untucking it from his tailored brown trousers, finishing off the rest of his buttons.
Your fingers danced down the pale skin of his abdomen, tracing the muscle lines down under his bellybutton, along the faint pale hairs that led into those thick pants. As you pulled at the ends of his white shirt, your knuckles brushed against the bulge in his pants, grazing his throbbing cock underneath however many more layers.
His eyes fluttered closed, lips parted just slightly as you stared up at him, the beautiful male in your bed, desperate for your touch. His hands were frozen behind you, one palm curling around you, laying flat against your collarbone and the curve of your throat, gripping your shoulder. The other held a death grip on the soft fabric behind your back, the only other thing grounding him to you.
Your fingers traced the outline of his cock, around the swell until you found yourself back at the hem of his trousers. You brushed against his shaking skin, muscles trembling beneath you as you hooked your fingers inside his pants, making your way to unfasten the button and pull him free.
But a knock sounded at the door.
Eris snapped out of his trance, head swiveling to the door, unsure of whether your visitor would be entering the room, too.
Azriel, who undoubtedly knew what you were doing and exactly who you were doing it with, offered you a merciful knock and warning. “Make yourself decent before your brother barges in.”
You prayed to all the gods that he wasn’t watching with those forsaken shadows.
“Fuck,” you hissed, pulling your hands away, buttoning the back of your dress together again. Eris dropped his hands to his front, hastily closing all of his garments and falling back to sit on the bed before you.
Eris watched you as he then clambered off the bed, standing before you just in time for Rhys to push past Azriel and into your room. You shoved your legs out in front of you, sitting behind Eris, making sure your dress was placed to cover all of your exposed areas. “Get the out,” you called, pressing your hands against the silk of your dress.
“You’re talking to him, right?” Rhys mocked, staring at the wild-haired Autumn male. “If he touched you, (Y/N), Cauldron help him - ”
You stood behind Eris, who shuffled aside to make room for you to face your brother. “Shut up, Rhysand. I’m not a child - ”
Cassian burst into the room, Azriel slithering in beside him, both of them flanking your brother.
The trio of purity, apparently.
“So you think you can fuck this Autumn scum?”
Before you could bite back a response to your unwelcome brother, Cassian was desperate to chime in, interested in landing some blows on the male beside you. Azriel’s expression remained neutral, bored even. His shadows skidded across the floor, swirling around Eris’s ankles.
“Betrothed Autumn scum,” Cassian added with a grin.
You couldn’t stop your head from whipping to the side, staring up at Eris, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “Betrothed?” You whispered, mouth hanging open ever so slightly, wings shuddering behind you. Your stomach dropped to your feet, a dull ache forming in your chest with each heartbeat. “You knew you were promised to someone else and you still…” you couldn’t raise your voice, couldn’t finish what you were about to say, even.
“I wasn’t going to marry her - I already told my father - ” Eris’s hand reached up from his side to grab your hand, to hold you as he continued his story.
You barely moved, only enough to curl your arms behind your back. You continued to stare up at the male, the one who had touched you, who kissed you, who was prepared to beg for you, all while knowing you could never be his, and he yours. His red eyes burned into yours, brows knit, pleading for you to hear him out - how he already told his father he’d never marry that female. That he’d sooner leave the Autumn Court than take her as his wife, his Queen.
“Marry who?” Rhys asked, his own eyebrows pulled taught in insincerity. He was nearly giddy with anticipation.
Eris’s eyes traveled slowly across the room, afraid to leave yours, already brimming with tears, instead to meet your brother’s sparkling eyes. If looks could kill, Rhysand would have fallen then and there. But the Autumn male refused to answer, instead his jaw clenched, fire burning at his palm where it hung in the air, still reaching out to you.
You paid no mind to the smoldering before you, to the sparks that very well could have burned the room down, should Eris will it. Your head swiveled to Cassian, smirking at Eris, head tilted back in pleasure with the knife that is about to be wielded through Eris’s heart. Rhysand didn’t smile, but the gleam in his eye and twitch at the corner of his mouth made you want to slap it off his face, even though you had a mind to slap Eris twice as hard. It was Azriel who spoke, though, the man of few words suddenly finding his footing. His head was tilted forward so that the darkness cascading through the room covered those bright hazel eyes, causing him to become one with the night. And ever the Shadowsinger, his knowledge was unmatched. “Morrigan.”
Eris flinched, blinking so slowly, so afraid to direct his attention back to you.
Baby Morrigan.
He was betrothed to your cousin. She was set to grow up, groomed especially for the Autumn heir, and marry him the moment she turned eighteen. You clenched your stomach, fumbling a step backward, unable to stop yourself from heaving over, bent at the waist. Eris jutted a hand out to catch you, to which your eyes were immediately drawn to. Your wings flared out behind you, for balance, but also in pure Illyrian instinct, scaring away the approaching predator.
You held your stomach, twisting and churning, shaking your head rapidly, frowning, unable to meet his pleading eyes. You shut your own eyes, praying no tears slipped through as you turned, wings high, back facing him as you made to throw up on the floor.
You didn’t want to imagine those hands on you, those hands meant for your cousin in some sick scheme his father and your uncle - and probably your father - had come up with.
Rhysand took his opportunity to launch himself at the male, unstopped by Cassian and Azriel. He threw himself at Eris, who was caught off guard, attention still drawn to you. Rhysand landed his fist directly against his face, causing both of them to go tumbling to the ground.
Cassian extended a hand toward you, which you took, holding yourself up. He held you in place, stopping you from falling onto the ground and heaving your guts. His other hand fell to your back, just below your wings, as he guided you out of the room, leaving Azriel supervising the brawling males, should Eris pull his unfair advantage and use his fire against Rhys.
You knew the two Illyrians would have jumped in already if it truly was a battle to the death. It was something meant between your fathers and uncle, something they’d have to deal with later.
But honestly you didn’t care if they killed each other. Eris, the male who’d known he was to be married, knew exactly who he was expected to marry, and still touched you; still had taken you to your own bedroom begging to fuck you. Rhysand, you knew wasn’t innocent, using this information - that he knew for gods knew how long - against you, meant to hurt Eris but not caring how much it would hurt you.
________________________________
You hadn’t gone back to your bedroom after that, after Cassian had led you to the library to calm down. He’d sat you down on the sofa, watching from a few steps away as you dropped your head in your hands, elbows propped on your shaking knees. Your stomach curled, flopping as you sucked in air, willing yourself not to vomit.
Unsure of when the two fighting males would give up on their fight, you left for Velaris. You had told Cassian you needed some time to sort through your thoughts and sent him back to make sure the heirs didn’t kill each other - that, and inform the both of them to leave you alone once they inevitably cooled off.
Eris, you knew would never find Velaris - he could search the entirety of the Night Court and he’d never find you, simply just lose the trace of your scent in the mountains. Rhysand, on the other hand, would find you immediately. With Cassian relaying your message, you knew you’d only bought yourself a few days.
You had no interest in speaking with him, to see the bruises on his face and the messy black hair you imagined Eris had singed with his fire. He crawled into your mind, knocking gently on your mental shields, leaving when you wouldn’t let him in. He left you to spend a week in Velaris, Azriel sending word that Rhys told your father you were visiting Velaris to see some old friends.
You stayed inside the townhouse, bundled up in your dark bedroom for a few days. You could barely manage to light the hearth, the warm fire that heated the cozy room quickly. The crackling wood reminded you of Eris, of his temperament and quick wit. But staring at the orange flames licking at the darkness only made your heart sink.
