Dreamless Escapades

esa ✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎

[fabulouslyflamboyant5]

Masterlist

Azriel Shadowsinger

The Unrighteous Knight 2 3 4 5 6 7

Eris Vanserra

I Was Drowning In the Sea, and No One Could Save Me But You

[ddejavvu]

Falling Leaves - Eris Vanserra x Reader (Chapter 2) | Chapter 1

Summary: You’re no Lady Death, nor are you a seer, nor are you the High Lady of the Night Court. While the Cauldron had blessed your sisters with powers beyond your comprehension, it had left you a fat load of nothing. Your ears are pointed now, and your periods are killer, but that’s about it. Frustrated at your lack of talents and struggling to fit in amongst the Night Court’s specialized Inner Circle, you start to wonder if Velaris will ever feel like home. After an unfortunate incident during which Rhysand lets slip that he thinks you’re just as useless as you believe yourself to be, he tries making amends by inviting you on official Night Court business. It means a trip to the Autumn Court, but you’re refused from the meeting room by the cruel Lord Beron. He tasks his eldest son Eris with babysitting you, and an unfortunately timed mating bond snap leaves you drifting between worlds like a falling leaf caught in an autumn breeze.

Contents/Warnings: autumn court typical angst, mating bonds, insecurities, self-deprecation, beron vanserra (tw), misogyny

WC: 4.5K / navigation / inbox

A/N: I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS RAAAAAAH i'm that skeleton banging on the shield screaming I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS I LOVE ERIS <33333

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Waking up feels like a hangover. You’re glad you’ve risen before Azriel’s 8AM wakeup call, though you’re not sure he’ll really follow through with it. You have time to smush your face into your pillow, your eyes tight and achy from the exhaustion sleep can’t fix, and try to keep your breathing calm and steady where it had raged last night.

You’re not sure if there’s a word for the grief you’re feeling. It’s a loss, even if you hadn’t had powers to begin with, because they’d integrated you into their family like you had. They’d turned promising smiles and expectant eyes on you, waiting for you to shoot fire from your fingertips or command light to heal the sick. One by one your sisters had revealed themselves as something special, and each time another one became great you’d felt a chisel chipping away at the structure of your soul. 

You’re happy for them, but so, so envious. The kind of envy that you’re ashamed of, the kind that makes you stay buried beneath your covers instead of dining with Feyre, or asking Elain if she’d like your help in the gardens. You’d rather be alone than in the company of people simply better than you, and you hate yourself for it.

At 7:55 a series of knocks lands against your door, and you grumble as you turn over in your tangled sheets. They’re such a mess that they constrict your body movement, and you call to Azriel to come in instead of trying to get the door yourself.

“You’re still dozing by eight.” He stands dressed in a suit, something like Rhysand would wear but with an undershirt beneath it instead of showing off the tanned planes of his abdomen. His siphons are still there, though, mounted on his chest as a warning. Despite the jewels, the ensemble is still classier than fighting leathers, and you wonder if it has something to do with Autumn’s infamously cruel High Lord.

“It’s not eight.” You argue, but your limbs are suddenly itchy with the need to get up, to do something, to make yourself presentable so that you at least look like you have something to offer the world.

“In the camps anyone who gets to training within fifteen minutes of it starting has to double their workouts.” Azriel’s shadows swarm towards your bed to rouse you from the covers with pinpricks of cold that you can’t bury yourself away from, “Get showered, and we’ll have breakfast before we go.”

After being thoroughly scolded you dash to the bathroom, making sure that none of Azriel’s shadows poke beneath the doorframe in their infinite attempts to ruffle your feathers. When you’re in the clear you hop into the steaming water, glad that Azriel had attributed your puffy face to sleep and not to the way you’d cried into the wee hours of the morning. You take the quickest shower of your life, smearing floral body wash into every inch of your skin in hopes that the scent will carry on the Autumn breeze and make you smell pretty, make you seem graceful, give everyone something to think about you besides what you lack.

Azriel’s shut your door behind him, but once you wrestle on a dress with a zipper you almost can’t fasten and slip into your flats to head towards the table you find him still waiting outside, his eyes shut as his head leans against the wall.

You stop in your doorway, bewildered eyes blinking at him, “Have you been standing there this whole time?”

“You took a quick shower,” He shrugs, eyes weary as they open and fall over the dress draped down your body, “And Cassian would have gotten syrup on my suit if I’d gone down there with him.”

“It looks nice,” You clutch the small bag you’d groggily packed last night after crying yourself silly, a book inside, water and some snacks that the House had decided you’d need in case you’re not permitted any refreshments at the Autumn Court. Beron’s disposition is infamous, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d attempt to starve you to death for the duration of the meeting he’s meant to engage in with Rhysand.

You’re not even sure what the meeting is about, really. Just that it’s important, court stuff, and you’ll be reading in another room.

Oh well.

Azriel’s scarred hand comes up to brace against your back, guiding you down the staircase towards the dining room. “So do you,” He eyes your dress sideways, a deep red with leaves stitched in gold thread around the skirt, “You’ll certainly blend in with Autumn.”

Breakfast is a calm affair now that Cassian’s had his fill, and Azriel scoops a handful of berries onto your plate that you hadn’t even realized you’d wanted until they were already there, a shadow licking against the rim of your plate.

“Thank you,” You hum quietly, trying to tamp down your nerves at the thought of visiting Autumn. You’re excited to see the sights, perhaps take a wander through the woods or tour a nearby village. But your anxieties lie with the Vanserra family- Lucien has proven himself kind but the rest of his family seems complicated at best. Hopefully your unimportance will work to your advantage this time, and you won’t even come face to face with Beron or the pack of wild dogs that make up the heirs to the throne.

Once your stomach is sated and your shoes are on, Azriel leads you to the foyer where the rest of the Autumn Court visitors stand ready. You straighten your shoulders, like you’re important- like you’re not scared, like you’re not pathetic, like you’re not dying inside a little bit each day that you don’t wake up as someone special.

“Everybody ready?” Rhysand asks, “We’ll be winnowing directly into the manor. I don’t know who will be asked to meet- who will be allowed to meet,” He casts quick glances at everyone in the room, “You know he likes to pick and choose who to bully.”

“Well he’s got all his favorites today,” Cassian drawls, glancing at Morrigan, Azriel, Feyre, “Maybe he’ll be so overwhelmed with bloodlust he’ll just drop dead.”

“Don’t make those jokes when we get there,” Rhys warns, though his face forms a dry grin, “Eris might sic his hounds on you.”

You’ve heard stories of the Autumn Court hounds. They sound terrifying- they’re born and bred hunters that would have ripped Morrigan into literal shreds if they’d caught her. Even Cassian grimaces, envisioning them outnumbering him, and shuts his mouth.

Once everyone gives Rhysand a reluctant nod, he sighs and takes Feyre’s arm. Morrigan claims Cassian, and you’re left to shadowwalk with Azriel, only slightly more comfortable than the tilting, squeezing feeling of winnowing.

You land in the Autumn Court, three pairs popping into existence one after the next, and you lean heavily into Azriel as you gain your bearings. The shadows that had guided you from place to place dissipate, but some of them linger around you and their singer, wisps of darkness that assess the room for threats before curling protectively around your shoulders and Azriel’s arms. He wears them like tattoos, like part of his skin. But you wear them like a shawl, drapery meant to protect and conceal.

As soon as you settle in your places, before anyone can murmur anything about the large mahogany manor you’re standing in- beautiful despite its imposing size, thundering footsteps, dozens of them, begin from your left side somewhere unseen. Sudden wisps of smoke- similar to Azriel’s shadows but far more corporeal phase through the wall, landing heavy on the carpeted floor as soon as they’re in the room you and your family had winnowed into. They’re dogs- hounds, smokehounds made of muscle and darkness that kick your heart rate into overdrive as they bound towards you with their massive paws.

They’re waist-height to Cassian. They’re enormous, and you duck behind Azriel in terror before you realize it means they’ll get him first. You wonder if that makes you a backstabber- a weak, useless coward - but his hands are already grabbing for you, arms behind his back as he stations himself before you as a shield. Rhysand throws his hands out, ready to use his power to do whatever he needs to in order to maintain your safety, but your heart still pounds in your chest.

The hounds stop five paces away from you, assessing, at attention in formation like an army. Clearly impeccably trained, their eyes blaze with energy, raw power coiling off of them in wisps of smoke that seem to rise and dissipate endlessly off of them. You don’t have time to consider the mechanics of their bodies- physical, spiritual, solid, gas, before shoes scrape against the ground behind you, and you spin behind Azriel’s back to find Eris Vanserra straightening himself where he’d been leaning against a pillar of the foyer in wait for you, hand outstretched in a silent command to his hounds: wait.

His face is sharp, cheekbones and jawline slanted and angled like weapons. His skin stretches taut over them, smooth but taut like he eats for necessity and not enjoyment. His pointed ears jut upwards into a head of impeccably-styled flaming red hair, gel slicking the strands sideways and back around the part against the left side of his scalp. It’s closely shaved to the nape of his neck, gradually lengthening until the strands at the front of his hairline that look long enough to dip into his vision if it weren’t so thickly coated with product. It looks rock-solid, like it might break off if it’s moved from its careful placement.

He’s dressed sharply, and you admire the Autumn Court fashion- a white tunic, sleeves elegantly cuffed that contrasts deeply with the emerald green vest he’s buttoned over it. There’s gold stitching at the breast pocket, and his slacks are tight against his thighs as he slips his hands behind his back primly. You notice another presence- another redheaded presence behind Eris, and your tension eases only slightly as you recognize Lucien’s long hair woven into an intricate braid, sections of it twisted this way and that in a style you couldn’t even imagine attempting. He’s leaning against the same wall Eris had, and you wonder if they were having some sort of brotherly conversation before your arrival, or if they’d simply stared at the floor in silent wait. Either way, his eyes are kinder than Eris’s when they rake over you, but it’s the eldest Vanserra who speaks.

“You’ve brought a party,” He observes, his eyes raking over Cassian, Morrigan, Rhys and your sister, Azriel, and catching on the embroidery on your dress before his eyes flit to your face. His gaze burns like his fire and your stomach curls- you feel bare in front of his powerful stare, vulnerable despite Azriel’s hand wrapping around your stomach to pull you tighter into him, protecting you from the threats surrounding you from all sides. Eris’s eyes don’t miss the gesture, and his lips quirk in a sneer where they had been set in an uninterested curve.

“You are aware,” Eris begins, his voice a grating drawl that splays Azriel’s fingers out wider against your stomach, “That not all of you will be permitted into the meeting room?” He casts a scathing glance over Cassian’s broad frame, one that makes your face flood with a rush of indignance, “The dogs typically stay outside.”

“Cassian has information from the front lines of his army.” Rhysand states simply, calm and composed next to Eris’s flickering flame, “And he will deliver it as is his right due to his station.”

“Yes, his station, the-” Eris’s lips tug up at the corners, though he stifles it for dramatic effect, “Lord of Bloodshed.”

You wonder if perhaps Eris is the Lord of Condescension.

As if on cue, his eyes flicker to you, lashes fluttering as he blinks once, twice, thrice, almost bewildered if not for his regal composure, “And you? Who are you?”

You hadn’t expected to be addressed directly. You falter- you know your name quite well, but you find yourself incapable of speaking it for a few brief seconds as you regain your composure. Eris’s eyes burn, their flames licking at your skin and heating your face with embarrassment. Before you can introduce yourself Azriel speaks from over your shoulder, “She is the sister of my High Lady. She is here to be shown around by Lucien. She will not be placed within sneering range of Beron.”

There’s a very conflicting set of emotions warring inside of you. You appreciate Azriel’s protectiveness- he’s a good male, he’s always willing to throw himself into harm’s way to keep his family safe. But Rhysand had offered you a spot at the table; as much of one as he was able to promise, not knowing whether Beron was in a particularly aggressive mood or not. But still, it had been a last-ditch attempt to make you feel like you were good for something, and Azriel had simply decided you weren’t going. Is it protectiveness, or is it his true feelings- the ones he swore he didn’t possess - shining through?

Did you even want to go? Did you want to sign yourself up for gruelling debate, hours and hours of sitting tensely and watching politics play out before you, waiting for someone to go for another man’s jugular?

You did not. Your book and the richly-colored forests of autumn are calling your name, but it feels like an especially useless thing to do. Opting out of the big-kid job to go play in the woods- that seems precisely like something someone would do if they had no dog in the fight. And you don’t, but you wish to so desperately that you’d be willing to sit at their table, stiff-backed and straight-faced until someone thought you belonged there.

Despite not wanting any part in the meeting, you find yourself unreasonably irritated that Azriel is going to shut the door on you.

Perhaps he senses it- that thoughtful, caring bastard - because the hand on your stomach twitches, thumb stroking briefly back and forth over your skin, only once so no one catches the movement. But it’s meant to soothe, and you sink back into helpless despair as the room decides your fate for you. As it always does.

“Lucien will be meeting with us.” Eris grimaces, and for once he looks sincere as his brother shifts restlessly beside him, his face twisted in a scowl, “My father- the High Lord is particularly fixated on speaking to him at the moment.”

You wonder if they’ve spoken at all since Lucien began working for Rhysand. If they’ve written, if they’ve fought, if they’d burned down whatever meeting place they’d chosen for a conversation. Lucien casts you an apologetic glance, but you can’t manage a smile back at him.

“Then I will keep her company,” Azriel defers, but Rhysand shakes his head once, seeming just as pained as Eris.

“Azriel.” He calls warily, resignedly, knowingly, “You’re needed in the meeting room.”

“I can join you,” You try, your voice feeble as you address both your family and your adversary, Azriel’s fingers curling tightly around you in protest, “I can sit and-”

“And what?” Comes a raspy voice as the double doors behind Eris and Lucien creak open, wood scraping against wood to create a sound just as chilling as the voice of the man behind them, “Gather dust?”

Beron Vanserra is a man as withered and callous on the outside as he is on the inside. His hair is thinning and greying, his face gnarled and twisted with age and hatred alike. It writhes into a scowl, an audible scoff leaving his thin lips as he takes note of Lucien’s presence before him, and the fire in his eyes jumps to your companions, hungry for more fuel. They scald your skin as they rake over you and Azriel, then the rest of your party, his lips curling up in a withering sneer that reveals too-thin, yellowed, crooked teeth protruding from his pale gums, “Is this a joke, Rhysand? You come here for a formal discussion, three Illyrian bastards and your whores. You really believe that is appropriate for official court business? This is not a vacation spot.”

He speaks the word court like it’s the thing that matters most to him, sharp and intentional. And as he shoulders roughly past Eris in the doorway to stride towards you, nearly knocking his son off-balance, his gaze flicking over the smokehounds behind you with the same disdain he’d aimed at you, you wonder if Beron Vanserra cares about anything at all besides his throne.

One of the smokehounds snarls- no, the growl comes from Azriel, deep and guttural within his throat, so animalistic that you’d assumed it was a dog’s. Cassian bristles and Morrigan straightens her posture, shoulders back, chin held high. Rhysand and Feyre though- they look used to it. They keep their faces in sync, cool, unbothered smirks that don’t falter under the heat of Beron’s gaze.

“Lord Beron,” Feyre greets smoothly, her lead surely boiling Beron’s blood further, “Do you mean to tell me your manor is not large enough for six guests?”

“Besides,” Rhysand speaks after her, and Feyre tilts her head, her hair spilling down her shoulders and back in elegant waves, “I seem to remember your entire brood of heirs joining us the last time we spoke. Is this any different?”

“Of course it’s different,” Beron scoffs, “My sons are members of my court. They contribute, they will rule someday, and you’ve brought along your gaggle of misfits and as many humans as the King of Hybern was able to scoop up and toss into the Cauldron.”

“Actually, there’s two more at home,” Cassian smirks, teeth sharp and bared, “But they didn’t feel like wasting their time listening to you.”

You’re sure if Beron were younger or less soulless his cheeks would have flushed in anger. But it’s his permanent state, and he doesn’t tear his gaze away from Rhysand as he speaks.

“No guests in the meeting room.”

“Feyre and I reign.” Rhysand stands tall, his wings spread behind him in an intimidating display, “Cassian leads my armies and Azriel knows my court inside and out. Morrigan is my second-in-command and-” 

Rhys’s voice barely begins to falter over your name before Beron’s own cuts him off, “Don’t bother giving the girl a make-believe title. You may have managed to sequester all of the human girls that invaded our lands, Rhysand, but they are legend across Prythian. This one is the one without powers.”

Azriel’s harsh, gruff voice barks from behind you, “Don’t-”, but Beron pays him no mind, 

“This one is not of any use to you, or to me. This one will not be permitted to join.”

Your stomach aches.

Azriel’s shadows writhe. His grip on your waist is starting to pain you now, and you shift beneath his fingers that are clenched in the soft skin of your stomach like an anchor in waterlogged silt. He loosens his grip apologetically, but doesn’t let you go, and Eris steps in before Azriel’s shadows block his father’s airways.

“Father,” He dips his head respectfully towards Beron, “I’ll take the girl to the servant’s quarters. She can stay there while we meet, and-”

“And run off to spread the spymaster’s shadows throughout our court? Use your brain, Eris,” Beron grits, and you wonder if he’s ever let anyone finish a sentence around him without trampling all over it, “She cannot be left unattended. You will watch her.”

Eris’s eyes don’t widen, but they do twitch slightly. He bristles, his shoulders shifting as he moves his weight from one foot to the other. He stares at you, gaze wary like you’re trying to hold him back from his princely duties. Like you’re begging to have him breathe down your neck for the day, like you’d enjoy his company instead of fear it. He glances back at Beron- you can tell he’s surprised by the order, as are you, as is Azriel whose hand presses your back impossibly closer to his chest. The cobalt siphon on his chest digs painfully into your spine, and you shift your shoulders to push yourself away from it. You straighten them like you matter, like you’re a diplomat instead of a daydreamer, and try ignoring the way your stomach has deflated so tragically that it seems to have fallen to your feet.

“But… My Lord,” He bows his head respectfully, layering his adoration on thicker than grease, “The meeting- I am needed.”

“And I don’t need a babysitter.” Your voice is strong but not loud, though your tone nearly falters when Beron’s gaze singes your nerve, “I’ll be happy to walk through the forest while you’re talking.”

“Yes,” Beron grins, his teeth covered in spit that shines in the faelight of the foyer, “Peruse the forests. Walk alone, unarmed, weak and new to the territory. My sons and I will draw up a bet for how soon your remains are scattered throughout the woods. I’d say twenty minutes.”

“The serving quarters,” Eris attempts again, but Beron snarls this time, jerking his arms about in such hot anger you’re surprised his fire magic doesn’t lick up the mahogany crown molding bracketing every ceiling and floor.

“Enough! I did not permit you a seat at the table to argue with me.” Beron growls, “Seeing the disrespect you show me now makes me glad Rhysand brought his human bore for you to entertain- it would have been disastrous to allow this sort of behavior in my court. Go, take her and go,” Beron waves a hand at both of you like he might not care whether you lived or died, “And while you are out, be sure you locate your manners because it seems as though you lost them- probably on your last hunt with those mongrels. Get these bitches out of my manor,” Beron’s hand sweeps over you and the dogs as one, his voice vicious and biting as he storms back into his meeting room, “And do not return until we are finished.”

Azriel is breathing so heavily with restraint that it’s audible in your ear. He’s seething, burning like autumn court fire with the urge to fill Beron’s lungs up with his shadows and watch the man die a slow, painful death. But Rhysand turns towards you, levelling him with a warning stare before his eyes slide down to your own, calm and collected to keep you the same.

“I believe he’s done throwing his temper tantrum now, and I’ll make sure it’s the last you see of him. Eris,” He calls the eldest son of autumn, and you watch as Eris fights very hard not to step forwards like he would for his father, the habit nearly degrading him in front of your family, “Do not let any harm come to her.”

“She will be safe.” He mutters begrudgingly, “You think I can’t handle babysitting a human girl? Or- do you think I’ll hurt her,” He scoffs, wary of his father’s listening ear as he murmurs lowly, “Has my brother’s alliance and my cooperation not been enough to convince you that I am not the enemy under this roof?”

“She is fae.” Azriel snarls, “And you left the last woman you were trusted with half-dead on the border of Spring. So yes, Eris, I think you will hurt her.”

Eris’s hands flicker with flame. A visible fire that coats his fists, licking up his arms until it’s touching but not burning his sharply-cuffed sleeves. You’re still aware of the tension between Eris and Azriel, but you briefly stare in awe at his power- magic is still so new to you that even something as rudimentary for Eris as simple flames puts stars in your eyes. 

“I will not hurt her.” Eris spits, “We’re wasting time. If my father has to call for you he will simply refuse to meet at all. Come.” He turns his gaze towards you, sharp and irritated from the Illyrians’ needling, “We’re leaving.”

You have to peel Azriel’s hand off of your stomach. You feel his resistance, you see the two shadows that separate from his arsenal to circle around your ankles, one for each. One to stay with you at all times, and one to race back to Azriel and report any danger.

The shadows catch one of the smokehound’s eyes, and you let out an unsteady, garbled sound of fear as it darts for your stumbling feet, but all it does is sniff curiously at your ankle and the wispy smoke curling around it.

“Those cannot come with us,” Eris points at the shadows, “Don’t be stupid, Azriel.”

Azriel’s fist clenches at his side as he calls the shadows back, their gray, formless bodies seeming to resist the order as well. They delight in making the curious smokehound at your feet sneeze on their way back to Azriel, but even at its now-relaxed, puppyish behavior you shy a few steps to your left to get away from it. Eris tracks the motion, one hand beckoning for the other dogs to follow behind him as he takes your arm in his grip and heads for the door.

“Come outside,” He mutters, his voice now too low for even your family to hear as they reluctantly file into the meeting room, “And fight me.”

“What-” You whimper as he squeezes your arm, “Ow, I-” Then you register his words, twisting in his hold, before the large windows that look into the room where your friends are taking their seats, and Beron is watching sharply as you struggle, “You pig, get your hands off of me! Stop,” You beg, thrashing about as Eris beelines you both towards a smaller building against the side of the manor, at the very edge of the forest, “You’re hurting me! I can walk on my own, where are you taking me?”

“For the record,” He yanks you through a doorway into a concrete hallway, doors lining the walls to make up what you realize is a kennel for his enormous hunting hounds that swarm inside after you, twining around your legs and brushing against your sides in the confined space, “I never said you had to speak. But it was a nice touch, if not a bit underplayed. If someone ever grabs you like that again, I’d suggest calling them worse things than a pig.”

You stagger backwards as soon as he lets you go, grappling with all of the different attitudes and personas he’d worn in such a short time. You can't keep them straight- you don't know which to trust. Is he Mor’s vicious abuser? Is he a genius, carefully planting her where she could be saved and escorting his father the opposite way? Is he Beron’s mini-me, his father’s obedient little pet? Is he the Night Court’s begrudging ally, resistant to betray his court but eager to betray its ruler? Is he the smart-mouthed man now standing before you, shoulders loosened from where they’d been held proudly squared until the door shut behind him?

“I’m Eris,” He offers you his hand and you freeze, glancing warily down at his skin, unmarred by the flame it had just held moments prior, “Please don’t back away any further, darling, you’ll step on a smokehound.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[zarteyaz]

Trial By Fire | Masterlist

I’ll make a pyre out of their rules and warm my hands on the truth

❥ Pairing: Reader x Eris Vanserra

❥ Summary: Eris Vanserra has perfected the art of being hated — sharp, cruel, untouchable — and you’re the noble he’s always publicly despised. But when Beron discovers the mating bond between you and moves to have you killed, Eris doesn’t beg. He doesn’t break. He calls in his debt with the Night Court—and decides Beron won’t just die—he’ll be dismantled for daring to touch what’s his.

heavy political scheming/court intrigue, enemies in public, protective Eris, established mates, power-couple-ing, angst, hurt/comfort, future highlord Eris

❥ ongoing series (~8-9 parts), lmk if you wanna be added to taglist!

🗡️ the spark prequel ch on the mating bond

🗡️ Part 1

🗡️ Part 2

🗡️ Part 3

🗡️ Part 4

🗡️ Part 5

🗡️ Part 6

🗡️ Part 7

Part 8 coming soon

⌘ Taglist ⌘

@bookwormysblog @zoleea-exultant @kittiness12 @the-silent-thunder @bxm-2121 @rosewood-cafe @sizzlingstarlightsky @ultimatebigbootyjudy @hextech-bros @famousprincesscollector @madeofeverythingjuice @thestartitaness @coeurdeveea @-izzy-rose- @hopalongsworld @taechvita @slut4acotar @mooncalfed @i-know-i-can @bahahaimsad @all-user-error @ladyescapism @96jnie @lazypostfandomer @chesirecat000 @br1ght-bell @alexof90s @unfortunately-a-dazai-kinnie @visionofhope04 @roseodelle @booksstarryskies @wllms @winchesterslullaby @acotar-thirst @beereadzzz @hockey-racing-fubol @imma-too-many-fandoms @rockyeatrock @thespianoblige @starinisstuff @dormantzzzsblog @ollieolive

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Made of Fire - Chapter 1

Eris Vanserra x Archeron Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1206

Fic Summary: Feyre’s twin sister had teeth where Elain had none. She had a backbone to fight what she wanted where Nesta had spite. She was flame to Feyre’s night, so it only seemed fitting that when she was Made, she was given a mate to match.

Chapter Summary: Early story to Feyre’s kidnapping

“Where’s Feyre?” you asked, a yawn dancing on the edge of your voice.

“Hunting,” was Nesta’s only reply.

You rolled your eyes. Typical. “Let me guess,” you started, hands already finding the small bat carving you’d started the day before, “Father couldn’t be fucked to help?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Elain chided quietly. She always hated when you swore; said it was ‘unbecoming of a young lady.’ Pay no nevermind that you were no lady, nor would you ever be one after Father pissed away any Archeron money. Your family had squandered that life before you ever got the chance to remember it.

“Yes, Mother,” you jabbed. A snarl pulled at your lips.

You hated that your younger sister felt she had to provide for the whole family, because those older than the two of you simply refused to try. You, born only minutes before Feyre, did what you could to help, but you had no aptitude for hunting. The one time she tried to teach you to shoot her bow, you somehow managed to shoot yourself in the shoulder. Your gift with your hands sat within your skill with a knife. Carving wood such as your intricate little statues that could be sold at the market for a few coppers a piece. Butching carcasses Feyre dragged home. Those were the main ways you contributed to the household.

The same couldn’t be said of Nesta--who spent every coin the moment it entered an Archeron hand--or Elain--who on most days seemed to have not but flowers between her ears. You weren’t like Feyre; you couldn’t forgive their ways so easily. You resented their carelessness, and had it been your decision you and your twin would have abandoned them a long time ago. But Feyre wouldn’t leave them. And you wouldn’t leave Feyre.

The tip of the knife wobbled in your hand. Your eyes fell to it. A wretched thing you used for your every task as it was the only one in the cottage that even remotely kept an edge. Once, on one of her irresponsible shopping sprees, Nesta bought it for you. Were it a gift from anyone else you would have been grateful. Less so from her. Still, your conscience couldn’t let it go to waste.

You were thinking too much. Again. And that never led to anything good, so you stood. “I need to check the traps.” Another of your attempts to provide for the rotten household. When you were little, you badgered Feyre into teaching you how to set them; ever since, you helped her tend them on the off chance it provided meat for one night. It rarely provided anything worthwhile, but when it did . . .

“Come back before dark,” Elain instructed. “That will be soon.”

Nesta chose to say nothing.

For once, you followed her example.

Outside, with the toxic hate you held for your family locked securely behind the front door, you felt you could breathe. The only good thing you’d ever gotten from any of them were the lessons Father gave you about wood carving, which you’d ran with until you honed the skill enough to put his little statues to shame. Well, that and Feyre as a sister. And in a fucked-up way you could thank them for growing a thicker skin. You sighed heavily.

A twig snapped in the direction of the woods. When your gaze scanned the area, you caught sight of your twin.

There was a brutal beauty in the way she trudged ever forward, with what looked to be a deer and the skin of something else slung over her narrow shoulders. You jogged towards her to help. It was the least you could do. 

“Where’d you find this thing?” you asked, grinning widely as you took the beast onto your own back uncaring of the blood that dripped onto your too-thin shirt.

Feyre breathed into her fist to warm it the second it was free. “Deep.”

“And what’s the other, a wolf?”

“Yes, a big one.”

“Goodness! I’m glad you’re safe. This thing can’t have gone down easy.”

“. . . I used the ash arrow,” she admitted quietly.

Your eyes trailed over the silver-grey wolf pelt. “You think it was fae?”

Her hesitation told you plenty; yet still, she confirmed, “I’m not sure.”

You took a slow breath, wishing you knew a god of luck you could pray to. “Was it alone?”

“Yes.”

Then, that’s something. Let’s get you clean and warm. We can worry about fae later.”

Quiet crunching filled the silence as two pairs of worn-out boots traversed the snowy yard. Already, you felt tired. You had no idea how she’d hefted her prey home alone.

“How are they today? I left before they woke,” Feyre asked eventually. The pair of you were only a few feet from the door.

“Well,” you never knew how to answer the question, “Nesta still has her teeth, so they can’t be that bad.”

Feyre’s laugh sounded almost like a scoff. It wasn’t the first time you’d made the joke, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

Your other sisters were, predictably, horrible to you both when you entered the cottage. Feyre caught the worst of it--be it because she rarely fought back or because she was the youngest, you weren’t sure which. You caught the odd jab about the smell since you dealt with the carcass while Feyre washed.

That line of insults, you ended quickly by holding your knife in their direction. “Keep going. I dare you.”

No one was willing to test if your threat was an idle one. Not even if you were sure.

~

Then that monster in the night with its wicked dreams and promises.

“Absolutely not!” Your voice portrayed every last drop of indignance that flowed through you in those moments.

The creature’s inhuman eyes found yours. “Curious that you are the one to resist when you stand to benefit from the arrangement. Even your sisters agree. One less mouth for you to feed.”

“Well, I’m not them,” you spat proudly. “You’re not taking Feyre anywhere.”

Feyre called your name quietly, diverting your attention from the faerie threat. “We don’t have a choice in this. I . . . I made a mistake killing that wolf.”

“No, you killed a fae fucker that trespassed onto human lands!” you insisted. “This bastard’s words mean nothing.”

“You would excuse murder?” the beast challenged.

“Is it murder when you people,” you spat the word with as much venom as you could muster, “have killed ours over less for centuries?”

“And what can you do to stop it from taking her?” Nesta spoke up.

“I’ll kill you before you take her,” you vowed.

“No, you won’t,” Feyre announced. “I’ll go. Willingly. As long as we have your oath that no harm will come to my family.” Her eyes were locked onto yours as she said it.

“Feyre, no--”

Unfortunately, she shared ever bit of your stubbornness when she felt like it. “And they will want for nothing? They’ll die without me.”

The fae stared at her for a long moment. “That can be arranged.”

“No!” The word tore itself bloody from your throat.

Behind you, you heard Elain shout, “Father, don’t!”

Then pain.

And blackness.

[truelotus]

Pleaasee, make story of jugram's dark obsession and he is rough in bed

The girl is mine : ̗̀➛ Jugram Haschwalth x reader

❝I can’t feel my face when I’m with you. ❞

╰┈➤ warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, smut/lemon, jealous (?) jugram, rough sex, vaginal sex, dom jugram, cream pie, female reader

a/n: Tysm for this request! I’m so sorry it took me so long to do haha.. </3 Lowkey I kinda forgot the obsession part but if you squint your eyes you’ll see it 🤔

Jugram is a hard working man, a man who put his work before you. That’s the entire reason why the two of you broke up. He would rather put his boss’s necessities before yours, he’d come home exhausted and it made him too tired to even make love to you.

That’s why you were here tonight at the club, you wanted to get your mind off the recent break up. It was still a fresh wound to you so your girlfriends called you up and told you to get dolled up, so you did.

“Hey! Look at you! I haven’t seen you like this in a long time!” Your friend wrapped her arm around your waist, hugging you tightly.

You let out a nervous laughter, it was true.. Jugram never took you out much so you never had an opportunity to actually dress up. “I’m a bit nervous.. what if I don’t have my old skills?”

