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thesistersarcheron · 5 days

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Pairing: Feysand Rating: E Tags: Smut, Angst, Necromancy & Resurrection, Ghosts & Haunting, Morally Gray Rhysand, Silver Fox Rhysand, Dark Magic, Halloween, Breeding Kink, Beast!Rhys, Biting Summary: Feyre swallowed her horror and raised her tattooed hand. “The bargain was only for the rest of my life.”

Rhysand's grip on her tightened as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Tamlin and I didn’t shuffle your corpse around for a week every month, if that’s what you’re thinking. I had to do some good old-fashioned graverobbing to get you, Feyre.”

Her spine stiffened. Prick!

(Or, what would have happened if Feyre wasn’t resurrected Under the Mountain?)

Read Chapter 3 on AO3 now! Snippet below the cut.

A beast of scales and spikes and fangs loomed large and black over Feyre.

Ice crackled through her veins and tensed the limbs that had just been rendered deliciously lax. Frigid terror warred with the desire that had turned her molten beneath her mate’s tongue, and base human instinct froze her body into place—the same that had once brought her eye-to-eye with a faerie wolf.

Fight or flight.

And, Cauldron fry her, she had never been one to choose flight.

“Rhys?”

“Yes, love?” the monster above her drawled—and Feyre saw what she didn’t before.

The familiar upward sweep of the beast’s cheekbones. The slant of the dark, slitted-pupil eyes. The elegant, regal line of his strange maw.

Each of us has a beast roaming beneath our skin, roaring to get out, Rhys had told her the day she spent cleaning lentils out of his hearth Under the Mountain, offering a glimpse of talons and shadowed wings while she brandished an iron poker at him. While your Tamlin prefers fur, I find wings and talons to be more entertaining.

Entertaining. Fucking hell, there was nothing entertaining about this horror in the slightest.

If she had any breath left in her lungs, she might have laughed hysterically and uncontrollably at herself. At the memory of the mortal girl who thought that a wolf, a Wyrm, and a half-transformed High Lord with only the dregs of his power were frightening. Those little spectacles had been nothing. Less than nothing.

Because now, above her? Rhys was terror given form, the primal fear at the heart of every nightmare in the flesh. He was a predator, built for rending limbs from bodies and tearing hearts from chests.

He was Winged Death.

Feyre swallowed, looking closer.

The golden brown skin she had waited centuries to touch was gone. All that remained now was a broad, massive body covered in layer after layer of rippling ebony scales. Ridged and almost featherlike, they blanketed him in impenetrable armor that stretched as far as Feyre could see. And where the scales ended, the massive, membranous wings of a demon began, jutting upward from his back—austere, violent appendages tipped in claws that glinted like daggers in the low light. The sharp, dark edges of them, of all of him, faded into the swarm of shadows that surrounded their alcove.

His shadows. The lethal camouflage of a male who bent the night to his will.

His hands curled around her waist, and she felt the razor-keen talons he had once leveled at Amarantha prick her sides. When she dared to glance downward, her eyes skimming his trim waist, she found that his even feet were transformed, replaced entirely by grotesque, clawed appendages she had no name for.

But that was of little importance once the rough, strange underside of his cock slid through her oversensitive, slick folds again. Made her suck in a sharp breath as the bond twinged and he lifted himself off of her so she could see that too.

Gods, he—

Her mouth went dry at her first glimpse of his considerable length, hanging heavy and hard over her stomach. It was the same midnight shade as the rest of him, her own wetness glistening like stars in the night along its length. But the coloring, the size, weren’t what snared her mind.

It was the ridges.

Her heartbeat accelerated to an uneven, excited patter in spite of herself.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre #rhys #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #my fics #poltergeist darling #a court of thorns and roses fic

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chocogi · 4 months

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Xiao & fennec fox child hybrid reader

A lost little feral

Xiao's patrol was supposed to be simple. Clear the areas, and check Azhdaha's seal. Until he finds a lone little foxling rustling about by Azhdaha's tree.

cw; none, i think? fluff. minor mentions of sickness. its x reader

ha betcha didnt think i woyld write genshin again after throwing up a cod drabble. its eating my brain xiao is my baby

The rain pours its tears onto the earth as Xiao walks down the dirt path towards Nantianmen. Azhdaha has been defeated and resealed, but the seal must be checked periodically to prevent fault.

A geovishap hatchling screeches and chases down its mother's tail. A few burrowing weasels wrestled by a pool, where a crane serenely picks at its talons and sips atthe water.