His smell wrapped around you, the oak burning and swirling through the small room. You imagined his arms around you, wrapped up in the Autumn forest, red and orange and brown leaves falling beside you. You wished you could show him Velaris, hide him away in your little home, the one that hadn’t seen another visitor since your mother, since she passed so long ago. You wished you still wanted to show him Velaris. You wished you could look into those burning eyes - those that haunted your sleep - without the wave of nauseousness crashing over you.
When you’d grown tired of laying around, not eating or drinking, you’d ventured out through the snow to the small cafe in the Rainbow, making light conversation with the passing citizens of Velaris. The second you sat down in the small shop, and not a moment too soon, the Shadowsinger plopped down across from you, glaring at you under his eyelashes.
“So you have been watching me,” you muttered over the rim of your mug, sipping the hot chocolate slowly.
He offered you a shrug, dropping his hands to his lap. “Following orders,” he replied, voice low and quiet.
“My brother’s or my father’s?”
He leveled your gaze, wings perched up and stead behind him. “Does it matter?”
You gave him the same shrug he graced you with. “And what message have you come to deliver from them?”
“None,” he said, leaning forward, reaching into the chest pocket on his leathers, pulling out a neatly folded letter. The white envelope remained sealed, the wax crest of the Autumn Court fully intact along the paper opening. He slid it across the table, carefully watching as your eyes fell to the letter in his scarred hand.
You bit your lip, afraid to touch the paper. “You came to personally deliver this letter?”
Azriel stifled a sigh, falling back into his chair. “This is the latest one. There’s a mountain more that had been hand delivered to the Court of Nightmares, no doubt all begging an audience with you.” You didn’t miss the humor in his voice, the lack of surprise that laced his tone.
“I’ve only been gone a week,” you replied, picking up the letter, fingertip grazing over the hardened red wax. “Why did you give this to me?” Your eyes lifted to the Shadowsinger’s hazel ones, focused on you from across the table.
“I know you weren’t there or aware, even, of the deal that transpired between the Night Court and Autumn Court,” he began, words chosen carefully. “But I think it would behoove you to hear the story from his perspective.” You rolled your eyes at the Illyrian, offering him nothing but a hefty exhale. “And then let Rhysand tell you what transpired.”
He spoke as if the stories differed, as if Azriel knew what had happened in both of the separate conversations. Perhaps being the Spymaster of Night Court had its perks, the unlimited access to information, the truth and lies that were traded between courts. Maybe Azriel was truly the only one with all of the information. “Because Rhysand will tell me something different than Eris?” You asked innocently - stupidly, perhaps.
The Shadowsinger stood, wings flitting out ever so slightly as he made to leave. “I had eyes on Vanserra after he left the Court of Nightmares,” he stated simply, as if it were nothing but normal. “He’s beside himself with guilt. Nearly got himself killed by returning to his father after what Rhys and Cassian did to him.” Your stomach lurched, unable to imagine the injury those two Illyrians would have inflicted on him. “He’s a good male.”
You peered up at the tall male, mouth running dry at those unexpected words. “And what - you aren’t going to hate him just because Rhysand does?”
Azriel stared back, and just before leaving the cafe he said, “You deserve the truth, at least, (Y/N).”
________________________________
You’d thrown the letter into the fire.
After making your way back to the Court of Nightmares, back to the cold stony walls of your father’s estate, you sent word to call to Eris. Your sentry escorted the male to your Court the next day, an offer he hadn’t thought twice about accepting.
You’d worn your finest gown, a long black dress that pooled around your shoes, but was buttoned all the way up your neck. The fabric itself was as dark as your wings, black corset ensuring you sat tall and intimidating. You waited for Eris in the throne room, perched atop your father’s dark chair, a metal crown placed atop your head, jewels lacing your covered neck.
The heiress of the Night Court, unafraid of the fiery Autumn male, not intimidated, not to be pushed around, not going to back down.
Your guard led him into the room, hand placed on his sword, announcing his entrance. “My lady (Y/N), Eris Vanserra of the Autumn Court.”
You peered down at him from the top of the throne, dropping only your eyes to the male, as you held your chin high and shoulders back. Your hands gripped the edges of the arm rests, though, as you willed yourself not to shake. You kept your wings outstretched behind you - the epitome of Nightmare. You nodded at the sentry, dismissing him, leaving you and Eris alone in the stone room.
His gaze did not waver from you. He was nervous, of course, unsure of if you’d let him speak, and if you would even believe him should you hear him out. Never having seen you as powerful, he was prepared to drop to his knees and bow to you, the powerful female of Night.
Despite the week of healing, you still saw the bruise under his eye, purple fading into yellow, and the still healing cuts along his bottom lip and cheekbone. It was truly a testament to how badly Cassian and Rhys had hurt him - that, or perhaps Beron, dealing out an additional punishment once he returned home already beaten. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice cracking despite the low volume.
“Considering your attempts to reach me,” you began, leaning toward where he stood before you. “I would think you had something important to tell me.” He swallowed, throat bobbing beneath the tall collar of his sweater. You waited for him to nod, then continued. “I don’t want you to explain that night - ” your stomach turned and your heart hammered in your chest as you remembered how your brother’s friends delivered the news. How it rocked you to your core, the most unexpected news that disgusted every ounce of your being. “ - how long have you known?”
You couldn’t hold back the bite in your tone, and Eris all but flinched. His shoulders sagged a bit as he held his hands up in surrender, taking two steps closer to you. Those tall riding boots clanged against the cold floor, echoing in the hollow room. “I knew my father had been planning on making arrangements for my marriage - he’d been planning it since the day I was born. He had meetings in secret with your father, ones that I was not privy to.”
You let out a slow breath, narrowing your eyes at the male before you. “How long have you known?”
“It’s not that simple,” he said, holding himself back from holding his hands out toward you. As your sparkling eyes narrowed at him, the darkness from the corners loomed closer, strangling the light in the room. He took a nervous step closer to you, away from the pure night that cascaded around him. “Beron has planned for me to marry a different female - gods only know who - but your father disagreed. It was Keir who stepped in and - ”
“Eris,” you interrupted.
“I’ve known since before you came to the Autumn woods, that very first night.” He did jut out a hand, still too far to reach you. “But I didn’t know who until just before the ball.” You bit your bottom lip, swallowing the words that threatened to pour out of your throat, willing away the tears that pricked the back of your eyes. At your silence, Eris panicked, filling the silence with more explanation. “I was going to tell you (Y/N), I swear it - that night, I was going to tell you everything. I wouldn’t go through with it.”
You nodded numbly. “Yet you didn’t.”
Eris inched closer, knee bent and foot propped on the first step on the landing up towards the throne. He ran a hand through his messy curls, the frustration clear on his face. “I know and it’s my fault but I saw you in that godsdamned dress and I just couldn’t. I would have after if they hadn’t barged in.”
After. Gods, you wanted to be so mad at him. So mad for his intention to bed you even with the knowledge of his betrothal. And with who. You wanted to be mad, but couldn’t help the butterflies that swirled in your stomach at the thought of him pressing you into the mattress, fucking you until all you could remember was his name. You pressed your legs together at the memory of his cock dragging against your core, even through the thin silk of your dress. Thankfully, your current gown was puffy enough that you thought he missed your subtle movement.
He didn’t.
Eris took another step closer, climbing up two steps at a time as he reached the top of the landing. It was then he who was peering down at you, standing taller than the back of the throne itself. “(Y/N),” he whispered, taking a knee before you. He pulled your left hand from the arm of the chair, the last lifeline you had to the real world. Darkness swirled around both of you, pure sparkling night to keep out any leering eyes and ears. His large pale hands cupped yours, warmth leeching your cool skin. “I would never marry her. I told my father - told your father - ”
Your eyes flashed, a gasp parted your lips. Your father. It may have been him that had beaten Eris for disobeying his order, for ruining his plan to tie the courts together. Gods, it could have been the both of them - two mighty High Lords wielding their powers against the near defenseless male.