Your friend hugged your body tighter, “Oh come on! Look at you! You’re like—” Suddenly your friend was interrupted by the sound of someone whistling.

“I’d like to see that dress on my floor tonight!” The both of you paused for a moment then looked back at each other, bursting out of laughter.

“See! I told you. Now let’s go in.” Your friend let go of you finally, she began to walk away quickly and you tried your best to match her pace, it’s been a while since walking in heels.

You widened your eyes slightly once your friend opened the door wide open for you, the music was loud, it was a bit stuffy, people were laughing and talking loudly, people grinding and dancing together.

“Geez! It is packed tonight huh Y/N?” Your friend noticed your discomfort and grabbed your wrist, pulling you over the bar to sit down for a little. She wanted you to see the environment and get used to it before getting back out there.

“It’s really something..” You shrunk in your seat, your attention was brought back once you saw the bartender walking up to you both.

“What can I get you ladies tonight?” He said as he was drying up a cleaned glass.

Your friend practically jumped up out of her seat, she leaned over the table of the bar, “Get us anything that has an umbrella!”

The bartender laughed to himself, nodding, “Alright, I’ll be back in a few ladies.” He said as he walked away to make the drinks.

Your friend sat back in her seat, turning over to you, “Soo, You trying to get laid tonight?” She whispered into your ear.

You chuckled nervously, “You can be a pervert sometimes. But eh, I don’t know.” You let out a deep sigh, “It’s been a while since I’ve had sex.” You let your cheek rest into your palm.

“I think you should honestly. It’ll take your mind off of—”

A single drink was placed in front of you. You blinked in confusion and looked up to the bartender. “This is from the guy over there.” He pointed to guy who had blonde hair and a striped bucket hat. He glanced at you and winked, going back to his conversation.

You could feel yourself blushing, you took the drink and muttered a low ‘Thank you’

“Already getting free drinks?” Your friend nudged your shoulder, letting out a small laugh once she saw your shy reaction.

“It’s just one..” You took the glass and brought it to your lips, the alcohol burned your throat a bit but you liked the drink anyways.

“It’s kind of good..” You placed the glass back onto the table carefully, you were still a bit cautious and shy on everything.

Your friend and you talked for a bit, drank a few drinks together. You were having a good time and you were finally ready to get out onto the dance floor.

“I’m gonna go.. hiccup, dance a bit, okayy?” You were about to push yourself out of the seat but you felt someone’s chest push up against your back.

You slowly turned, a deep blush appearing on your cheeks once you met the gaze of the person.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, care to dance?” It was the same fella who bought you the drink earlier. You let your head go back to his chest, looking down at his lips then at his eyes.

“Mhmm.” You slowly murmured. You turned to your friend for approval but she was also getting asked to dance.

He took a step back, he put his hand out for you to grab. You grabbed his hand and hopped off the seat, you let him guide you to the center of the room.

The two of you began to dance together, his hands were on your hips, going up and down and squeezing your hips and ass. You were a bit taken aback, you haven’t been touched like that in a while, thats also when you realized just how touch starved you were.

You let your arms rest on his shoulder, he dipped down slightly and began to kiss you on your neck then slowly trailed off to your collarbone, you pulled your head back, flipping your hair to only one side for him to have easier access.

He came back up, locking his gaze with yours. He looked down at lips and looked back at you, licking his lips before he gently smashed his lips onto yours. He made sure you could feel him getting hard by grinding onto yours just a little bit harder.

You let a shy smirk form on your lips, you turned yourself around and let your ass grind up on his crotch, you put your hands on your knees and flipped your hair to the other side, you looked back at him from your shoulder. He placed his large hands onto yours waist and gave your ass a smack, he let himself grind onto your ass. It was a bit much for the club but almost everyone with a partner was doing the exact same thing.

You were so into the mood that while throwing it back on him you were going to kiss him, you looked over your shoulder and he leaned in, knowing what you wanted to do. But just as you were about to close the distance, someone aggressively grabbed ahold of your wrist. You stumbled a bit because of your heels, the person held your head close to their chest.

You looked up in confusion, blinking to clear your vision.

“J-Jugram..?!” You were just about to push yourself off and go back to the other guy but he wrapped his arm around yours waist and held onto your body tight as if you’d disappear.

Jugram wasn’t even looking at you, he was staring dead at the guy in front of you. Glaring at him with a death stare.

“Don’t ever go near her again.” He said before turning you both away.

“W-Wait! I’m not going with you Jugram.” You managed to pull yourself away from him, you stood there for a moment as he looked at you.

You took a step back, about to walk away but he grabbed your hand gently this time.

“You’re going home. With me.” You stumbled a bit again because of your heels, he noticed and looked down at your feet, raising a brow.

“I’ll carry you out. You clearly forgot how to walk in heels.” You paused but laughed it off.

“Yeah, I really only wore heels for special occasions. I never got to go to any though.” It was a clear spike at him for never taking you out.

He rolled his eyes and he swiftly picked you up in bridal style.

Once you both got into the car, the both of you didn’t say anything. It was a silent drive back to his home. You let your legs be at the other direction—to your door— to show that you were clearly unsatisfied with all of this.

He took notice but he didn’t say anything.

Once you got to his home, he didn’t even open the door for you, he walked away from you and waited for you at the door.

You were wondering to yourself what you were doing here, because he was clearly showing no care or emotion for you. But why would he do all of this to you anyways? It didn’t make sense.

You entered his home and closed the door behind you. You let out a deep breath, you weren’t sure of what was going to happen next so you mentally prepared yourself for only the worst.

You closed your eyes and turned around, you shot them open once you felt Jugram’s lips smash right onto yours, he slammed his hand onto the door, he pulled back.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He said in a husky tone, he looked down at you as if he was going to devour you.

Your eyebrows furrowed together in frustration, “What are you talking about?!” You pushed him off of you, crossing your arms at your chest.

He looked down at his feet, you could see a faint smirk on his lips, he let out a low and almost dangerous chuckle.

You kicked your heels off your feet while he was doing that. Once you let out a breath he grabbed you again and guided you to his bedroom.

He opened the door so quickly it hit the wall and bounced right back up. He practically threw you onto the bed and you could hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt and the sounds of fabric being tugged on.

“Take off your clothes.” You sat up quickly, shocked that he even suggested the idea.

“How come all of the sudden you want sex now?” You sat there for a moment, you looked down to his crotch and saw his bulge.

You could feel your pussy getting hot.

“I’ll give you two choices.” He put his hand up, holding two fingers. “You can either take your clothes off. Or I rip them off.” He pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the ground.

You gulped, you didn’t want to have sex with him just to spite him for never having sex with you. But it’s been so long you thought. You wanted this and what if you weren’t given this opportunity again?

You were just about to slip your dress off but Jugram interrupted you, he looked dead into your eyes and said, “You were taking too long.” He ripped your dress into two—as if it were nothing—you gasped.

“That was an expensive dress??” You watched as he threw the now torn up dress onto the floor, you reached out for it but he pushed you back onto the bed.

“You just make things easier for me.” He was referring to you not wearing a bra.

He gently grabs your wrists, putting them above your head, he dipped his head down, “I want all of you tonight.” He went down slowly, kissing and sucking on your collarbone area.

You could feel your panties only getting soaker and soaker, you desperately wanted him to fuck you already but Jugram was the kind of man that savors his food.

Or at least you thought.

He released your wrists and flipped you over, your face was on his pillow.

He grabbed the back of your head and buried it right into his pillow, he leaned in, biting and pulling your ear gently, “You wanted to be fucked so badly right?” He almost sounded angry but he wasn’t angry really.

You didn’t respond, you were just thinking of the ways he’d fuck you stupid.

“Yeah. Well now you’re gonna get it okay? Are you fucking happy? Slut.” He let go of your head and looked back down to your ass.

“You were really going all out tonight.” He slipped your panties off with such ease and care.

You looked over your shoulder to look at him but he stuffed your face right back into the pillow, “I’ll give you everything you need now.”

He dragged his two fingers through your slit, shivers went down your spine as he did so. “I’ve barely touched you and here you are soaking wet for me.” He took out his cock from his boxers and gave it a few strokes before shoving it right into your cunt.

You hadn’t felt his cock inside you in so long that the feeling of him inside shocked you and made you yelp and began to tear up.

“You’re as tight as I remembered.” He bit his lip, throwing his head back as he began to move, his hands were on your hips, he brought your bottom up , you could feel his nails digging into your skin, making little crescent marks.

“You’re—Being too rough.” You cried out, blinking to get rid of your tears.

“Oh I am?” He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you back, He pounded into your cunt. He grabbed your face and squished it together, “You love getting treated like this don’t you?” He smashed his lips aggressively onto yours, he only pulled back to breathe but went back in.

You moaned into his mouth as he continued to abuse your cunt, the bed was shaking uncontrollably, the header hitting the wall loudly.

Jugram wasn’t afraid of moaning or groaning into your ear, so you heard every single grunt and moan that escaped from his lips.

As he was reaching to his high, his thrusts were beginning to get sloppier. “I wanna see my cum drip out of your pussy.” He whispered into your ear.

Your moans only got louder and louder, the sex was almost too rough but you absolutely loved it. The way he slammed into your walls, his growls when you unintentionally clamped down on him.

His cock disappeared in and out of you, each time being harder and faster than the other.

“You’re mine, all mine.” He gave your ass a hard slap, “All fucking mine, you got that?” He dug his nails harder into you, making tears fall down your cheeks.

Your moans slipped out so uncontrollably, you gripped onto the sheets for support, “J-Jugram..” You moaned out his name.

You put your face into the pillow, trying to muffle your moans but Jugram wasn’t going to allow it. He—gently almost— yanked your hair back, “Don’t fucking do that.” He said in a husky tone. “Let me hear you.” He let go of your hair and latched his hands onto your boobs.

He pinched your nipples hard, swirling the bud of it with his fingers, then he groped them hard together.

“You want my cum to fill you up baby?” He said it in almost a mocking tone.

You nodded your head quickly, “Yes.. Please Jugram.” You whimpered out.

“Mhmm.” He smirked down, he loved seeing your ass bounce on his dick, he loved to see you look over your shoulder to look at him with half-lidded eyes, moaning and whimpering for more of his cock.

“Augh! Fuck!” He groaned out as he shot a load of his cum into you. You gasped in pleasure once you felt his warm and sticky cum fill your pussy, it’s been so long you thought.

Jugram slowly took his cock out of you, he looked down at your twitching pussy and admired by how his cum dripped out of you. He hummed in satisfaction, grabbing your hips again and slamming his cum back into you.

“Just for the record.” He said as he slipped himself out of you, flipping you over. “I never thought we were broken up. I thought you were just needing a break.” He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, watching your chest go up and down.

You blinked in confusion once you were able to think again properly.

“Are you some..” You panted, “Fucking idiot?”

Jugram shrug his shoulders nonchalantly, “Maybe.” He went down to tower over your body, he placed a small kiss on your lips. “Are we broken up then?”

You deadpanned at him, looking away in embarrassment. “..Do you.. want to be?”

“Maybe you’re an even bigger idiot than me.”

[angelofcigs]

so where are all the rob rausch fan fics…

[lynkz777]

reject modernity (c.ai)

embrace tradition (reading fan fictions on tumblr)

[savedenji]

[1uvdainty]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ; so

at first, it was a friendly encounter at a bakery in japan and nothing else. unexpectedly, they come across each other at a baseball game. was it a coincidence or something more?

pairing: shohei ohtani x fem!oc

genre/tags: fluff, light angst, baseball, developing relationship, friendship, teacher!oc, shy!sunshine!oc, protective!shohei, sweet boyfriend!shohei, dodgers team being a family, age difference (everyone is legal)

warnings: certain chapters will contain warnings. cyber-bullying, sexual/suggestive content, explicit language, hurt/comfort. MDNI

note: hello friends! welcome to the story! as you can tell this is a shohei fic and i was a bit disappointed that there aren't many on this platform so i thought why not create one hehe. i hope you all enjoy i'll be there! please share your feedback as i update!

disclaimer: this work is purely fictional and does not reflect the behavior or personal actions of any individual. if this is something you are uncomfortable with please skip or don't read.

taglist: open!

01. strawberry croissants

02. happy birthday

03. number 17

04. moral support

05. just keep swimming

06. golden hour

07. memories

08. work day

09. meet the parents

10. announcement

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (viii)

EIGHT - THE GREAT WAR

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, graphic violence

If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the past few months, it’s that healing is not a linear process. Rather, it’s a winding, uncharted path, full of twisting overgrowths and thorny setbacks. And just when you caught glimpse of bright, shining light filtering through the trees ahead, the tattered bond buried deep in your chest plucked you from your path of progress and dropped you right back where you started: in the thicket of heartbreak.

But this time, it feels different. It’s not physical pain that consumes you, that crawls underneath your skin and burns you from the inside out. Rather, it’s an overwhelming sense of numbness. For this time, there’s a shattering finality to it all.

It’s that numbness that grants you the ability to get dressed this morning. Each movement is mechanical as you reach for clothes that feel foreign against your skin and slip into your role once more. It’s a façade you know all too well: the resilient, erudite female who hides the trembling little girl within. You clutch the silk fabric of your dress in your fists as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you almost believe the image staring back at you. But inside…Well, inside. That’s the question, isn’t it?

 As you walk through the River House, you let the numbness guide you: steady, unrelenting. You’re not naïve—you know this is the eye of the storm. You know that the pelting rain and howling winds are coming. But at least for now, you’ll take shelter within the boarded-up windows of your feeble heart. So, with a steady hand and a fog in your mind, you push open the dining room door to your awaiting court.

The quiet chatter comes to an abrupt halt as a cohort of curious eyes turn towards you. The rapid thumping of your heart is distant in your ears as you move into the room. Rhys opens his mouth to speak but pauses as he drinks in your detached nature. 

“It’s done.”

The words pass through your lips, but don’t quite reach your ears.

A palpable tension fills the room. The burning gazes of your friends prickles your skin, but you shrink further into the haze of your mind. 

“I delivered what you asked. It’s done,” you repeat in that same cool, unrecognizable tone.

The High Lord’s mouth opens and shuts again. You feel like a pariah in this room, but by the grace of the eye of the storm, you are shielded from their unintentional ostracism. Finally, Rhys nods sharply.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

The silence that follows is deafening, filled only by the shuffling of Cassian and Azriel’s chairs. Feyre’s concern radiates like a beacon, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction for fear of crumbling. Amren’s silver eyes narrow, but she holds her sharp tongue in check, for once.

Rhys reluctantly tears his gaze away from you and sweeps over the room. “Well, we should get moving, then. Time is of the essence.”

The two Illyrians scramble from their seats, and if the circumstances were different, you would laugh at their thinly veiled discomfort. Amren rolls her eyes and swiftly exits the room. You follow closely behind, effectively avoiding any further probing from your High Lord or Lady. The lush marble walls and expansive windows seem duller than usual as your body moves on autopilot down the hallway. Amren pushes the doors of the grand meeting hall open, and your heart skips a beat. Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down. Just like you’d practiced through your sleepless night. Like clockwork.

The scuffing of boots against marble sounds muffled as you follow Amren and take a seat at her left. Rhys and Feyre take their spots at Amren’s right, with Azriel and Cassian on their opposite side. The Inner Circle of the Night Court forms an unbreakable wall of power and unity at the head of the table—an unspoken display of the strength of your court.

You take one last steadying breath—chin up, eyes forward, shoulders down—before the High Lords filter through the doors one by one, each cloaked in their own unique brand of arrogance and power.

Tarquin is the first to arrive. He greets your court with a sharp nod, his turquoise eyes piercing as always. Helion follows closely behind, a lazy smirk dancing upon his plush lips. With each High Lord that arrives, breathing becomes a little bit easier, and the muscles straining to maintain your posture relax. This is fine. Kallias and Thesan are next to enter, each male followed by their own small entourages. You’re okay. 

That is, until Beron Vanserra’s glowering presence fills the doorway. The all too familiar sinking feeling returns as he strides in with his usual, ugly sneer. His cold eyes sweep the room before landing on you, a malicious grin curling at the corners of his mouth. Beside him, Bastion leers openly, his russet eyes glinting with that same viciousness he had cornered you with at the ball the night before. Two other Vanserra brothers with flaming red hair follow, and the door shuts swiftly behind them. The Night Court straightens in their seats as they all come to the same conclusion. Eris isn’t here. You clench your jaw so tightly you think your teeth may splinter. Why isn’t he here? Was last night truly the end of—

Chin up. Eyes forward. Shoulders down.

The metaphorical storm above you looms closer, but you hold steadfast to your mantra to keep it at bay.

“Such a fine day for politics, don’t you think?” Beron’s voice slithers through the room. He glances at Rhys, then at you, the sneer deepening. “Unfortunately, Eris couldn’t make it. He sends his regards.”

Something cold breezes over you, enveloping every inch of your exposed skin like a gust of wind. Your eyes flicker towards the stained-glass windows, but they are sealed tight. Your heart stutters painfully against your ribs, but you don’t so much as flinch. Instead, you sink into the numbness and meet Beron’s menacing gaze with your own.

“And what of Spring?” Helion asks.

You don’t need to look over to your right to see Feyre stiffen in her seat.

“Probably wallowing in his own self-pity like the beast he is,” Amren snaps in her typical, callous fashion.

Tamlin’s absence is damning—a testament to how far he has truly fallen since the war and Feyre’s…abruptdeparture. For a moment, no one dares to speak. But never one for pleasantries, Beron has no trouble interjecting.

“Why bother with a treaty if one of us is too busy licking his wounds to show up?”

“Tamlin’s absence is unfortunate,” Rhys replies in his ever-diplomatic manner, “But we are more than capable of negotiating terms that will benefit all of Prythian.”

Helion tilts his head, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Are we to assume Spring is no longer a player in these discussions, then? And if so, what will become of the court?”

“Tamlin received word of this summit, just as you all did. His decision not to attend certainly warrants discussion,” Rhys says, “but what we need right now is unity—and that’s what this treaty is about.”

Helion’s finger-tapping halts, and he leans forward in his seat. “Unity, Rhysand, sounds nice in theory. But let us not forget that Tamlin isn’t the only one who may find this arrangement…unpalatable.”

You involuntarily bristle as Beron’s grating voice cuts in once again. “Curious, isn’t it, how you sidestep the topic, Rhysand—especially when it is your High Lady who brought Spring to ruin.”

“We’ve gathered here to discuss the terms of a peace treaty between our courts, not to taunt one another,” Feyre snaps. Despite the scowl on Beron’s face, her firm tone holds an unwavering authority. “The unrest in human and Fae land alike grows with each passing day. We cannot afford for instability to spread.”

Tarquin nods thoughtfully. “A treaty won’t fix everything, but it’s a step in the right direction. Without it, the mortal realm may turn their sights on us.”

“Stability is key,” Thesan muses in agreement.

“A leash, more like it,” Beron snorts, “Let’s not waste time pretending this is some noble pursuit for the good of all. We all know this treaty is about self-preservation. And I, for one, don’t plan on sacrificing my court’s interests for some grand, childlike ideal.”

A low growl escapes Azriel, but a pointed look from Rhys silences him. “Perhaps you’re confusing peace with submission, Beron,” Feyre quips. “No one here is suggesting we sacrifice our ideals. This is about securing Prythian’s future, and preventing future war should conflict arise again.”

Kallias clears his throat, and you all but shiver as you glance into the icy blue of his piercing eyes. “I agree, but we must ensure that this treaty is more than mere words on paper. It must be enforceable, with clear consequences for any court that violates its terms.”

“Consequences?” Beron’s eyes glint with malice, “And are we prepared to go to war with each other if someone steps out of line?”

The almost gleeful lilt in the Autumn Court High Lord’s tone, combined with Bastion’s nasty smirk, is your last straw. Chin up. Eyes forward—Fuck it, composure be damned.

“That’s the point of the treaty,” you snap. All eyes turn towards you. But despite the scrutiny, you keep your voice steady. “It’s meant to prevent war, not incite it. If we establish boundaries and enforce them through collective action, it only strengthens all of our courts.”

Beron scans you from head to toe with an unsettling intrigue. “And what would you know of war, Scholar? Books and treaties may look neat and tidy on parchment, but the real world is far messier.”

The predatory glint in his eyes is all too familiar. But you’ve faced the fox. And while it may have been a losing battle, you survived. “Books teach us history, Beron. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that unchecked power leads to destruction. This treaty isn’t merely about peace—it’s about survival.”

The room falls silent for a moment. 

“Spoken like a true bookworm,” Cassian murmurs with a small grin.

A ghost of a smile threatens to tug at your lips, but the pride exuding from your friends barely breaches the barrier of indifference you wear like armor. 

Beron chuckles, the sound dark and mocking, and you can feel Bastion’s eyes on you—watching, waiting. The way they look at you feels…wrong. Like they know something you don’t. Like they’ve discovered a secret that should shatter your world. 

“If there are no further objections,” Rhys begins speaking again, steering the conversation towards negotiations. 

But your mind drifts as Beron’s cold gaze lingers on you. You know that Eris’s plans against his father are dangerous. But now…now you realize who deep that danger really goes. And with the way Beron studies you like a book he’s read a hundred times before, you realize that the threat may not just be to Eris. Reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from the eldest High Lord and resign yourself to studying the mahogany wood before you. 

As negotiations continue, you trace each crack, each imperfection, over and over. As if doing so will keep the storm at bay. You sit still as a statue, even as the High Lords take a brief recess. You find yourself so enamored by the wood before you that you barely register Bastion approach in the now empty room.

A shiver crawls up your spine as he dips down. “You’re quite the mystery, aren’t you?” he whispers, close enough that his breath fans over the bare skin of your neck. “I wonder how long it will be before you’re fully unraveled.”

You swallow hard, clenching the fabric of your dress between your fists. For the first time in hours, you tear your eyes away from the table. You meet Bastion’s gaze with a steely calm.

“I’ve never been privy to riddles. If you have a point to make, don’t dance around it.”

He chuckles, and you clench your jaw tightly to combat your unease. 

“In due time, Avicula.”

No.

 The blood drains from your face as your heart simply stops beating. You instinctively reach for the dinner knife on the table before you, but his cold, bony hand wraps around your wrist in a vice-like grip. You jerk back in your chair, but he pulls you flush against him, wood scraping against marbled floor.

“Simmer down, Scholar,” Bastion coos.

“What do you want?” Malice drips from your tone, but you can’t hide the tremor.

He chuckles and leans down even further, close enough that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Fame, glory, all the works. But for starters, your full cooperation will do.”

His lips press against your skin in a taunting kiss, and you all but retch at the feeling. “And if I don’t?” you grit out.

“Then Eris will be dead before the next High Lord steps foot in this room.”

Your heart thunders so violently, you can feel it in your bones. 

“You’re bluffing,” you whisper.

“Care to test that theory?” 

His ironclad grip tightens, and you release the knife with a wince. The clanging of the metal permeates the room. You watch with bated breath as he picks up the utensil with a hum, admiring the way the silver reflects the sunlight seeping through the windows. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he flips the knife around in his hand, so it points towards you. “You’re going to smile, sit still, and pretend this conversation never happened.” He traces the serrated edge along your lips. “After this meeting, you’ll go home and read your little books. Perhaps brush up on your writing—it’s a bit superfluous for my taste.” The metal presses against your mouth, just gentle enough not to break skin. “You’re going to keep that clever mouth of yours shut. If you so much as look at your friends with those pitiful eyes, I’ll cut that sharp tongue right out of your mouth. And if you even think about using the pesky little bond of yours to communicate with your High Lord, I’ll have Eris’s bloodied body delivered to your doorstep—after I have my fun with him, of course. Are we clear?” 

Your vision blurs—whether from unshed tears or paralyzing fear, you’re not sure. Your fingers tremble as you dangle tediously from your poorly constructed composure. Still, you suck in a deep, steadying breath. As you exhale a barren smile stretches across the plain of your face. “Enjoy the game while you can,” you say, “Because when it’s my turn to play, you’ll be begging me to put an end to your miserable existence.”

He releases the knife with a chuckle and shifts it back into place, erasing any evidence of your encounter. “You’ll do well to remember that some cages aren’t meant to be broken. Especially not for little birds who fly too close to the flame.” He shoves your chair back towards the table, jolting your trembling body. “Enjoy your evening, Scholar. I have a feeling it will be your last in this court.”

The chatter of the High Lords re-entering the room is nothing more than a distant buzz in your ears. You squint your eyes shut and dig your nails into the arms of the wooden chair, shutting everything out, until all that remains is the tattered bond in your chest. You reach for it, wrap your shaking hands around the frayed edges, and yank hard. It reverberates in the chasm of your chest. You wait, pleading for something sort of sign, some indication that he’s still there. But all that remains is the debris of your shattered heart. 

You inhale deeply, breathing in the weight of it all. And as you exhale, your eyes flick open. You stare straight into Beron’s knowing gaze with a vitriol which rivals his own. Your lips curl into a hateful grin. Not a flicker of fear, not a glimmer of defeat. Only the white-knuckled grip around the arms of your chair betrays the turmoil within.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment the doors of the meeting room close behind you, the storm comes crashing down. The blistering wind chills your bones, the free-falling water fills your lungs—but you can’t afford to drown. Not when your life is undoubtably on the line. Not when his life is on the line. And you need to find him before it’s too late.

Aimlessly searching for him will be useless. If Eris doesn’t want to be found, or if Beron has him locked away, no amount of wandering the streets of Velaris will bring him to you. The Vanserras are a clever breed—but so are you.

You slip into the shadows to avoid detection as you winnow to the flat-topped mountain on the northern side of Velaris. You waste no time making a beeline for the library. For the first time in your life, the familiar smell of almond and parchment brings no comfort, because all you can think, feel, smell, is the rage coursing through your veins. Clotho isn’t in her usual spot near the entrance. You know you should wait, but you make the hasty decision to slip through anyways. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.

You all but run down the winding stairs, descending one, two, three floors. A negative energy swirls around you—it’s clear the priestesses are none too pleased by your intrusion. Still, you beat on. You run your fingers along the spines of the old tomes lining the shelves, brushing away dust and time until your hand stills on a thin, leather-bound book. The cover is blemished, the metallic lettering faded to near obscurity, but it hums beneath your fingertips, pulsing with latent power. You yank it free and rifle through the pages, until you land on a section you remember from stories your mother used to whisper late into the night. 

Location Spells.

As your eyes dart across the page, your throat tightens. You remember these spells from your mother. Much to your dismay, her retellings were right. They all require one thing: a personal token belonging to the person you seek. And you have nothing of Eris’s. No lock of hair, no trinket. But…you have him. Or, at least, the unyielding tether buried deep in your chest, even if stretched thin by time and heartbreak. Your mind spins as you skim the text again.

“A drop of the caster’s blood may work if they share a strong enough connection. For example, prior work has highlighted the success of blood of kin.”

Or, the blood of a mating bond.

 It might not be perfect, but with no other option, it has to work.

You grab a map of Prythian from a nearby shelf of atlases and spread it across a table. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you retrieve a dagger from the folds of your dress and prick the tip of your finger. A single drop of blood wells up, glowing faintly in the dim light of lanterns. You glance down at the open book, and scan over the spell. It’s written in an ancient language—one you’re not well-acquainted with. Your furrow your brows in concentration as you sound out each syllable, your voice a plea more than an incantation. Finally, you whisper, “Find him.”

You press your bleeding finger to the map, smearing scarlet across the parchment. Magic surges through you: a swirl of golden tendrils extending across the land, searching very crack, corner, and crevice. For a moment, hope blossoms. You can feel the bond in your chest stir, faint but real, as if whispering to someone far away.

Just as suddenly as hope came, it fades.

The tendrils of light dull before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing more than a smear of red in the shape of a thumbprint. He must be warded too heavily for the spell to penetrate—as if he doesn’t exist at all.

The winds of anguish sweep you into their clutches as an earth-shattering cry claws at your throat. The weight of everything hits you all at once, and you sink to your knees. The air around you seems to thin. You gasp through the sobs wracking your body—but each mouthful burns. You tangle your shaky hands in your hair, pulling harshly at the roots in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. But to no avail.

A low ringing fills your ears, building in intensity to a deafening hum. The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing against your lungs, suffocating you from the inside out. Your hands slip from your hair and wrap around your throat, desperate to pull in just one clean breath—but the air is clinging like smoke. 

Your mouth moves, but you’re not sure if the words come out. “Get it together. You’re supposed to save him.”

You try to count your breaths—in, out—but each attempt only narrows your vision to pinpricks. The panic swells and the world spins, tilting on its axis. And then…it stops.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hours later, you’re shaken awake by the very same panic that pulled you under. But this time, it isn’t your own. Your head pounds from your earlier sobbing, your lashes sagging from the weight of your dried tears. Yet, you’re more alert than you’ve ever been before.

The bond thrums in your chest, pain radiating through the connection. You scramble from the dusty floor with a dizzying urgency. There’s no time to think, no time to question. You don’t so much as glance at the map on the table as you run towards the winding staircase. You’re not sure where you’re going. Only that Eris is there. You follow your instinct blindly, throwing open the door to the library. You beat on into the cold, but before you winnow, the small, rationale part of your mind calls out to your High Lord.

Rhys. His name is a scream in your mind. Eris is in trouble. I have to go now.

Rhys’s response is immediate, albeit groggy: What—

No time.

 The world is already twisting and folding around you. When you land, the air is thick with shadows. 

The scent of stone and mold hits you first—the unmistakable marker of the Court of Nightmares. You stagger, breath catching in your throat. No. No, this can’t be right. But the bond pulls with conviction in your chest, dragging you deeper into the dark halls. 

You know this is a terrible idea. Actually, terrible is generous. This might rival Tamlin and Lucien’s selling out of the Archeron sisters to the King of Hybern in the competition of bad ideas. But as witless as it may be, it’s right.

You move without a second thought. Every passing shadow seems to follow you, but you don’t care. The only thing you can focus on is the bond. As the weight of each step grows, you can feel his pain more acutely. He’s close.

Your pulse roars in your eyes as you come to a halt in front of a rusted, iron door. Your hands find the handles, and you pull with the full weight of your body. It opens with a low groan, and you step inside. 

The chamber is dark, lit only by the faint glow of sconces lining the walls. The smell of stone and mold is even more penetrating here. But something else mingles with it. The sour scent of rust is abrasive, curling at your nostrils. 

You squint your eyes into the darkness, and you stumble back in shock.

Eris is there, slumped to his knees in the center of the room. The ropes biting into his wrists almost sparkle underneath the light of the flames. Faebane. Crimson hair clings to his sweat-slicked forehead, his bare chest a littered mess of blood and bruises. Agony twists his features—until his gaze flicks to you.

“No—,” he gasps.

You lunge forward, but you yelp as something holds you back—rather, someone. An ironclad grip wraps around your wrists, holding you against a broad chest. Something sharp presses against your throat—a knife, you surmise, from the glint of silver in your peripheral. 

“You’re arrived just in time for the reunion.”

The voice is venomous, unfamiliar. Yet, it holds a striking intimacy, almost as if—

Your eyes widen in realization.

No.

“I have waited a very long time to meet my daughter,” Keir continues with a sadistic smile, “It’s a shame Marjorie kept you hidden from me all these years. Even more of a pity that she’s not here to stop me now.”

Your blood runs cold as your mother’s name rolls off his tongue. You thrash violently in his hold, but to no avail. You try to steel your features into indifference, but the panicked look in Eris’s eyes makes it an impossible feat. The dull edge of the knife presses hard underneath your chin, forcing your head back. 

Hell freezes over as you peer through the looking glass.

His eyes are yours. The divot of his chin, the bridge of his nose, it’s all yours—or, you suppose, yours are his. But even more potent than your resemblance is the incongruence. For while your dark eyes are marked by curiosity, his are flooded with malice.

Your lip curls back in a snarl, and with all the loving memory of your mother you can harness, you spit. The fat glob of saliva lands right between his eyes.

“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” you snarl.

The initial shock on his features warps into something far more sinister as he twists your bound hands behind you. You grit your teeth against the pain, showing nothing more than a wince as you feel the joint in your right shoulder shift. 

“You’ve got my bite, little girl, I’ll give you that. But you’re a bitch just like her.”

You snap your teeth at him, but he twists your arms even further. This time, you can’t contain the cry that bubbles in your throat.