Amidst the roots of the majestic tree Azhdaha sleeps under, quiet rustling pricks at Xiao's ears and snares his attention easily.

Xiao sighs. He must check, lest there be a threat he might accidentally dismiss.

His patrols were supposed to be a simple matter

A sharp cry scares the peaceful crane, and it flies off, startling the weasels, who burrow away. The geovishap curls closer to its mother while she scans the surrounding area before cooing down at her precious little warrior.

A blink, and Xiao is nowhere for a moment, before a little fennec hybrid lets out a muffled shriek as the yaksha reappears behind them, shushing them with a hand to their mouth.

"You are a long way from home, little fox," Xiao mumbles. observing the squirming child caught in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

The fennec simply squirms and wriggle in his hold, tail tucked between their legs and large ears flattened in clear fear.

"Tell me." His grip tightens slightly, and the child wails softly in pain, their struggling beaten down quickly. But they don't speak.

With a huff, Xiao pushes the child away allowing them to scramble off and hide in the winding roots of the large tree. "If you won't speak, fine. Will you follow me to the Harbour?"

They look at him with fear and apprehension in big doe-eyes that somehow fit with their vulpine features, and they shake their head. He sighs. "Do you have a name?" They shake their head again.

Xiao thinks for a second, and teleports away.

The second time Xiao finds them, they're stuck on the tree, ears pinned to their head and tail tucked around one of their legs. When Xiao tries to approach, the little kit just wails and scampers away, higher and higher onto the branches. His brow twitches.

It takes about five minutes of Xiao chasing the child all over the tree for him to catch the wriggling, fearful fiend and deposit them back onto the ground, safely. It takes another minute for him to try and fail to calm their panicking as they just keep running away from him.

Xiao sighs, shakes his head, and moves on with his patrol.

The third time, it was raining again.

A coat is draped onto the shivering fox's shoulders once Xiao finds them again, and he sits beside them, uncaring of the mud that will rub into his sash.

He pulls out a sunsettia. "Eat."

The child mumbles a small thank you in a tongue he does not understand, before biting into the fruit. It tasted of mangoes, with the texture of an apple and the shape of a pear.

When Xiao leaves, three sunsettia cores have been left by the tree's roots, the little kit ushered into the cavity under the roots where Azhdaha's seal is visible.

Xiao left them a warning not to touch the barrier, and an armful more of sunsettias.

For the fourth, the child does not skitter away once they see him, and Xiao counts that as a win.

He sits by the entrance, the soil still damp and cold, and pulls out a container of "Sweet Dreams," his take on the silky almond tofu. Xiao portions a bite onto a spoon and holds it out to the foxling.

"Come here, eat it," he coaxes, but Xiao doesn't think it's doing much, considering he was never one for verbal comfort. Still, he holds out the spoon, waiting patiently.

It's only when an ache starts to bloom in his outstretched arm that the child trots closer, gently gripping onto his hand as they eat the bite of the sweet, silky dessert.

And if Xiao smiles when their eyes widen and sparkle and they drape themselves over his lap asking for more, no one will know.

On their fifth meeting, when Xiao finds the foxling curled up, shaking and sick, he only sighs, and bundles them up to take back to the inn.

It has been raining periodically, and the yaksha is unsurprised when the foxling eventually succumbs to a flu.

"Do you really not have a name? I can't keep calling you 'child'," he mumbles down at his shivering charge, and when they shake their head, he pats them gently.

"Alright then."

Xiao pets the foxling's ears. "We will find a name for you later."

In truth, he had asked for a name from his master, believing that he would soon come to take care of the child himself once the wild leaves them sick and weak. But he is still busy in the Harbour hand has yet to visit the Inn again, so waiting it is.

#xiao and child reader #xiao genshin #xiao x reader #hybrid reader #xiao #genshin #genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #thoughtless meja #tofu midget #so is it just me who calls xiao ‘tofu midget’ from time to time

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 9 months

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Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush. A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

#fic: promises #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x oc #female reader #morpheus x original character #dark!morpheus #fantasy!au

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korpuskat · 7 months

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Eleven Years - Ch1

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T (this chapter, Explicit future chapters) WC: 1,530 Warnings: Kidnapping; future Stockholm Syndrome, imprisonment, isolation, manipulation, extreme dubcon, & mind break.