“I told them I wouldn’t marry her. (Y/N),” he murmured, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to each of the knuckles on the back of your hand. “I won’t listen to them.” With a final kiss, he brought his glowing eyes back up to yours. “I’ll leave my whole court for you. I need you - and only you.”
You stared at him, level with those hypnotizing red eyes, flames of burning passion pouring into you. He leaned into you, free hand curling around the back of your head, cheek brushing your thumb as he tilted your head. “I missed you dearly,” he whispered. “The most painful week of my life.”
You raised your other hand up to his face, holding his jaw in your palm. Your thumb traced the cut on his cheek, the nearly healed mark on his upper lip. He smiled ever so slightly as you traced over his lip, taking in all the damage that had been inflicted on the male. “I can see that,” you replied dryly, voice barely audible.
He shook his head gently, not enough to disturb your hand pressed ever so lightly against his face. “No,” he breathed. He lifted your hand, still clasped together in your lap, and held your open hand against his chest. “In here, (Y/N). And I swear I won’t let them keep us apart anymore.” Eris pressed his lips against your palm.
You pulled your hand away from him, off that soft corduroy, and held the other side of his face. Without any more hesitation, Eris bent forward and captured your lips with his.
________________________________
You went to find Rhys later that night, once you’d sent Eris on his way back to Autumn. You didn’t want to dwell on it for too long, despite how much you missed the taste of his lips and that bonfire smell that laced his skin.
You heeded Azriel’s advice to hear Rhysand’s side of the story, hoping he would at least make more sense of the situation. And you’d been ignoring your brother for most of the time that you’d been back in the Night Court. “Nice of you to stop by,” he said once you walked into his bedchamber, finding him propped up at his desk, nose buried in a pile of books.
You rolled your eyes, of course he was already keen to start a fight. “I could do us both a favor and just leave,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
Rhys shut the book he was looking at and stared up at you, dark eyes exactly like your father’s. “You took it the wrong way - ”
“Wrong way, Rhys, really? Was there a right way to take that news? That you thought would be so funny to let Azriel and Cassian deliver?”
Rhys failed to suppress the smile that leached up on his lips, reminiscing in the memory of his friends delivering that blow to Eris. He shook his head, frowning a bit to hide the smile. “It wasn’t meant to be funny, it was meant to keep him away from you. I told you to stay away from him, didn’t I?”
You stared at your brother in his I told you so power trip. “You could have told me beforehand instead of barging into my room like that.”
“I wasn’t expecting to but when Azriel told me he was in your room alone with you I had no other choice, (Y/N). You should be thanking me for keeping him away from you.”
You scoffed, eyes widening. “First of all, you did nothing to keep him away from me. And secondly, I don’t even want to be away from him - ”
“I did more than you know,” he muttered, eyes flitting back to the pile of papers on his desk. When you stared at him, waiting for him to continue, he stood, mirroring your position, arms crossed and glaring at you. “For all you know, you would have ended up stranded in the Autumn Court married to that fool.”
You weighed each word carefully, unsure what to even say.
Married to that fool.
Married.
You bit the inside of your cheek, dropping your head in your hand, fingers rubbing at your forehead. “So you let them go and offer him baby Morrigan instead?” You were nearly yelling at him, the mountain of information swirling in your head, unable to hear yourself even think, let alone speak.
Rhys was near flabbergasted. “I didn’t know Keir would get into the mix - for fuck’s sake they would have taken your wings! It’s the Autumn Court, (Y/N), they’re sick! I would have dealt with her later, I have eighteen years to do it! You didn’t have time - but now you do. I ensured it - you can find someone here, stay here where you’ll be safe.”
“Keeping me here is not keeping me safe, Rhysand,” you replied, leveling your gaze at him. “I’m a fucking prisoner here. You never let me fly, you forbid me of seeing any other courts - I’m bored here, I’m so sick of it here - ” your voice dropped. “Nothing’s been the same since mom died. And trying to pretend nothing happened, keeping everything exactly the same…” you sighed. “It’s not working, Rhys.”
He stood unmoving and unwavering, processing your words. “You have to trust me, (Y/N).”
You shouldn’t have been surprised he still thought he was right, the male had never thought of himself being in the wrong before. “I do but you have to trust me.”
With that, you turned on your heel, gathering up your skirts and leaving his room. He didn’t try to stop you - he’d be dumb if he couldn’t figure out where you were headed.
You made a pit stop in your bedchamber, removing your long heavy dress for a short, thin shift, hidden under a long wool coat. You dove off the balcony without a second thought, dropping off the cliff amongst the cold air. Half of you almost didn’t want to stretch out your wings, instead just disappear into the fog collecting in the dark valley.
But the other half of you called to Eris, to the warm fire and colorful leaves.
You flew faster than you ever had, the cold wind nipping at your ears and biting your cheeks. Rhysand’s words rang in your head, about your planned marriage to Eris. Surely you would have felt different about the male, had you been introduced to him as your betrothed. On the other hand, you wondered if Eris knew you were set to be married. That would have been something he’d have told you today - you prayed to the Mother you were right.
You weren’t going to slow down, not as you rushed through the mountains and through the cold air of Winter. You didn’t stop until you saw the red trees approaching, until you smelled the sweet cinnamon in the air and the burning logs in the distance. You didn’t stop, even as Rhysand’s words rattled around your head: they would have taken your wings.
Eris met you the minute you landed, winnowing to your spot in the woods - the clearing you’d last met at. He pulled you straight into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest and running his hand through your loose hair. His warm palm hovered over your ear, warmth swirling through your bloodstream. You sighed into him, his warm spiced scent wrapping around you.
“We can’t stay here,” he whispered, lips brushing against your forehead as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “The guards are looking for you - they were onto you the moment you crossed the border.”
You turned up to face him, unable to unwrap your arms from where they were clasped behind his back. Your wings ached, chest heaving with desperation for air. “I - ”
Eris shook his head, kissing the cold tip of your nose. His hand brushed up your back, dangerously close to where your wings stemmed out from under your coat. It sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take care of you, (Y/N),” he whispered, red eyes burning into yours.
Without much more than a nod, Eris winnowed you out of the woods into a warm wood cabin. A fire was roaring in the hearth, reaching out toward Eris, crawling to its master. The floor and walls were lined with mahogany of the deepest brown, thick tapestries and portraits hanging on the walls. In the corner sat a large bed, plush blankets and fur throws piled high on the mattress. You gazed upward at Eris, still holding you in his arms, face barely illuminated in the soft candle light. His eyes were soft, glinting with red as he smiled down at you, eyelashes casting shadows down his cheekbones. He curled a piece of hair around your ear and brushed his thumb along your jawline. He bent down toward you, offering you a small kiss. “They won’t find us here,” he whispered, still holding you against his chest. “I have a little hideout close to the coast. Sorry it’s a little small but - ”
“It’s perfect,” you whispered, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss him again. He hummed against your lips, dragging his hands over your sides and up to the claps that held your coat together. He deftly unhooked the garment, dragging the heavy wool over your shoulders. It hung off your back, buttons under your wings still fastened.
You stifled a laugh, taking a step back from Eris and breaking your kiss with a giggle. “This is new,” he muttered, waiting as you grabbed the tail of your coat, quickly unhooking the final buttons and dropping the coat.
His eyes widened, lips parted slightly as he took in your clothes - what little remainder of them still hung on your body. The silk black nightgown didn’t leave much to the imagination, dipping low on your chest and stopping short under your hips. His eyes traveled the expanse of your chest, down to the swell of your hips and strong thighs. He licked his lips, staring at you with hungry intention. “If you don’t mind, (Y/N),” he began, hand falling to your hip as he stepped closer to you. “I’d like to finish what we started in your bedroom.”