“Did she ever tell you about how we met?” he forces your head forward. Fear still fills Eris’s eyes, but this time it’s met with ire. Keir dips down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath as he speaks, “Did she ever tell you about how I took her? How I delighted in ruining her? How I—”

Anger blinds you, and for just a moment, all you see is red. 

A barbaric scream rips through you and you crouch down to loosen Keir’s grip—a trick Cassian had once taught you. Before he can regain leverage, you swing your leg behind you with as much force as you can muster, hitting him right between his legs. Keir stumbles back with a groan. But before he can find his footing, you spin around and punch him hard—so hard, you can feel the sickening crunch of bone underneath your knuckles. Still, one hit isn’t enough to erase the lifetime of agony he had imposed upon your mother. So, you hit him again. And again. Until he’s sprawled across the floor. And when he’s down, you sink your foot into his beaten body. Over and over. Until—

“Y/N!”

You gasp for air as Eris’s strained cry pulls you from the brink of oblivion. It’s his voice that grounds you, that sharpens your vision to take in the scene before you. Keir is far past consciousness, his face a bloodied mess and his body a tangle of useless limbs. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicate that he is still, unfortunately, alive—although, with the damage you’ve inflicted, he’ll surely wish he was dead when he wakes. With trembling hands, you wipe the hands stained with your father’s blood over your dress.

“Y/N.”

The strain in Eris’s voice pulls you from Keir’s mangled body. Your eyes are wild as they meet his. You stumble forward, heart beating in time with the heavy thrumming of the bond pulling you towards him. He shakes his head frantically, panic festering on his features.

“You need to get out of here.” You ignore his desperate plea and continue surging forward. “Please, Little Bird,” his voice cracks, “Run.”

Tears spring to your eyes, and the pull of the bond only intensifies. But just as you reach him, just as your bloodied fingers graze the iron chains around his wrists, a gust of wildfire sends you flying backwards.

Pain splinters in the back of your head as you’re thrown against the dungeon wall. Nausea coils inside of you and your vision blurs. Still, you bite back the cry that threatens to escape. 

“Run!” Eris’s shout rings through your ears, muffled by the pounding in your head.

But the responding voice pierces through the veil.

“That’s quite enough from you, son.”

You haul yourself up as quickly as your spinning head will allow. The High Lord of Autumn scans you from head to toe, taking in the blood splatters soaking your dress, the swelling of your knuckles. His lip curls back in disappointment and he clicks his tongue.

“My, what a mess you’ve made, Scholar,” Beron stalks forward, the hem of his dark robes skimming over Keir’s unconscious form. His sneer deepens as he steps into a puddle of blood. He crouches down and swipes his index finger through the blood of your father, admiring how it glistens underneath the sconce light. “Though I suppose family brings out the worst in all of us.”

You avert your gaze to Eris, who stares back in a wide-eyed panic. Go, he mouths. But you’re paralyzed, your feet rooted into the cold, hard ground. You can only muster a small shake of your head. No.

“Let him go, you bastard,” you demand, eyes trained on your mate.  

Beron’s chuckle rumbles through the sodden space. “Such filth from such a pretty little mouth,” he muses. “Though I suppose you never had a father figure to teach you manners. So, allow me.”

Before you can so much as blink, Beron is behind you. You stifle a yelp as he kicks the back of your legs, forcing you onto your knees. “Much better,” he circles you. You fight the urge to spit in his face too when he hooks a finger underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Now, why don’t you apologize for your brutishness?”

The cold press of his fingers makes your skin crawl, but you lift your head defiantly. “You want an apology?” you say, voice low but steady. “The only thing I’m sorry for is not drawing more blood from your pathetic lackey.”

The words have barely rolled off your tongue when Beron raises his arm, landing a punishing hit. Your head swings to the side, amplifying the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in the back of your head.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Eris roars, chains clanking wildly behind him.

“Fine,” Beron says.

The High Lord turns towards his son and brandishes a whip of fire. White-hot flames crackle through the air, a blaze of light slashing through the dark, and land squarely across Eris’s bleeding chest. A strangled cry tears from his throat, his body convulsing against the restraints. The sound is horrible—one that will haunt you for eternity, should you survive this night.  The noise that escapes you mirrors his as you lunge forward. But a wall of flames circles around you, its heat pressing against your skin and binding you in place. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” you cry. But your plea falls on deaf ears. You can only watch, helpless, as Eris’s body shudders with each lash, the light in those beautiful, amber eyes dimming with each strike. Worse, you can feel it—the bond between you unraveling thread by thread. 

Through the river of tears clouding your vision, something mingles with the flames in your peripheral: Keir’s twitching body. He groans something unintelligible, his eyes twitching beneath their blood-soaked lids. Suddenly, something in the air shifts—and realization strikes you as the whip in Beron’s hand cracks again.

  This isn’t just punishment; it’s retribution. For Eris’s betrayal, yes, but it’s more than that. This is about the Night Court, the treaty currently being drafted in Velaris. This is an act of violence in the face of blossoming peace. And once Beron has finished, once the fight has drained from Eris’s eyes, he’ll leave you here with Keir. He’ll kill two birds with one cruel stone—ensure your misery serves as a constant leash on his son and the Night Court, and prevent any threat to his throne.   

“Hubris is deathly, Beron. And you’re a fool if you think beating us into submission or death will keep you on your throne,” you shout despite the sobs wracking your body. “We are more use to you alive than dead.” 

“You think your lives mean anything to me?” Beron roars. 

He cracks the whip again, and another flash of fire streaks across Eris’s already ravaged body. Eris sways, his knees crumpling underneath him. His eyes are squeezed tight, his lips parted in a silent cry. Your magic surges through you at the sight, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep it contained. You have only one shot here. Once chance to make your move—a move that will determine yours and Eris’s fate for your immortal eternity. 

“Take mine instead,” you blurt, heart pounding. “My life for his freedom.”

The words hang in the air, and finally, Beron’s whip falters mid-strike. Panic flares in your chest, but it’s not your own. Beron turns slowly, a glint of interest sparking in his cruel gaze. “Your life,” he repeats, savoring the words, “In exchange for his.”

Chains clatter behind him with a newfound vigor. Eris’s eyes are wide open, a window to his soul: panic, indignation, but above all, betrayal. Worse, you can feel him clinging desperately to his end of the bond, pulling with all of his might. Just as you were in the library. Just as you have been every day since you left Autumn. And it’s in that moment, you realize, that whatever pain you felt clinging desperately to the ghost of him is unsurmountable compared to the bone-shattering agony of his despair seeping through your skin.  

“Yes,” you whisper. “Let him go, and my life is yours.”

“Don’t do this,” Eris pleads, “Please, Little Bird.”

Fresh tears cloud your vision, the utterance of that name worse than a physical blow. The flames surrounding you vanish and Beron steps closer. An eerie grin tugs at his lips. “Very well.”

A ripple shudders through the chamber, and Beron casts a glance to where Keir lies motionless on the cold stone. With a bored wave of his hand a shadowy mist rises, curling around your father’s limp body, sending him away like a discarded pawn. 

Eris’s protests are drowned out by the sting of the bargain mark. It snakes up the length of your arm, twisting like a vine. You bite back a gasp as the magic sinks into your skin, binding you to your word. Beron takes another step forward, forgoing the whip for the raw magic at his fingertips. 

It’s now or never.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t fight,” you snarl.

Your magic explodes outwards, shadowy tendrils unfurling like a tempest. Darkness spreads, curling around Beron with the grace of an ancient asp. He stumbles, the smirk gone from his face. You use his surprise to your advantage, swiftly flinging a dagger in his direction. It sails through the air with the precision of a hundred-year-old warrior. But before the weapon can land its mark, a wall of flames is erected, snuffing out your shadows and sending the dagger hurdling back in your direction. You duck swiftly, narrowly missing the fatal hit. 

“Impressive,” Beron condescends, “Let’s see if your feet are as quick as your wit.” 

Faster than you can blink, the flames surrounding Beron coalesce, swirling into the shape of a fiery claw. It surges forward, hurtling towards you at the speed of lightning. You barely have a moment to raise your defenses. Light exudes from your fingertips as you throw your arms out, forming a shield of blinding radiance. The claw collides with your light, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground beneath you. Beron presses relentlessly against your shield, heat searing through the protective barrier. You grit your teeth and root your feet into the ground to counteract the strain in your muscles and the tremor in your bones. But your strength is no match for Beron’s, as the claw keeps inching closer and closer, pushing relentlessly against your flickering shield. 

“Submit!” Beron roars with an authority fit for a thousand-year-old tyrant.

The ball of light surrounding you is rapidly caving in. It’s bound to give any second now. With a piercing cry, you thrust your magic forward, and then let go entirely. 

You dive to the side, narrowly escaping the talons of Beron’s inferno. As the momentum of his power sends it barreling into the wall behind you, you lunge for your discarded dagger. Your fingers wrap around the hilt, and you slink into the shadows just in time to escape his new weapon of choice: blazing balls of fire.

With your shadows you leap from corner to corner, trying to get close enough to Beron to wield your own weapon while simultaneously avoiding the flames he hurls at you. Eris shouts something, but it’s muffled by the roar of the fire, the pounding in your head. You will yourself to focus only on Beron, building an impenetrable wall in your chest to block out the desperation radiating down the mating bond in your chest.

As you dodge another flame, the world to twists and folds around you. You winnow across the room, right behind Beron. You don’t waste a second thrusting the dagger forward—but before the lethal blade can sink into his flesh, he spins around. The High Lord wraps his hands around your wrists. And as the dagger clatters to the floor, so does your heart plummet.

“Is this what you wanted?” Beron’s voice slithers into your ear. He swivels you around, forcing you to face Eris while he holds you flush to his chest. Crimson rivulets trickle down his arms from where the chains bite into his skin. “To be brought low, broken in front of him?”

You force your chin high with defiance. But Beron’s grip is unyielding and his molten heat is oppressive, creeping through your veins like poison. As you stare into Eris’s eyes—those amber eyes you love so much—you can’t hide the fear in your own. 

“Better broken than a slave to your tyranny,” you hiss.

 Sweat beads on your brow, but not from exhaustion. You suck in a breath, begging the cool air to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. But Beron’s heat sinks deeper, licking at the edges of your very soul. 

He chuckles darkly, “If only your defiance could save you.”

“Let her go!” Eris bellows. 

You desperately try to twist out of Beron’s grip, but with each movement the fever only builds. Sweat trickles down your temples, the salty sting mixing with the agony that wracks your body.

“You know, I had planned on keeping you alive. Sending you off with your pathetic excuse for a father,” Beron says, “But I’ve never been one to turn down a good bargain.”

 A white-hot pain blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire. You can feel your skin searing from the inside out, clawing its way through your organs, boiling your blood.

“I’ll kill you,” Eris’s voice breaks, raw with the desperation of a man on the brink of losing everything. “I’ll kill you! I’ll rip the life from you, Beron. Even if it takes my last breath, I’ll see you burn for this.”

Beron laughs, drowning out Eris’s broken words. Every nerve in your body screams as he slowly burns you alive, boiling you from the inside out. Your vision blurs as the fever creeps into your head, your legs crumpling beneath you. 

You know there is no way out. You know this is the end. But before you go, you drop the protective barrier around your heart. Tears stream down your face, hot against your skin, as you lay yourself bare before the male who has sent your life into upheaval. The male who has shown you the greatest beauties and worst pains of life. Your salvation, your damnation, your soulmate. You cling tight to the withering bond and show him it all. With one final breath, you force your lips to move and form the words you need him to hear.

“I love you, Eris Vanserra. Darkness and all its shining stars.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time splinters as Eris watches you fade. As those words escape you cracked lips, something shatters inside of him—the last defense of a soul that, even after years of brutality, refuses to be broken. It’s something that transcends pain, something primal and ancient woven into the very marrow of his bones. 

Darkness and all its shining stars.

It’s those words that echo in his mind as the realization burns: this bond, this love, is Beron’s undoing. 

A tyrant once said that the secret of supremacy lies in knowing when to be a fox, and when to be a lion. Beron Vanserra is both. It’s his cunningness and ferocity that have allowed him to rule so predominately for centuries—longer than any High Lord in Prythian. However, Beron Vanserra has been wearing the fox and lion’s skins for a long time—too long. For Beron Vanserra’s greatest pitfall is not a lack of strength or guile, but an utter void where empathy should lie—a deficiency born of his detachment from true, selfless love. 

It's precisely that absence of compassion that blind him to the unbreakable forces that bond others. And now, as he stands over you and Eris with a hand stained by centuries of bloody conquest, it’s precisely that bond, carved from unadulterated love, that will be his undoing.

A roar befitting of a lion rips from Eris’s chest. Muscles taut with rage and agony and love, he pulls against the chains binding him. Blood flows freely from his wrists; but fueled by the bond—by you—he pulls harder, harder, until iron cracks.

The chains give way, crashing to the floor in a thousand pieces. And Eris unleashes hell on his father.

One thrust of his bloodied arm sends Beron flying backwards, releasing you from his deathly hold. You crumple to the ground, barely conscious. Although the boiling of your insides has halted, you’re still burning. You splay your hands out across the cold ground, willing it to soothe the dangerous fever.

Eris flicks his wrist, sending stone raining down upon Beron. The air is thick with dust and fury as Eris charges forward, each strike landing with sharp precision. This isn’t a mere battle of power—it’s a reckoning.

But Beron, unyielding, retaliates with a blinding wave of flame that consumes the chamber. The fire surges, forcing Eris to halt and shield both you and himself.

“You think you can defeat me, boy?” Beron bellows.

Eris snarls, his own fire igniting. You blink your eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness as your magic fights to hold you steady. You watch as Eris matches Beron with every movement: strike for strike, flame for flame. 

But it’s clear he’s faltering. Each thrust of his arm sends ripples of pain across his battered body, the hours of torture taking their toll. Eris sways, his flame flickering at the sheer force of Beron’s power, honed by centuries of conquest.

Your limbs ache with the remnants of the ash inside you, but you focus on the steady ground beneath you. Fire blazes around you as you slowly push yourself up. You can see the light dimming in Eris’s eyes as his breath comes out in ragged gasps. 

“Eris!” you cry, but the words sound like nothing more than a whisper against the raging inferno. He doesn’t look at you, locked in the hopeless battle. Your heart races as you struggle to rise.

Eris lunges forward, but Beron anticipates him and counters with a blast that sends him crashing back against the wall. A sickening thud shatters through your bones as the bond pulses with pain. 

As Beron’s fire grows larger and brighter, you kick your leg out, sliding the discarded dagger on the floor towards Eris. You shut your eyes tight, summoning the last remnants of your strength. The blistering fever returns as you call on every ounce of your magic. This time, however, you embrace it.

Light and dark exude from your fingertips at the same time. With one hand, you send shadows swirling around Beron, engulfing him in darkness. With the other, you send a beacon of luminescence, lighting Eris's path. You focus on Eris, willing him to rise, to fight back. Determination fills his gaze—and the rest is history. 

With one swift motion, Eris retrieves the blade and thrusts it into his father’s chest. 

The swirling shadows still, and Eris twists the dagger into the chasm of his chest with a sickening crunch. Beron falls to his knees, and your shadows retreat—but your light remains.

As the former High Lord collapses, the echoes of the battle fade into a haunting stillness. Eris stands over his father’s fallen form, chest heaving and flames flickering at his fingertips, mingling with the light surrounding him—a testament to the battle fought and the price paid.

Your eyes meet, and in that moment, the world falls away. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty—it all dissipates, leaving only you and him.

“Little Bird,” Eris breathes. 

Fresh tears line your eyes and your bottom lip trembles. Ignoring the all-consuming heat that’s still threatening to pull you under, you haul yourself up from the ground completely. You stumble forward and your legs give out underneath you. But before you can crumple, Eris is there. 

His embrace feels like coming home.

A sob of relief escapes you as you sink to the ground together. Despite the agony pumping through your veins, the blood and sweat covering you both, your heart sings. You bury your face into his chest. The scent of him—sandalwood and cardamon—fills your lungs, giving life to breath. You can feel the pulse of his heart against your cheek, steady and strong.

“Eris,” you gasp. But the name feels inadequate. There’s so much you want to say—but the words are swallowed by the lump in your throat. His hands find your hair, threading through it and anchoring you to this moment.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. The feeling of his breath against your neck sends another wave of emotions crashing over you. “I’m right here, Little Bird. I’m not going anywhere.”

Around you, the air shifts, and you sense the arrival of the High Lords. But their presence, Rhys’s panicked voice, is a distant echo in the back of your mind. Nothing else matters—not in his arms.

As you sink into the warmth of your lover’s embrace, the toll of the battle settles in. The world blurs at its edges. Eris holds you tightly, murmuring sweet nothings you can’t quite grasp, and darkness begins to close in. You cling to the sound of his voice, feeling it reverberate through you.

“Come on, Little Bird. Stay with me,” his voice breaks as he feels your strength slipping away. But as you look into his eyes—those fierce, beautiful eyes—you know you can’t fight anymore.

With a shuddering breath, you succumb to the pull of unconsciousness, your body surrendering to his embrace. And as darkness takes over, you hang on to the whispered promise of safety in a world that has been anything but. 

taglist:

@selfishlittlebeing @babypeapoddd @scarsandallaz @fourthwing4ever @raginghellfire 

@deepestmentalitypersona @lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can 

@hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah 

@6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1 @paliketerson 

@ktz-bb @l-adynesta @ghostslittlegf @taylorgriffin @the-deeee-blog

@aria-chikage @itsagrimm @chaparralcamper @kitsunetori @just-reading15

@mandziaaa @imma-too-many-fandoms @bwormie @bubblegumcat229

@cazrielsfairygf @knittedchapters @feyrfly @whore-for-loki @bookwormysblog

[velarisdusk]

What Was Bought, What Was Taken

Eris Vanserra x Reader

summary: He asked for your hand like you were a favor to be traded. When the mating bond snaps in the Court of Nightmares, furious but powerless, you're taken to Autumn. word count: 5,310 content: [ coercion, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, mating bond, all warnings that come with Keir and the Hewn City, dead parents, mentions of abuse, keir is y/n's grandfather ] author's note: thanks anon for this request! sooo i didnt end up writing any smut for this. the tone it took on as i wrote just didnt have the vibe for that, and it wouldve felt really forced. also i felt a strange power imbalance when i tried; not something i’d usually shy away from writing but i think this was a really pretty piece and i didnt want to muddle it with dubcon yk ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

You walked fast—nearly jogged, if you were honest—through the narrow hallway that led to the Council Chamber, your heels catching against the smooth stone as you tried not to make too much noise. Your pulse was already high in your throat, pushed higher by the low, measured toll of the nearby bells. You were late. Again. 

He was going to skin you alive.

Keir hadn’t said much this morning—just that the heir of Autumn would be joining him for “a conversation of mutual interest,” whatever that meant. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d learned by now that curiosity only invited irritation.

But still. Eris Vanserra didn’t come to the Hewn City for polite formalities. No one did. And Keir had been in a mood ever since the messenger confirmed the High Lord had set the meeting. He’d spent the morning stalking the halls like a male preparing for war.

Which meant you were walking in late to something very, very important.

You swore softly and slipped inside.

You hesitated at the heavy double doors of the Council Chamber, the low murmur of voices inside fading the moment you stepped over the threshold. The scent of burning incense mixed with cold stone filled your lungs. Your footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor as you moved forward, eyes deliberately fixed on the ground. As you crossed the room, the tension prickled at your skin. 

“You’re late,” Keir’s voice was calm but sharp enough to cut through the hum of conversation. 

The room quieted around him.

You stopped just shy of your chair, spine straightening instinctively.

You’d expected the reprimand. The public humiliation. He rarely missed an opportunity to remind you who held the reins. 

Keir didn’t motion for you to sit. “Late,” he repeated, the word twisting with disdain. “As though your time is more valuable than mine. Than the court’s. Than our guest’s.”

You kept your gaze low, jaw tightening. 

Keir rose slowly from his seat, not to tower but to command. His voice stayed even, deliberate. “I give you responsibility, and this is how you meet it? I allow you opportunities I would grant no other female. Not even your mother.”

You flinched. 

“Do you think we can afford such carelessness?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer—there never was room for one. 

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Eris with an open palm. “Beron sends us his heir, a rare opportunity for diplomacy. And you walk in like a distracted servant girl, too absorbed in your own little errands to arrive on time.” 

You felt the heat creeping up your neck. 

“I bring you here to observe, to learn,” Keir continued, each word striking like a lash, “and instead, you’ve set an example I’d be ashamed to see from one of my lowest courtiers.” 

Still standing, still silent, you braced yourself for the worst of it. 

Keir waved a hand. “Apologize,” he said simply, resuming his seat. “You’ve made a spectacle of yourself. You will not make one of me.” 

Only then did you finally allow yourself to move. 

You turned—slowly, deliberately—your movements stiff with the effort of keeping your expression blank. You didn’t rush, though your stomach twisted with the burn of humiliation. You kept your chin high anyway. You’d learned that from Keir: if you must be dragged, at least look like you walked of your own will.

You faced the heir of Autumn like you were stepping into a performance you hadn’t rehearsed.

Eris Vanserra.

He was exactly as you’d imagined—sharp angles and cool composure, seated like the chair belonged to him. His golden-red hair caught the torchlight, flickering like open flame, but his posture was still and unbothered. One ankle crossed over a knee, a single finger resting against the corner of his mouth. His gaze was unreadable. Not cold, but closed. Guarded.

He said nothing. Only watched.

And when your eyes met his—

Not gently. Not like the brushing of threads or a soft breath of recognition. It hit like a tether pulled taut all at once, yanked from the depths of your chest, snapping into place so violently it nearly knocked you back a step. Something inside you reeled, flinched—like a door long rusted shut had been forced open from the inside.

Your breath caught, too sharp, too sudden. 

The world narrowed.

You felt it everywhere—like heat blooming low in your stomach, like your lungs weren’t your own, like your pulse had been dragged into rhythm with someone else’s. It was not pain, not exactly. But it was overwhelming. Terrifying. Your heart scrambled to understand what your body already knew: something irreversible had just happened. Something ancient and final.

It was as if an unknown magic inside you had reared its head for the first time in your life and whispered, there you are.

And he was the answer.

You couldn’t look away.

Didn’t dare blink. Not yet.

Eris’ posture didn’t shift. Not even a flicker of recognition across his face. He sat still as stone, gaze steady, unreadable. A master of silence. If his eyes were a fortress, his control was the outer wall—built stone by stone over years, and just as immovable. 

But you—

Your face betrayed everything.

Your lips parted before you could stop them. Your breath stuttered once, then again, too shallow. The blood had drained from your fingertips and rushed to your throat. You felt your lashes flutter, a single blink too slow, too stunned.

And from the corner of your vision, you saw your grandfather’s head tilt—just slightly.

He had seen it.

And you knew, before you even looked at him, that he understood exactly what had happened.

The silence in the chamber stretched thinner than glass. A breath, then another. You could feel the air shift—not with magic, but with attention. Every gaze in the room was waiting. Watching.

Then Eris stood.

Not abruptly. Not with surprise. But like he had been planning to stand all along. Like your new bond had changed absolutely nothing.

You barely stopped yourself from stepping back. Your throat bobbed, dry.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He looked at Keir first, his expression unreadable. Not quite expectant—no, it was cooler than that. Measured. His eyes lingered a beat too long. Like he was assessing your grandfather, weighing something invisible.

Then he turned his gaze to you.

Slowly.

And for a moment—just a moment—you wondered what he saw.

Not the expression you’d failed to mask. Not the shock still ringing in your bones. But you. You. The girl your grandfather had hidden behind a hundred veils of courtly obedience. The girl who’d never, in all her fifty years, breathed real air or touched soil or seen the sun. Did he see that? Did he see a possession, or a person?

What does a male like that think when a bond snaps into place?

What does he do with it?

He turned back to Keir.

You braced yourself—he would speak now, you were sure of it. Would begin the negotiations, would play whatever game the two of them had arranged behind closed doors. You knew how this worked. You knew how your story was supposed to be told.

But he didn’t go to Keir.

He came to you.

You froze.

He crossed the room without hesitation, the distance vanishing beneath the sure, easy weight of his steps. And then he was before you—taller, closer than you’d ever expected.

His fingers found yours, gloved hand brushing bare skin. And without asking, without hesitating, he lifted your hand to his mouth.

And kissed it.

Slowly. Deliberately. His gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You couldn’t answer. Your voice stuck behind your teeth, behind the shock, behind the weight of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure your lungs had remembered how to pull air.

Then he turned, your hand still in his.

As if you had already agreed.

As if your silence meant yes.

As if you were already behind him.

“I’d like her hand,” he said, gaze returning to Keir. “Formally. As mate. As future lady of Autumn.”

The words didn’t seem real.

You heard them. You understood each one. But they landed out of order, scattered, like someone had tipped your mind sideways and let your thoughts spill into a pile.

Her hand. Mate. Lady of Autumn.

Was this—was this a proposal? A declaration? A transaction?

Your heart was still beating too fast. Your palm still burned faintly where his mouth had touched it. The bond hummed along your spine and through each rib like a second heartbeat, louder now, more insistent, as though it was pleased with itself for being named.

But your body hadn’t caught up with your brain. You felt removed from it—like you were standing in the wrong version of yourself. The version that would have looked to her grandfather for approval. That would have nodded, smiled, curtsied, spoken her lines.

You weren’t smiling now.

He had asked for you. Claimed you. Not in metaphor, not in theory, not in the slow-burn romantic sense you’d once imagined while reading contraband books in the dim corners of your room.

No—he had asked for you like you were an estate: measurable, ownable, transferable. 

You opened your mouth. You weren’t even sure what you meant to say. Maybe No, maybe What are you doing, maybe just your own name to remind the room you had one.

But whatever it was, it didn’t make it past your tongue.

“Vanserra,” your grandfather said smoothly, eyes narrowed just enough to reveal his doubt. “You expect me to believe you would bind yourself, your future court, to someone you’ve not yet had a full conversation with?”

His voice was amused. Skeptical. But not insulted.

Not dismissive.

And that, somehow, made the panic press tighter behind your ribs.

You’d thought—naively, maybe—that your grandfather would laugh. That he’d bristle with offense. That he’d dismiss Eris’s request outright, just for the insult of asking.

But instead, Keir was considering it.

That amusement in his tone wasn’t mockery—it was interest, cloaked in skepticism. Testing the weight of the offer. Looking for the angle.

Your fingers curled in on themselves slowly, like your body was trying to reclaim what had been taken, as if you could reverse it, undo it, pull back from the moment and make it a mistake someone else had made.

Eris didn’t flinch beneath Keir’s scrutiny. His stance remained relaxed—too relaxed. He finally released you in favor of clasping both hands behind his back, chin slightly lifted. 

“Curious choice,” Keir mused, voice light with false interest. “Hardly the most advantageous offer on the table.”

A pause. Your face heated. 

“I don’t make decisions I haven’t already considered in full,” Eris said. “And I don’t waste time asking for what I don’t intend to keep.”

A faint smirk touched his lips, but it wasn’t cruel. It was worse than cruel—it was calm. Certain.

“Let that be answer enough.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

That was the story, then. That was how they’d frame it. As strategy. As inevitability.

Your mouth parted again, and this time, words came. Shaky, quiet.

“I haven’t—”

“Be silent,” Keir said, without looking at you.

And just like that, your voice vanished again.

Not by magic. By command. 

By obedience. 

You looked at Eris then. You wanted to see something—anything—in his face. Doubt, maybe. Hesitation. Some flicker of recognition that this was wrong, or too much, or too fast.

But there was only stillness.

Keir leaned back in his chair with the ease of a male who had just found himself holding the sharpest blade in the room.

“And here I thought,” he said, almost idly, “you’d come to posture and circle, like every other male with a title to defend.” His fingers drummed once against the armrest. 

Eris didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Keir let the silence settle before continuing, voice shifting—cooler now, more precise. “She wasn’t part of the original arrangement. Not in any meaningful way.”

You flinched, barely, at the word meaningful.

“She’s young. Inexperienced. Untried in court or politics. I wouldn’t call her… an asset.”

Your stomach turned.

“But,” Keir went on, tone sharpening, “it seems the bond has given her value. At least to you.”

He smiled then, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes.

“So let’s discuss what her hand is worth.”

It was like being stripped bare in the center of the room—like the torchlight itself was meant to spotlight your stillness, your silence, your helplessness. You didn’t know if they saw you blush or pale or tremble. You didn’t think it mattered.

They weren’t looking at you anymore.

Only at what you could buy.

“What do you offer, Vanserra?” Keir asked, gaze gleaming. “Because I can promise you, I don’t sell cheaply.”

The faint flicker of torchlight caught the sharp angles of Eris’ face, casting shadows that made him look almost carved from stone. His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest curve touching his lips—not quite a smile, but close. He leaned forward, his voice low, measured.

“You won’t find a more valuable alliance, Keir.”

He let the words hang between them.

“I offer the full backing of Autumn once I am its High Lord—its armies, its resources, its influence. A bond with me is a bond with the power of my court.”

His gaze flicked briefly to you, cool and appraising, then back to Keir.

“This union will strengthen your hold on the Hewn City, and send a clear message to any who would challenge you.”

He paused, voice dipping with a quiet threat.

“Turn away from this offer, and you risk everything Autumn’s power can undo.”

The room grew heavier with unspoken implications.

Your grandfather’s smile was thin but sharp. “Bold words. But fitting for the Vanserra heir.”

Keir leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he studied Eris for a long moment. Then, at last, he nodded slowly, the hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“Very well,” he said with deliberate finality. “The alliance is formed. The hand is promised.”

His gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “You have thirty minutes.”

The weight of his words fell like a stone in your chest.

There was no room for protest. No space to bargain or plead.

This was not a question.

This was command.

Keir rose from his chair, gathering his cloak with a casual authority that brooked no argument.

“Leave us.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve taut, as you turned on unsteady legs, the silent watch of Eris burning at your back.

The path ahead was certain. And terrifying.

You closed the heavy chamber door behind you with a muted click, but the weight of the moment pressed against your chest so hard it felt like stone. Your knees wobbled, breath shallow and uneven, as you leaned against the cold wall just outside the Council Chamber.

The words kept spinning through your mind, relentless: You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. You have thirty minutes. 

Your mind scrambled to make sense of it all. You’d been dealt like a pawn, bargained over like a piece of trade—no voice, no choice, no say. And yet, beneath the shock and numbness, something deeper roiled. 

Not just because Eris had asked for your hand without so much as a conversation, but because your grandfather had agreed so easily, like you were a thing, not a person. Like your life, your future, was a token to be wagered.

You hated the quiet calm in the chamber, hated the way Eris had kissed your hand like it was a prize, hated the way you’d frozen when you wanted to scream.

You wanted to yell. To fight. To rip the whole arrangement apart.

But mostly, you hated the emptiness.

When you finally reached your chambers, the door swung open to reveal the room you had grown up in—familiar, but suddenly stripped bare of comfort.

You stared around at your belongings. A handful of dresses neatly hung or folded, books lined on a shelf, a worn cloak hanging by the door. Nothing worth packing.

What was there to take with you when everything you were about to leave behind was all you’d ever known?

You sank onto the edge of your bed, hands clenched in your lap. The silence screamed louder than the council ever had.

You forced yourself to stand, to move, to do what you had to do.

First, you found your friends. You avoided their eyes at first, unsure how to explain what was happening—or how to bear the pity you already saw lurking there. But they hugged you tight, whispered promises and farewells. 

Then, you made your way to the cremation grounds—an austere place carved into the stone, where your parents’ ashes rested beneath a polished granite marker.

You knelt, fingertips tracing the cool surface, and whispered a goodbye you hadn’t dared to say aloud until now. The names carved into the stone were tethers, memories heavy as iron. 

They had never seen the surface. Never felt true sun, never lived anywhere but in this damn mountain. Born, bound, and buried beneath it. Your chest ached at the thought.

You closed your eyes, let the silence stretch—let it echo with everything you couldn’t give them. Everything they should’ve had. The dust of their memory settled quietly around you as you rose, a small flame of resolve kindling in your chest.

“I’ll wait, if you need more time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as turn to look at him. His voice didn’t startle so much as settle—low and composed, like the rest of him. But still unexpected. 