You’ve dreamed of his faceplate so many times. A little pyramid of red lights, the harsh angle of his optics' slit, the strong shape of his jaw piece. Never like this- never how other people saw him. Because outside, gunfire echoes down alleyways, screams and the heavy, metallic noises of an inhuman army march down through your city. You’re stuck, feet glued to the floor as you stare death itself down. Adrenaline makes your heartbeat surge. You should be running- or begging or anything else than trembling, holding yourself in fear that you’ll fly apart at the seams.

And in your quaint little living room all you can think of is he’s changed his paint. Gone is the warm gold, the orange, tattered robes you’d mended a dozen times over. No, now he’s all stark white and brilliant purple and lightless black. It’d be a good look for him, if it wasn’t identical to the bots on every news station. Null Sector. He's joined up with Null Sector.

He steps closer- and you can’t even bring yourself to step back. He says your name like a breath, like a prayer- and he still tips his head the same way when he’s curious, hopeful. It makes your chest hurt, brings thousand memories back all at once and you don't want them at all. It’s been a decade since you’ve seen him. To see him here, like this? A cruel joke by your subconscious, after so much longing. It’s a nightmare. It has to be.

But his fingers are cool and smooth and well-oiled, fluid in how they raise to your face. Like they used to. Like he has any right at all to touch you- and his hands cup your jaw, thumbs pressed into your cheeks as he leans down to you. His array touches your forehead and you gasp, pulling so slightly away. He immediately follows, tips of his fingers tucking below your ears to pull you back to him.

He feels so real.

“Ramattra?” His name has spent nights on your tongue, a wish and secret kept only for yourself. To speak it again to anyone is some kind of taboo. Forbidden, even to him.

“It’s me,” He purrs, sighs. Your voice alone makes him want to melt into you, but to hear you say his name… How did he make it so long without you? “I’ve missed you so much.”

“What are you…” You blink, stare at him as best you can with him so close. “What are you doing here? It’s- it’s not safe.”

He leans away, just enough to see all of you again. You’ve changed so much, and yet so little. You’re as stunning as the last time he saw you, perhaps more. But your eyes are wide and wet, brow arched high in fear and shock. He trails one finger over it, feels the hair that grows there, wonders at the expressiveness of your face. He doesn’t like this look, doesn’t like how you tremble away from his touches.

“I’m freeing the Omnics here. You don’t have to worry, I’ll protect you.”

You knew- must’ve always known since that broadcast went out. There’s so few R-7000s left, no one else with his voice. “You- you're the leader.”

The way you say it makes his pistons itch. It’s an accusation and betrayal and a plea to be wrong all wrapped together. You pull away again when he touches your lips. Ramattra curls his hand behind your neck, keeps you close as he traces your mouth. He’s missed you so much, but your face makes him think of a fox in a snare. He wants to reach out to you, to free you from whatever has laced this fear through your heart.

“I told you I would find a way to protect my people. It may be shocking, but this is the only way. Come, we can talk more on my ship.” He trails a hand down your arm, tugging softly at your wrist, urging you to follow. He hopes you’ll entwine your fingers.

You don’t.

You don’t even move, arm hanging as dead weight between your bodies. “Your ship?” You echo, stare at him. “No, no, I’m not going anywhere.” The adrenaline finally starts doing something. “Ramattra this is- it’s insane. You’re hurting people, omnics!”

“I’m saving them, it’s for their own good.“ He bites back. This isn’t how he wanted this to go. He isn’t foolish enough to think you’d have met him with open arms and tears, but this? He can’t yell. He won’t. He’s waited too long to find you and we will not lose this moment to his own temper. He won’t. “We can discuss this later, we must leave now.”

He grips higher up on your arm, leads you more urgently-

”Don’t touch me,” You hiss, twisting out of his grasp. He lets you go, lets you take two steps away, further into the dark of your home.

“I won’t.” Ramattra promises. Agonizing as it is to have felt your skin again, he can wait a little longer. He won't ruin this, not like last time. “But in twenty minutes a Titan will raze this city to the ground. I will not let you be part of its ashes.”

Tears burn at your eyes. How can this be the same person? Every part of you trembles, shivers of fear and adrenaline-fueled twitches. It’s too late to run now. You don’t think he’s lying, have no reason to doubt that he does truly plan on reducing your entire city to rubble.

“Please.” His voice is so soft. If you just close your eyes it’s like the dream that comes to you every week or so. All the same pleading words he’d spoken to you that day. Warped, cracked with another spit of a rifle’s muzzle, somewhere in the streets beyond. Never once did you think it would end like this.