You nodded, tipping your head back to allow him to kiss you. You offered him a smile, gazing up at him from under your eyelashes. “You said we should have our privacy now, no?”
“Not unless your Shadowsinger decides to stop by,” he grumbled, hoisting you up by the back of your thighs and pulling you into his arms.
You wrapped your legs around his waist and hummed, sticking your head in the crook of his neck, kissing the side of his neck. “If he does,” you replied, teeth dragging over the corner of his jaw. “He can just watch.”
Eris barked out a laugh, one that vibrated your lips against his neck. He gave your ass a light squeeze, his palm spreading over the expanse of your backside. “Little minx. I have no idea what goes on in that Court of yours,” he muttered, dropping a knee to the mattress, still holding you against him. “And I think I may be too jealous to find out.”
Your hand curled upward around the back of his neck, fingers intertwining in his red hair. “Then show me how an Autumn heir fucks,” you breathed, pressing your core against the front of his trousers.
Eris breathed a sigh of expletives, laying you down on the plush throws before him. Your legs remained bent at his sides, letting him settle between your legs, staring down at you. He dragged a line down your leg, from your knee to your thigh, as he took in your beauty. “I’m not going to fuck you, (Y/N),” he murmured, fingers carefully pushing up the hem of your shift. “We have many nights ahead, where I will fuck you into this very bed - so hard you’ll be begging me to stop.” You shivered beneath his touch as the silk pooled around your waist. “Tonight, I’m going to show you how sorry I am. Show you how much you really mean to me.”
He dipped his head toward yours, so close that all you had to do was lift your head and purse your lips to reach him - before he pulled back, dropping his head to your chest, kissing a line across your breasts, licking your nipple through the silk. You huffed a sigh and dropped your head back into the mattress, arching toward him as he pressed his tongue against the smooth dress. “Eris,” you moaned when his head traveled farther down, just until his nose brushed against your belly, lips touching your slit.
“That’s it, (Y/N).” His hands traveled the expanse of your thighs, prying them open and pressing them against the blankets. “So ready for me.” He licked a long stripe up your pussy, hot and writhing and begging.
You arched up into him, yelping out in surprise as he flicked your clit. You’d been waiting for that moment, to have Eris buried between your legs - but nothing you imagined could have compared. Not as his tongue teased you around your clit, only touching the sensitive bud so rarely, only when you were begging for him to do so. “Please, Eris,” you called, ankles crossed over his back.
He stuck his tongue upwards, curling up between your folds, making its way inside of you. As you lifted your hips, trying to shift your position so that his tongue met your clit, he smiled, turning his head to bite the inside of your thigh. Eris laughed at your shaking breath, finally giving in and licking a stripe up your clit. He directed his ministrations to bringing you to orgasm, flicking his tongue back and forth over the bud.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair, crying out as your legs shook wildly. He held you in place, which just so happened to involve your thighs clenched tightly around his head. He would have smiled if he hadn’t been so caught up with taking you over the edge, obsessed with how you were crossed between holding him in place and pushing him away. Your stomach clenched, arched off the bed as you rode out your orgasm.
Eris was hesitant to move, unsure if he ever wanted to move or just spend the rest of his days buried between your thighs. Eventually he moved, not without pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit. He stepped backwards, watching as you laid limp on the bed, so blissfully fucked, watching his movements with half lidded eyes. He stripped out of all of his clothing, unable to wait any longer with how hard his cock was pressing against his tight trousers.
He had a lean build, muscle coiled around his long limbs. You made out a few scars across his pale chest, ones you’d be able to make out better once you had some better light. The candle light didn’t do justice to his build, though you vowed to spend the next night exploring his body. As you eyes the heavy dick that hung between his legs, standing at attention, your mouth ran dry, but only one thing was on your mind. He crawled on top of you, propping himself over you with an elbow beside your head.
“I can’t go back there, Eris,” you breathed, staring up at his red eyes. Your fingers brushed over his pointed ear, over the soft curls that fell around his face. “I can’t go back.” You weren’t sure if it was the post-orgasm haze that made you never want to leave Eris and his bed, or it was that one percent of you that was still scared of what came after, when you inevitably had to go.
“You never have to go back, I swear it.” His brows furrowed in determination, in sincerity. His lips pressed into a firm line as he nodded down to you.
“Do you think Autumn will look good on me?” You whispered, smiling up at him.
He sighed, pressing his body into you. As his chest met yours, stomach pressed together, his cock fell forward, hanging between your bodies. The tip touched your belly, heavy and ready, precum leaking from the tip. You hummed as you fit your hand between the two of you, running your palm over his lengthy cock. “You look good in my bed,” he replied, kissing your lips. “You look good in nothing at all.” You rubbed his dick, wrapping your palm around him and pumping a few times. “You will look good in Autumn red, in my colors.” His lips found your neck as he licked a long path over the curve of your neck, biting down as you moved his cock to tease the tip between your folds. He had already made a mess between your legs, the sound of his dick rubbing at your entrance sang through the room. “And you will look so fucking good as my wife.” He sighed, along with you, as he pushed his cock forward, sliding inside of you with ease.
You could have cried with how far Eris pushed into you, how he slid so far, all the way until he was fully hilted inside of you. He let out a shaky breath, pulling all the way out before sliding back in slowly, savoring every moment. He had come so close to this so many times, so many times that he had to fuck his fist with the thought of that sweet caramel running over your chest.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him forward, meeting him in a messy kiss. His tongue met yours, lips sloppily sliding over yours as he devoured you. His hand moved between you to grab a handful of your breast, to flick your nipple and squeeze the plump flesh.
You curled your legs around him, holding your hips off the bed to allow a better angle for him to fuck you, for him to push his cock all the way inside of you - just a bit farther. Enough to have the tip of his cock pressing against your belly, aching in your womb.
You grabbed his hand, the one squeezing your breast as you held it to your lips, kissing each of his fingertips. His eyes traveled from watching where the two of you were connected, where his cock slid in and out of your pussy so effortlessly, so perfectly, to your eyes. You let him watch you move his hand over your shoulder, holding it just above the bone of your wing. His brows crossed, and his hips faltered for the first time all evening.
You nodded, holding him by the wrist as his thumb met the dark leathery skin. You jumped in surprise, despite the anticipation of him touching such a private extension of yourself. Eris let out a shaky breath as your cunt clenched around him, the involuntary reaction so unexpected. He smiled through his shock, letting his index finger run along the bone.
“Eris,” you nearly begged, crossing your ankles around his back, pulling him back into you further. He snapped out of his fixation, leaning over you again, letting his cock sink all the way back into you. He rocked back and forth, barely moving as he rutted against your front. You moaned, his dick rubbing the sweet spot inside of you. His hands pulled you up, hoisting you by the small of your back as he fell back to sit on his knees.
Eris settled you on his cock, earning a breathless sigh as he pierced you even deeper than he had before. You steadied yourself by letting your feet fall to the mattress on either side of him, bouncing yourself slowly on his dick. His hands moved from your back to your ass, squeezing as he moved you even more, riding him harder and harder.
When your head tipped back, sighing in pure bliss, his hands rose to where your wings stemmed from your back, swirling around the soft skin of your back. Your breath shuttered, anticipation of his next movement stirring in your blood. Your eyes had fallen shut and you gripped his shoulders for dear life, still rocking back and forth on his cock as his fingers traced down your spine between your wings.