For a long moment, you just stared at the stone. At your parents’ names carved into it, slightly worn by time and your fingertips. 

“I can’t say I expected you to be here,” you said quietly. 

And then—because curiosity always got the better of you, and because something in you bristled at the fact that it was him standing there—you turned. 

He was standing a careful distance away. Hands clasped behind his back, gaze on the marker like he owed it something.

“I would have brought flowers,” Eris said after a beat. “If I’d known.”

“They weren’t the type.” Your voice cracked a little. “Anything sentimental would’ve embarrassed them.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Practical, then. Like you.”

You bristled. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he conceded, meeting your eyes. “Not yet.”

Something in the way he said it—not with the arrogance you heard before, but something quieter, steadier—made your throat tighten.

“I’m still angry,” you admitted, folding your arms like you could hold the feeling in place. 

Eris nodded once, slowly. “You have every right to be.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared at the stone again, at the faint lichen creeping over the edge. It unsettled you, how easily he’d said that. How quickly he’d handed you that piece of ground to stand on. You weren’t used to your feelings being named, let alone validated. It felt like a trick. Like something sharp might be hidden beneath it. 

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” he said, voice low. “But it was the best way to get Keir to let you go.”

You glanced at him, wary. “You bought me.”

His jaw tensed. “No. I negotiated a release. From a court that would never stop holding this bond over our heads.”

Your silence stretched a little too long. 

“I know,” he went on, quieter now, “that Rhysand wouldn’t have allowed me to set foot in the Night Court again if it meant keeping me away from you. Not if Morrigan had anything to say about it.”

You blinked. 

And then—gods. Morrigan.

Your aunt Morrigan. Your father’s sister. 

This was the male she’d been promised to. The male she’d “sullied” herself to escape. Your whole life, your family had cursed her name. Called her tainted. Faithless. A disgrace to her bloodline. Whispers you’d grown up hearing, sharp as knives tucked behind closed doors. That she’d betrayed her own. That she’d been ungrateful for the match.

But now… after having to stand in silence as you were bartered… 

Now you finally understood.

What kind of cruelty had she been trying to avoid?

Surely not worse than what you’d seen in the Hewn City. Surely not worse than what you had endured under Keir’s thumb.

But the question clung like smoke, refusing to leave you.

“So this is it, then?” You gestured to the empty stone corridor. “This is how it starts?”

Eris didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he studied you, the weight of his gaze something you couldn’t quite avoid. And then, as if the weight of it had become too much, he said, “No. This is how it was forced to begin. What comes next… that’s something we decide.”

You believed him. And it infuriated you. Because believing him meant accepting that this—this loss of control—had been the cleanest option. That all the quiet fury in your chest had nowhere to go.

After a long pause, Eris stepped forward. “Take my hand,” he said quietly, extending his gloved fingertips toward you. His tone wasn’t gentle—merely firm, as if it carried the weight of inevitability. “It would be my pleasure to welcome you to Autumn.”

At those words, your heart lurched. You had never stepped beyond the Hewn City, never ventured to the surface where a world existed beyond cold stone and perpetual shadow. The thought alone made you shudder with both apprehension and a spark of fragile hope.

Before you could protest, Eris murmured, “Please. Trust me—even if you can’t fully do so right now.”

And then, his hand pressed to your arm. At his command, your surroundings began to shift. At first, it was subtle—a soft darkening of the edges of your vision, as though a veil were draped over the world. The corridor’s harsh, angular stone and the ever-present damp chill faded into a deeper gloom, the familiar replaced by an almost dreamlike dusk.

The subtle shift in sensation, like the brush of silk over your mind. The way color and texture pulled away from you slightly—not gone, not dulled, but… filtered.

Your stomach clenched.

“What did you do?” you demanded, already blinking hard against the strange dimness. “You glamoured me.”

“Yes.”

“Why—”

“I didn’t want it to overwhelm you,” Eris said, voice steady but not unkind. “You’ve never seen the sun. Not really. I thought easing you into it might be… gentler.”

It should’ve infuriated you. It did—for a breath. But even through the soft, unnatural dimness, you could feel something shifting in the air around you.

Your eyes dropped to the ground.

Leaves.

Thousands of them, scattered in every direction, mottled gold and rust-red and brown. Some crisp, curled in on themselves; others flattened by the damp, pressed into the dirt like forgotten pages.

The ground was dirt. Dirt.

And you were standing on it. Not stone. Not carved, cursed floors. Just—ground.

Your knees wobbled.

You tried to look up—to follow the drifting fall of a leaf—and froze again.

The glamour had begun to lift. Slowly, gradually, but it made all the difference. 

Light filtered through in ribbons. Warm and golden, but not the artificial flickering of faelights or the guttering orange of torches. It hit the edge of your face and you jerked away, blinking rapidly, hand lifting on instinct.

You turned, staring at the strange, living world around you. Everything moved. Not like it did in the Hewn City, where the only shifting things were people and shadows and smoke. Here, even the air moved. The trees swayed. The grass trembled. Light dappled and danced without ever once flickering out.

There were no books about this.

Why would there be? 

What need would any of you have to understand this, when you were never meant to leave? 

The surface was spoken of in fragments, in dismissals wrapped in soft smiles. Your parents had told you once—when you were young and asking too many questions—that they’d gone up, years ago. That it was nothing special. More stone. More dark. Just bigger. Emptier. That the Hewn City was safer, more efficient. Cleaner. The lie had worked for a while. You were a child who still believed adults wouldn’t lie for no reason. 

But you remembered their faces when they eventually admitted the truth: they’d never been above ground. 

Not once. 

But oh, how they’d wanted to. 

They didn’t know what waited for them up here. Didn’t know what the air felt like when it didn’t cling. Didn’t know that cold could come from something other than absence. They didn’t know what it was to hear the earth breathe. 

They never got to find out.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and uneven. The glamour loosened its hold over your sight like fingers unthreading from your hair, slow, gradual, calm. You were starting to see more, now—color edging its way in around the world. 

Something darted between two tree trunks ahead. You flinched. It flapped.

A bird. Not like the crows some kept in the Hewn City—those clever-eyed, miserable things bred for messages and menace. This one was bright. Red all over. Smaller, rounder. It seemed… unnecessary. Beautiful in a way that served no purpose at all.

And the air. You hadn’t realized before—it was scented. Not perfumed, not thick with the smell of candles and sweat and opium or whatever poison the courts were drinking. This was sharp. Crisp. Like snow, but not quite. Like spice, but not any kind you’d tasted. It filled your lungs, slid into your mouth and over your tongue. It was—

Alive.

So was the cold. Not the heavy, hollow kind that leached from stone walls and seeped into your bones while you sat still for too long. This cold had movement. It brushed your cheekbones, bit at your fingers, made your teeth press together—but the sunlight, wherever it touched you, answered it. Like they were playing. Like they were supposed to exist together.

The light was almost fully clear now.

You squinted up, following the glow that filtered through high branches, and—

“Ow—fuck,” you muttered, jerking back a step.

Eris shifted in front of you before you could blink. “Yeah,” he said, amused. “Don’t look straight at the sun. Even mortals know better than that.”

You rubbed your eyes, half-glaring at him. “Thanks for the tip.”

But even now, blinking past the blur, the world stayed. The trees. The grass. The slow roll of clouds, and the strange freedom of air that didn’t sit stale and pressed against a ceiling. It was too much. You didn’t know where to look. You didn’t know what to do with it all.

A whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure at first if you imagined it: “Turn around.”

You did. Slowly. The way he’d said it—low, reverent—it pinned you still.

“And don’t make a sound,” he added, barely audible. “Just look.”

You turned.

And the world opened again.

A small clearing spread before you, rimmed by trees. And in it—movement. Dozens of them. More. Creatures you couldn’t name. Slender, long-legged, soft-eyed. Some with antlers that curved like branches, others smaller, delicate, trailing behind.

Eris leaned in close, voice barely more than breath. “The ones with antlers? Those are bucks—the males.” You watched as they stepped, and grazed, and flicked their ears. 

“The others are does. And…” His smile warmed his words. “Looks like they’ve got fawns with them. Babies.”

They didn’t look real.

They looked like myths given flesh—gentle and silent and unreal in their serenity. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t remember how.

One of the younger ones looked up, ears twitching. It stared directly at you.

And for one impossibly long second, you felt seen in a way no one from the Hewn City had ever dared to look.

Not as something to be shaped. Not as a petulant granddaughter. Not as a tool.

Just… someone standing in the woods.

Alive. 

The fawn blinked. Its ears flicked once more. Then it turned, unafraid, and trotted after its mother through the trees.

You didn’t realize your fingers had curled into Eris’s sleeve until he shifted to glance down at them. You let go at once, heart lurching, but he said nothing.

The clearing quieted again, the herd melting into the underbrush as if they’d never been there at all. But the stillness they left behind was different. Settled. And full.

“I didn’t think anything like that could exist,” you whispered, like the words might scare the memory off too. You looked back to where the deer had vanished. “They weren’t afraid of us.”

“No,” he said. “They didn’t need to be.”

A breeze stirred the trees, and sunlight flickered between the leaves like rippling gold. Somewhere overhead, a bird you didn’t know the name of called out—sharp and clear and free.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. Not because you were cold.

There was moss, impossibly green, clinging to the north side of the trees. Clusters of wildflowers pushing up through soft earth, in shades too delicate to name. A squirrel—tiny, absurdly fast—scrambled up a trunk nearby and vanished into the leaves with a rustle. Even the rocks here didn’t seem lifeless. Sun-warmed and dappled in lichen, they felt like they belonged to the scene, not just cluttered it.

And when you turned back, Eris was looking at you.

His smile was soft. Crooked. Lit not by torchfire, but something gentler. And his eyes—amber, bright as honey in the sun—sparkled with it.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He tilted his head, just a bit. “You’re smiling.”

You were.

Big and bright and wide and completely unrestrained. Not the practiced curve you offered at court. Not the polite, tight-lipped expression your family had called pretty when appropriate.

This was something else. A whole-body kind of smile. A laugh trying to form even though nothing had been said. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Heat crept to your cheeks. “Oh.”

Eris didn’t tease you for it. Didn’t smirk or say something sharp. He only studied you, as if trying to memorize the exact shape of it. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. Not uncertain, exactly, but… careful. Like the words mattered more than they usually did.

“Would you…” He hesitated, just a beat. His gaze flicked away, then returned to yours. “Would you like to see more? Take a walk?”

He said it like he wasn’t sure if you’d want to go—with him, specifically. Because it hadn’t occurred to him, maybe, that someone might say yes to something like this. To him, like this.

The breeze rustled again, lifting strands of his hair where it had slipped loose from the ribbon at his nape. In the sunlight, it was all shades of flame—copper and gold, a glint of red. His coat had caught some of the forest too: a few leaves clung to the velvet near his shoulder, unnoticed. His collar was slightly askew.

He looked nothing like the High Lord’s heir here. Nothing like the snarling, coiled force you’d seen before.

He just looked… warm. And waiting. One arm extended in quiet offering, elbow bent like some chivalrous male out of an old tale. Like he meant to escort you, not lead.

You slipped your hand into the crook of his arm. 

He didn’t start walking right away—just stood there a moment, like he was letting you decide when to begin. And when you finally did, your steps slow and quiet beneath the trees, he matched them without question.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The woods did enough talking for you.

“There’s no rush,” Eris said, softly. “Take it as slowly as you like.”

You glanced up at him, but his gaze stayed ahead, following the winding path.

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

It sounded like he meant the walk.

But you knew better. 

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader Chapter 9 | Take My Breath Away

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚

Serene and tranquil the environment surrounding you was, as you were seated by a large lake. Beauteous, green flora sprung from every corner and the delicate fauna added life onto the vibrant terrain. As your eyes trailed towards the bright reflection of the sun above blinding the waters below, only one thing encompassed your mind. Or rather, person.

He couldn’t see you from this distance, shielded by the evergreen bushes that covered your figure. Only one word could be used to describe Sosuke Aizen as he performed his training - Beguiling. The way beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and the tips of his bangs were drenched, sticking to his forehead… His heavy breaths as he heaved as well as his flushed cheeks tainted ever so slightly pink… The way he moved with purpose in the sharp yet graceful slashes of his shinai… Oh, it was all too much. You couldn’t help but open your tattered, sepia leather notebook once more, flicking your calligraphy pen with gentle strokes against a blank ivory page.

You scribbled silly little sonnets, admiring his poise and movements. You studied him like the Shinigami he was - The God he was. The pinnacle of doctrinal beauty and celestial wit. Not to mention his way with words, they spilled from his mouth like the most perfectly sculpted ceramic teapot pouring a smooth stream of chamomile tea. 

,,Such is the shape of your soul, that it is etched so deeply in my mind,

I will never again crave for one’s love

like how my worn out heart

craves for you.” 

You shut your dilapidated notebook, shoving it once more into your messenger bag and scurrying away from the scene. A faint blush rose to your own cheeks as you reflected on your embarrassing actions and how humiliating your adoration for him was. As you flash-stepped back towards your lieutenant quarters, you accidentally bumped into a larger figure due to your carelessness when using the technique. You cursed under your breath, realising your bag had bust open and several papers and books now lay estranged across the plain underneath you. Blurting out a rash apology, your gaze trailed upwards to discern who the mystery figure was.

“Afternoon, Miss.” Ichimaru Gin kneeled down, aiding you in picking up your papers and books. However, a certain page had opened in a certain book that had been recently relevant to you. Smirking, a soft chuckle erupted into boisterous laughter as his eyes scanned the page. You looked down, mortified at what book he was reading and immediately snatched it from his grasp. 

“Is this about who I think it is?” He queried, his curiosity spiking tenfold discerning your horrified expression and quick reaction.

“A lady's words are none of your business, Ichimaru.” You sputtered, clearing your throat and awkwardly adjusting the collar of your shihakusho. Ah, you’d been found out.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret. I can't say what Aizen’s reaction would be had he read something so personal like this written by you, though.” Gin chortled, aiding you in slipping the rest of the papers back into your bag. 

“Then it’s a good thing he’ll never know.” 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚

Your fingers slam against the keyboard, smashing the keys as you updated your most recent rant email. It was somewhat a healthy way to vent out emotion to the man behind your frustration. Karin had you dependent on it to manage your way through the week. Hooked onto the adrenaline that sparked whenever your fingers made contact with the keys on your cheap keyboard, you finish off your email and leaned back into your seat. It was Thursday, the day before the godforsaken day you would have to drag yourself to the office drinking party that you had promised Matsumoto that you would go to. You recall your dear friend's words the night before - about taking a day off. Maybe the stress was getting to you and just by looking into the cosmetic mirror clasped in your grip you could tell you had a severe case of cortisol face. Should I ask..? Slapping it shut, your eyes trail from the chunky ivory computer in front of you towards the east wall of the office, discerning the positioning of the two hands on the analog clock. The shorter hand rests atop I, the minute hand ticking conveniently onto XII the second you stared at it. Lunch break had ended quicker than it started, unfortunately. 

One more tedious errand you were expected to carry out before the end of today, a direct order from Captain of the 4th division, Kuchiki Byakuya. One you had been dreading since today’s dawn when you received the unpleasant message. You grimace as you recalled that cursed, thunderous ringtone startling you out of your slumber in the early hours of the day, the pixelated characters on the soul pager immediately ridding you of whatever somnolence remained in your system after your short sleep. 

Dearest,

I hope you are well. I am in need of new Mod souls for the new soul reapers ranking up in my division that intend to work in both the human world and the Soul Society. The Urahara-shoten has sufficiently ordered my stock and I require you to pay the shop a visit. I’m sure you’re aware as to why I am assigning this job to you. Put yourself together, and you’ll remember why flowers still bloom in battlefields. Take care. Kuchiki Byakuya

Great, so now Byakuya had caught wind of the events that took place on that night. It certainly felt great to be the talk of the Gotei, just the kind of thing you needed to deal with now of all times. You knew that your outburst that evening was of utmost childishness and you would have to reap the repercussions some day, but so soon was definitely unexpected. Sucking up whatever dread mixed with pride churned together and pooled in the pit of your stomach, you rose from your desk reluctantly. Intertwining the pretty ceramic mug between your fingers, you proceed to place it down next to the kitchen sink with a clank . 

“Going somewhere?” A husky voice behind you booms through your ears, slicing through your thoughts and snapping you from your endless rumination. Whipping around, you make eye contact with the perpetrator of your endless torture. “Yes, I’ve been assigned a job to do. In the meantime, please take care of the office while I am gone and ensure the interns have ample work to do.” You state curtly, facing him even through all your fears. The man of somehow both your dreams and nightmares huffs as you turn around to leer at him mockingly. His eyes slightly narrow at the sight of your weary face, obviously depraved of a good nights rest and ridded with worry. Something flashes across his features in that moment and you couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“Very well then. Good luck on your treacherous journey.” Sosuke remarks with a sarcastic tone underlying his voice. Knowing your relationship, the man probably had the brightest, internal shit-eating grin seeing the worn out look on your face. A pleasant sight for a monster like him.

“Thanks.” You had no energy to throw thinly veiled insults back and forth today, you had to mentally prepare yourself for the fire that was about to engulf you in its flames. Strutting away, you slung your leather messenger bag around your shoulder, preparing to depart from the office. Your sleek, black Valentino’s clacked againt the floor as you made your way to repeatedly press your index against the elevator button to go down, the little ring around the button illuminating to a sapphire blue. Trudging into the lift, you flipped out your phone to clear all your notifications and reply to unread messages from various people.  

A 2005 Toyota Corolla greets you in the carpark, your rusty yet trusty old artefact that you relied on for travel. Once you had entered the car and slid the seatbelt in its slot with a click , you took a couple deep breaths and then started the engine. “Let’s do this,” you whisper as if to hype yourself up and promptly slam your foot on the accelerator. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The various houses and figures seemed to transform into squares and triangles in your vision as you felt yourself overcome by immense fatigue and stress. Speaking to Urahara after that whole ordeal would definitely be an experience, yet you were confident it wouldn’t be one you couldn’t deal with. You’re an adult, a mature lady of class. This is my duty, you repeated like a mantra in your head, until it thoroughly gnawed through that thick skull of yours.

A soft smile embellishes your features as you stop at a red light and observe children frolicking and playing on the sidewalk, the sight warming your otherwise tense and frigid heart. Would you ever have children of your own one day? What a laughable concept. For that to happen, youd have to find someone to have children with first…

…

Forcibly shaking the intrusive thoughts that had somehow crawled their way into your head, you drive off and eventually pull your car into the front of the shop you had been directed to. You sigh exasperatedly and reach down to grip your fingers onto the cool metal of your key to twist it and shut the engine off. Staring down at your hands in your lap stupidly, you murmur another curse under your breath. After fumbling around in your coat pocket for a bit, you impulsively latch onto a maroon, foiled little box. SWISHER BlackStone Cherry. 20 Cigars. Rashly, you push one out and bit on the end of the flavoured cigarette, lighting the other end of it with the crimson lighter in your other hand that you had taken from the dashboard of the passenger seat. What a rough week. You deserved it, right?

After taking a profound breath in, you exhale and exit the vehicle. Promptly tossing the mostly smoked cigar into a nearby trash can, you ponder if you should have just gotten an intern to do this job. Or maybe Sosuke. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, forcing him to face his rival in sagacity. You hesitantly press three melodic knocks consecutively on the oak sliding door of the Urahara-Shoten, your eyes drifting to notice the various scratches and blemishes on the glass of the door. Honestly, Kisuke needed to polish up the place real bad. Recalling the last time you were present at this place gave you a headache almost as torrential as the one that resulted from your hangover that night. 

With a jingle, the doors slide open and a familiar shopkeeper adorned in his abhorrent green samue greets you jovially at the door. “Hello, dear customer, we are-” Kisuke’s sentence trails off at the mere sight of you - corrected, the miserable sight of you. The scent of flavoured cherry cigarettes and sharp lavender perfume pinches Urahara’s nostrils and forces him to suppress a wince as well as the sheer shock of seeing you so soon. “Y/N,” he mutters under his breath, keeping a fervent smile on his face to mask his emotions. You return a collegiate smile back, studying his features intently. “How have you been?” You query tersely, sliding the door shut behind you in a polite fashion that paralleled with the tense conversation you two were about to have. The air shifted and the heaviness in both of your hearts could be felt by the both of you.

“Im quite alright, yourself?” Kisuke replies, turning his back to you as he was somewhat aware of what you may be here for. “Kuchiki sent you in?” You beam, humming as your eyes intently inspected the squalid shop and its.. unique elements. Dingy as always, which was certainly not much of a shocker to you. “Yes, he did. I’m here for the Mod souls he ordered.” After a while of digging around in the back of his store, he returned with a small cardboard box in his grip. However, before handing it to you, he lets it slip out of his hands and slides it across the edge of the countertop adjacent to you. Then, slowly, he begins to advance towards you. Ah, fuck. 

“Look Kisuke, I’m-“ 

“Y/N. Have you been doing okay?” You were disconcerted by the sudden inquiry to your welfare and an eyebrow of yours raises at the dishevelled man. “Yes,” You state, unsure what he was getting at. “Why do you ask?”

Kisuke lifts his hat off of his head, scruffing his blonde locks momentarily before piercing you with his mossy yet iridescent irises. “I want you to know, that I genuinely care for you,” He stops, as if questioning himself for the words about to exit his mouth. “Is there something else that encompasses your troubled thoughts, other than your sister?”

Now your narrow world seemed to narrow further. What on earth was he getting at? An unintentionally raspy tone slips from your lips as you respond. “I don't understand you.” 

“Alright, I’ll keep it straightforward. What is your relationship with Sosuke Aizen, Y/N?”

…

Your mouth rests slightly agape as you pause at his words, feeling scrutinised and somewhat small under his extreme gaze. The hell? Prickled with a sense of omnipotent guilt, you respond in a stern and firm voice. “I have no relationship with the man other than collegiate. Why do you ask?” Somehow, it felt like you were lying through your teeth even though you knew you weren’t.

Urahara clutches his hat tighter in his hands, letting out an unsatisfied sigh. He knew better than to go back and forth with you, though he wouldn’t let his suspicions be swept under the rug that easily. 

He hands the box back to you, intensely gazing into your eyes. “I’ll give you one piece of advice then. You’d want to keep your mutt on a leash. He bites.” He chuckles cynically, trying to lighten the mood with his terrible jokes. You gruffly take the box out of his hands, somewhat offended even though he hadn’t insulted you. “Good day then.” Storming out of the shop, you toss the box into the backseat of your car before seating yourself inside the drivers seat. You follow this action by slamming your fists onto the steering wheel, yelling out a boisterous curse.

“FUCK!”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

To say you looked like shit was an extreme understatement. Wiping your puffy eyes once more, you curse yourself under your breath as you entered the office once more in closing hours to gather the rest of your belongings. You rashly grab a pencil strewn onto your desk, snapping it clean in half as you try to manage the vast emotions all flowing into you at once. What does he care? Why does he want to try and meddle with your relationships? You hated how much Kisuke tried to be protective over you, as much as he tried to seem like he was doing it out of consideration. The one thing you didn’t want anyone to notice, he had noticed . You could tell he was getting suspicious - but how? You’ve never mentioned Sosuke once. His words ring out in your head as you grab another pencil and snap it in half, carefully sliding the separated pieces into the trash can underneath your office desk. 

You’d want to keep your mutt on a leash,

He bites.

He bites!? Did he have some sort of interaction with him? You really didn’t get it. Sosuke was silent that whole night and the two of them haven’t quarrelled for years. Or is he just throwing vague threats into the air that you need to protect yourself against the monster in your office? As if you didn’t know that already. There were a million things you wish you had said in that moment, all flowing into your already overwhelmed head at once.

Your hands start to flush as the pain of snapping several pencils begins to really hit your senses. You perceive just how loud the pants that erupted from your incessant heaving were as they echoed out into the empty office. In a failed attempt to calm yourself down, you soothe your hands with one another as they tremble.

“You’re back late.”

You sharply turn to face the enigma, looming over your shrivelled frame sitting pathetically in your ergonomic leather office chair. He perceives your distraught expression and you swore you could see his eyes widen marginally, even if it was for a fraction of a second. He tsk’s and kneels down next to you, sighing exasperatedly as he grabs your hands to stop them from rashly rubbing against each other in an effort to compose yourself. 

You respond by quickly retracting your wrist from his grip, cursing under your breath as you swat his hands away. “What do you want?” 

“For you to calm down. I can hear you heaving and huffing from a mile away.” Sosuke grins disparagingly, only serving to intensify your emotions tenfold. Feeling vulnerable under his gaze, you give in and let him wrap his hands around yours. The way he cradles your hands in his somewhat soft yet calloused grip was akin to a priest holding a sacred text. And, like a priest, a sermon left his lips reverently.

“I don’t want to see you here tomorrow. Go home, Y/N. You clearly can’t do your work properly.”  He scoffs sardonically, yet the pious method in which he rubs his thumbs against your palms gracefully served as a stark dichotomy to his tone. Your gaze drifts downwards, bridling despite the gentleness of his grasp. Who were you now, to begrudge an act of kindness from Aizen himself? An almost forgotten art.

“What did you say to Kisuke.” You blurt out, the words escaping your lips before you could properly muse over them. 

“It does not matter-” You hurry to cut his stupidly dismissive sentence off, demanding an answer. “What. Did. You. Do?”

He shakes his head and chuckles, his mind clearly pondering the words that were about to come out. “I didn’t do anything that may have harmed your reputation, do not fret. I just put someone in their respective place, that’s all.”

“Well whatever you did, you fucked me over and now Kisuke’s suspicious that I’ve made you into my personal mutt and now affiliates me with you . Thanks, you cunt.” You stood up to assert superiority over him, raising your voice at him slightly. However, it falters immediately as you lock eyes with Sosuke kneeling almost devotedly in front of your chair, looking up at you. He looks up at you as if you were the one who had ascended to a celestial being analogous to a God . 

Sliding your hands out of his grip, you snatch your bag and promptly sign yourself out of the office. “I will take your words into consideration and rest tomorrow. And in the meanwhile, I suggest you reflect on your actions.”

“Language, young lady…” He mutters under his breath as he watches you leave helplessly, pressing his fingers into his brow ridge and huffing indignantly.

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Arising melancholically from your slumber, you groggily roll over to check the time on your alarm clock. Seeing what time it was immediately caused you to shoot up in your bedsheets and grip the poor clock in your hands so tightly you could hear a slight creak in the poor quality plastic that barely held it together. 12PM? You ended up sleeping for a whopping 12 hours. And apparently all your loved ones assumed you had either descended to bed or ascended to heaven as you check your phone, seeing an array of notifications.

R u okay? I heard ur taking the day off work. Thx for listening to my advice for once u stupid bitch. I better see u tonight Take care lovely!! - Ran ran (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Tonight? Ah, it clicked. Tonight was the dreadful office drinking party that Matsumoto and the others had organised at a local bar in Karakura. 

You roll out of bed, heading to the bathroom to perform your routinely scan of your face right after you wake up. Wincing at your reflection in the mirror along with the sunlight that bounced off the reflective surface right into your eyes, you mentally prepared yourself for a very, long night.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁

hey all, im so sorry for taking so long to upload this chapter and my random hiatus, i've had a very stressful year starting uni and all and trying to get accustomed to everything after finishing high school. and im sorry this chapter isn't very long and detailed, it felt natural to leave it like this. i love reading all your comments and they make my day, thank you so much for them :) they motivate me a lot.

ik nobody give a gaf but i find that breaking pencils helps me bear with anger. so i kind of projected in this! let me know what you think. im trying to get back in my writing jiggy, so forgive me if my writing is a bit poor. thank you for bearing with me for so long ! as always, criticisms and comments are always appreciated.

- sumi <3

[sirenpearldust]

Broken Doll - Chapter one

series masterlist ⋆ Chapter two

Pair: Azriel x reader, Eris x reader

Word count: 7.074

Warnings: violence, jealous boys, possessive characters, reader is not nice, Elain slander

The music muffled the chatter of your classmates, but your focus was elsewhere. It was already 7:20.

You bit your nails nervously, waiting for him. He still hadn’t read your message, and he couldn’t afford to be late, not on the first day of school. 

You had math in the first period, the worst subject. Why did it have to be math on the first day of school?

You rubbed your temples, barely able to drown out the sound of your class monitor - Irina scolding Cass and Rhys, cutting through your earphones. Every year, it was the same, and every year, you wondered the same thing, how could they have so much energy, this early?

Turning away from the window, a familiar figure caught your attention.

“Why are you moping?” Eris asked, leaning in close with that familiar, cocky grin.

His freckles had darkened over the summer, standing out against his sun-kissed skin. His amber eyes studied you intently as you slowly pulled out your earphone. He smelled of cologne and an incoming headache.

“I thought gingers could only turn red. Whose skin did you steal?” you quipped.

Eris’s smile stretched into a wide grin before he reached over and ruffled your hair.

You smacked his hand away, hissing, “Fuck off!”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine in the morning,” he teased, clearly unfazed by your temper.

“I’m happier when I don’t see you,” you shot back, scowling as you tried to fix your hair. It had taken you an hour to have it the way you wanted and now this Gingerfuck had to ruin all your good work.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, leaning in with that smug grin still plastered on his face. 

Evil fucker you seethed internally. 

“No,” you said firmly, grabbing his wrist before he could try anything. You locked eyes with him, raising an eyebrow as if to say, I know exactly what you’re planning, and it’s not happening.

Eris rolled his eyes dramatically and let his hand fall.

Instead of leaving, he slid into Azriel’s seat beside you, his gaze fixed on you. His usual teasing expression softened as he watched you fussing with your hair. For a moment, a small smile played on his lips.

Before you could react, his hand reached out. 

Why did he have to annoy you so much? He knows Azriel doesn’t like it when he touches you.

You turned sharply toward him, ready to snap, but he simply tucked one stray strand of hair back into place.

“Thanks,” you murmured, still scowling. Fucker ruins it first and now helps.

Eris had missed you over the break, more than he wanted to admit to himself. 

For a few seconds, you both stayed like that, looking at each other. Time seemed to stretch as you got lost in his gaze, forgetting everything else around you. 

It was crazy how you had known each other since you were born. You went to the same elementary school, middle school, and now high school.  But there was still a small possibility he would be accepted into a different Ivy League than you. The thought of seeing Eris for another couple of years was starting to make you feel nauseous.

“Please don’t follow me to college,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your intrusive thoughts had been louder than usual, and now you regretted speaking them aloud. You immediately looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t be mad.

“You do know that you’re the stalker who follows me around, right?” Eris said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You were born after me, remember?” Eris teased, his smirk widening. 

“You cried until I was in the same class as you, and then you didn’t let me have other friends. You always wanted me to be your only friend.”

You felt your face heat up, your old childhood habits suddenly being revealed. 

“Eris, I was a kid, stop bringing that up.”

Eris leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his voice low.  “Oh, but you were so sweet back then. Always clinging to me like I was the only person in the world you trusted. And now, look at you. Still can’t get enough of me, huh? What would your boyfriend think, his enemy being stalked by his girlfriend?”

But before you could deny it, the door opened, and Azriel stepped in. He was accompanied by a girl who came up to his shoulders. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders, and her big, doll-like brown eyes were fixed on Azriel as he spoke to her. When he finally looked up and saw you, a smile spread across his face.

Your boyfriend looked absolutely handsome, mouthwatering, honestly, it should have been illegal for him to walk around looking like this in the uniform. His black hair fell messily over his forehead, still damp from the shower he’d just taken. The dark blue uniform pants hugged his thighs perfectly, emphasizing every inch of his toned frame. You couldn’t help but stare, your thoughts drifting somewhere they shouldn’t before you caught yourself.

Eris was still watching you, and he could tell from the happy expression on your face, the one you didn’t often show around him, that Azriel had arrived. 

Azriels eyes quickly shifted to the seat Eris was in, his seat. His smile faded slowly, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed.

Forgetting the girl, Azriel quickly walked toward you, an annoyed expression on his face. 

Eris stood up, slowly turning toward Azriel.

You sighed, watching the familiar tension build. They were always at each other’s throats, never able to let anything slide.

“Hi, babe,” you said, walking past Eris before leaning in to kiss Azriel on the cheek. His warmth engulfed you, he smelled of leather and cedar. He kissed the crown of your head before glaring at Eris again.