He hardly speaks his entire hurried escort back. A half-murmured “Careful,” as he guides you to step into his shuttle. You pointedly do not take his offered hand and it falls as you pass by him. A long time ago that would’ve hurt, to see the dejected dip of his head- but not now. You won't even give him your sympathy or guilt. He moves to the controls, keeps his back to you as you instead stare out the window.

The craft shudders as it lifts off- and all around you is fire and chaos and white and purple enamel. You wrap your arms around yourself and sink into a seat. Years, years spent waiting… You look to him again, wishing for him to suddenly be gone, to have someone else, anyone else be there. But it’s not. It’s him. The same cabled hair, a symbol of the Iris threaded onto his cloak, his voice. His hands, large but nimble as he flits across levers and buttons and switches. You'd held them- and a phantom sensation surrounds your palm, like cool metal plates and the careful curl of his joints.

The shuttle lands in a hangar bay without incident- and once more he’s extending a hand, leading you onward. Once more, you deny him.

You’d seen the command ships on the news- but as soon as you look around the inside the blood drains from your face. You waver on your feet as you stare up and up and up. It’s massive- the numbers cited by numbed-out reporters are meaningless compared to the actual shape of the bay you’ve stepped into. All around are tucked-up pods, ready to deploy as soon as the command is given, scaling up onto the walls, dozens, hundreds. So many, how does he have so many-

“Come,” He steps in front of you, forces you to focus back onto him, off what he’s done, what he’s made. So you follow, letting the numbness creep into you too because how can it not? You’re in the belly of one of a dozen warships, the size of which no one has ever seen before, surrounded by an army larger than- than-

A door opens before you.

It’s not more empty gray halls- it’s… a room. An actual room. A large bed, nightstands, a vanity. Decorated, even- a little comb, a notebook. You wander further in, touch the comforter that’s spread over the bed. It’s soft, golden and brown, like his cowl. Like the blanket he kept in his room for you. A little door off to the side, left just open enough for you to spy what’s probably a bathroom inside. Your heart sinks. These are all things a human needs… and omnics don’t.

He prepared this room for you long before today. This isn't an impromptu decision, driven only by his evolving warpath. He's planned this.

Your throat is dry, words hollow in your own ears. “How long will you keep me here?”

His feet click on the metal floor as he steps closer. You don’t look at him, pinch your eyes closed as his hand raises up to your face. So delicately he draws a strand of hair behind your ear, strokes along your neck for only a moment. “Until it’s safe.”

[Chapter 2]

#ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #yandere ramattra #yandere #kidnapping #dubcon /#noncon /#<-- not in this chapter but so people who have it filtered wont see this #ramattra kidnapping au

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qualitymoonsuit · 4 months

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Back cover of Fox Snare, by Yoon Ha Lee.

#currently reading #christmas present #fox snare #thousand worlds #yoon ha lee

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azsazz · 1 year

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My Happy Ending

Lucien x Reader

Summary: He was supposed to be your everything. What he turned out to be was much worse.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1,295

Notes: Haven’t written for Lulu in a minute so I thought to myself, “Let’s devastate some people today.”

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“Can’t we just talk about this?” you plead, slipping from the bed behind him. He’s already across the room, fully clothed, quick on his feet. You wish you were wearing more than the thin slip of the nightgown you donned, but at least it was something.

“What is there to talk about, (Y/N)?” he retorts, casting a withering look over his shoulder at you as he straightens the collar of his coat. The harsh look nearly slices through the fabric and you shrink back under that glare, watching as something flickers in the amber of his eye, his other making a whirring sound you recognize it makes when he’s squinting. “I told you, I’m going back to Autumn.”

You don’t want him to leave, especially after last night. Sure, the two of you hadn’t ever really been close, not that you hadn’t tried. You had thought you’d made your interest known, in fact.

Maybe that was why Lucien looks like he’s ready to flee.

Your throat is thick with emotion and you fist your fingers into your nightgown so that he doesn’t see the effort you’re using to keep the prickling in your eyes at bay. He didn’t like when you got too emotional.

“So last night meant nothing, then?” It’s posed as a question but it comes out just as vulnerable as you were trying to hide. The tightness in your windpipe won’t allow for it.

Lucien looks away, releasing a huff of irritated laughter. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe you’ve really asked that and the thread coiled around your heart pulls taut, digging into the meat and slicing, causing you to gasp sharply.