You dug your fingernails into his shoulder, earning a growl from the male below you. He traced the outer shell of your wing, the hard bone from the base to the crux of the bend. You squeezed your legs together, clenching around Eris as his featherlight touch ran back and forth. “Eris - I can’t - ” You choked out a breath, squeezing your eyes shut and sitting straight, dropping your forehead against his.
He hadn’t known what it felt like to touch your wings, and wouldn't have imagined how soft they felt. He sure as hell couldn’t imagine how it felt for you - but he wasn’t expecting to wield such a reaction out of you. “Yes you can, (Y/N),” he dipped down and pressed a kiss to your lips, watching as you came on his cock. He only dropped his hands when he absolutely had to, when you had come so hard your legs shook, unable to hold yourself up. He lifted you up and down slowly, moving you forward and back so your clit brushed against his pelvis as you came. You harshly gasped as the sensitive bud rubbed against his skin, against the coarse hair trailing from his navel. “My fucking good little bat,” he breathed, kissing your jawline. You exhaled a steady breath, hands hanging limply over his back, legs flexed but lack, letting Eris still move you atop his lap.
As he moved his lips over the crook of your neck, he blew cool air over the arch of your wing, causing them to widen and flex behind you, as you clenched around him for the final time, riding out the remainder of your orgasm. Eris came as you slid over him, shivering as his orgasm took over and he came into you, painting your insides. He ran hot, body temperature raising as he groaned, rutting into you with fever.
You curled your arms around him again, letting him lower you back to the mattress, legs hooked around his waist. Eris simply settled back between your legs, holding you close to his burning chest as he nuzzled his face into your neck. You didn’t want to let him go, for him to move and pull his cock from you. You could spend the rest of your life wrapped in his arms in his bed.
And Eris felt the same. “Stay with me, (Y/N),” he whispered, running his hand over your messy hair.
Your heart swelled. “Here?” You but your lip, if he asked you to stay in Autumn, you would. No matter threat threats your brother or Beron would attempt, you would stay beside Eris.
“Gods, anywhere,” he replied, voice muffled in the crook of your neck. “Just with me, (Y/N), please.”
You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “Anywhere. Always.”
#eris vanserra#eris x reader#eris vanserra x reader#eris x you#eris vanserra x you#eris#eris acotar#acotar#eris fanfiction#eris vanserra fanfiction#eris fanfic#eris/reader#eris/you#eris vanserra/you#eris vanserra/reader#reader insert#fanfiction
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The Accords (Original Version)
Chapter II
Bella trudged over the dirt covered ground, a scowl on her face. She was screwed over by The Clave once again, they gave her one last mission to do in Japan before she left. All that ran through her mind was home, and she was getting really sick of being treated this way. At least it was an easier mission, killing a Bakemono. However, these demons where good at hiding and running.
She would have to pay close attention when fighting.She had used the medical supplies to bandage her puncture wound from the demon she had faced about two hours ago, but it stung to high hell. It would be a pain to fight with, that's for sure. The small snack she had purchased hadn’t made her any less starved, in fact, it only made her more aware of her weakness due to malnourishment. When Bella finally arrived in Milan, she would eat as much pasta as she wished. She craved to taste Conchiglie again, and fresh baked bread with spinach salad…
Bella shook off the want for food and rest, she didn’t have that time, she would instead allow it when she stepped foot on the stone-paved sidewalks of her home. The trained woman marched forward, her back straight and a warrior-worthy expression on her face. She looked around the dark forest, checking for any sign the monster had passed through these woods. She saw the scratches left behind by claw marks on the trees, and the dripping of demon blood that left burning holes in the leaves scattered across the ground.
Seeing this, Bella picked up her pace, determined to find the demon and slay it. The Shadowhunter warrior ran fast, feeling the cold air fill her lungs as the night wind nipped her face, she slammed her boots into the ground with such fury until she approached a gate.
This gate was made of rot iron, and a glorious mansion was set behind it. Bella wrapped her hand around one of the bars, cursing herself for being so dumb. Of course the demon sought out a place where it could hide in small nooks and crannies, it would be much harder to find now. The woman looked up, checking to see if she could jump over the gate from it’s lowest point, but these were rich people, after all, they wouldn’t want anyone breaking in. However, Bella would have to trespass on this property to execute this demon.
She quickly sheathed her angel blade and grasped onto the iron, pulling herself up the gate. The action took her stamina quickly, she had to gasp for breath when she finally dropped to the ground on the other side. Bella felt so weak, she was beaten up pretty badly. She said a silent prayer to the angels, worried the little strength she had left wasn’t going to be enough to slay a demon.
Her boots were louder than they should have been for a stealth mission, the Soundless runes she had carved into the soles when she had a stele were finally wearing off. It would make it very hard to sneak up on the monster. They clanged against the pavement as she walked down the pathway, on either side, beautiful white roses grew in the bushes. Bella stopped for a moment to admire them and catch her breath better, brushing her hand against the soft petals and capturing the watery dew that rested on them. Someone here took very good care of them.
She heard a noise behind her, it however, wasn’t the sound of a demon. It sounded like a boy. Bella glanced behind her, catching the eye of the source of the noise.
He was shorter than her, but not by too much, maybe six inches-she was wearing two inch heels though. Although he had a child-like look to him, he seemed about her age. Nineteen, or maybe younger. He had soft purple hair that could put the shame the hue of lavender and matching amethyst eyes that looked almost like a sea of chaos, ever changing. Under those gorgeous eyes, were bags that were very dark, like he hadn’t slept in weeks, just like her. He was dressed nicely, in a school outfit that was well put together, unlike the man who she encountered at the gas station. He was grasping onto a stuffed bear with an eyepatch. This boy had a neutral expression on his face, but she could see something else there that she couldn’t quite read.
He spoke in Japanese at first, but when he saw the confused expression on her face, he switched to English.
“You smell quite good.” He muttered, his eyes boring into her almost like how Ayato's eyes did to her before. His accent was still thick when he spoke in English, just like Ayato. However, this boy gave Bella a slightly different energy. He looked down at the teddy bear in his arms. “Right Teddy? She’s pretty too, prettier than Yui-chan. She looks like a doll.”
Bella was caught of guard for a quick moment, she had been called hot before, mostly by suitors she used to ignore in Idris when she was going through her training. Shadowhunter were courted fairly young, since most only lived to thirty due to how dangerous their lives were. She had never in her nineteen years of life had been called beautiful though. It made her feel more feminine, which she liked. But she felt something was off about this boy, the same feeling she had when she encountered Ayato.
He paced closer to her, very close, almost too close for her comfort, he held onto Teddy with one hand as he brushed her messy, curly hair out of her face. “You’ll be a wonderful doll. What’s your name, my doll?”
Somehow, all thoughts of her mission left her head. “Bella. And yours?” She answered. The short man’s eyes sparked something.
“Your accent makes your voice very beautiful. Fufu~ I want to keep listening to it.” He told her. She smiled, a small blush dusting her cheeks. “My name is Kanato-kun.”
That name rang a subtle bell in Bella’s mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe she had met a Kanato in the past? She rubbed elbows with lots of different people, due to her basically being an assassin for The Clave. “Nice to meet you, Kanato.”
“A pleasure.” This boy spoke very elegantly, Bella couldn’t help but be interested, but she quickly remembered what she was here to do.
She blinked, looking around the outside to see if she could catch a shadow of a demon moving to another hiding place. “Uh, I have to go, kid. I’m hunting something.”
Suddenly, his entire demeanor changed. His soft eyes became hard in a blink of an eye, and his mouth twisted into a scowl. Bella flinched, seeing the sudden change shocked her. “You will not be leaving, doll. You are mine now.” Kanato grasped onto her wrist tightly, with apparent rage, catching a glance at the back of her palm, where she had a Protection rune, one she’s had since birth. His features twisted once again, this time into a sadistic smile. “Now I understand why your blood smells as good as it does, you’re a Nephilim. Fufu~ I’ve always wanted to taste Nephilim blood, angels must taste so very sweet. One puncture scar on your skin won’t be as bad, right Teddy?”