 Children

Azriel had arrived just before the bell rang, but now you feared both of them were on the verge of beating each other again. You did not need a repeat of last year.

Leaning forward, you were about to intervene.

Irina suddenly stepped between them, clapping her hands loudly.

“Try fighting again, and I might kill you both. Don’t test me,” she warned, cutting off any chance of Eris’s snarky remarks. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she glared at Cassian and Rhys, who were still making noises in the front, oblivious to the tension in the back.

 “Sit down, both of you! I don’t want to explain again how you two monkeys got into a fight!”

Both of them listened to her, knowing any backtalk would ensure that their coach would find out and that they would bench out on some games.

Irina walked toward the new girl, greeting her.

Eris nodded, moving toward his seat right behind you. You sighed in relief as Azriel slung his shoulder bag next to the table and plopped down into his seat, still a little annoyed that he had to see Eris first thing in the morning.

Eris, never one to shut up, added, “Also, we’re coming over today.”

You turned in your seat, confused. “What?”

“Yeah, my parents want to have dinner with yours because of the deal they’ve sealed,” he explained casually.

“Oh, great,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide the surprise.

“You should look happier to see me again. There are girls who’d kill for this chance,” Eris teased, grinning at you.

Azriel coughed, loudly. 

Eris ignored him completely, still smiling at you. You shook your head, silently telling him not to add anything else to the conversation.

A few seconds later the new girl walked up to Eris, her big eyes on him as she asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“Yes,” Eris replied without looking up from his phone, ignoring her completely.

 Liar

Your face must have betrayed you, giving away your disbelief at his blatant lie. 

She turned bright red, embarrassed by his obvious lie and glanced at Azriel. 

You gave her a soft smile and pointed toward the front.

“There is a seat free next to the guy with the black hair. His name’s Calix.”

She thanked you quietly, then quickly glanced at Azriel again before heading toward the front.

The bell rang, and just as everyone settled into their seats, your Math teacher walked in, signaling the start of the lesson.

• •

“Azriel, you need to explain this to me, I don’t understand it,” you whined, frustrated as you stared at the page of notes in front of you. Math was the one subject you couldn’t quite wrap your head around, no matter how hard you tried. Luckily, Azriel and sometimes even Eris stepped in to help.

“Sure,” he replied casually, packing the heavy books into his bag. After the last person left the room and it was just the two of you now. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he leaned in closer, kissing your forehead. You were thankful he was this affectionate, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

 “You’ve got a little something right here,” he said with a grin. 

You blushed deeply, the intensity in his hazel eyes made your heart race. His thumb lightly brushed your upper lip, and your eyes fluttered shut, your breath catching as the moment seemed to linger in the air.

He gently cupped your face, his breath catching as he leaned in, his lips softly pressing against yours. He kissed you slowly and softly, his touch slow and tender.

The initial sweetness of the kiss deepened as you tilted your chin, a silent plea for more. 

You gasped as you both couldn’t ignore the hunger and need. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling your body into his. The world outside disappeared, it was only you two.

Your hand rested on his chest, slowly trailing upward until it tangled in his hair. When you gave it a gentle tug, he groaned, the deep sound vibrating through his chest and against your body. You clung to him, breathing him in, the familiar scent of leather and cedar stirring something warm inside you.

It was hard to believe there had been a time when this was just a distant dream, and now here you were, kissing him for real. 

Before you two could go any further, Irina interrupted, slamming the door open and standing in the doorway. 

“You two!” she shouted, making you and Azriel jump apart. 

“No fucking in here,” she added, her Finger pointing accusingly at both of you. 

Azriel and you blushed, quickly moving apart. Trying to explain yourselves you both stuttered.

She waved her hand dismissing your explanation, she looked unsurprised at catching the two of you making out, but there was stress written all over her face. Her ash brown hair was tied messy, and her uniform was disheveled, like she had just been in a rush. It was as if she had run straight here.

“Now get out. I need to lock the room,” Irina ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You both scrambled to gather your things and quickly walked out, hoping she wouldn’t lock you in if you took to long, something she definitely would do if given the chance. 

You and Azriel couldn’t meet her eyes, shame written all over your faces.

“Wait a minute,” she said sharply before either of you could make a break for it. 

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his whole body tense, bracing himself for yet another scolding.

She took a deep breath as she adjusted her disheveled uniform and smoothed her hair as she spoke.

“Coach wants to see you, something about the games and your scholarship.”

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly. “Did he look angry?” he asked cautiously.

“No, he looked happy as a clam.”

Azriel exhaled in relief, his shoulders relaxing.

“Also, Y/N,” she added, turning to you, “Miss Norton wants to see you about the upcoming art exhibition. Congratulations your art was accepted. You are the last person that had been added”

Azriel smiled brightly, pulling you into a hug. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice filled with pride. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. Your art is too great to not be exhibited ”

You felt your cheeks warm, blushing slightly at his words.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you returned it softly, but then gently pushed him away as your eyes darted to Irina. “Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a bit awkward under her blank, unreadable stare.

“No worries,” Irina said a slight corner of her lips quirked up.

 “I’m glad you got in. Miss Norton and Calix spoke highly of your art.”

You blinked, surprised, warmth spreading through you. That was probably the nicest thing she had ever said to you.

“I better go before I get another scolding,” he said, quickly kissing you on the cheek.

Irina looked at you and you waved before walking toward the art room, the path opposite from Azriel.

• •

Standing at the same spot, Irina took a deep breath before calling out, “Eris, come out. I know you’re there.”

Eris stepped out from behind the pillar he had been hiding behind, his face slightly flushed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, meeting her sharp gaze, with his own.

“You mean stalking the girl you have a crush on and watching her kiss her boyfriend, who happens to be your arch nemesis?” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“Who said I have a crush on her?” he retorted quickly. “She’s-”

Irina cut him off, her tone firm. “ I see the way you look at her. Both of them. And I see how you watch Azriel too.” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice dropped into a warning. “Just a heads-up if you have another conflict with Azriel, Coach is going to kick you off the team. You’ve been causing him way too much trouble, and so has Azriel. Don’t make things worse.”

Eris looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Irina gave him one last pointed glance before turning and walking off, leaving him standing there in silence.

Eris wasn’t a pervert he had been there because he needed to know, needed to test the theory if he really had feelings for you. He’d read more than once that jealousy was the clearest sign of feelings like the ones he thought he might have. And he did get jealous, it was the only time he would admit to himself that he was envious of Azriel.

He was jealous of the way you looked at Azriel, the way your eyes softened for him in a way they never did for anyone else. He was jealous of the way you kissed him, how you would let him touch you and the way you naturally leaned into his body like he was the only pillar you could lean on.

But what haunted him most were the sounds you made, soft, breathless, completely yours and the maddening thought of what sounds you’d make for him.

Would they be the same?

Or would they be even sweeter?

The questions twisted inside him, they burned like a fire he wasn’t sure he wanted to put out.

He was plagued by dreams of you for a few moths now, dreams so vivid they felt like memories of a life he could never have. He dreamed of you as his wife, your laughter filling the air as you leaned in to kiss him, your touch soft and familiar. He dreamed of a child, a daughter with your eyes and your smile, who looked up at him with unconditional love, something he had yet to experience.

He didn’t know where this was coming from. Sure, he’d always been attracted to you, your confidence, your wit, the way you carried yourself, but this?

This was something entirely different. It wasn’t just attraction anymore, he could say it was an obsession. You had rooted yourself in his mind and no matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, they kept returning, stronger than before.

• •

You walked in silence, feeling a bit nervous as you approached the art room. The closer you got, the worse the feeling in your belly became. It twisted and churned, a mix of unease and anticipation that you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, you could feel it, even if you couldn’t explain why. 

Before you could open the door it swung open, you were greeted by a wild-eyed Calix, who stood in front of you, his black eyes so dark and angry.

“Good, you’re here,” he said quickly, his voice tense. You were confused. 

What is happening?

Stepping in, you watched as Miss Norton smiled warmly at the new girl, laughing loudly at something she had said. She absentmindedly rubbed the new girls shoulder. When she noticed the two of you standing there, her eyes quickly shifted to you.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she said, adjusting her glasses.

“I’ve got some great news for the exhibition, but let me first introduce my guest,” Miss Norton began, her excitement evident, ignoring the angry look from Calix. 

She gestured to the girl beside her.

“This is Elain Archeron.”

The girl gave a shy smile, her big brown eyes never leaving yours. 

She blushed deeply as Miss Norton continued, “Before Elain switched schools her artwork was kind of famous I would like to display it at the upcoming exhibition.”

“Miss Norton this is impossible!” Calix interrupted, his voice sharp. He clearly wasn’t amused or excited about the news. Your expression was a mix of confusion and frustration, as you glanced between Elain and Miss Norton. 

You were equally shocked. Everything had been organized over the summer, and if you were accepted, everyone already had their spot. 

Miss Norton then turned to you, saying, “YN, you’ll need to share your corner with Elain , as you have submitted your art last.”

Calix spoke up, his tone firm. “I’m sorry, Miss Norton, but Elain’s art is way more different than the pieces that are meant to be presented for the exhibition.”

You felt your cheeks heat with anger.

How could she do that? You had worked hard on your own art, and now you had to share your spot with someone who wasn’t even part of the original selection. 

Miss Norton turned red, clearly flustered by the unexpected critique.

“We can make an exception this time, it would be a good idea to introduce her like this to the school,” she suggested, trying to smooth things over.

Calix chuckled frustrated, shaking his head, before fixing Miss Norton with a sharp, unwavering gaze.

The room fell into silence Calixs’s anger was evident to everyone by the way he huffed and puffed, he usually was quiet and kind, never one easily to anger. 

“I don’t see why you are so angry Calix I decide who is to display their art and I don’t think y/n minds sharing her spot. Right y/n? “ 

You couldn’t help but stare at her. Was she even right in the head?

How bold of Elain to take over your half of the space without a second thought and how could she speak to Calix like that?

He was the one who had to organize, book, print, and handle so much more work, work that she conveniently left for him while she lounged around like it wasn’t her responsibility. The audacity left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Calix answered for you. “She’s not okay. Nobody would be if things were changed last minute. Miss Norton, there are other exhibitions she can be a part of.”

“Calix, my word is final,” Norton said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Nothing is going to change my opinion.”

You caught the subtle quirk of Elain’s lips, a self-satisfied smirk that made your stomach twist. You had thought she’d just been dragged into this mess. But now it seemed she was far more of a bitch than you’d initially believed. That smug look on her face, the way she seemed to revel in the chaos, it was clear she wasn’t as harmless as you’d assumed.

“And now you two leave,” Norton continued, her sharp gaze cutting through you both. “I didn’t call you here to hear your opinions.”

Without another word, you followed Calix out, swallowing down your frustration. 

As soon as the door closed behind you, you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You saw her smirk too, right?” Calix asked, his voice low with irritation.

You nodded, still fuming. “Is her art really that good?” you asked, needing to know if there was any justification for the favoritism.

“It’s good,” he admitted, but then added quickly, “but I still think yours is a way better fit, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He said taking out a cigarette to smoke.

His words soothed you a little, but the tension in your chest didn’t entirely fade. Elain’s smug expression was burned into your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the end of it.

• •

You cried a little in the bathroom, the frustration of it all finally catching up to you. How could this even happen? It felt so unfair.

Once you stopped crying, you stepped out of the stall, dried your mascara-streaked cheeks, and carefully fixed your makeup. The process was almost therapeutic, and by the time you were done, you felt a little better, lighter, even. Your eyes were still slightly red, but a few drops of eyedrops worked their magic.

Grabbing your bag, you packed up your things and made your way to French class, feeling a bit more composed, ready to face the day again.

You were eager to tell Azriel and your friends what had just happened.

As you opened the door, the sound of laughter spilled out. Mor, Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel were gathered inside, chatting with her, Elain.

You stopped in your tracks as soon as you saw her, Elain, sitting in your seat next to Azriel, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm while laughing. 

What the hell was she doing there? It was supposed to be your spot, your place next to him, and now she was acting like it was all hers.

“Hi,” you greeted the others, deliberately ignoring Elain as you placed your bag on the table in front of her, where her things were already spread out. Morrigan’s eyes met yours instantly, and without saying a word, you both understood-later. She could tell something was off.

Azriel, oblivious to the tension, immediately grabbed you into his lap, kissing you softly before nuzzling into your neck. His hand rested gently on your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he felt your need for his warmth and to ease any unease.

“ Now I miss Emory,” Morrigan said with a wistful smile, her voice light but her gaze still focused on you.

“If you haven’t met her, this is Elain,” Azriel said, gesturing toward the bitch with a small smile. “She’s new and the reason I was late this morning.”

You shot Elain a sharp smile. “We already met,” you said, your voice cool and laced with tension.

Elain met your glare with one of her own, not backing down. The two of you locked eyes, a silent battle brewing between you, neither willing to yield.

Cassian and Rhys sat next to each other, completely dumbfounded. They exchanged confused glances, clearly caught off guard by the strange atmosphere between you and Elain. They were unsure of what had happened to cause such an icy atmosphere.

Morrigan, sensing the tension and eager to defuse it, chuckled and said, “I don’t think Cassian told you about his crush, guys.”

Cassian’s face immediately turned red, his eyes widening as he shot Morrigan a look of disbelief. You and Rhys burst out laughing, while Azriel raised an eyebrow in amusement, completely oblivious to the situation that had just unfolded.

“Oh, here we go,” Rhys said between laughs, nudging Cassian. “This ought to be good.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You better not say a word, Morrigan.”

But Morrigan only grinned, clearly enjoying every second of his discomfort. “Oh, I’m not saying a thing. But maybe someone should tell us who this mysterious crush is?” She shot a teasing look at Cassian.

Cassian leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Well, I have someone in mind.”

“Who’s the poor woman?” you teased, the others chuckling along.

Cassian smirked but didn’t answer. “Not gonna tell you. You’ll just see me kiss her, and then you’ll know.”

“It’s probably Irina,” Azriel said with a smirk, glancing at Cassian.

“That’s why you keep annoying her,” you added, high-fiving Azriel as you shot Cassian a teasing grin.

Cassian’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“You two are the worst,” he muttered, but the laughter from the group only made it worse.

Morrigan grinned,  “You could just ask her on a date instead of annoying her. We’re 18, Cass, not 6.”

Rhys smirked and added, “Guys, he’s already planned their future together.”

Cassian’s face turning an even deeper shade of red as he threw his hands up in frustration.

“I’m not planning anything!” he protested.

Azriel chuckled, watching his friend squirm. “Maybe it’s time you stop talking about it and actually do something about it, Cass. It worked when I did. ”

You kissed his cheek.

Cassian sighed dramatically, slouching in his chair. “You guys are the worst.”

Elain smiled at Cassian, her voice saccharine. “She probably will like you. You’re so nice and funny, who wouldn’t like you?”

Cassian awkwardly muttered, “Thanks,” clearly flustered by the attention.

Morrigan and you exchanged a look. Rhys caught it too, his smirk widening as he picked up on the tension, he enjoyed the drama. You glanced at your watch, realizing you only had two minutes before your next lesson.

“Elain,” you said, your voice calm but firm, “Could you sit somewhere else? I’d like to sit next to my boyfriend.”

You knew she couldn’t refuse without drawing attention. With a quiet sigh, Elain gathered her things and wandered aimlessly, asking people around the room if she could sit next to them. You watched as Elain’s face turned red, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she awkwardly searched for a place to sit. 

She looked flustered, rejected by the group she had so confidently tried to insert herself into. It felt satisfying, seeing her brought down a notch. She deserved it after everything, the smug looks, the attitude, the way she’d tried to claim space that wasn’t hers and the way she dared to touch your Boyfriend.

She finally plopped down next to Irina, who shot a quick, knowing look at Calix. It seemed she was told about what had happened.

You settled down next to Azriel, feeling a small sense of relief wash over you.

He was blissfully unaware of the silent victory unfolding in your head. You couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at your lips, one that Morrigan mirrored.

But you knew a snake like her would strike again.

• •

School finally ended, you and your group strolled out of the school together, the sun still high in the sky. You were lingering by the gates, waiting for Azriel to finish his advanced chemistry class so you could drive home.

As you leaned against the railing, you told your friends what had happened.

“Damn,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “Seems like you’ve got an enemy.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t know her before?” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“No, Rhys, I didn’t,” you replied with a sigh.

“She’s a bitch,” Morrigan declared flatly, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Mmh,” Cassian muttered absentmindedly, his attention focused elsewhere. He was turned slightly away from the group, scanning the area, searching.

“You searching for Irina?” Morrigan teased.

Cass ignored her and frowned instead. “Since when are Eris and Irina friends?”

“Huh?” you all turned toward the gate at his words.

There she was, Irina, walking and talking with Eris. The two seemed friendly with eachother, their laughter carried by the breeze. Irina playfully shoved him and Eris, for once, didn’t look annoyed. Instead, he spoke with animated gestures, his face lit up in a way you rarely saw.

It was so different from the usual guarded, cold demeanor he wore like armor. Both of them were at ease, carefree, and it stirred something unfamiliar in your chest. A tug, faint but undeniable, made your stomach twist slightly.

You couldn’t look away, even as you told yourself it didn’t matter. It wasn’t your concern. And yet, the sight of them laughing together lingered in the back of your mind.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange feeling. Why did seeing him like that with her bother you so much?

“Babe,” Azriel called, breaking through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, realizing he’d been trying to get your attention.

“I called you multiple times. Let’s go,” he said, his voice clipped as he grabbed your hand, leading you toward the car.

• •

After dropping off the others one by one, the car grew quiet, almost uncomfortably so. It was just you and Azriel now.

He hadn’t spoken much the entire ride, only offering polite nods or brief words as he said goodbye to your friends. 

You stared out the window at the passing scenery, but your mind wandered back to the earlier scene with Eris and Irina. Something about it still lingered in your chest.

Azriel’s silence, however, soon pulled your attention. You turned to look at him, taking in his features, the sharp angle of his nose, the perfect bow of his lips, the long dark lashes that framed his striking hazel eyes, and the dark curls that fell messily over his forehead. He was gorgeous, as always, but it wasn’t his looks that drew your focus.

His posture was tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his jaw ticked with barely restrained frustration.

He was angry.

“Az?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, his lips pressing into a firm line as if he was weighing his words. The tension in the air was thick, and it made your heart race in uncertainty.

“Nothing,” Azriel muttered.

“Please, did something happen?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

He shook his head, his jaw tightening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Turning to face you, his hazel eyes burned with emotion. “Why did you stare at Eris like that?”

You froze for a moment. He noticed. Shit.

“Because of Irina,” you explained quickly. “He was talking to Irina, and Cassian asked if they were friends. That’s why.”

Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable. He was clearly thinking it over. You reached out and took his hand in yours, squeezing gently.

“Azriel, I only love you. You know that, right?”

He sighed, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “I just don’t like the way you two are so close. It’s hard to ignore.”

You shook your head, your voice firm yet reassuring. “Azriel, I wish I could avoid talking to him altogether, but our parents are close. His mom has even slept over at our house before, our dads golf together and our Brothers are in the same clubs. I don’t like it either, how he talks about you, or our relationship. He’s arrogant, obnoxious, and so damn annoying.” You paused, your lips quirking up into a small smirk.

“I only love you. You don’t have to worry about the ginger.”

Azriel let out a laugh at that, a genuine sound that made your chest warm. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he chuckled, and your breath caught. He was stunning when he laughed, his worry fading away. 

He noticed you staring, his lips curving into a shy smile. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you asked, your voice soft.

Azriel nodded, his cheeks slightly pink. 

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, and the kiss deepened quickly. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

It grew hotter, more intense, as his free hand gripped your waist, and your fingers tangled in his hair.

You pulled away from the kiss, and Azriel let out a low whine. It wasn’t a sound you heard often, and it sent a shiver through you. His hand bunched the fabric of your white shirt, pulling you closer as he tried to capture your lips again. Both of you were breathless, his lips glistening with spit, and his eyes locked onto your mouth.

“Azriel, wait,” you managed, gently pushing him back.

He ignored your words, instead dipping down to press kisses along your neck. You gasped softly but pushed his hard chest.

“No hickeys, Az. I have to see my parents later.”

He groaned in protest, biting down lightly but just hard enough to make you gasp again. “Azriel,” you warned, your tone sharper now.

Suddenly, a thought struck you. “Azriel, is your mom home?”

He stilled, lifting his head to look at you. “No,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“When will she be back?” you asked, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.

“About six,” he replied, still confused. “Why?”

“Think, baby,” you said, caressing his scalp, your voice teasing but patient.

It took a moment, but realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

You nodded with a playful smirk. “Yes, Azriel. We can go to yours for a few hours.”

His lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek as you laughed. 

He drove, his excitement now focused on getting home before the clock ran out.

• •

You were late. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

How could you forget?

Your mom had called you multiple times, you knew you were in trouble. Thankfully, your sister had covered for you, telling your parents you were at the library.

Slipping into the house as quietly as possible through the back door, you silently crept upstairs.

From the hallway, you could hear your father and Eris’s father laughing loudly downstairs.

Your heart raced as you tiptoed toward your room, opening the door slowly and shutting it behind you with a soft click.

You turned around and nearly screamed.

There, sitting at your desk, was Eris. His long legs, in black pants, stretched out comfortably as he leaned back in your chair, a painting of yours held delicately in his hands.

His golden-red hair caught the faint light from the desk lamp, but his amber eyes were focused on the artwork.

“Eris, what the fuck are you doing here?” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. Fucking psycho! How did he get in? Why was he even here?

He didn’t respond right away. He held one of your more personal pieces, a ballerina staring at her  reflection in a broken mirror. Her red, tear-filled eyes glared back at herself, mascara and tears streaking down her face. Bound in her hair were white feathers. Immense rage in her expression. It was a piece that helped you remember your pain and how far you’d push yourself to reach perfection.

“It’s beautiful,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than you’d ever heard.

Your heart hammered in your chest, faster than before. “Put it down,” you said, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Is it you?” he asked, finally looking up at you.

“Yes,” you admitted hesitantly.

Eris turned the painting back to study it for a moment before meeting your gaze again. There was something in his eyes, something vulnerable, something you didn’t expect.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice so soft it almost didn’t register. 

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The words were simple, but the way he said them, the sincerity in his tone, made your chest tighten.

No one had ever said that to you before, not about your art. Azriel hyped you up sometimes, but mostly saw it like your parents, a silly hobby you could enjoy to keep you entertained. Even Miss Norton had pushed you away for Elain and saw it less then hers. 

But art was more than that, it was a lifeline for you, it was like a diary where you expressed your emotions.

You never showed anyone your personal pieces, not even Azriel. This painting, raw and emotional, was yours alone - until now.

Licking your dry lips, you asked, “How did you get in here?”

Getting up, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, Eris began to walk toward you. One hand slid out to push his hair back before ruffling it slightly. He chuckled softly under his breath, a sound low enough to unnerve you.

It was the quick shift in his demeanour, the way he was always unpredictable, it made your stomach tighten.

Even as you took a step back, he didn’t stop. His strides were slow but purposeful, his presence quickly filling the space until your back hit the wall.

Your heart raced, but you tilted your chin up, meeting his sharp gaze head-on. You straightened up, you weren’t afraid, it was your house after all, he could not intimidate you.

“I opened the door,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural, normal thing in the world.

You scoffed. “Why?”

“I wanted to see the reason,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “The reason why your art is tucked away in some insignificant little corner if it’s not worth looking at.”

He lightly tugged at a strand of hair that had fallen in your face. Your jaw clenched, the anger bubbling beneath your skin. Every instinct was telling you to punch him, to push him away.

Before you could react, his hand brushed your throat.

Eris didn’t seem fazed, his gaze still locked on you, unblinking. He smirked slightly, clearly enjoying the way he riled you up.

“But,” he continued, softly brushing against of your neck, “it turns out it’s the best I’ve ever seen from any artist. Way better than that Archeron kid’s work.”

Your eyes widened as you grabbed his wrist, your pulse hammering beneath his palm. His tenderness was a stark contrast to the way he spoke to you and watched you. It was as if he was trying to see every emotion, every reaction from you, how far you would let him go. It was too intimate.

It made your head spin, he was testing your boundaries, and the next, his touch was almost considerate. 

It left you feeling unsettled, confused, angry at how easily he seemed to have the upper hand, how easily he could shift the power dynamic, the way he asserted control.

“How do you know about that?” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Irina,” he said simply, smirking.

Of course. That’s why he was talking to her. He probably already knew about Cassians little crush on her and thats why he made her laugh for him. 

Manipulative fuck

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, his thumb still stroking the sensitive skin of your throat. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?” you asked, confused and uneasy. His words sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

“Eris, what do you mean?” you demanded.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his smirk deepening.

“Worry about the marks your boyfriend left.”

Your heart skipped as his grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly. The room seemed to shrink around you, his intense stare rooting you in place.

Eris’ gaze darkened, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe you should Take a shower before your parents get suspicious of why you smell like that,” he said, his tone a little too sharp.

“You wouldn’t want them to find out about what you’ve been up to, would you?”

You clenched your jaw at his words, irritation bubbling inside you. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of your own issues. I’ll handle mine.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” he taunted, pushing you further over the edge.

Without thinking, you slapped him hard. His head snapped to the side, his cheek turning bright red, and the sting of the slap echoed in the air.

Furious, you slapped him again, pushing him backward until he fell onto your bed. You crawled over him, straddling his waist as you glared down at him.

“Why do you keep pushing me, Eris?” you spat, your voice low and tense.

“Why do you always make fun of me or threaten me? What do you gain from it? I’m not a toy, and I’m not scared of you.”

You placed your hands on his throat, the anger in your chest burning hotter. But before you knew it, he had pinned you beneath him. His body pressed between your soft thighs, your skirt pushed up around your waist, and all you could feel was his weight, his part touching another and the heat of his breath against you lips.

You were beyond furious now, you pushed him again. Your hands gripped his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric. You heard the fabric rip as you tugged harder, buttons were flying, you were unable to stop yourself. You scratched him leaving red marks on his chest. 

He grunted, his eyes narrowed, his posture shifting to overpower you. You fought back, not willing to give an inch, your breath coming in sharp bursts.

The confrontation had escalated, your bodies tumbled down. His hand gripped your wrists, his touch firm as he tried to gain control, but you weren’t backing down.

“I won’t be treated like this,” you spat, words dripping with anger.

He stared at you, lips curled in a mocking half-smile. “You think I’m the problem here?”

“I don’t care what you think anymore.”

His grip on you tightened as he leaned in, pushing his hips into yours from behind, his voice low and controlled. “You started this, not me.”

Before you could headbutt him, the door suddenly swung open. Both of your parents stood there, frozen in shock, their eyes wide. Both of your mothers gasping loudly, the sound of it echoing through the room.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

Broken Doll Taglist: @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria @onebadassunicorn @anainkandpaper

[purplelupins-deactivated2025091]

Salvador

|Better Call Saul|

Part I Part II

Lalo Salamanca/Fem!reader

Word count: 16k

Summery: Reader just wanted a fresh start, but when she starts working in a care home, it seemed that she bit off more than she could chew when she meets a member of her clients family.

Warnings: slow burn, age gap, manipulation, intimidation, violence (see note), smut (p in v), fingering, degradation and praise, edging, pet names (niña, niñita, princesita, Cariño, Ratoncito) Spanish (have a translator ready), papi kink, Lalo kinda comes with his own warnings, I’m not an electrician or doctor

MINORS DNI I AM NOT GOING TO ASK AGAIN

Notes: this part contains detailed violence (domestic violence, gun shots, talking about death), and smut.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lalo sat in his car watching that laundry facility like it was a ticking time bomb. Indeed it was his time bomb and he would be there when it went off. It was only a matter of time before he confirmed his theory. He knew that crisp Mr. Fring was hiding something fantastical behind his trustworthy, efficient methods. And when that moment came, and the bomb exploded…Lalo would bask in the heat of its flames on his cheeks-

The obnoxious ringing of his phone snapped his focus in half. The little screen sat illuminated as it continued on its insistent noise. Lalo stared at it, and was about yo snap it shut, and fling it into the back seat until he saw the number; his eye twitched.

He knew exactly who it was.

They hadn’t called him during watch hours for months.

The older man calmly answered it, and held it to his ear, and waited.

It wasn’t a full minute that had passed when Lalo hung up the phone, and was peeling out of his watchpoint fast enough to leave two black tire marks.

There was no doubt that he could have simply told his uncle’s men to deal with it; to dismiss whatever was transpiring and move on, not caring if you were alright or what you were going through.

Then he could have moved on with monitoring the facility.

Easy.

But there was something that ignited inside Lalo when his tio’s guy recounted what had happened. He knew he shouldn’t give a rats ass about going there himself- that was why he had those men there. Lalo could feel that awareness eat at him as he sped through the city, but he crushed it down. There were very few thoughts in his head as he drove, and questioning why he was doing what he was doing, and psychoanalyzing himself was not one of them. He never questioned himself, not really; he just…did.

Lalo pulled in outside your shitty building, and didn’t wait for the men to speak as they joined him on the sidewalk. He took a look up at your window, and felt his left hand twitch when he saw the dim light.

“No entres hasta que yo te lo diga, ¿entendido?” He rumbled, not taking his eyes off the window as he turned and began striding up to the building. The men stayed behind, just as he said. Lalo reached into the back of his jeans with one hand and into his pock with the other, pulling out his pistol and silencer. The metal pieces rolled together easily in his hands; just as seamlessly as he hid his gun, and smiled charmingly at an old lady as she held the door open for him as she took her little dog out for a pee. It was so dark she didn’t see how dead his eyes were. How his soul was leaving them with each passing second.

Lalo began planning his next few moves depending on what was occurring inside your apartment. Were you a plant from another cartel and this was your handler? Were you law enforcement undercover? The older man simultaneously thought over each possibility.

He took the flight of stairs up to your floor, and quieted his footsteps as soon as his eyes fell upon your door. Lalo had stood there once before weeks ago, gun in hand just as it was now…but he had left after just a moment. Killing you wasn’t worth it.

Once he was outside your apartment, he leaned in, and listened.

There was a raised voice inside. An angry one at that too. And a cry.

Lalo didn’t dwell on what it was saying or who it might be; he raised his foot and kicked right next to the lock on the door. It burst open. The older man took three strides inside as the door bounced off the wall as he surveyed and took in the scene before him. His eyes flicked from detail to detail rapidly, piecing everything together in seconds.

The lamp you used was kicked over and partially broken- only the lightbulb was intact, and partially at that. In the low light, he could still see that you were curled up against a wall; broken objects, scuff marks and blood around you and behind you. You were sobbing…shaking. Your hands were over head, arms in front of your knees…bruised and bloody.

There was indeed a man there, just as Hector’s men had said. He was standing over you with his back to the door, words spewing from his mouth at you. His shadow ate your little form up.

The man had begun to turn towards Lalo as he walked into the apartment, but his fate was sealed as soon as Lalo saw his bloody knuckles.

Your blood.

Lalo didn’t stop to ask any questions or make a snark comment before he emptied his gun’s clip into the man’s body. The bullets shredded his flesh, spattering blood as the metal existed his back. Lalo didn’t lower his gun until the man began to crumble to the floor, and he watched despondently as blood started pooling around him. It began to fill each little crack and groove in the wooden floor.

There was a beat of silence following the last shot before Lalo pulled his phone from his pocket.

It only rang once.

“Hecho.” He muttered, then hung up.

Then as he slipped his phone back into his pocket…he saw you.

Actually saw you.

Lalo let his gaze wander over your shaking form. You resembled more of a stray animal than a young woman covered in blood. Your knuckles were white from how tightly your were holding your head. He watched the man’s blood that had spattered onto you mix with your own from the wounds he had inflicted. Then, once the noise faded away, and there was no movement, you began to unfurl. Your arms came down jerkily, and you tentatively rose your head up to see what had happened; you eyes were wide, and puffy. Cheeks flushed against your blanched skin.

His hand twitched.

Your dazed eyes slowly refocused. It took a moment before you followed the edge of the pool of blood to the body now laying on the floor; limp and cold. Lalo could visibly see the scene in front of you settle in your mind while you unclamped your legs from your chest. You slowly got to your knees, eyes still trained on the body, and sat there. The older man didn’t move an inch as he watched you; he was fascinated. He realized this must have been your first time seeing a dead body.