The bond had made itself known soon after you had met the royal, stumbling into the House of Wind with Azriel, shoving his way out of the shadowsingers arms. He looked like a snared fox with the rest of the Inner Circle standing around him, making sure he didn’t go anywhere while Rhysand and Feyre had reunited.

You’d offered to show him to a room, hoping for a moment alone to introduce yourself to handsomely nervous male, but Cassian had accompanied the three of you as chaperone, not trusting the Vanserra son who had looked like he wanted nothing more than a bath and a comfortable bed to sleep in.

When he had turned to thank you for showing him the way and his russet and golden eyes met yours was when it happened. You could feel the stopping of your heart for a split second, before it started up again, as if it were beating for something new. Someone new, you realized, because you hadn’t been able to look away from him as your chest burned, it had to be him.

The confused look on Lucien's face and Cassian’s hand on your arm had snapped you out of it, a look of disappointment had stamped your face before you could even process. With a muttered, “You’re welcome,” you let your friend usher you from his chamber on wobbly legs and a worried look on his face.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Cassian asked, both hands on your shoulders to keep you in place.

But you could hardly focus on him when your heart wanted you to go back to Lucien, just down the hall. It was nearly painful, the feeling, and you clutched your hand to your chest, the other to your stomach as you tried to steady your breathing.

“I’m–I’m fine, Cass, just a little tired is all,” you lied.

“At least let me help you to your room.”

“Last night was for you. Don’t pretend like you don’t know that.”

The breath catches in your throat at the accusation.

You want to ask a million questions, scream and cry and plead for answers. Why is he so cold to you when he’s so kind to others? Why is he leaving? Why aren’t you good enough for him?

The thread of the bond is quickly fraying.

“Why?” is all you can muster. It’s barely there, on a breath of an exhale that Lucien hardly catches over the sound of his strides towards the door.

He halts abruptly, spinning on the heel of his foot so quickly you flinch. You refuse to look him in the eyes, instead casting your gaze down to the warmly colored wooden floors of your room, tensing more with each passing second.

“Because this is what you wanted,” his voice is a tough quieter, as if he knows that if he speaks too loud you will shatter. “Remember?”

You already feel like you are anyway.

You’re trembling, thinking back to what seems like a long time ago, when he’s been kissing down your neck with your hands buried in his hair and him gripping your hips like he never wanted to let you go. You’d begged him for it, for anything, and now–

A single tear falls. It burns like Lucien is the one instructing it, infusing it with his Autumn fires.

Maybe you had mistook his roughness for want. For need. Maybe you had convinced yourself he felt the bond too, but the longer you think, those long fingers leaving bruises on your skin, the way he’d buried his head into the crook of your shoulder, the love bites so tender he’d nearly drawn blood…

“You didn’t want it?” your voice trembles and your stomach twists.

Lucien did want it. He wanted it so badly it had nearly consumed him when he had found out that you were his mate. But there are things that are more important than finding his other half. Namely, figuring out where his father stands in the upcoming war.

If his brothers chasing him and the…High Lady of the Night Court were any sign, he doesn’t think Beron is very willing to join Rhysand’s alliance.

Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.

“I–” He can’t say it.

Can’t say that, at least.

“You see, little lamb?” He begins instead, voice low, menacing and the smooth stride he takes closer makes you shuffle back. You flinch at the nickname. You’d thought it was adorable when he’d whispered it across your skin, but now, as he bares his teeth and his eye darkens, the hatred burning the vibrant color to ash, you realize that he’s the fox who’s come to hurt the little lamb. His metal eye clicks, a sound you’ve never heard before but is equally as jarring in the silent room. “I gave you what you wanted, and now I’ve ruined you for every male after me, forever.”

The sharp sting in your chest is startling, and you cry out.

He knows about the bond.

His steps falter at the sound, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. There’s a bob of regret to his throat but you’re full on crying now, head down and hair falling across your face like a curtain. You wouldn’t have even noticed the crack in his emotions through the blur of tears anyway.

But those words are his truth. Lucien’s fingers curl into fists at the thought of another male even being in close proximity to you, let alone in your bed, touching you as he did, better than he did.

His mind spins with the thought, each thump of his heart hurts his chest, each tear he catches rolling down your cheek stifles the fire raging within him and he takes a step back. He’s done enough damage, he’s done what he has come to do. You hate him.

The door clicking shut behind him is the final touch to crumble your fragile heart. You feel like a slaughtered lamb left to bleed out on your bedroom floor.

So much for your happy ending.

#Lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #lucien x you #lucien/reader #lucien angst #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader

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