Kanato bared his fangs, they gleamed menacingly under the moonlight. Bella gasped in surprise and horror, realizing he was a vampire. She yanked her wrist out of his grasp, taking steps back defensively. “Back off, bloodsucker.” She threatened as she pulled her angel blade out of it’s sheath and pointed it at his throat.
Kanato glared at her, she felt the intensity coming from his stare. “Don’t call me that! You are weaker than vampires so you must treat me with respect!” Kanato yelled. Bella had to stifle a laugh, he looked so much like a child in that moment. The purple-haired boy noticed and gave her another deadly look. “I wouldn’t laugh, Shadowhunter.”
Bella pressed the tip of her blade against his throat. “You may be a vampire, but I’ve killed many of you bloodsuckers in the past. I can easily slit your throat.” The Shadowhunter pressed the tip against his Adams apple, but Kanato was unfazed.
“I'll drain your blood until your skin is white, have you watch me drink it, then sew that mouth of yours shut, doll.”
Suddenly, he sprang at her, his fangs out and ready to pierce her skin. Bella yelped and dodged him quickly, and while doing that, she tripped him over. Kanato fell flat on his face, the stuffed bear shielding his ribs from the concrete. He growled and started to push himself up with one arm, but Bella kicked him hard in the ribs. The lavender-eyed man gasped and crashed against the ground again. Bella kept him down with her high-heeled boot, pressing it firmly against his back.
“Don’t get up, kid.” She said, putting away her blade.Kanato turned his head, looking furious, but he wasn't looking at her. He said something in Japanese through grit teeth. The Shadowhunter scrunched up her face, confused as to who he directed that to, but as she turned her head, she saw a man.
He was also insanely attractive. With hair as white as a Shadowhunter Mourning outfit and striking red eyes that seemed to be home to violence itself. He was an inch or two shorter than her, but she was wearing heels, but he was probably taller than her by an inch while she was barefoot.
She didn't have very much time to look at him, because as soon as she turned, Bella was punched in the face. Her eyes fluttered closed and she dropped to the ground.
Read: https://www.tumblr.com/bubblesacc/740964840708980736/the-accords-reader-insert-ver?source=share
For reader-insert version :)
#diabolik lovers x reader#shu sakamaki x reader#reiji sakamaki x reader#ayato sakamaki x reader#kanato x reader#laito x reader#subaru x reader
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Problematic (Bucky x Reader)
ig I just like writing about bad things happening to y/n :,)
(There’s a part where I reference Bucky’s hands. Just know one is the metal arm, I just didn’t know how else to say it.)
I honestly don’t know what insanity made me write this but here it is.
Also, don’t expect anything from me for about a week, I’ll be on a vacation.
SOMEONE GIVE ME A REQUEST I’M BORED. (I’ll literally write almost anything)
Around 2.1k words.
Warnings: torture, injury, agnst, Hydra, mentions of death, mentions of rape, low self esteem, anxiety, nightmares (seriously, don’t read if it’s going to bother you)
—-----
You had stuck with your boyfriend Bucky for so long. When he had nightmares you always comforted him, when his panic attacks got bad you always calmed him, and when he needed to talk you were there. For the two years you had been together you both supported each other. The pair of you were inseparable, the time either of you were away on missions away from each other was actually painful.
[In the meeting room]
“Hyra base. That’s our next mission.” Tony stated. “I’m sending Sam, Clint, and y/n on this one. It’ll be just a quick in and out. You’ll be clearing the area out, it should be relatively small. We’ve done a scan of the base from above and it seems like this should be a quick trip. Sam, come in from above, we want a nice view of the action. You shouldn’t have to do too much. Clint, you will be taking shots from a distance. y/n, you will be on the ground fighting. I’m confident that you can handle a few Hydra soldiers” He winked in your direction. “Questions?”
Bucky was the first one to speak, “Yea, why is y/n the only one out there?”
“Did you not just listen? I swear Barnes you only hear when y/n’s name is mentioned. It’s a small mission and I’m sending THREE avengers. That’s more than enough.”
“Buck I can take care of myself, I'll be fine.” You chimed in.
“Y/n is one of our strongest magic users. She’s more than capable. Now that we’ve all discussed Barnes’s separation anxiety, any real questions?” Tony went on. “Great. We leave at 6:00 am tomorrow.”
[Later that night]
“Bucky- we went over this. You have too much of a tie to Hydra. I can handle this.”
“Y/n. I really think I should go with you. I know how to deal with them, I don't trust the situation. Something doesn’t sit right with me.” Bucky began to raise his hands as he does whenever he gets worked up.
“Are you saying I can’t do this?”
“Of course not it’s just-”
“I’m going to bed, Buck. I need to be up early. Don’t bother sending me off the two-day mission that I’m not capable of protecting myself on.”
“Jesus y/n. If you put it that way then maybe I won’t. I’ll see you in two-days then. You can be so…problematic.”
It was just a fight. A small one, nothing you couldn’t handle. Bucky kept his word the next morning. His last words to you sticking to your skin like dew drops to a leaf. You’d fix it when you got back, right?
Except you wouldn’t get the chance to you. There were way more soldiers than you’d anticipated. Bucky was more than right to worry. Hydra had you cornered and there was nothing you could do as they dragged you away.
San got the whole thing on camera as he was scouting from above. All the team could do was watch as one of the strongest Avengers was helplessly dragged away.
Bucky didn’t know what to do. The last words he exchanged with you were in anger. The frustration built up and began to eat at his insides. He knew Hydra better than anyone on the team. If they did anything close to you what they did to him- he didn’t want to imagine it.
Meanwhile you were taken and tied up in a metal chair in a stark white room. Your magic did not work when you tried. The whole place looked clean and was decently large for you being the only one in there. Then you remembered. Hydra.
You didn’t have any information about secret plans or missions or tech or anything to share. So when the torture began your screams echoed and there was no ammunition you had to counter you painful days and sleepless nights. No breaks, just constant hurt. All while Bucky’s words ran through your head over and over and over and over.
Problematic. That was he had seen you.
You weren’t sure how long you had been there for. But sometime into your stay things began to get even worse. They gave you minimal food and water. They began to torment your nights as well by splashing water over you while dead asleep. Waking you with beatings or weapons. But the worst of it by far was the sexual abuse. They raped you countless times as you struggled against their strength. It became too much to bear.
The room was now covered in blood. They hadn’t once cleaned an inch of the space you were in. The metallic scent was always in your noise and the crust of dried red followed your eyes to every corner. But by now you were used to the smell and your vision was blurring from malnourishment anyway.
When you weren’t concerned over when your next meal would come or when the next attack would happen, Bucky filled your mind. Did he care? Was he thinking of you? Or was he glad his problem was gone. The thought of it alone was almost worse than the torture.
You had nothing left.
But then gunshots were heard from outside your room. And through your hazy self could barely process when Bucky broke down the door. He held your barely breathing body in his hand as you struggled the most you could, which was not very hard.
“No…no, no. Stop. Let me go. Not again…” You whispered barely audible.
“Love, it’s me Bucky. I’m not going to hurt you darling.” His heart broke when hearing your cries. He knew exactly what hydra could do to a person.
He sat there with you until Sam and Tony came through and saw the two of you and told him to carry you back.
On the ride back Bucky held you in his arms. Running his fingers through your hair he was beginning to stress whether you would even make it. Your pulse was faint and you had so much blood all over you. He couldn’t tell which wounds were currently open and which ones were old. Your broken lifeless body was painful for him to look at, yet he couldn’t seem to look away.