He felt honoured.

You didn’t cry, or scream, or cower in fear. You just looked.

It was as if you were in a trance as you finally rose to your feet; your eyes void of any emotion, mouth in a plain line. Indifferent. Analytical.

Lalo might have been a man of many words, but as you took a few difficult steps towards the body, the older man chose to observe you silently.

For the first time since your door had been slammed in your face that evening, your eyes weren’t hazy. You walked to the edge of the pool of blood, and stared down at the body. He looked so human…so much less of a devil than he had when he was alive. This man who had been nothing but a living nightmare for you was…gone. In a matter of three seconds, he was completely gone.

You didn’t know how he had found you… or why. You tried to remember the moment you had first seen him, but he had some so much damage to you over your relationship that you couldn’t recall your first date. Couldn’t recall a lot in fact.

You took another step forward and stood in the blood of your ex-boyfriend. Then as the warm liquid slipped between your toes, something in you completely snapped. Broke.

You were flooded with the first memory you had of blood. You had scraped you knee and someone kissed it better…told you it would be alright and to keep playing. You remembered how smiling used to be so easy and not an invitation for people to think you were soft or easy. You remembered that girl who grew up and saw the best in people. Who had her likes and dislikes and didn’t base her personality on whatever someone wanted to see. You remembered her. And you remembered how he erased her. How he told her that he would keep her safe, but he betrayed that trust at every turn with a perfect lie or justification to draw her back in.

The blood surrounded your feet. Your eyes slowly sharpened, and without another thought, you rose your leg up and delivered a form kick to your ex’s limp side, shoving him a foot across the floor.

He looked so small now…so insignificant…and you felt the fear you had of him melt away, and hate take its place. Resentment, frustration, sadness…it all flooded in.

So you kicked him again.

You still hadn’t fully registered Lalo’s presence, and he was content with staying a part of the background as you began to show him this hidden part of you. Vicious. Vindictive. The parts of him that only the very unlucky saw- it was spectacular to see them mirrored back to him.

You were ruthless.

You kicked the body again, and again and again until he was shoved a few feet from where he had fallen, and there was a streak of blood in his wake. Tears began to stream down your cheeks and your skin felt as if it was burning. It was overwhelming as you beat him with every bit of energy you had left.

A pressure began to build in your chest, and you half wondered if you were going to throw up or pass out from how much you were feeling all at once, but then words formed on your tongue and you let them out.

“You SON OF A BITCH, YOU FUCKING RUINED ME.” Your broken cry filled the apartment, and Lalo’s eye twitched slightly at your raised voice. You were letting go. You were in a frenzy; overtaken by everything you never let yourself say or feel, “I don’t even know WHO THE FUCK I AM ANYMORE! YOU’RE BETTER DEAD YOU ROTTING FUCKER-“ you kicked and stomped and kicked again and again, even when your feet hurt. A snap sounded through the apartment but you were too far gone to realize it was his ribs snapping and caving in.

Blind rage had overtaken you. You couldn’t think as you continued your assault.

You didn’t see Lalo move- too focused on the body under you to notice him until a pair of strong hands grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from the body- bloody footprints on the floor from where you staggered back.

“Okay, I think you got him.” Lalo laughed as he hauled you away.

But your adrenaline was still raging through in you. Regardless of his thick arms locked around you, you started squirming in his hold. Anger fuelled you and you fought to try and get back to the body. Needing to hurt him as much as he hurt you, but Lalo secured his arms around you better, and hoisted you away from your living room and into your small kitchen.

But still, you couldn’t think. All you knew was that someone was stopping you from getting back at the person who had destroyed you. It didn’t matter that it was Lalo Salamanca who was doing it, you didn’t even know it was him; he was just arms and a voice and you needed him to let you go.

Without thinking, you spun in his tight hold and hit him.

A smack right on his cheek.

Then all at once, you saw him.

The sting on the palm of your hand seemed to wake you up, and as Lalo dropped his arms to his sides, you saw exactly who had fired that gun…who had picked you up…who you had hit.

His grey curl hung over his forehead, and his mouth sat in a line under his neat moustache.

You might have been horribly startled by his stony face…but it was his eyes that made you keep from asking for forgiveness.

They were black, and they glittered in the low light.

But they weren’t furious.

There was a moment of silence that stretched for far longer that you knew how to measure; he was processing you. You and the smack.

“Again.”

You blinked, having not been sure if you had heard him correctly or if he had even spoken or if you had imagined it all. And evidently you weren’t functioning fast enough for Lalo’s liking.

The older man broke into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stared you down, “Okay, how about I put on his shirt and we play pretend-“

Smack.

You hit him again.

He smiled a little wider, “There she goes c’mon.” He goaded you.

So you did.

Smack.

Then it was like a dam broke. You started beating on him. You jabbed and punched and shoved and slapped his chest, and arms, and stomach. You hit him like your life depended on it. You hit him until your arms hurt more than your heart.

And the entire time, he didn’t move an inch; the man was sturdy enough that you weren’t doing any real damage to him. Even when four men he had called walked into the apartment and began breaking the body down, he didn’t say a word. He shot them a look that was more terrifying than a loaded gun to the balls, but that was it. He let you have your moment. And it was likely for the best- watching a man get sawed into pieces and bagged up was not an easy sight to behold.

It was only when he decided the men were taking too long that he slowly retrieved his gun from the back of his jeans and calmly pointed it at them without taking his eyes off you. They scampered out within minutes; just a drying puddle of blood left behind.

You didn’t even know how you were still moving your arms anymore. It was pure adrenaline fuelling you. Slowly your mind began to go hazy and dim…the extreme emotions slowly leaving you.

Then, you felt your arms stop responding as your wrists were restrained. You blinked and looked up from where you had been targeting, and were met with those onyx eyes.

They were locked on you- following your every twitch and move.

“Enough.”

His voice was a rumble that made your head light.

There was no smile on Lalo’s face, no mirth. He was focused and you couldn’t bring yourself to even breathe properly lest it make you move too much. A drop of dread fell from the base of your skull down to your toes and settled into the soles of your feet. You felt cold.

Then, the older man took a single step forward that made you stumble a little but you only looked away from him for a moment as you recovered. He took another, propelling you with him as he backed you against the wall between your livingroom and your kitchen. Your skin suddenly felt far too warm, and it tingled like pins and needles.

Lalo weighed your soul; his heavy gaze had you in shackles and you were helpless to try and get away from it. You had yet to see this amount of intensity from the man, and you were certain that he was preparing to end you. That he would take that pistol back out and fire a new hole into your head.

But the longer you stood there, the calmer you got- much to your surprise. You were still on edge, but your breathing came easier, and you let your gaze flick between his eyes, to the lines on his face, to his brows, his moustache, and that grey streak. Lalo pressed against you and the wall dug into your back but still you didn’t move. You let him invade your space and breathe your air, in fact you almost found yourself drawing him a little closer; pulling the wrists he held towards yourself. And to your surprise, you felt him push back, making your chest tight with how much pressure was on it with his weight. You could feel his breathing against you; every inhale and exhale.

His scent intoxicated you, as did his warmth. It made you forget how afraid you were, and lulled you. You could feel your heart just about beat out of your chest. However despite your sense of calm, you wouldn’t help but feel as if he was just a very cunning predatory making sure his prey wasn’t afraid before he pounced; making sure the meat wasn’t spoiled.

But then, a charming smile took over his face, and just like that, it was as if nothing had happened.

“Look what a mess you are! Let’s get you all cleaned, eh?” He chirped and stepped away from you.

You had jumped when he spoke, and felt yourself cool down almost instantly. Perhaps it was something akin to Stockholm syndrome but you felt yourself missing his chest crushing yours.

“Remind me to not get on your bad side,” he said in a jaunty laugh, “Man, you sure know how to knock a guy around. Damn.” Lalo touched his chest where you had been hitting, but didn’t stop smiling. His hands left you, and he began navigating through your apartment easily, like he had been there before. The older man hummed an old tune as he entered your washroom, and began looking through the cupboards; you were about to wonder what he was doing as your brain played catch-up, but you remembered him saying he was going to clean you up…whatever that meant.

Everything still felt so surreal to you. You stared down at your hands, and the flecks of blood there, wondering if any of it had even happened or if you were having a dream. It wasn’t until you blinked a few times and focused on breathing that you remembered that you were still in your less then modest sleep clothes. You looked around for something to cover yourself a little better, but you missed your opportunity when Lalo came striding back to you, perfectly comfortable in the space like it was a Sunday afternoon in his own home.

“Okaay…” he said to himself as he put down the supplies he had grabbed. Just as you looked at the materials, he wordlessly hoisted you up onto your kitchen counter. You gasped a little, but he seemed unbothered as he ignored your squirming and stood between your knees. You watched his large hand grab a wetted cloth and start wiping away at your skin; you were covered in blood and sweat. The older man cleaned you carefully and meticulously; he tutted the split skin and the harsh bruises forming, shaking his head at particularly bad ones. He gave you a scolding look when you nervously held your shirt down when he tried to lift it to inspect your ribs- tilting his head and pursing his mouth as if to chastise you.

So you let him. He was gentlemanly enough to only raise it to look at your torso…making sure nothing was broken. Lucky for you, nothing was. Bruised, yes, but not broken. Regardless of your luck, you forced yourself to ignore how warm his calloused hands were when they pressed down on your ribs. Oddly gentle. Comforting.

Once he deemed you clean enough, Lalo began dragging cotton pads soaked in peroxide over your cuts; he shushed you when the chemical stung too much.

Everything seemed so calm. There was no screaming, no sirens or things being thrown. It was late…and it was quiet. It was just you and him in your small kitchen; it was as if he had blocked out what you had done just a half hour earlier- beating and shoving at him like he was a punching bag.

You found yourself watching him carefully, half expecting him to break the act and snap your ankle as he inspected it, or spit in your face and hold a gun to your temple. But he didn’t even show a slight sign of ill intent. He just continued to bandage you.

There was no doubt in you that you were in deep debt to the Salamancas now. And while you were fairly naive to it, you knew that such a thing was practically a death sentence. Lalo had killed for you whether you wanted him to or not. He had saved you. There was no coming back from that.

Regardless of the weight settling on your shoulders, there was a calmness you felt as his warmth radiated into you from standing so close to you. You could feel his breath on your skin and all you could smell was him; smoke and some kind of spice, and a little tequila or whiskey. It was in his clothes and his skin. Everywhere. His touch was like a brand- scorching your skin.

There was a gash on your arm from where your ex had come at you with a knife; Lalo cleaned the blood away, and pressed down to see how deep it was. You jerked at the pain, but he tsked you and his large hand gripped you tighter, “Ah ah, hold still.” He murmured.

Your eyes flickered over his face, and you worried the inside of your lip, “S-sorry.” You said softly.

A simple but not altogether peaceful silence filled the space as another few minutes passed as he wrapped your arm. The only noise that ended it was the phone in his pocket ringing. You jumped at the sound, while Lalo merely blinked and pulled the device out and held it to his ear as he checked over your face.

The older man brought a hand up to your chin, and tilted your head side to side while inspecting you. You let him, moving your head as he wished.

“Buen.” He rumbled, and you held his gaze, intimidating as it was. Then, he pulled the phone away and snapped it shut before slipping it back into his pocket.

Lalo squinted at a mark on your cheek, and grabbed the cloth again to wipe it.

“Moron beat the shit outta you…” he remarked almost to himself.

You nodded, and smiled a tiny bitter smile as he signed and tossed the closed into the sink; wrappers from bandages and blots of blood on the counter.

“I used to love him…” you whispered, “Turned out to be a real piece of work…” you smiled again, just briefly, in spite of the pain and shock, “He hated life…and life hated him back…” you were just rambling and thinking out loud, but Lalo listened. Perhaps you were boring him a little, but he was curious about exactly who he was dealing with.

You remembered something then, “Did you know he hated Mexican food? Claimed paprika was spicy.”

Lalo gasped and widened his eyes comically. “No! Estoy jodidamente contento de que esté muerto entonces…” he shook his head.

You snorted and laughed dryly, nodding your head.

Then, after a moment, you looked over at the drying blood on the floor. You flinched at the memory of him forcing his way into your home…how horrifying it was to see him so suddenly. But the longer you looked, the less you felt. In you peripheral, you could see Lalo crumpling the bandage wrappers in his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

Lalo looked up at you then, and followed your gaze, but you spoke again before he could reply.

“I-…I think I would have done the same, you know.”

This made him pause for a moment.

“If I- if I found someone threatening you or Hector…and I had a gun…I would have done the same.” You knew they weren’t the words of a completely sane person but you said them anyways.

Lalo laughed, “Big talk for a mouse!” He smiled wolfishly.

You stared back at him. “I mean it.”

You realized that you really did mean it. You knew that somehow you were so far gone that you would let blood get on your hands for them. But somehow that didn’t scare you.

The older man shifted and leaned forward between your knees again- bracing himself on his hands as he placed them on either side of you. He was invading your space again, but you held firm. There was no room left in you for fear. You were exhausted and aching.

“You trying to tell me little ratoncito would kill for a Salamanca?” He had an amused smile on his face, but you noted his emotionless eyes- like he was daring you to take back what you said.

A part of you was telling you to- to say you didn’t mean it and tell him you wouldn’t tell anyone what had transpired there that night. But that part of you was stupid, and you were not stupid. Not that stupid. You knew that was a one way ticket to an early grave, so you nodded your weary head.

“Don’t know how good of a shot I am but it’s the thought that counts right?” Your mouth quirked up a little at your horrible joke. You supposed it was a stress reaction to cope.

And Lalo laughed. A single bark of a laugh. “I am so glad you’re funny ninita.” He wagged his finger at you. His face had been so firm as you explained yourself, that now seeing him smile set you a little at ease. The older man pulled away from breathing your air and walked to the sink to wash his hands,“Now what are we going to do about this?” He asked casually.

His question was simple, but it made your heart thump hard. “About?” You asked.

Lalo looked brightly at you as he dried his hands. “You want to say thank you to me, sì?”

You stared at him and you knew there was only one answer. “Of course.” You said.

Lalo smiled. “Esa es mi chica.”

He grabbed one of the two chairs from your small table, and turned it around for him to sit. He spread his knees and leaned forward onto them as he weighed your existence with those brown eyes of his. There was only the faint tapping of water dripping from the faucet as Lalo regarded you- still sat on your kitchen counter. Bruised and battered. Alive thanks to him.

“That cute stunt you pulled at Los Pollos Hermanos…can you do it again?” He asked, lacing his fingers together in front of him. The picture of ease and calm.

“Yes.” You didn’t miss a beat. You had come to terms with the fact that you would do what you did again if need be a while ago.

“Bigger?” He asked.

Your stomach twisted a little. The idea made you nervous, but you knew you could do it.

“Yes.” You answered.

Lalo smiled again and wagged a finger at you. “Ratoncito loco, lo juro...”

You didn’t return the smile, but your face softened. “I’ve been called worse.” You mused, then looked back down at your hand and the blue bruises turning to purple.

The older man didn’t say anything, but he watched you while you fiddled with a bandage and absentmindedly swung your feet slightly.

He looked at you properly in the dim light of your simple apartment. You weren’t frail per se, but you had a certain exhaustion to you that scratched an itch in Lalo’s mind. A tiredness of the world you knew, of the people around you, of who you had become. Yet in spite of that, there was a firecracker inside you waiting to burst into flame; you had a bite to you, even if it was small. Lalo could work with that.

The blood wasn’t as difficult to get out of your floor as you thought it would be.

Your landlady thankfully didn’t put up too much of an argument when you told her you were leaving and breaking your tenancy. You had a feeling it wasn’t just her being nice.

The motel room you were now living out of wasn’t horrible. The extra couple hundreds Lalo had given you when he told you where to stay helped too. Sure the commute to work was a little longer but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

Your eyes were a little more glazed over at work now. You wondered how much longer you would be there. That night, Lalo had given you a date and time and location for your repayment, and now you were counting down the days. It was only a few, but time seemed to pass so quickly and so slowly simultaneously.

Your instructions were fairly simple, in theory. Make the buildings power short circuit if Lalo didn’t call you by 11:42pm. Following that and your escape, you were to go to new motel, and lay low for a few days until you got more instructions.

That or you assumed someone would show up to clean you up as a lose end.

He didn’t tell you why he give you such a specific time, but you assumed there was some kind of shift change over for security at 11:45pm, and wanted those three minutes to carry out some kind of plan B.

Which was why your knee bounced as you see as t in your car across from some massive laundry facility. As you waited, you scanned over the blueprints to the building that you had managed to get from city hall. Evidently a forced smile had been enough to get the clerk to hand it over, and a pouty lip and claiming to be a stressed collage student with a paper due to let you take it home. Once upon a time you would have wanted to wretch at the thought of having done that, but somehow you found yourself…indifferent. Like a part of your anxiety died that night with your ex.

The service road was dim, and your pulse was working double time.

You checked your watch. It read 11:25pm.

A part of you wondered exactly what was set to happen inside that building, but you assumed it could mean your death if you asked. Somewhere in your gut you knew it was an attempt to destroy that man from Los Pollos…it couldn’t be a coincidence that Lalo had asked you to do exactly what you had done again for someone else when he had been so pleased with seeing that restaurant crumble.

So you gathered what you needed and shoved it into a small pouch, said a prayer, and got out of your car. You knew it was a 50/50 chance of Lalo calling you to stop you, but you needed to be ready. If you were only halfway there when he called it might be a big enough mistake that would cost him his life.

It was a fairly quick trip to the building, albeit a stressful one. The fence surrounding the warehouse was thankfully not electrified, though it was still very uncomfortable to scale. A day previously you had managed to find a low point that would be easier to get back over when you were escaping too.

As you waiter for the rotation of guards to get to their blind point, you leapt up and rolled yourself over the top of the metal fence, landing with a fairly ungrateful thud and a cloud of dust that was thankfully covered by the darkness.

You crouched low, and held onto the strap of your pouch. There were men everywhere watching, but you were small and unassuming in the shadows. You hoped you could channel that inner mouse that Lalo claimed you had, though it was a long shot. With another breath, you pulled your medical mask up over your face’s lower half as you sped from one shadow to another. It was an odd atmosphere there- you felt as if you were walking into Area 51. It was deserted and eerie aside from the security. You might have not been to a laundry processing warehouse before but you sure as shit were certain that this level of security was odd.

You clung to the side of the building; your heart in your ears. Time was on your side for once, as you checked your watch again, and noted that you still had 7 minutes before you potentially had to clip and cross and overload the building’s wiring. Perhaps you spoke a little soon though as you had begun to go a little too fast towards the back of the building and missed getting spotted by a man by a centimetre. The toes of your shoes stuck out of the thin shadow that concealed you, but evidently they weren’t enough to draw the attention of the guard. You thanked god for the emergency ladder beside you for partially hiding you too.

You found the back entrance and worked your way along to find the main control panel. Shadows moved out of the corner of your eye, making your mind play tricks on you, and you felt chills run up and down your spine; then you found it. The panel came into view, and you checked the area around you once more as you opened your bag. There were three thick locks over the latches that opened the door, and you sighed as you looked at them. Your metal tools felt very cold in your hands.

There was no going back now.

You slipped your picking tools inside the first lock, began pressuring the mechanisms inside of the lock. You were still rusty, but your life was on the line, so you didn’t have room for a botched job. After a few minutes, you felt the device click and pop open- relief filled you. It was short lived though when you remembered that you had a maximum of 5 minutes before the next rotation of guards began their way to you.

The thought of getting caught made your hands shake, but not as much as the thought of the Salamancas coming after you. You worked at the next lock and focused on sleeping in a dry motel that night instead of your body being tossed into a shallow grave or left in the desert like some insignificant roadkill.

The second lock popped open after a few moments, and you checked your watch.

11:40pm.

As the time grew closer to when you might need to blow this building's circuits, you felt an odd clarity come over you- tinkering away at the last lock. You might have been in danger. You might have been caught up in a cartel. You might have been alone. You might have been a witness to a murder.

But you weren’t afraid. Disturbed by your possible fate, perhaps, but not afraid. You were exhausted of being afraid all the time.

The lock popped open, and you stared at it calmly.

You have a job to do.

The metal door opened with a screech, and you enhaled deeply when you saw the massive circuit-board and hundreds of fuses, and wires wrapped and bound together. You were certain your ex was calling you a hypocrite from his place Hell.

You checked your watch again.

11:42pm.

You sucked in another breath, and stared at your shaking hands like it might help to stop the tremors. It didn’t.

The silence was heavy around you, and you stood in it for another second before your little alarm went off.

"Okay..." You whispered to yourself. Your mask made your breath feel moist and hot. Your hands took purchase on your wire cutters and pliers, and you stared at some weak points. You wanted the fuses to blow on their own, so you started with flipping off and switches with wires connected that you wanted to clip or mess with. Lights shut off around you, but there was enough for you to see what you were doing as you reworked some of the wire positions, and clipped and tugged. Then once you were satisfied, you took a deep breath and turned every single switch on. For any building, it was t advised for every power-drawer to be on at once if unnecessary…for good reason. There was a low hum that began to emit from the panel. The tampered fuses and wiring forcing more and more strain on other areas so they would start tripping.

A spark startled you. Then another. Then another. You watched the entire panel start to malfunction. Then, there were shouts of panic around the building as a power grid shut off in the lot, which you took that as your cue to run.

With your pliers and white cutters in your bag, you shut the panel door and locked it back up in record time. Then, you faced the fence, and ran.

You didn't care that the lights were shutting down all around you. All you knew was you had instructions, and you were certainly going to follow them. You came to the edge of the front of the building and paused in the shadows as groups of men scattered around the dusty lot. Your heart was racing in your chest, but you could see your car just beyond the light, and you expected some kind of relief to wash over you but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a deep pit forming in your stomach.

Lalo hadnt called you.

Of course you hoped that it was simply because his plan went accordingly and having the cover of darkness and chaos was what he needed and...not that it was because he had been shot and bled out before he could call you. The idea that he might have met the fate that you had dreaded for yourself suddenly made you-

Ring ring ring

You froze.

The quiet ring tone made you scramble to answer your phone before it attracted attention. You pulled it from your jacket and wrenched your mask down to breathe when you saw the number.

His.

The same number he had put on a piece of paper for you a month ago.

A million and a half thoughts went through your head as you stared down at the little screen, but the only one you could focus on was the possibility that Lalo was in trouble. That he needed you.

You hit answer, and held the phone to your ear. "Hello?" You whispered, pressing yourself against the side of the building.

There was a strained breath on the other end. "You busy, princesita?"

You couldn’t breathe. He wasnt supposed to call you. That was never a part of any plan he told you.

"No." You managed to get out, eyes unfocused as you tried to remember the blueprints of the building.

"Mind giving me a hand?" He asked just as carefree as he always was, but you knew better. There was a tightness to his voice. He was hurt. Badly too, if he was calling you.

"Wh-where are you?" You asked, already searching for your flashlight in your bag as another few light grids shut off around you.

"You’re- mierda...You’re gonna come in through the main door, okay? Th-through the door with the window... At the end- ah...end of those washers and shit, theres gonna be a door behind one..." He coughed, and you heard him suck in a breath.

You nodded frantically to yourself as you recalled the drawing of the building. Seems that Chicken man was up bro more than just a restaurant. "Okay, okay I- I remember where that is. I’m coming just- just dont die!" You said in a rush.

"Klah! Me? Never." You heard him say, but you were already flipping the phone shut. Lights were flickering like mad as you began inching around to the front of the building, and your eyes began playing tricks on you as they strained to function in the changing a brightness.

To your luck, the front was almost devoid of security as they all ran to the back or inside. You heard radios going off and yells and orders being barked out, but somehow no one saw you.

You crept along the blue facility until you made it to the door. It sat open, and you didn’t waste any time as you slipped inside past the massive bins.

You were alone. For now.

You clicked on your flashlight and you were indeed surrounded by massive industrial washers. It was admittedly overwhelming, but you forced your brain to focus. You looked at each end of the main walkway of the processing room just as Lalo had told you to, and you noticed that a washer at one end was off kilter. You didn’t have time yo weigh the pros and cons of choosing to investigate it, but when you went to run, the sound of footsteps halted you. You clicked off your flashlight.

"The hell is going on in there- this shits supposed to be secure..." You heard a ma n say, and a grumble from another man. You looked around and ducked behind one of the washers; evidently just in time too as the men passed by you just several feet away.

“Where the hell is Mike?” One asked.

You let out a relieved breath when they didn’t turn around or stop to check on your heavy breathing, but it caught in your throat when you saw the guns in their belts glint in the little light. The very real situation that you had just ran into settled into your mind. That you were in the middle of a very messy cartel issue. Something that even Lalo hadn’t meant for you to get mixed in.

You waited until they left, and it grew quiet again before you flicked your light on again, and made a break for the washer. You hoped to god that you weren't too late in your search.

The amount of sound from your feet was too loud, but you didn’t dare stop. You hoped no one would care in the chaos you had created. The sound of other footsteps began to echo around you and you felt a weight on your chest like you were running from a loaded gun but you didn’t look back.

When you were just feet away, you saw the edge of a hidden door. You internally rejoiced, but it was short-lived when you remembered a man might be dying. You whipped around the corner of it, and followed the route of the stairs down. You didn’t have time to consider you might be going the wrong way, so you clamoured down as fast and quietly as you humanly could. Your feet were surprisingly soundless as you inched along the catwalks and flashed your light here and there along the scaffolding.

*What the hell is this place...*

Your heart was in your throat. You could smell dirt and machinery-

You stopped. A sound caught your ears, and you listened for it again. There- a wheeze.

"S-Señor Lalo?" You whispered, creeping down the steps, flashing your light across the expansive space.

You continued down, down, down until you were at the second to last flight of stairs when you jumped and almost fell back. Your flashlight caught a sight that chilled you.

"Eh…Hola niñita, fancy seeing you here!"

Just a couple feet down from you sat the very man who had called you. Your blood went cold when you saw Lalo laying there on the stairs with blood seeping out of his side and neck where he was pressing down.

"L-Lalo-" You whispered, rooted to the spot. Not even the sight of your ex shot dead had rendered you so motionless.

"Not to rush you princesa, but I’ve felt better." He forced out, glancing down at his side that was getting more saturated with blood by the second.

Your senses suddenly went into hyperdrive, and you almost jumped down the couple steps to crouch at his side. You placed your flashlight into the crook of your neck and held it there with your cheek as you pulled his hand from his jugular. A little relief filled you when you noted that the artery wasn’t hit and the bullet just skimmed him.

"Okay, you’re okay." You muttered to him, "Lets get you up."

You were so focused as you started positioning yourself for some leverage that you missed the fact that his eyes hadn't left you. Then he sighed and waved you off.

"Need...the camera..." He rumbled and pointed down.

You stared at him in confusion then followed his finger and held your light again to follow the beam.

Sure enough, 20 feet below you in the dirt was a camcorder.

You nodded silently, not even considering the possibility of arguing, and leapt over him before clamouring down the stairs. Your feet hit dirt and you looked around frantically for the device. The metal caught the light of your flashlight, and as you sped over to it, tried to ignore the various trails of blood in the soil. You grasped the camera and slipped it into your pouch along side your other supplies as you scaled the stairs, light jumping with every step.

As you came back to his side, you wordlessly gripped Lalo’s hand and elbow, and gingerly began to help him stand; you had expected him to wince or protest, but all you heard was him groan a little and wave you off like a fly.

"Shit shot..." He rumbled.

You looked at him as you ignored his gesture, and guided him up, "Wh-"

"Chicken Man he was a shit fucking shot...could’ve at least killed me. Now look at me…" He shook his head like he was more disappointed than distressed.

You huffed out a stressed laugh and looked back at him, then swore under your breath.

"What? I look that bad?" He joked.

You shook your head and moved your flashlight to your mouth and your pressed your free hand to his neck as it continued to gush. He was paler and paler by the second.

"Step." You muttered, again you ignored any of his attempts to be independent, and together you began your ascent up the narrow metal stairs.

His pace was determined and you briefly wondered if he was human as he seemed to ignore his wounds. Your steps fell into sync, and you were thankful for the silence between you as you tried to figure out what the hell you were going to do. As you reached the top of the stairs, you mentally began to map out the building in your head in relation to where you were. You couldn't just walk out the front door, and you couldn’t use the back exit either; no doubt there were men stationed at every exit…

You hesitated slightly just inside hidden door, and thought for a moment. You could hear voices outside, and footsteps...the place was crawling with people. With guns.

Your mind worked overtime and while you couldn't think of a perfect solution, you had one that would hopefuly end with the least amount of bullets in you. Without another thought, you flicked off your light and looked at Lalo as darkness engulfed you. Just like you, he didnt say a word. He knew you were thinking- keeping your word that you would effectively put yourself in harms way for him.

You stuck your head out briefly to see how clean the path was, and once you were satisfied, you sucked in a breath and looked back at the older man by your side. He nodded down at you as best he could and the two of you took a step out into the laundry facility.

You both crept along one of the washers, and glanced out at the room. A person came around the corner of one of the machines, flashlight in hand and you quickly moved the two of you back. Lalo hissed at the quick movement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough. The footsteps came and went, as did a few others along with shouting. You chanced a glance out again, and this time, you went for it.

"Cmon." You whispered.

Lalo let you take his arm, and you guided him along the machines to a service hall where it was less exposed. You could hear people running , and tires screeching outside and orders being barked out, but all you could do was focus on letting your eyes adjust to the darkness and making sure you didn’t trip or take a wrong turn. Once you were halfway down the hall, a door opened at the other end, and you felt bile rise in your throat. You acted on instict and pressed Lalo into the nearest open door and held your breath. You couldn’t see him clearly, but you could feel Lalo’s warm chest rising and falling against you. You watched the flashlight of the person bob around out in the hall beyond the door and prayed that the person wouldn’t look in the doorway.

Your muscles seazed up as you waited and held your breath...then the person was gone. You breathed out and quickly grabbed the older man and began the last leg of the journey. You shouldered open the door at the end, and sure enough, there was an exit up to the roof. You looked around vaguly at the dark room and noted that there were no windows, and turned your light back on.

"You first Señor." You said and nodded to the ladder. Lalo stared at you, hard.

Then he nodded, and began hoisting himself up the ladder. You shone your light up for him to see where he was going and waited until he was at the top before following behind him quickly. At the top, you wrenched the small door open and almost fell out onto the roof. You looked around, and appreciated that there was a little light from neighbouring warehouses illuminating the outside. You whipped your head around and began looking for the ladder down like you had hid behind when you blew the fuze box. Sure enough, across the roof, you saw the first few steps and you nodded towards it for Lalo to see. The two of you took off and kept low. You could see cars exiting and entering the gate and you swore under your breath. So much for a clear path.

"How bad a shape are you in, Señor?" You muttered to him.

Lalo smiled out a hoarse laugh and scanned with you. "Should see the other guy.” He replied, and you looked over at him. He shot you a wink and you felt your eye twitch.

You sighed, and nodded and pointed to where you had managed to get over the fence, "Theres a low part in the fence there...we might get seen, but...I think we'll at least be able to get away." It looked so far away now, especially since you were on another part of the roof.

Lalo nodded and started towards the ladder before you could even check that the coast was clear.

You tried to halt him, "Wait-"

But he already took your hand and dragged you down with him over the rungs of the latter, almost completely foregoing them. You scrambled down after him, and landed beside him just in time for a flashlight to shine over the roof.

As you stood there together, you saw Lalo sway for a moment, then recover with steely eyes as if nothing had happened. You knew he wasn’t doing well, but you had a feeling he would die before he showed any sign of weakness…hell you were certain he would die with a smile on his face if he could.

The two of you stayed low for a moment as you scanned the lot, and it seemed as if you both came to the same conclusion: there was no way you could wait for a perfect moment.

“I’m ready when you are Señor.” You whispered almost reassuringly up to him, then glanced down at his neck that still had a stream of blood coming from it, albeit small. You still didn’t know how he was running around with two bullet wounds.

Lalo remained still for a second as another guard ran past the two of you, then reached into the back of his belt, under his jacket. He produced a gun- the same one you had seen him use that night when he…

“You know how to shoot one of these?” He asked as he pressed it into your palm. You stared down at it. It was heavier than you though it would be.

“I- I know the general idea.” You said, holding it in your hand.

Lalo pressed his hand back to his bleeding side and groaned slightly. “Two hands. One to aim one to steady, okay? Point and shoot. Easy.” He nodded when you had it right. “Vamos.” He rumbled, and began your break from the safety of the shadows.

Having the gun in your hand made you feel both vulnerable and dangerous simultaneously. You scanned as you ran, and just when you began to hope you didn’t have to fire the weapon, you saw a man round the corner of the building just behind you, and you stopped running without a second thought. You aimed, and you shot.

The gun’s recoil made you jump and you watched as the man fell and a spurt of blood came from his back as the bullet winged him.

You heard Lalo bark out a single laugh, “Mi niñita loca…a natural!”

Your ears were ringing. Your feet moved you toward him as you tore your eyes from the groaning man on the ground, and kept your steady pace towards the fence. It came quicker than you thought, though you gathered that the fact that you were still reeling from having just shot a man had something to do with it.

“You first Señor.” You rushed out as you both came to a stop; managing to turn the safety on the gun before stuffing the gun into your pouch.

Lalo didn’t argue, though he did fix you with an intense stare before he pulled himself up the bars with more ease than you thought possible, especially considering his injury. You wondered what it would take to slow him down…

He landed with a thud and a cloud of dust on the other side.

“Vamos, niñita.” He said, beckoning you over with both hands.

You nodded and sucked in a breath and jumped up to grab the top of the fence, and let the adrenaline do the rest of the work. You pulled yourself up and as you situated yourself to jump down, you felt something whizz past your head. Things went quiet and your ears rang. You whipped your head and looked behind you; sure enough, there where two men approaching you with their guns raised. You blinked, then you jumped. Lalos hands were on your waist to guide you down, but all you could see was his paling complexion.

Another few shots were fired, hitting the fence.

You brain kicked back into gear just enough to grab his hand and run to your car with Lalo. You wrench open the door the door for him then ran to the drivers side as another bullet was fired.

You pulled your keys out and forced your hands to cooperate for a moment as you started it up and hit the gas without hesitation. A few more shots were fired behind you, but you peeled out of there before they could do any damage.

It wasn’t until you had been driving for five minutes, taking twists and turns that would get you several speeding and hazardous driving tickets if you were caught, that you finally looked over at the man beside you. He was pressing against his neck and side, and you flickered your gaze over him.

“Y-you’re bleeding-“ you said. It was a dumb thing to say, but it was all you could get out. “I…I need to- we need to get you somewhere…I can’t- no no hospital…do you know anyone? I- I can probably stitch your neck but…”your voice cracked.

“You have to calm down, Jesus Christ… I’m the one dying here.” He rasped.

Your panicking self turned to him sharply and you made a split second decision. “You’re not going to die.”

You turned the car around far too harshly and sped off into the city. You needed more civilization. More people. Being alone would kill the both of you.

You drove to the motel you had booked ahead of time to lay low in after that night, and as you pulled to a stop outside, your hands began to shake uncontrollably. The breaths you took came shakily too.

You didn’t even see the rare look of pride on Lalo’s face- you had done good. He was impressed.

But all you could do was succumb to your adrenaline and panic as they mixed. “You lost so much blood…g-god I should have found you faster, I’m sorry…I gotta get you inside- I have a kit in the trunk, I-I can patch you up-“

You were cut off when Lalo reached over to you with his good arm, and gripped the back of your head and yanked you over the middle console and kissed you. Everything stopped. Your breathing, your words, your heart, your brain, time…everything. You could taste him as his warm tongue flicked against yours when you gasped. It was fast and hard, but you were left stunned as he pulled away. Lalo stared at you, and just as he had hoped, you reset.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

“O-okay…” you whispered, eyes refocusing. “Let’s get you inside.” You were on auto pilot as you opened your door and grabbed the first aid kit from the back and the bag you had packed when you left your apartment almost a week ago. As you were about to cross over to the motel, you stopped Lalo quickly and began buttoning up his jacket for a little extra coverage of his bloodstains. Lalo regarded you calmly and carefully, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth.

“I loved this jacket…” he rumbled, regarding the stain forming, “Really comfortable, y’know?”

Once you were satisfied, you led him to the room you had booked, and took out the key they had given you two days ago.

You turned the key and swung the door open before helping the man in and sitting him down and kicking the door shut. You dumped your things down and crouched as you began unbuttoning his jacket. The red stain confronted you again when you pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders. You stared at it, then you heard him tut you.

“Se agradecería un poco de entusiasmo.” He was aloof, but his words were beginning to slur. He wasn’t doing well.

You jumped and snapped back to yourself as you began to frantically undo his dress-shirt.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” You muttered, though you weren’t sure if it was for him or for yourself.

His nice shirt came apart, all sticky from the blood, and you were faced with his soaked skin, and angry wound. Your head went light.

You remembered patching your ex up one night after a bar fight…but nothing that bad. It had been a cut from a pocket knife, not two bullet wounds.

There was no time for you to fall apart though. You were going to make this right even if it was the last thing you did.

You ran to the bathroom and filled the motel ice bucket with warm water and a glass with cold. When you came back, Lalo was forcing himself to stay awake- eyelids heavy. You grabbed every towel you could, and knelt at his feet again.

“Ey, there she is…” he rumbled.

You felt your lips pull into a nervous grin as if trying to see his humour.

“You’re gonna be okay…I’m- I’m gonna fix this-…” Your voice was unsteady though you tried your best to stay calm for him.

You dipped one of the towels into warm water and began dabbing away the blood by his side as best as you could; your stomach flipped at the sight of his torn flesh, but you weren’t about to pass out or back down.

“L-lay back, here.” You grabbed a few pillows and guided him to lay down, and as you went back to wiping his neck and side clean, you watched him try to say lucid. He did a profound job of keeping his breathing steady and you had a brief wonder of how many times he had been shot or worse. You brought a towel to his side and pressed down. Then you felt a surge of panic when you realized you hadn’t given him anything for the pain. “Shit! I’m- I’m sorry you- I didn’t give you anything.” You wrenched the kit open and shakily looked for anything that might help him. You found a small bottle of Tylenol, and though you weren’t certain how effective it would be, you grabbed two and the clean glass of water.

“Open.” You forced out, and placed the pills on his tongue and held the glass to his lips. Your hands shook and you spilled a little, but you focused on remaining calm.

You set the water down once he swallowed and took another towel, then went to his neck where you wiped more blood away. It was just a gash, but needed stitches. You felt your heart beat in your throat, and you wanted so badly to break down, but you couldn’t. You rifled through the kit and found the sutures, a new needle pack and the holder and forceps, and set them on the bed. You wiped the area again, and took a shuttered breath.

“Hey…”

You felt tears well in your eyes.

“Niñita.” Came his voice again.

You blinked and grabbed the needle pack and ripped it open with your teeth. The needle fell into your hand, and you took another breath.

“Y/n.”

You jumped and looked up. Lalo was staring right at you, eyelids heavy.

“You need to stay calm.” He rumbled, “Can’t let me get fucked up, sì?”

You sobbed out a laugh.

“You’re horrible.” You whispered, and sniffled.

“Everybody loves me.” He smiled dazed.

You took a few more breaths and thought of something that made you sober quickly. You thought of what Hector would have done to you if he found out you let his favourite nephew die.

With that in mind, you knelt beside him on the bed; you wiped and dried the wound on his neck again quickly, and pushed his flesh back together to start stitching

“Easy there tiger.” He groaned.

You sighed and brought the threaded needle to his skin, and you pushed in. The feeling of the needle going through his skin made your stomach churn.

His eye twitched, but he didn’t move as you slowly stitched him up. You hoped to god that you weren’t making this worse than it was already was, and thanked god that you had seen several medical shows on late night television years ago…

You finished the wound, and you sighed in relief as you tied a knot for the remaining thread. It wasn’t perfect, but the wound was holding together and he was barely bleeding anymore.

You cleaned the surrounding area one more time, and looked at your patient. He was staring at nothing, but he was awake. You wanted to stop and check on him, but you knew time was not something you had plenty of. With that in mind, you shuffled gingerly down the mattress to the other bullet hole, and cleaned away the entrance wound. There was no way you were going to try and remove a bullet. Certainly you had seen it done in movies but you were not about to do it to a man on deaths door, not when it meant it could cause him to bleed out. You replaced the towel that had become sodden with blood, and pressed down on the crisp white fabric. A warm blot of blood began to seep through and you felt your heart sink down into your ankles.

You were horrified that you had to sniffle a little, tears threatening to well up. You watched his face carefully; he was unbelievably strong willed. He practically refused to lose consciousness. His skin was pale and his eyes were heavy yet still he was awake and watching you from his propped up perch.

“I know a guy…” he rumbled. Suddenly.

You jumped and looked at him, surprised that he spoke. “Tell me how to reach him.” You said, already reaching for his jacket to find his phone.

“Second to last number…he’ll know who it is…” He might have been lacking blood, but Lalo still managed to sound just as confident and aloof as always.

You scrolled down and found the number, and pressed it without another thought. It rang twice before a man answered it.

“Where?” Came the voice.

You wanted to double check that he knew who you were calling for…but you had a feeling this man wasn’t just some guy who forgot who Lalo Salamanca was.

You gave him the address, simple and concise. He didn’t say thank you, or double check, and somehow you found that comforting. You snapped the phone shut, and placed it back in his pocket.

“He’s coming…it…its going to be okay…” you whispered. You wondered how many times that phone had been used to take a life with a simple order.

You looked down at the towel on his side, and lifted it gently to check the bleeding. It was still coming. You grabbed one of the spare pillows and wordlessly began unbuckling Lalo’s belt.

“I know you wanna help there princesita, but I don’t think right now is the best time for a bl-“

You ripped the belt from the loops and pressed the pillow to his side, making him groan and shut his mouth fast. It wasn’t perfect, but you managed to get the belt under his back and around his waist and over the pillow to fasten it to his side, tight. The pressure would help the bleeding better than your hands, and you leaned back once you got it tight enough.

You heart rate had slowed, and now seeing him a little more repaired, you looked at him properly. His eyes were closed, and it didn’t hit you for a moment that him being lax could be a horrible thing. Then your blood went cold.

You shot up out of your seat beside him and leaned over his chest.

"L...Lalo?" You whispered.

Nothing.

You feel lightheaded. You pressed your ear to his chest, and his heartbeat was faint. The tips of your fingers felt cold.

"Lalo!" Your voice broke, but again, there was no response.

Your eyes began to well with tears, and you broke.

"You motherfucker I'm neck deep in this shit, and I cant get myself out without you!" You cried out and slapped his thick chest.

You stared at his face for a moment, dread filling you.

Then, the corner of his mouth tugged.

“Awh, you mean it?” Came his low voice, his eyes still closed.

You felt your hands tingle as the urge to slap him filled you. It was like he could feel it. Lalo smirked slightly.

“C’mon I know you want to…what just because I’m half dead you’re going soft?” He goaded you.

You clenched your jaw and sighed. His mouth tugged again, though his eyes remained closed. Eventually his face went lax, and his breathing became even and slow. You called his name once more, but when he didn’t answer you gathered he was sleeping. You hoped against hope that the guy you had called would be there soon, but you supposed only time would tell.

In his dazed slumber, Lalo murmured a name or two…and you found yourself getting dizzy with sleep the longer you watched him.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but when you woke up, your head was down on the bed in your arms- just where you had been as you watched over him.

You looked up, and and stilled when you saw those large, glittering black eyes staring back at you, fully awake and very alive.

“Ahh she awakens.” He rasped.

You sat up and rubbed your head, taking him in.

He was sat, clean and reclined on the bed. There was a neat bandage over his side, and a smaller one over his neck, along with a couple brown bags where he kept reaching and eating from on the side table

“What…” you tried to say. You had expected to be awoken by the man knocking to get in the room, so how in the hell had he gotten in-

“Hm? Other guy took too long…called in a favour. Didn’t feel like dying yet.” He said as he pulled out a water from one of the bags for you. He dangled it in front of your face.

“I-oh…thank you.” You slowly took the water, and drank from it. You couldn’t remember when you last had water.

“Chicken man thinks he got me…we’ll stay here for a while…” Lalo rumbled.

You nodded, “I- I have the room booked for another two nights…um- I can see if I can get another one for you…if you want some priva-“

“Nah.” He dismissed you. But he said it with that easy grin of his as he looked at the shitty motel room service brochure. There was a warm silence to the room as you sat there with him. You sipped at your water, and slowly stood up, wincing at your back.

Lalo was flipping through one of the brochures of Albuquerque and chuckling every so often. Evidently he thought the touristic sights were amusing. It all seemed so surreal again, just like that night in your apartment as he patched you up.

Then, as you stood there in a daze, you. Suddenly realised how disgusting you felt. Blood and sweat and dirt was caked to you. You quietly went to the washroom and splashed some cold water on your face. You looked a mess. With Lalo more stable, you walked outside and grabbed the bag you had, and went back to the washroom to shower. You bagged up the clothes you had worn, and climbed inside the stall. The warm water washed over you, and you felt tears run down your face as the stress broke out of you. You sobbed quietly into your hand, and let the blood and dirt drain away.

It wasn’t long, but it was enough to help you settle back into your body.

Once you were finished, you dried your hair and put on some clean clothes; you forgot how wonderful it felt to be scrubbed clean. Your head felt a little light, but clear.

When you came out, Lalo was staring out the front window, and slipping a new, clean shirt onto one arm. You watched his back flex and the thick muscles ripple, and you were suddenly hit with the memory of of his lips pressing against yours in the car-

“You’re a little crazy, you know that?” He rumbled as he turned around, and begun buttoning his floral shirt.

You blinked and dragged your stare away from his chest.

“I’m- I’m sorry?” You asked, not fully understanding him. Was he referring to you running through firing bullets for him?

“You said you wished you had a family like the Salamancas. Anyone who says that must be crazy.” He smiled and said it with a laugh, but neither reached his eyes.

You didn’t smile, and didn’t move. Not even when he reached and grabbed his gun off the night stand as he stalked towards you.

“Said you’d take a bullet if you needed to…hm?” He taunted you, standing between you and the door.

You felt a drop of water you had missed run down the back of your neck.

“I haven’t achieved a lot in my life, Señor…but I like to think that I saved your life last night…and while I don’t think you’re a good person, I do know you have a lot of people who would miss you.” You looked from the barrel of the gun to his eyes, “You can shoot me, Señor Lalo…I did something good last night…and I can die with that on my consciousness. If I die with your family knowing I did something in their favour, I’ll be satisfied.” You swallowed and looked back at him. A sense of calm came over you, “Just…please make sure Hector is never seated beside Thomas Lee…they hate each other.” You added with a tiny smile at the memory of having to separate their wheelchairs more than once.

Lalo’s heavy gaze was locked on you, and your eyes flickered over him; his chest was rising and falling quickly. Very unlike the Lalo you knew. He was always so calm…eerily so.

“Come closer I don’t want to miss.” He rumbled.

You took the few steps that were between you, and stood at the edge of his outstretched arm, just an inch from the gun.

You raised your gaze to meet his, firm and ready to meet your end. But you saw something in Lalo that you had only seen once before- that night he had emptied a magazine into your ex- it was a hunger. A glimpse of an animal inside him.

You both stood there for a moment, barely blinking as you stared at one another. The air was thick and warm as the scorching sun heated everything under it outside. You watched his mouth twitch, and his glittering eyes flickered over your face as you remained still. He was thinking…fast.

You had proved yourself to him whether you meant to or not. Proved that you were willing and loyal. That you were quick and nurturing.

You were nuts.

And he liked that.

Then, Lalo brought his arm down and threw the gun onto the table behind him. The movement made you flinch slightly, but you still didn’t move. You weren’t about to be weak in front of him. You watched the older man take the two strides that separated you, and you felt his warm hands slip along your jaw to tilt your head back before you felt his lips on yours. They were warm, and he tasted of something sweet and smoky; his moustache tickled your lip, and you mewled softly into his mouth as you leaned up to move your lips with his urgent kiss. It was vicious, and messy. Lalo swept his tongue over your lips and you opened them without hesitation. A low hum rumbled in his chest, as he tasted you. You laid your hands on his chest, and he tore from your mouth for a moment to speak against your lips, still pecking and licking into your mouth.

“You want to be one of us? A little mouse of a Salamanca?” He rumbled, kissing you again.

You whimpered and nodded as best at you could, “Yes!”

He smirked against your lips and bit at your bottom one as he pulled you closer, “You’ll do what it takes?” Lalo began backing you up, and your legs hit the bed, making you fall back.

“Anything-“ you mumbled breathlessly as he descended upon you, his strong frame caged you in as he leaned down to kiss your jaw down to your neck where he bit and sucked ruthlessly.

“Again.” He rasped against your skin.

“Anything!” You whined, weaving your fingers into his greying hair.

“You’re mine you understand that?” Lalo pulled away and stared right at you; the sight of him so close, and his scent invading every one of your senses had your head go fuzzy. You were his.

“Y-yes papi.” You said without thinking as need took over you.

Lalo’s brow fell, and his face suddenly went serious- you felt worry prickle at you. But then he sat up and on his knees, and began unbuttoning his crisp shirt. “Say that again, Cariño.”

You stared at his fingers as his shirt came apart and you saw his bandage.

“Yes papi.” You repeated yourself.

He groaned satisfactorily deep in his chest, and slipped his shirt off his shoulders and leaned down to to grip the top of your skirt and dragged it down your legs, grinning at your panties. You bashfully went to close your knees but he smiled and tutted you, “No no no, mi princesita, open up for papi…a little more.” He ran a finger down your thigh and flicked it to make a point as you parted them.

He leaned back and reached down to run a finger down your covered slit and barked out an amused little playful laugh when he felt how soaked the material was, watching as the fabric clung to your lips.

“Dulce coñito…”he rumbled.

You may not have been fluent in Spanish, but you knew exactly what he said.

“All for me?” Lalo replaced his finger with his thumb and began rubbing up and down steadily, then stopping to circle around your clit.

You nodded, then he pressed down on your clit gently, and a whimper escaped you.

“Ooh I think she likes that.” He smiled wolfishly down at you. There was nothing you could do to hide your warming cheeks- you were practically glowing as he touched you. This man had just been bleeding on you on the verge of death, and here he was teasing you to near tears.

The man took in every twitch of your thighs, and gasp, storing every bit of information into that calculating brain of his. And you let him. You didn’t hide when you didn’t like something and certainly not when he was driving you crazy. He huffed in annoyance when he couldn’t feel all of your skin against him, and he nearly tore your shirt off of you, and bit and mouthed at the sports bra you had on.

Lalo leaned over you, and devoured your mouth as he finally slipped a long, thick finger inside you. You moaned into the kiss and he chuckled in return.

“Tan sensible, princesita…” he rumbled, and very slowly began to pump in and out of you; the movements matching the pace of his tongue licking into your mouth.

His other hand came up to the nape of your neck where he clenched his fist into your hair and stroked your neck with his thumb. You could feel yourself start to twitch and your muscles grew tighter as he patiently built your orgasm like he was entitled to it. Gently stroking your g-spot and teasing your sensitive clit as it swelled under the pad of his thumb. But then every time you felt yourself start to reach your climax, he would slow, and back off. You whined pitifully into his mouth and he hummed and chuckled.

“Tan impaciente, do I need to teach you manners?” He purred against your mouth.

You shook your head frantically and bit the inside of your lip.

He hummed again, and you felt the vibrations against you. “No…you’re a good girl, eh? Una niña tan buena para mí…” he kissed your temple, and the gesture made your head spin as you keened into his hand.

“Please…” you whispered, and melted when he kissed your nose, continuing his slow pace.

“Look at you…so domesticated like a little dog. Como una pequeña mascota…” he purred.

You blushed, and flicked your eyes away in shame…was he taunting you? Did he think so little of you?

“Ah ah…I like when you look at me, niñita…” he tutted you, and put pressure on your jaw with his thumb as he still cradled your head. You felt his finger pull from you and you suppressed a mewl.

“You’d kill for me. You’d kill for your papi hm?” He goaded you.

You never thought you would say yes to something like that…but you knew that when you fired his gun at that man, you were ready for the bullet to be fatal.

“Yes…” you murmured.

He smiled wolfishly down at you, “Estás loca, niñita.”

Lalo leaned up and away from you, and hissed for a moment. You sat up with him and followed his gaze down to the bandage on his side.

“Are you alright?” You asked quietly, reaching out to touch the area lightly. Lalo snatched your hand and brought it up to his mouth were he sucked one of your fingers into his mouth; your lips parted at the sensation, and with your body so on edge, it only added to the fire inside you.

Then he looked back down and scoffed. “Shit shot.”

You smiled a small smile, then leaned up onto your knees in front of him and watched him closely as you pressed a kiss to his chest. You could feel his heart beating under his skin, and you felt a strange privilege to feel it. You kissed him again, then followed a small trail down to where the bandage was. You looked up at him again; he was watching you intently, his breathing heavy as his thick chest heaved. You held his gaze, and dared to press a kiss right over his wound.

“Mierda…” he rumbled, then you were being wrenched from him and your back hit the bed again. Lalo was almost panting and he opened his belt and pulled it from its loops before throwing it onto the bed beside you. You could only watch as he worked his pants open, not taking his eyes off of you for a second.

You felt pinned to the spot under him, and you grew weak under his heavy, scorching gaze.

“Yours.” You whispered, and spread your legs wider for him. You didn’t know what drew you to say it…but there was a part of you that was so resigned to this man that you couldn’t even think coherently anymore.

Lalo didn’t even stutter his movements as he shucked his pants off. You stared up at him, partially appreciating that you weren’t the only one nude…but somehow you felt even more intimidated with him having nothing on. He was a strong, powerful man. There was no hiding it. A thick, strong chest and tummy, broad shoulders, thick thighs that you had seen pull at his trousers just like his arms strained his shirts.

You felt tiny.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it as he descended on you. Lalo took each of your wrists in his hands, and pinned you there. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock lay on your stomach between you as he nestled between your thighs.

The tip leaked onto your tummy, and you squirmed against his hold on your wrists as you tried to touch him or hold onto him for dear life, but he kept you there- so vulnerable. Lalo transferred one of your wrists to his other hand and he use his free one to grope down your body, and return to your slick cunt; he slipped a finger inside you again, checking to see that you were still soaked, and he chuckled. You knew you were an even bigger mess than when he had initially teased you.

“Creo que estás goteando.” He chuckled and pulled away from you to glance down as he pulled his fingers from you- a thick line of slick between his fingers and he pulled them apart.

You flushed. Lalo hummed in satisfaction. He had you in the palm of his hand. Literally.

He took his wet hand and worked it over the tip of his cock, and you almost whined at the slick sound. You had gotten an eye-full of his cock when he had stood at the foot of the bed, and you knew he was massive. You could feel him pull his hips away from you as he moved the fat tip down to run it through your folds. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Lalo released your wrists and leaned back on his heels to watch himself rub the head over your clit then down the length of your slit, and back up. He rubbed it right over your sensitive bud and you bit your lip to keep from whining.

“C’mon ninita don’t be shy- I know the moustache is a bit much but I promise I’m a really nice guy.” He teased you, then surprised you by dipping the tip inside you. Just a little.

But it was enough to make you lose composure and moan pathetically.

“Ahh there she goes- see? Knew you’d warm up to me.” Lalo’s rough voice filled your ears and you moaned again when he slipped in a little further, one hand still gripping the base of his shaft and the other now on your hip in a bruising grip.

You stared up at him helplessly, hands weaved into the sheet below you.

“Precioso…” he purred almost to himself.

The endearment had you flush even more, and he started to catch onto the correlation. His face no longer held any amusement, but instead a ravenous focus sat handsomely in the deep lines of his skin.

He pulled the tip out again, then pushed in further until it popped inside you completely- a small bulge there at your entrance. Your breathing came heavily and you leaned up a little to watch.

Lalo pulled out of you again, then slipped inside you a little more…so slow and so patient. You felt as if you might melt into the bed or combust as he fucked himself into you, gently stretching you open to fit his girth. Your body welcomed him, albeit nervously as your muscles clenched every so often. But he would ease you with gentle coos and lean down to you to kiss your nose. “That’s it…there you go, princesita, you can take papi…all the way.”

You thought you might die when he was in far enough to stroke against your gspot. You could feel yourself tighten impossibly more around him, and he huffed out an amused laugh as your body threatened to force him out. Lalo pulled from your heat again, watching as your sensitive flesh clung to him, and the round bump that formed in your tummy where his cock was nestled inside you; then his gaze was on yours and he snapped his fingers to ensure your attention. You refocused your eyes and stared up at him.

“Eyes on me.” He murmured.

You nodded, and stared at his glittering black eyes as they bore into yours. Then, he began slipping himself back inside you…so slowly. You could already feel the extreme sensations starting to ripple through you, and as you watched the older man, it was like he knew even before you that you were on the precipice of your orgasm. You almost started to plead with him as he patiently eased the thick shaft into you, the weight of it dragging against every sensitive spot inside you until his hips met yours, and his thick tummy ground against your clit…and you saw stars.

“Cum on papi,cariño…” he purred, “Cum all over me.” He kissed your top lip.

And you let go.

An unrestrained whine tore from your throat as your legs shook and your cunt clenched down on him like a vice. Lalo could feel the sudden rush of your cum over his cock and he continued to grind into you as you rode it out. You didn’t know when, but you felt his warm hands over yours; his fingers locked with yours. Your fingers dug into his knuckles, and your back arched up off the mattress as he patiently fucked you through your orgasm, shallowly pulling out then grinding back inside you.

You could barely hear or see. Everything was cloudy and ringing around you as the extreme pleasure ebbed away and your body went lax.

“There she is.” Lalo grinned, and kissed you. His tongue parted your lips and you wrenched your hands from his and wrapped them around his neck, but you flinched when you touched his bandage there.

Lalo hummed and put your arms back around his neck, “Rip them open ninita, c’mon.” He grinned down at you, and started thrusting into you. There was an obscene sound that came from between you thanks to your powerful orgasm and your cheeks warmed.

“Woah!” He smiled and pushed into you, humming at the feeling of your slick warmth hugging around him. Lalo sighed and leaned over you fullly now, bracing himself on his strong forearms. He sighed, and the air fanned over your face.

“Dios te sientes bien.” The older man purred, and kissed down your neck to your shoulder where he nipped at the skin as he increased his pace. Your body began to bounce under him.

Lalo slipped his hand back under the nape of your neck and held you still as he sucked at your skin and bit down possessively. You whimpered and squirmed but his iron grip held you there. As he slowly released you, he licked at your skin and kissed along your collar. His chest heaved against yours and he returned to your mouth and engulfed your lips again; you parted them without thinking now, and let his warm tongue stroke yours.

Then, he pulled away slowly and stared down at you scorchingly. “Open that pretty mouth.” He gasped.

You parted your lips, and Lalo spat onto your waiting tongue, then leaned back down and kissed you again, hard. You moaned down his throat and he groaned in return. A startling need for eachother had seeded itself in both of you.

He had you so distracted with his mouth that you barely noticed as he started rutting into you until his kiss slowed. Lalo hunkered over you, almost folding you in half and he stared hammering into you fast. There was nothing but the sound of his flesh plaping against yours in the warm motel room, and while you were sensitive, you didn’t want it to stop. In fact, you could feel your sensitive cunt start to tighten around him again, and you were helpless to stop it or even tell him, though he seemed very well aware as he grinned down at you.

“That’s it- that’s it.” He purred, and you let him use you as he needed. His soft tummy impacted your clit with each thrust and you could only babble with need. “I’m- I’m- la- f-f-fu- I’m-“ you couldn’t even get a word out at your second orgasm hit you like a train, and Lalo chuckled low in his chest as he felt you cum for him.

You gripped around him tight, and Lalo groaned low at the sensation. He thrusted a few more times, each one more sloppy and harder than the last until he pushed into you all the way, squishing his tip up against your cervix and let his weight down onto you as he came deep inside you. You rolled your hips with him as he slowed his pace and ground against you. Lalo hummed and panted into your neck, and you held him tight against your body as his thick cum filled you up. You could feel your tummy warm up as he emptied into you, rope after hot rope he coated your insides until some of the sticky liquid leaked out the sides where his cock plugged you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you were terrified that he might have ripped his stitches, but in that moment you didn’t dare say a word. You knew he’d wave you off.

The older man slowly stilled, and stayed inside you comfortably. His heat was comforting, and you clung to his back and stroked his hair gently. Lalo very slowly leaned up off of you, kissing along your collar to your cheeks, and rolled to the side so he wouldn’t crush you. Then, he shuffled something over to you, and lifted your butt up. It was a pillow.

When you looked at him as he raised your hips up, he only sent you a wink.

You couldn’t form a sentence, so you just laid there for a moment before you felt his arm come around your head and pull you into his side. You curled in there, and rested your head on his chest. Your heart beat wracked your entire body- everything pulsed. You couldn’t move. And Lalo noticed how immobile you were.

“What? A mans never made you cum before?” He chuckled. But when you were silent, he looked at you properly. “No…really? That little prick never made a little thing like you cum?” He pushed and you wished the earth would swallow you up.

“No…” you managed to force out.

“God…we have a lot of catching up to do then!”

You stared at him in horror as your body was still recovering from what he had just done to you. And he laughed. “I’m joking- now come here and kiss me. I almost died yesterday y’know.”

You huffed, and leaned up to press a gentler kiss to his mouth. Then leaned back down. You couldn’t even hold your head up.

He kissed your hair, and ran his hand up and down your arm. “Mi pequeña loca.” Lalo purred.

“Mi viejo loco.” You mumbled, and Lalo sat up and away from you enough to look down at you.

You looked at him sheepishly.

“Mocosa.” He smiled, and you returned it.

Lalo enjoyed seeing you like that. Relaxed. Flushed. Sweaty. Fucked out, blissed out, swollen lipped, hair a mess. All for him.

He sighed after a moment, and smacked your hip. “I’m gonna eat you if we don’t get some fucking food.”

You nodded. “What do you have in mind? Fried chicken?” You quipped.

Lalo did a double take, and stared at you dead serious, then burst into laughter. “I knew you were funny.”

You smiled a little and toyed with a little hair on his arm. “How much longer are you going to be here…in Albuquerque?” You mumbled.

“Eh…we’ll stay here a little longer. Keep an eye on my tio…then after that? Think you deserve some real food.” He smiled.

Your brows furrowed and you pulled away to look at him.

“You said you’ve never been to Mexico right?” He said, tracking your eyes.

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Entonces está decidido...after that…I think we could use a Uh…mouth cleanser?” He squinted.

Your heart throbbed still his use of “we”.

“Pallet cleanser?” You offered and he snapped his finger and pointed at you. You smiled.

“Yes! That. Tired of this shit city…you know, I hear Germany is nice.” And he grinned.

He knew he had you.

He embodied the chaos you had grown used to, but portrayed it so calmly. He made you feel safe, and made that little girl you thought you had lost inside you sing. Whatever it was that the two of you shared, you were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

And you knew it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[raylightt]

How my friends make me feel when I openly admit Lalo Salamanca is fit

[callsigns-haze-deactivated20260]

Traitors War: 1

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by oneshots)

Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.

The council chamber of the Night Court is darker than ever, steeped in an oppressive silence that suffocates as you step forward. Shadows cling to the polished floors, stretching toward you like silent accusers, and the bitter taste of magic hangs thick in the air. You can feel the weight of the room bearing down, its chilling atmosphere a testament to the wrath that awaits you.

In the centre of it all, Rhysand sits with an eerie stillness, his face a mask of lethal beauty. But beneath his façade, fury radiates from him in waves, setting his violet eyes alight with a malice that chills you to the bone. Flanking him are Cassian and Azriel, as immovable and unreadable as statues carved from stone. Their stony expressions give nothing away, but the hardened edge in their postures speaks volumes.

“Do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” Rhysand’s voice is low, each syllable sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence with a vicious precision. The scorn woven into his tone sends a shiver down your spine. He does not wait for you to answer. “Of course you don’t. Because if you did, I doubt even you would be foolish enough to stand here, expecting leniency.”

His words strike deep, leaving a sting that blossoms into shame. You try to meet his gaze, but his expression is unyielding, his eyes alight with something dark and unrecognizable. You search for any hint of understanding, any sliver of the Rhysand you’ve known—but he has vanished, leaving behind this cold, merciless figure in his place.