[Back at Avengers Tower]
You opened your eyes to no blood on the walls and IVs in your arms. The room was slightly larger than the one you were in before. But something felt different about this room. The door opened and you shut your eyes tight as they went and pulled the covers that you didn’t have before up to your face.
Your breaths came short and fast and visions of what happened before shot through your memory. The pain. The humiliation. The shame. What horrors would you face now?
“Y/n you’re awake! Oh, hey, hey. It’s just me. Bruce see? You’re home.”
His voice flooded your senses and you began to calm. Wait. Did he say home? You moved the covers from your face to see the Avenger who had patched you up as best he could since you had returned. Sure enough it was a friendly face you were met with. You stared at him in return.
“You really took a beating out there y/n. Do you want me to go over your medical reports with you now or wait for Bucky to be here too so that I won’t have to repeat it.”
When you didn’t respond he knew something was really wrong. Obviously they had tortured you physically, but something was broken in your mind as well.
When you saw his reaction you plastered a smile on your face and told him to bring him in, hoping Bruce didn’t see your smile fall as he left the room. Being alone suddenly became scary, you were so used to only preparing for the next visit that all you could do was listen to your own heartbeat when Bruce left.
You didn’t hear the door open. But you felt Bucky’s strong body crash into your weak one. What you did hear was Bruce saying he’d give you some alone time.
“Bucky…”
“Oh doll…” his voice trembled as he spoke. Bucky’s hand shook as he reached out to touch your face.
You flinched at his touch and in that moment he thought of every possible type of pain Hydra could’ve put you through. His eyes glistened with tears and he saw how frail you looked.
You jumped when Bruce opened the door again. “Ready to go over the medical reports?”
You had a broken ankle, two bruised ribs, one broken rib, three broken fingers, a sprained wrist,. a dislocated leg, stab wounds, a minor concussion, and countless cuts and bruises. Not to mention a black eye.
Suddenly, Bucky inhaled, stood up and left the room.
Deep down you felt something snap. You felt a mix of emotions. Did Bucky not want you anymore? Were you really that broken?
Bruce followed Bucky and you left with your own tears. After one week in the room, Bruce and the doctors they assigned to let you go back to you and Bucky’s room as long as you came for daily checkups.
[Later that night, first night back in your room]
As soon as sleep drifted upon you the nightmares began to torture you. Memories and fear alike, this was the first time sleep became such a punishment for you.
You awoke in a scream of terror and to Bucky holding you tears streaming down both of your faces. He held you and rubbed your arms.
“I’m gong to fucking kill every last one of them y/n. You don’t deserve any of this. You hear me.” He whispered into the side of your head.
Again, something in you clicked and you stiffened up. Bucky immediately noticed and pulled away.
You both knew you weren’t going to get any sleep so the two of you stood up to cool down. Then the questions came.
“Doll, tell me what happened. You have to tell me what they did.” He was angry. Not at you, but his rage still scared you. As Bucky kept rambling, hands flying through the air, your eyes got wide and the thoughts of pain and fear came tumbling back into your head and you backed into the wall. Hand at your mouth to silence the tears, you slid down the wall. No noise came from you, yet the sound in your head drowned out everything else.
Bucky turned to face you not knowing what to do.
“Problematic” were the words that you sobbed out when he pulled you into a hug.
“Darling- I never meant those words. I love you with everything I am. How long- Jesus-” He ran his hands through his hair. “How long were you thinking of those words? The truth. Now.” He stared you down.
You looked away, “every goddamn moment.” you mumbled. “I thought of them and you every second I was in there. When I wanted hope all I had was that.”
Guilt seeped through Bucky’s mind, a million different thoughts jumbling together. But you weren’t done.
“They beat me until my bones broke and I needed stitches I never got. They almost drowned me several times. They held me at gunpoint. They told me I was worthless over and over until I believed every word of it, and I still do. They abused me until I was sick- even then didn’t stop. They locked me in a room of corpses and made me spend the night in it. They raped me so much that my skin does more than crawl. Fuck, I’ve been awake for a little over a week now and not one other person besides you and Bruce have even bothered to visit! So forgive me if I’m hurting a little.” You were screaming out your words by the end.
It broke Bucky, The thought that someone else’s hands were on you. The thoughts that they made you think. He trembled from everything you told him.
“Doll…my y/n…I regret every word that I said before you were- God I messed up. You matter more to me than anything else. Don’t ever think you’re worthless. And the rest of the Avengers, they thought it best to give you a little space. I’m so sorry Doll.”
You slammed your body against his and let your tears fall onto him. Clutching onto him, deep down you knew you'd recover with lots time, as long as Bucky was by your side.
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Little soulfire
age regression is a coping that can both voluntary and/or involuntary it is entirely safe and reccomended by therapists if they believe it would be effective for said person but as mentioned for some people it is entirely unpredictable, if this makes you uncomfortable please carry on elsewhere thank you <3
Mountain and little! dewdrop
1,400 words
Hurt comfort? I dunno but he has self depreciating thoughts cause he thinks he hurt his baphy
The realization hit when there was a resistance under his pedal, being big at the moment dew was still obsessed with baphy but not in the way little dew was.
He had no way of fixing it, if stage hand would have just let him do his thing and not adjust anything his baphy wouldn’t be under the pressure and abuse of being squished by the pedal.
Baphy is there for the purpose of keeping him grounded and focused, and with it being the end of this song he couldn't just stop and fix his little friend, a gift that a fan had so kindly given to him that made him feel so warm and noticed and now he was so utterly disrespectful to it, causing his friend pain.
By the time the ritual was over dew was so ready to be done, so ready to curl away in the hold of one of his bandmates but to his mind he deserved none of it, he'd been so mean to his baphy friend, the little guy that kept his mind deep rooted when needed and let the warmth enunciate itself cradling the boy in pure safety when he’s small as well, but right now in the intensity of the moment he felt he deserved no such warmth, He deserved no such comfort per what his thoughts had echoed, he was mean and bad and no one so aggressive to their friend should get loved in the same hour right?
Leaving the stage he picked up his baphy, waiting til after hes off stage to cradle his friend so close.
Stage hands helping collapse and pack everything up and in a flurry dew with his baphy cradled close, rushed to the bus, the only safe place he could let his glamor drop.
He was so bad, everything always resorts in his friends getting hurt, hes nothing better than a demon at the hand of the biblical depiction of the devil.
Discarding his helmet first, going to the back of the bus curling into a tiny tight little ball where he could stow away himself and his world of feelings, dropping the glamor at the same time of his headspace setting in completely.
A tiny candle flame, merely a spark off of flint in comparison to the star as a neighbor to the earth, yet he felt like a forest fire at the hand of destruction and pain when it comes to his baphy.
His little friend with a permanent open armed pose perfect for a hug from the little ghoul, a mess of babbles and sobbed sorrys, deep hugs, the only cooling thing about dew right now being the tears rolling down his cheeks, tracks from the tears leaving deep riverbeds of an emotional disposition.
he would do anything to show to his little friend that he was sorry, so much so that in his sobbing gasping state he wandered dizzily to the front of the bus putting baphy up into the window, in a rush to make sure baphy wouldn’t feel bombarded with the onslaught of a terrible friend in dews perception he runs off to his bunk, his tail now taking on the assault of his hands play to his desperate mind, he felt so alone, like the water in the waves that used to light his soul were now drowning him through his tears, he was a trembling distraught mess.
It didn't take mountain long to notice that dews disappearance was one of agony within his tiny ones mind, a sweet fires brain eating away at itself and mountain knew why.
Entering the bus its radiated the smell of sorrow and anxiety along side the warm honey scent that being little elicited from dew.
Baphy not accompanying the sweet little fire was not something hes seen since the moment he was given the stuffy.
Mountain ridding himself of his helmet and dropping his glamor as well he picks up dews Baphomet carefully carrying it to him.
The gentle giant, a tall stature, stoic being with the soul of a weeping willow casting a comforting shadow with its canopy here to bare the world to let his little flame calm back to his candle, "sweet starfire? Can i open the curtain?" His voice bringing the comforting rumble of thunder in the distance.
Once face to almost face with him he smiles just seeing his boy, "dew, can you look at me?"
A chirp in response that had the shrill edge of 'no' came in return "dewdrop, can you please look at me my little flame?"
He tries again
To that he’s given the fogged over glimmer in the eyes of a deep burning fire trying to suffocate itself in walls of a water, "c'mere lets dry those humid eyes"
mountain reaches out with the cuff of his sleeve drying the fresh tears, "there he is, let your soulfire glow baby, its okay"
Mountain holds out the baphy for dew to find comfort but he impossibly shrinks further away "c ant, Mounty i hurt him, im bad" he chokes out.
"No baby you’re not bad at all, d'you know why?"
He shakes his head, nothing in this world could ever sway his mind to find these thoughts on his own, a fire all consuming but never truly part of the creation is it?
"No im ba-"
"Youre not bad, you hear me? Yes baphy was under the pedal, but look at him he had a good time, i don’t think there’s any way that he could ever be upset at you"
Mountain maneuvers himself into the bunk laying down on his side with his knees bent, looking at dew and holding out the stuffy once again
"Your sweet little baphy was dancing, and just like my sweet little flame baphy loves dancing, especially along to your music"
Dew looks more intently really taking in the words mountain has shared
"So, m' not bad, and baphy not upset?"
Its mountains turn to shake his head, "that’s right, you’re not bad and he’s not upset, infact i think he’s worried, he was made with all the love specially for you, there’s not an ounce of upset in him"
This lights the fire ghouls flame, creating a reawakening to his soulfire, a growth in the live and appreciation he has for his friend and his caregiver, a glimmer in his eyes is the loudest thank you he could ever say, even if its without words.
Mountain moves the stuffy so that baphys nose is tapped against dews nose "so what do you think, do you want your baphy back?" To which dew nods taking the little friend in his arms, clutching it tightly, filling his friend with an eternity of love and light, dew glowing in all ways except physically hus fire is relit.
Mountain all the same but his little friends is his little flame, the warmth the little one radites, his tears now dry and his hear full of a soul'r flare, the type that creates a soul'r storm, a flare that doesn't return to its sourse but instead shares its sourse for that of whats in its path and both baphy and mountain to be illuminated by his love.
Dew now happily cuddled to mountains chest, baphy held between them.
While he may be too tall to fit comfortably in the bunk he doesn't care, hes happy to do what makes his little flame happy, and with warm cuddles and a gentle hand running up and down his little ones back, the love he feels warms and soothes his aching joints from cramming himself into the pocket of the universe dew feels safe in.
With how the earth to revolve around the sun, mountain to encapsulate and revolve around his candleflame.
Soft coos of joy trill from the tiny, slightly muffled by the spade of his tail tucked between his lips, a small smile on his face and an innocent glimmer in his eyes, moments like these were everything to him, the smallest dew for the biggest moments, the difference from a candle flame to a vast glowing star at the center of a galaxy with an earths eyes permanently fixed, a candle dance how an planets return of its own gravity leads its star in a dance aswell, fire is just made to move and earth is happy to follow.
#dewdrop ghoul#dewdrop x mountain#mountain x dewdrop#ghost band fanfic#little! dewdrop#agere fanfic#the band ghost fanfiction#mountain ghoul#caregiver mountain
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Fic idea - Terzo trying to teach you Italian. He teaches you a dirty phrase. You have no idea. Hilarity ensues.
i tried my darndest to get this finished and out as quickly as possible! i hope you enjoy <3
“No no no no- it’s amo, my love. Ah-moe. Try again.” Terzo gave you a small encouraging smile from his spot across from you. The two of you sat at a small table in a corner of the ghouls common room, drinking tea and eating snacks. You had been there for about an hour before Terzo suggested teaching you a bit of Italian, as a way to pass the downtime.
You nodded, copying the way he had pronounced the word. putting it into a full sentence,”Ti amo?” You questioned, looking up at him for signs of approval or disapproval. “Ah-ha! There you go! I told you you’d get the hang of it.” He exclaimed, looking at you with what could only be described as admiration.
You smiled, muttering a small thanks and ducking your head shyly. Terzo takes a sip of his tea and thinks for a moment- racking his brain for other words and phrases he could teach you. After not even a second of debating on whether or not this was a good idea, he quirks his eyebrows up, setting down his mug and readjusting in his seat. “Oh, i’ve got another good one. How about you try ‘dovremmo scopare’. ”
Without hesitation, you repeat the words, watching as Terzo tries to stifle a giggle behind his hand. Embarrassment washes over you, “Why are you laughing? What did you just make me say?” He only shakes his head, lowering his hand and successfully pushing down his giggle-fit.
“It just means ‘you’re handsome’, nothing bad, I promise.” He lies straight through his teeth, holding his hands up in mock innocence. You glare at him for a second before coming to the conclusion that he would never make you say anything bad that could get you into trouble. “Hm, alright then.” You huff, taking a swig of your tea.
After a brief (and slightly awkward) silence, Terzo’s eyes light up with another stupid idea. “Say…why don’t you go say that to our dear Omega? I’m sure he could use a sweet, small pick-me-up.” He nods towards the couch where the quintessence ghoul sat with Dewdrop and Alpha, browsing through TV channels.
You think it over. While it could potentially come off as creepy and forward, he has been having a particularly rough week. With balancing his nurse duties, helping Aether ease in the new quintessence ghoul, and struggling with helping out paying taxes, he’s had a lot on his plate.
“Sure, why not?”
You take one last drink from your tea and stand up, walking over to the couch and stopping to stand off to the side -by the armrest- next to where Omega was sat. “Hey, Omega?” He turns his attention from the TV to you, fully rotating his torso, and smiles. “Hello there, caro. What can I do for you?”
You shuffle your feet anxisoulsy, slightly intimidated by the big ghoul before you. Even while sitting, it was hard to ignore his size. You take a deep breath and hit a metaphorical ‘fuck it’ button in your brain, “Dovremmo scopare.”
You watch as Omega’s expression changes- eyebrows shooting up and mouth falling open in surprise. From further down the couch, Dew bursts into laughter- gripping at his stomach and folding over himself.
Immediately you realize somethings wrong. You damn near give yourself whiplash from how fast you turn to face Terzo, watching as he too begins to laugh. Your stomach drops, “What did I just say?!”
Terzo tries to answer, but everytime he opens his mouth to speak he laughs even harder at his own stupid, childish joke. Alpha pipes in from the other end of the couch, “Uh, it means ‘we should fuck’.”
Horror washes over you. You cover your face and sink to the floor, wishing it would consume you and drag you down into the deepest pit of Hell. You just said that to Omega. OMEGA. One of the most well respected, mature, and powerful ghouls in all of the Clergy. Scratch that- the most powerful ghoul in the Clergy.
Omega reaches over to lightly pat your back, both comforting and reassuring you that he didn’t think you were a complete weirdo.
You were going to drown Terzo, you decided.
#the band ghost fanfiction#ghost band fanfic#the band ghost fic#fanfic#the band ghost#ghost#ghost terzo#omega ghoul#alpha ghoul#dew ghoul
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