“It was my job,” you manage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat, each syllable heavy with the weight of your conviction. “I believed it was right.”

“Right?” he sneers, a contemptuous laugh escaping his lips, empty of humour. “You believed?” His voice drips with sarcasm, each word twisted and spat out like venom. “How very noble of you, to decide what’s right for me, for this court, for everyone.”

The force of his fury presses against you like a physical weight, but you force yourself to stand your ground, your hands clenched at your sides. Yet, the truth looms over you—a crushing reminder of the choice you made, the loyalty you gambled away.

His gaze narrows, and his tone drops to a cruel, mocking whisper. “Did you think yourself so wise, so indispensable, that I would forgive such treachery? That I would welcome you back with open arms after you conspired with him? With Eris?”

The hatred in his eyes is a dagger, and you feel it twist with every venomous word he hurls at you. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, and you want to shrink away, but there is nowhere to hide from the cold, unyielding judgment that fills the room.

“How dare you,” he hisses, his voice like thunder, reverberating through the chamber. “How dare you undermine me, betray me—after everything I’ve given you? I gave you power, status, trust. And this is how you repay me?”

The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating, and you feel the sharp sting of his betrayal as deeply as he does. Words die on your tongue, and you’re left with nothing but silence—a silence he seizes upon, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

“Look at you,” he sneers, his eyes raking over you with disgust. “The so-called assassin of the Night Court, reduced to this—a traitor, a coward. Did you ever think your lies would not come to light?”

He rises from his seat with deliberate slowness, his every movement a display of dominance and scorn. Cassian and Azriel remain impassive, but you sense their quiet fury, the simmering anger held back by sheer force of will.

Rhysand takes a step forward, and the air between you crackles with magic, raw and potent. The bonds that have marked you as his, that have stained your skin with his trust, begin to burn. You feel them unravel, one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers, leaving behind a searing emptiness.

“Your place here is gone,” he says, his voice a venomous whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing—a stain on this Court, a shame I will gladly erase.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your throat thick with the urge to plead, to defend yourself. But you know it would be pointless. He has condemned you already, cast you aside with a cruelty that leaves you hollow.

“Leave,” he orders, his voice cold and final. “And let it be known that from this moment forward, you are banished from the Night Court. Should you ever set foot here again, it will be as my enemy.”

The finality of his words sinks in, and for a moment, the room spins around you. You look at Azriel and Cassian, but their faces remain stony, offering no solace, no reprieve.

With a last, pained glance, you turn and walk away, the silence behind you as heavy as the bonds that now lie shattered at your feet.

-

The bench beneath you is rough, weathered by time and use, but it’s familiar—a place of respite amid the chaos that has engulfed the Autumn Court. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood on your lips. You tilt your head up slightly, trying to steady your breathing, wincing as a fresh wave of pain pulses from the bruises littering your body.

Eris kneels in front of you, his auburn hair glowing like embers in the dim light. His expression is carefully composed, but his gaze flickers with a rare softness, tinged with something unreadable as he delicately presses a damp cloth to your split lip. His fingers are steady, skilled, and his touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a contrast to the ruthless, calculating male the world knows him to be.

“I told you to stay out of the skirmish,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes as he dabs away the dried blood. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but edged with frustration. “But you never listen, do you?”

You manage a weak smile, though it sends a fresh jolt of pain through your lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” The words are light, but the weight of the past, the years since you’d last shared such closeness, presses heavily between you.

He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself with a rigid precision, as though he’s one wrong move from unravelling. “I don’t need another ghost on my conscience,” he mutters, pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary, and you hiss, but his eyes are still fixed on his work. “Especially not yours.”

Your heart twists at his words, at the flicker of vulnerability he’s revealing, rare and raw. “Eris…if I wanted to stay safe and quiet, I wouldn’t have come here.” Your voice is soft, and his hand pauses for a moment as he absorbs your words, the truth in them, the history that binds you to his fight.

He finally looks up, his amber eyes intense, studying you with a scrutiny that feels as if he’s searching for something lost. “And yet,” he says slowly, his tone cold but his gaze warm, “you are still here, fighting alongside me. After everything.”

You meet his gaze, the memories flooding back—the years in the shadows, the loyalty you once swore to Rhysand that had ended with such bitter finality. And yet, in this moment, here with Eris, there is an understanding, an alliance you’d never expected to find.

“Beron has to be stopped,” you say quietly, a hardness slipping into your voice. “We both know it. We've known it for two hundred years. The things he’s done… he doesn’t deserve the power he holds over these lands. He has to fall.”

Eris’s expression darkens, and his hand, still cradling your chin, trembles slightly. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with something darker, more personal. “But it’s not that simple. Killing him means more than just power shifting—it’s risking everything, for everyone. It means blood on my hands, blood I can’t wash away.”

You reach up, your fingers brushing his, grounding him. “You’ve done this much already, led so many to stand against him. I’ve seen the way the court follows you, Eris. They believe in you.” You pause, searching his eyes. “And so do I.”

A shadow passes over his face, softening the harsh lines of his expression. “Why, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe in me?” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it, but the question lingers in the air, laden with years of unspoken words.

You hold his gaze, your voice firm, unwavering. “Because you chose to be better than him, better than I ever thought a man like you would. You chose a path that no one else would. And no matter what, that choice will always matter to me.”

He swallows, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his face, and he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Then maybe I am a fool, too, for keeping you here—for wanting you to be by my side when it’s all over.”

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the pain. “You’re no fool, Eris. We’re both haunted by our choices, our pasts. But right now, we have a chance to make something right.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. “And I think it’s worth it, even if it costs us everything, well.... I personally don't have anything to lose.”

For a moment, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes as though savouring the fleeting solace. Then he straightens, his face hardening once more, but there’s a spark in his eyes now, a fierceness that rekindles the fire within him.

Eris’s fingers slip under your arm, steady and firm as he lifts you off the bench. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, but he merely quirks an eyebrow, as if amused by your surprise. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, the rough pads of his fingers brushing your bruised skin, grounding you in the moment as he releases you. Then, with a silent understanding, the two of you begin to walk.

The camp sprawls before you, tents set up in rough but orderly rows, each one a mark of defiance against Beron’s reign. Soldiers mill around, sharpening blades, tending to wounds, and whispering quiet plans and reassurances. Fires crackle, sending up thin curls of smoke into the crisp air, their warmth a stark contrast to the heavy chill that hangs over the camp.

Eris keeps a brisk pace beside you, his gaze intense, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. There’s a palpable energy about him, something sharp and restless, as if he’s a blade just waiting to be unleashed. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as he passes, but there’s a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope, of trust in him that you’ve seldom seen in this court. Despite the darkness, they believe in him. Just as you do.

As you walk, a figure comes jogging toward you, his familiar auburn hair catching the light of the dying sun. Lucien’s face is flushed from exertion, but there’s a victorious gleam in his russet eye as he slows to a stop before you and Eris.

“We’ve taken down another one of Beron’s forces,” Lucien announces, his voice edged with satisfaction. He places his hands on his knees, breathing heavily but grinning. “One of his inner forces. His numbers are dwindling, and his support… well, it’s hanging on by threads now.”

Eris’s lips curl into a slow, calculating smile, his gaze sharpening as Lucien’s words sink in. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone a dark satisfaction laced with bitter triumph. “That’s one less hand Beron has to wield against us.”

Lucien’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes softening as he takes in your injuries. “You look worse for wear,” he remarks, though there’s a flicker of concern beneath his teasing tone. “You should be resting.”

You give him a small, tired smile, shrugging slightly. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, could I?”

Eris’s fingers brush your arm, guiding you forward with an unspoken insistence. “Rest will come after Beron is gone,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. He looks to Lucien, his expression hardening. “With this win, we’ll need to reinforce the eastern front. Beron may be desperate, but that will only make him more dangerous.”

Lucien nods, his face growing serious. “The soldiers are preparing as we speak. Morale is high—they know Beron is losing ground.” His gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction sparking in his eye. “And they know they’re not just fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for you, Eris.”

Eris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, his mask slipping just enough for you to see the weight he carries. But then he straightens, his shoulders squaring with renewed resolve. “Then let’s give them a reason to keep believing,” he says, his voice steely and resolute.

Eris’s hand brushes against yours as he guides you away from Lucien, slipping through the bustling camp. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as you pass, but you can feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and curiosity that ripple in your wake. They’ve heard of you, the once-assassin of the Night Court who has returned to fight beside Eris. You can practically feel the stories they must tell—legends whispered in the dark, half-believed tales of your skill, your ruthlessness.

Eris leads you to a tent set slightly apart from the others, tucked away from the main cluster. He steps inside first, holding the tent flap open for you. As you enter, the scent of leather and steel greets you, sharp and familiar. Your old assassin’s gear is laid out on a small table in the centre, the black leather as supple and deadly as you remember. Knives and throwing blades glint in the firelight, each one meticulously sharpened, waiting for your touch.

You move to the table, fingers brushing over the leather armour, the silent weapons that were once an extension of yourself. You slip out of your travel-worn clothes, letting them fall to the ground. Piece by piece, you put on the gear, feeling the familiar weight settle over you like a second skin. The leather is snug, perfectly fitted to your body, and you secure the buckles and straps with practiced precision, feeling the transformation as the assassin within you stirs, roused after all these years.

Eris watches in silence, his gaze unwavering, intense. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of worry that he tries to mask but cannot entirely hide. You reach for the knives, fastening them to your belt, slipping blades into hidden sheaths along your thighs and forearms, every movement precise, deliberate.

Finally, you turn to him, adjusting the last strap on your wrist. He takes a step closer, his hand hovering just near your arm, as if he wants to touch you, to steady you, but holds back. His face is a study of quiet turmoil, the calm, composed mask he wears slipping ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, almost pleading. “Sending you, alone, to Beron’s camp… It’s dangerous. Even for you.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a steady conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “This is what I’m meant for, Eris. I know how to do this.” Your voice is calm, controlled, yet there’s a fire in your eyes, a certainty that hardens your resolve.

He looks down, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he battles with something unspoken. “You’re to burn the camp,” he murmurs, his tone almost bitter, as if the thought of sending you into that inferno cuts him deeply. “To wipe out anyone who stands in your way. You… shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

You lift your chin, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “If we’re going to end this war, Beron’s camp needs to fall. And I am the best suited to do this. I’ve done things like this before.”

Eris’s hand finally finds yours, his fingers entwining with yours, strong and steady. “Those days are behind you. You’re… more than just an assassin now. More than just a weapon.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words louder would make them real, and in that moment, you see the worry, the raw, aching fear he’s been hiding.

You squeeze his hand, grounding him, your voice a gentle reassurance. “And I’m still a fighter. I’m still someone who knows how to end a battle.” You step back, straightening, every inch the assassin who once served the Night Court. “You’re leading your forces, Eris. Let me do what I do best.”

He hesitates, his eyes darkening as his thumb grazes your knuckles, the touch tender, lingering. “If anything happens to you…”

“Nothing will,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

Eris swallows, his gaze never leaving yours, and you see the war within him—the tension between his duty as a leader and his fear as… something more. Finally, he releases your hand, stepping back, his expression once again composed, though his eyes betray him.

“Take my smoke hounds,” he says, voice hardening with reluctant resolve. “They’ll be at your command, lethal and loyal. If anyone stands in your way…” His mouth tightens, as though the thought of what you’re about to do pains him. “Do what you must.”

You nod, feeling the finality of his words settle over you like a cloak. The smoke hounds are Eris’s most trusted creatures—vicious, swift, creatures of shadow and flame. With them by your side, Beron’s camp will fall, reduced to ash and memory.

As you turn to leave, Eris’s voice stops you, a soft, broken whisper. “Come back to me.”

You glance back, meeting his gaze, a silent promise passing between you.

-

The forest blurs around you, dark and thick with shadows as you sprint through the trees, each stride light and precise. The silence of the woods is broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the soft, nearly soundless patter of twelve pairs of paws moving in sync beside you. Eris’s smokehounds, shadows among shadows, run with you, their sleek bodies rippling with the restrained power of creatures forged from flame and darkness. Their eyes gleam in the dim light, flickers of red and gold mirroring the embers deep within them.

Your breath comes in steady, controlled puffs, each one carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You push your pace, weaving around trees, ducking under branches, letting the familiar rhythm of running take over. The hounds follow you with fierce loyalty, twelve shadowed phantoms keeping stride with ease, their eyes never straying from you. You’ve trained with creatures like them before; they know your signals, can read your smallest gestures. And tonight, they know their purpose as well as you do.

Ahead, you see the cliff edge through the trees, the canyon beyond stretching wide and deep, a gaping chasm that offers the perfect vantage point. Twenty-five minutes until the fire, just as planned. You mentally mark each step of the mission: secure the perimeter, then unleash the hounds. They’ll tear through Beron’s forces with merciless precision, a deadly warning sent by Eris himself.

With a soft hand signal, you urge the hounds to pick up the pace. They respond instantly, surging forward in a silent wave, each one attuned to your every movement. You can feel their excitement, their hunger to fulfill their purpose—a lethal harmony that mirrors your own resolve.

At the cliff’s edge, you pause for just a moment, looking out over the vast expanse of trees, campfires flickering faintly in the distance. Beron’s forces are spread across the valley below, unsuspecting, oblivious to the doom that will descend upon them in a matter of minutes. You breathe in, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, centring yourself.

Then you leap into motion again, running along the edge of the cliff, the hounds fanning out beside you. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but you move with confidence, your steps sure and steady. The hounds move effortlessly, their eyes fixed forward, waiting for your command to unleash them upon the enemy below.

The minutes tick by, and you count each one, your mind focused, calculating. You know that Eris will be watching the clock, timing your return. He’ll know the moment his hounds have done their work, the moment the fires ignite, marking the beginning of the end for Beron’s camp. And he’ll be waiting, trusting that you will return alongside them.

You feel the power thrumming through your veins, the familiar thrill of the mission, the anticipation of the flames that will soon light up the sky. You glance down at the hounds, each one poised and ready, their bodies taut with barely-contained energy. With a small, barely perceptible nod, you give the signal.

You crouch low, hidden among the dense trees at the edge of the camp. The flickering glow of campfires illuminates the chaos below. Beron’s forces move with the sluggish confidence of men who believe themselves safe, unaware of the inferno waiting to consume them. You pull the bow from your back, your fingers steady as you nock an arrow soaked in pitch. With a deep breath, you draw back the string, the familiar weight and tension grounding you.

The torch at your side flickers in the cool night breeze, casting your shadow long against the forest floor. With a deliberate motion, you dip the arrowhead into the flame. Fire bursts to life, licking up the shaft, bright and hungry. The light reflects off the sharp edges of your assassin’s gear, and for a moment, you’re bathed in a fiery glow.

You take aim at the largest tent—the command centre, judging by its size and central position. The arrow flies, cutting through the air in a deadly arc, embedding itself into the canvas. Flame spreads instantly, roaring to life as the tent is consumed. You don’t wait to watch it burn. Another arrow is already in your hand, aflame and ready. This time, you aim for the storage tent where supplies are stacked high. It ignites with a burst of heat, the fire leaping from one crate to the next.

One more arrow—this time toward the soldiers’ quarters. The shot is perfect. The flames catch, and panic spreads like wildfire. Shouts rise as soldiers scramble to put out the blaze, but it’s too late. Smoke curls upward, dark and thick, a signal of chaos rising to the stars.

You sling your bow across your back and run, feet pounding the forest floor as you follow the path you memorized earlier. Your mind maps out every turn, every slope: the sharp left at the leaning oak, the shallow stream you leap across without hesitation, the narrow ridge that runs parallel to the cliffside. Your breath comes in short bursts, your heart hammering in your chest, but your focus remains razor-sharp.

Then you hear it—shouts behind you. The sound cuts through the night like a blade, and when you glance back, you see them: Beron’s soldiers, torches in hand, spreading through the trees like a swarm. One of them spots you, his shout echoing across the forest, and suddenly the hunt is on.

You push harder, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the weight of your gear slows you. The thick leather straps dig into your shoulders, the metal clasps clinking faintly with every stride. It feels like a leaden anchor dragging you down.

With a frustrated growl, you strip the bow from your back, tossing it aside into the underbrush. Next, you unbuckle the heavier pieces of your armour mid-stride, letting them fall as you run. The bracers follow, the daggers strapped to your thighs discarded one by one. You leave a trail of discarded weaponry in your wake, the promise of lighter steps driving you forward.

But the soldiers are everywhere. Torches light up the forest in jagged lines, cutting off your escape routes. Their shouts grow louder, closer, and the realization hits you: they’re herding you, pushing you toward the cliff. Panic sparks in your chest, but you keep moving, feet skimming over rocks and roots, muscles burning with the effort.

The cliff looms ahead, the forest giving way to open sky and the deafening roar of the river far below. The soldiers close in, their shouts a cacophony that drowns out your pounding heartbeat. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. You sprint toward the edge, the ground disappearing beneath your feet as you leap.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The world drops away, the wind rushing past you in a deafening roar. Your stomach lurches as you fall, the vast canyon walls blurring on either side. Below, the river churns violently, a silver ribbon that grows larger with every passing second.

You hit the water hard, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The freezing cold engulfs you, dragging you down, the current tugging at your limbs with relentless force. You fight to the surface, gasping for air, the icy water shocking your system into focus.

The river carries you away, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You let it take you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, knowing that survival is your only thought now. Above the churning waters, the smoke from Beron’s camp rises into the night, the promise of fire and destruction marking the beginning of the end.

A/N: this series was supposed to be posted in February but as you can see part one is out now but it will be a while till part 2!

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Seven

For @erisweekofficial Day 7: Free Day

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Eris wakes up as the newly crowned High Lord with a multitude of responsibilities ahead. Yet, there is one essential matter he must resolve before he can truly claim his throne.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury and death, fluff.

Word Count: 3.3k

Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The room of the Forest House was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire, its glow casting soft shadows against the stone walls. 

You sat near the window, gazing out into the night, feeling a strange of calm settle over you for the first time in days. The unease that had been clinging to your chest, that pressing weight, had loosened just a little.

Lady Autumn had offered you this room. It was close to Eris, a mere three minute walk to the room that he now laid in, shallow-breathed and unconscious, unable to be woken. You'd initially turned her offer down, said it was unnecessary. But she'd given you a look, something soft and knowing, and you accepted without another protest. You were grateful. You didn't want to be far from Eris— whether you were willing to admit it out loud or not.

You hadn't left his side at first, had found yourself cemented to him, unmovable, hands grasping his. He was warm still, unbelievably so, but his face was slack. 

You only separated when the sense of intrusion became too strong—a quiet unease, like you were imposing on something that wasn’t yours to witness. 

You weren’t his family, weren’t one of his advisors. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you could call yourselves friends. Days ago, months ago, you would’ve said no without hesitation. Eris had been nothing to you but a persistent thorn in your side, the kind you try to pluck free, only for it to burrow deeper the more you tugged.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was you who kept returning, drawn to him without fully understanding why.

To keep your mind off his unmoving body, you did the only thing that felt right: you returned to the ballroom, to the place where everything had changed. It was already cleaned then, rid of the spilled Vanserra blood, empty of Beron's soulless body. You weren't sure where he had been taken, didn't quite care enough to think about it for a moment longer.

You’d found yourself taking Eris’s hound, gently removing the restraints from his soft body and transporting him to a beautiful clearing near Eris’s cabin. 

You knew Eris would want to pay respect to his beloved pet. Until he could do it for himself, you would do it in his honor. You buried the hound, marked his grave, and sat next to it for what seemed like hours. He was an animal, yes, and you weren’t sure if they could understand emotions when they were living, but just in case, you wanted him to feel loved. To feel mourned.

Then you’d returned to the Forest House, took up residence in that empty room, and waited. 

The moonlight painted the landscape in silver, softening the sharp edges of the world outside. The autumn trees glowed faintly, their fire-hues reflecting off leaves in a way that felt surreal, felt dream-like. Your court was beautiful. You needed to appreciate it more.

You pressed your hand against the cool glass of the window and let your thoughts drift.

How many nights had Eris stood in his room, a few doors down, looking out at the same scene? You imagined him, alone in the quiet, his amber eyes fixed on the trees, thinking of a world beyond them. Had he been lonely? The thought struck you with a pang. For all his fire, for all his strength and sharp wit, Eris always felt hidden, like his true spirit had been locked away where no one could reach him.

No one but you seemed to feel it. You often wondered why.

The fear you’d felt during these last few days had been unlike anything you’d ever known. It all stemmed from your concern for Eris, for the cruel eldest Vanserra that you'd always flocked to. You couldn’t shake the image of him, standing tall and unyielding, facing the storm of his father and everything he was bound to inherit. 

You'd watched him take blow after blow, fought the instinct to step in, to place yourself between Eris and Beron’s fists, to shield him.  It had terrified you—more than you thought possible—how close you’d come to losing him. Even after things had calmed, after they'd taken Eris's body to his quarters, brought a healer to him, you still felt the echoes of that fear, lingering like an aftertaste of dread.

But tonight, as the moonlight spilled over the fire-touched trees and bathed the world outside in silver, that fear felt distant. Like something that belonged to the past, now slowly dissipating into the night.

You sighed softly, leaning against the frame, when suddenly you felt it—a presence behind you. A ripple of heat, a familiar energy brushing against the edge of your awareness.

Your breath caught as you turned.

Even in the darkness, with only the faint flicker of firelight, he was unmistakable. For someone so vibrant, so impossible to blend in, Eris always moved like a ghost. Stealthy, quiet, as though the fire in his blood had learned how to hide in the shadows.

You stared at him for a moment. He was different now. Something had shifted, not just in his stance but in the very air around him. He was glowing—radiating a sense of power and regality that made your breath catch. 

You'd seen it as Beron fell: a glow emanating from Eris, a surge of power that seemed to ripple through the room. You had watched him take a deep breath before the darkness of unconsciousness gripped him with its strong hands, dragging him into a deep, weary sleep. Hovered over him as Lady Autumn attended to his wounds, placed your hand gently on his forehead, combed through his disheveled hair. Over and over, you had whispered his name.

He was High Lord.

Eris’s hair, normally styled to perfection, now fell across his forehead in a messy, untouched way that only made him more soft, more vulnerable.  His face was unguarded, the lines of his usual mask softened, like he was finally free of a heavy weight.

He was High Lord.

The title fit him, settled into him like it had always been waiting to claim him. And yet, there was something else there too, something raw, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to stand in this new skin of his.

You felt hyper-aware all of a sudden—of yourself, your own appearance, of the silence stretching between you. You’d never felt this way before around him, never felt so unsure, so seen and yet invisible in the same breath.

His chest rose with a deep breath as he stepped forward, the firelight catching the edges of his hair, making it glow like molten gold.

“Hello,” Eris said, the word sounding strange, almost tentative, like he didn’t quite know how to begin.

And before you could think, before you could even register what was happening, you were moving. Your feet carried you across the room without a second thought and soon your arms were around him, pulling him close. 

He seemed as shocked as you were, frozen for a heartbeat before his arms came up around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. The smell of pine, smoke, and that distinct scent of Eris filled your senses, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The warmth of him flooded into you, familiar and grounding, and your body seemed to sing in response.

You pressed your face against his shoulder, heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know why you had done it, why you had suddenly thrown yourself into his arms, but nothing else seemed right. No other response. 

He exhaled, a soft, almost disbelieving sound, and then his grip tightened around you, his hands splaying across your back as though anchoring himself in your touch alone. His cheek rested against your temple, and you felt his breath stir your hair as he whispered, "Am I still dreaming?"

Whatever that meant.

A few moments passed before you suddenly became aware of just how vulnerable the moment was, the tenderness of it all. You hastily stepped back, peeling yourself from him. Eris’s hands lingered where they had been, his touch ghosting across your arms as you pulled away, and you caught the fleeting look of sadness on his face as he let you go. His gaze dropped for just a second before he looked at you again, searching, almost cautious. Something flickered in his eyes, and his lips quirked upward—just slightly.

You didn't pay attention to the motion as you shoved him in the chest, your palm hitting against him with more force than intended. He blinked in surprise, stumbling back a half-step, his brows shooting up in shock.

“Never do that again!” you blurted out, heart racing as the flood of everything hit you at once. You took a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten as you rambled, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Who does that, huh? Brings someone to a ball, asks all these cryptic questions, and then just goes and almost dies right in front of them?”

Eris’s eyebrow arched, and you could see the corners of his mouth twitching higher, and higher. 

“A High Lord apparently,” he mused.

Something changed in his expression the second the words left his lips, as if he was truly realizing for the first time what he now was, who he had become. His amber eyes glowed. It was the first time you’d heard it—the title in reference to the male before you, to the one you'd known for most of your life.

Eris glanced down, his hands falling to his sides, and then he shrugged, almost nonchalant. “Also,” he added with a small smirk, “I knew I wasn’t going to die.”

You fixed him with a look that said exactly what you were feeling. “Not funny,” you scolded, your tone flat and unimpressed.

His smile broadened. It was the kind of smile that felt carefree, open, without the usual edge of mischief that defined so much of his demeanor. There was still a touch of arrogance, of course—it wouldn’t be Eris without it—but it was tempered now, softer, more sincere.

“I didn’t mean for you to see it all,” Eris said, his dropping into a a tone of regret. “I thought you’d heed my warning, leave before the feast.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “And when have I ever listened to you?”

His laugh was soft, a genuine chuckle that filled the space between you with warmth. He nodded, conceding the point with a slight shake of his head. The sound of his laughter lingered as silence dawned on you once more.

The quiet carried a weight that seemed to settle into your chest. It was heavy, all consuming—but not in a bad way. You felt something flutter there, a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite name. Looking at Eris, you hesitated, searching for something to break the stillness.

“So, you're High Lord now."

Eris nodded, his expression softening slightly. “That I am.”

The simple acknowledgment left you at a loss. It was strange, seeing him like this—glowing with power, radiating authority, yet still the same Eris who had always danced on the edge of your life.

“I’m not bowing," you said. 

Eris’s laughter came again. “I wouldn’t expect you to."

You crossed your arms. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” His voice softened, still laced with that familiar mirth as he took a step toward you, the light around him shifting. He took in the room around him, inspecting it as if it wasn't a familiar area of his own home.

“I have many things to attend to. I've never awoken to so many people at my feet.” He let out a breath, his gaze traveling back to yours. “But the one person I wanted to see wasn't there.”

You swallowed, staying quiet. Your fingers instinctively came up to rub against your chest, as if trying to ease the tightness you had begun to feel. 

“My mother told me you’ve been staying here,” Eris said.

You nodded. He watched you carefully.

“Thank you,” he said. The sincerity in his voice should've caught you off guard, the softness of it standing in stark contrast to the rough, ragged persona that Eris presented. But it didn't. It rolled through you like a wave of comfort. 

“You're welcome,” you whispered, the words coming out more like a breath. You weren’t sure what else to say. 

Eris’s gaze dropped for a moment, his fingers curling at his sides before he spoke again, his voice a little rougher, more uncertain. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You furrowed your brow. “Do what? Be High Lord?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve prepared for this title my entire life. I’m excited, I’m ready.” He paused. “I was referring to something else.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the silence settled between you again, heavier this time. He softened before you, shoulders dropping, lips twitching upwards, a soft blush painting his freckled cheeks, the tip of his nose.

“I don’t know how to ask for forgiveness."

The Eris who always seemed so sure of himself, always one step ahead, was suddenly exposed—stripped of all the stiffness and confidence, standing before you, waiting for something. Your thoughts wandered as you examined the male before you.

You knew Eris—knew him so deeply that it bothered you. You used to hate that you cared for him, that despite everything, your gaze would linger on him when he'd walk past you and Lucien, his cheeks bruised, open cuts on his knuckles. You hated that you'd defended him in private, that you'd craved those fleeting moments where you might run into him, even when you knew you shouldn’t. You’d found him impressive, even admirable, at times—despite the part of you that wished you hadn’t.

You tried to imagine a world without Eris Vanserra, a life where he had remained in the background, a distant figure, the elusive, cruel older brother who tormented Lucien. The one who was easy to hate. You’d forced yourself to see him that way, for Lucien’s sake—offering your friend understanding and a place to rant, a shoulder to lean on when he needed it. Lucien was entitled to those feelings, after all. Eris had done terrible things, things you couldn’t deny or excuse.

But even then, you had never fully seen him as the monster others did. Even when you wanted to. No matter how hard you tried, Eris had always been more than that to you. He was always there. At least, in the memories that seemed to matter—both good and bad. Somehow, he'd woven himself into the fabric of your life, in ways you hadn’t even realized until now.

A life without Eris Vanserra, for all his flaws, simply wasn’t yours. 

You blinked, your eyes finding his again. 

“I suppose it depends on who you’re asking.”

Something shone in his eyes. He took a slow step forward. “There’s this female," he began, his voice soft, "She has always been there—frustratingly persistent, stubborn... beautiful.”

Your breath caught as he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place for a High Lord. But then again, this was Eris—someone who had always defied expectations. His touch unglued you from yourself as he took your hand, cradling it in his palm. His thumb brushed delicately over your skin before he lifted it to his lips.

He pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles, and his gaze held yours, the burn in his eyes making it hard for you to breathe. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart raced. You could hardly find the words as he stepped even closer, the air between you thinning until it felt like nothing at all.

“I believe she sees me for more than I’ve offered the world,” he continued. “And I’ve been unworthy of it.”

Your lips parted as you still struggled to find a response. His hand tightened around yours, but not possessively—reverently. “But it is a time of change. A new start for myself, for this court,” he whispered, his gaze flicking down to where your hands met before returning to your eyes. “And I want to be worthy.”

Your heart swelled, and you realized that, for all the history between you, this was indeed a time of change. Autumn Equinox and all. Something that you both had waited for—maybe without even realizing it.

"Worthy of you, Vixen."

Something shifted between you—an unfamiliar warmth spreading in your chest, slow and steady, like light creeping into a room long left in shadow. You couldn’t name it, didn’t know what it was, but the sensation began to crack open a space inside you, filling the quiet between your words.

“You don’t need to ask for my forgiveness, Eris.”

He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as his brow furrowed slightly. You drew him in closer with your palm still in his, your voice softer now. 

“I can’t offer you forgiveness on behalf of anyone else. Not for your citizens, not for Lucien.” His jaw tensed at the mention of his brother’s name, but you didn’t stop. “But you don’t need to seek it in me.”

He seemed to hesitate, holding his breath as though whatever you were about to say could either break him or put something back together that had been shattered long ago.

“You’ve always had it,” you said quietly, letting the truth settle between you like a long-overdue confession. He exhaled slowly, the tension that had been wound tight within him loosening, unravelling like a cut thread. His thumb brushed over your hand again. You felt a subtle tremor in his fingers. 

“I’ve always seen you,” you finally managed to say. “I’ve always seen you, Eris.”

That unfamiliar warmth swelled beneath your ribs, expanding, filling every space between you and Eris. It started slow, subtle, but then, all at once, it flared—bright and undeniable. A soft hum in your chest. A chant that your body repeated over and over.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale as the truth washed over you, tangible and real. Eris seemed to feel it too, his eyes widening for a heartbeat before he let out a deep, shaky exhale, his lips pulling into a bright, knowing smile. It was sinfully soft.

“I knew it,” he said.

Eris pulled you closer as you gave him a incredulous look. “You did not.”

His grin grew wider, a flash of pure, smug confidence crossing his face. “Yes, Y/n. I did.”

Before you could argue, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips found yours. The kiss was slow at first—soft, tender—but quickly deepened, like something that had been waiting to break free for far too long. You could feel the bond, bright and strong, snapping fully into place as you melted into him, the two of you laughing softly against each other's lips as the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you.

A vixen and her High Lord.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: yayay fluff!!! a new beginning for autumn and its high lord!!! these sweeties n their mini story was so fun. all i can imagine now is eris learning the ropes of being a leader with his lil love at his side while she fights for her friendship w lucien (ouchie). but reader n eris found each other finally!! mates!!!

as always, thank you for reading <3 and a lovely, heartfelt farewell to eris week!

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz @anainkandpaper @ratgirl2020 @nyenye @rcarbo1 @katana180-blog @awkardnerd @hoemadegrace @myromanempiree

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos