#;splitting rocks and hairs

[vishapsking]

@melodicbreeze wants to be punted out of Liyue: "Oho, are you calling yourself an old man that has problems with that sort of thing~?"

Their demeanor shifts. "Are you volunteering to test the might of our bedrock?" Are they joking or are they serious? Teyvat may never know.

[amaranthinespirit]

simon riley who fucks you as tears roll down your face because you're on your period and your cramps are hurting too much.

he came home to see his lovie writhing on the couch, flushed features contorted with discomfort and your hand clutching your stomach. he frowned, his keys dropping with a klink into the ceramic bowl by the front door. he knew the pain that plagued you, he was no stranger to it. he just wants to make his lovie feel better, he doesn't care about the mess; he's dealt with worse, he claimed.

"nothin' i can't 'andle," his tone was heavy with affection and reassurance as he tugged at the waistband of your shorts—hidden under the baggy shirt you wore that belonged to him.

he stuffed a towel he fetched from the laundry basket by the couch under your hips per your request. he knew you'd feel guilty for leaving a mess—even if he couldn't care less. he just wanted you to forget your worries, only thing he wanted you to think about was how good his cock felt sinking deeper into your aching cunt.

the relief that slowly took over your body as you painted his cock red, not even reaching the base. he doesn't force himself all the way in, he doesn't need to to make you feel good enough to come on his thick cock.

fingers digging into the fatty flesh of your hips as he rocks his hips into your sopping, sensitive pussy. there there, lovie, he's gonna make you feel better. no need to feel embarrassed, it's natural, lovie. let him take care of you. he's got you now, he's here.

his pace is restrained, taking gentle care of your aching muscles with the roll of his hips. his abs taut with every slow and deliberate thrust while his other hand rubs the tender flesh of your lower stomach. the warmth from his rough, calloused palm unknotting the tension in your tissue, eliciting another hiccuped moan from your pink, swollen lips. your soft sobs of ached pain turning into breathless sighs and whimpers, occasionally interrupted by a soft jolt of a hiccup. don't cry anymore, lovie, he doesn't like to see you upset.

he found it endearing as he kissed the stray tears away, the saltiness soaking into the fabric of his mask that he hadn't had the chance to pull off just yet. he quietly shushes you, his breath warm against your ear before his head fell to your shoulder. the somewhat scratchy material of his mask itching against your skin before he reaches to pull it above his nose so he can press chapped kisses to your paled skin.

a thrill flutters through his body when he kisses your pulse, feeling the racing heartbeat through the pink flesh of his lips. a low hum slips out from the back of his throat, the sound vibrating through your skin.

"tha's it, lovie," he cooes into your hair, inhaling the faded scent of your shampoo. his hips pressed further against yours as his cock buries deeper into your cunt, nearly kissing your cervix. the mewl that escaped from your lips loud in his ear as he eases himself deeper. he can feel your gummy walls desperately clenching around him, "good girl, lemme take care of ya."

that's it, lovie, you're doing so good, letting him take care of you. his hand presses down on your lower abdomen like your own personal heating pad. his hand is large enough to seem like one.

everything seems to muddle together—the feeling of his cock driving into you and feeling like it's splitting you in two, despite his gentle approach and only fitting just over half his length into your weeping pussy. the feeling of his calloused fingers digging into the fat of your hips, the skin turning white under the pads of his fingertips. the feeling of his warm palm against your lower tummy, rubbing circles along the skin with his thumb occasionally slipping down to lovingly caress your sensitive clit. the feeling of his cracked lips on your delicate skin to further coax you to an orgasm.

he can hear the way your moans change, the way you clench and tighten around him in a desperate attempt to chase the oncoming high he's giving. he doesn't change his pace—he slows down.

his hips slowly drag out of your cunt, driving back in with the same, newly slowed and agonizing pace that leaves you whining. the knot in your tummy building further as you squirm under him. it builds, and builds. his breath heavily against your skin, only being pulled tighter as your arms wrap around his neck in attempts to make him move, but he doesn't.

instead his thumb finds your clit again, toying with your sensitive bud with a pinch as your hips buck under his hand. you can hear the breathless chuckle in your ear. he's not trying to tease you, lovie, he just wants to drag out the pleasure! be patient, lovie, you'll get what you want. he promises.

"good girl, takin' it so well." he praises endlessly, cradling your small, tense body under his relaxed, toned one, "gonna make y'feel all better."

arms wrapped around him like a vice with the feeling of premature waves across your body as the knot gets tighter in your lower tummy. mumbling incoherent whines and pleads in his ear as you're one push from falling. just let him push you over the edge, lovie, come on. enjoy it.

the sound of his name on your lips cuts through the mostly silent air, he feels the shudder of your body under his mass. fuck, just like that, lovie, take what you need. he rides it out, his hips rocking slowly to prolong the ecstasy.

"shh, lovie, v'got ya," his voice heavy against your skin, muffled into your neck as his breaths come out labored.

you're all better now, lovie, you did so good.

[zepskies]

This One's For You

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || Ben & daughter!OC (Lila)

Summary: Late one night, finding no other recourse, Ben sings to his infant daughter to help her sleep.

AN: Thanks to this request, this one’s set between Until Morning and Green in the BMD-verse.

Word Count: 1.2K

Song Inspo: "Hey There Delilah" by Plain White T's

Tags/Warnings: Grumpy Ben, established relationship, potential fluff overload.~

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

“Your daughter’s awake,” Ben grumbled into his pillow.

He didn’t need to have sensitive hearing to pick up on the infant’s whining in her crib.

“She’s only my daughter when she has a rough night.” You sighed and turned away from him on your side of the bed. You clutched at your pillow. “It’s your turn, pal.”

His eyes cracked open. He gave you a look of annoyance behind your back.

“I have to get up in three hours for work,” he said.

You didn’t seem to care. You were so tired, he already heard your deeper breaths in sleep. In fairness, you essentially hadn’t slept for three days now. Your daughter was a demanding little thing, with some powerful goddamn lungs.

When another insistent whine and a hiccupping cry reached his ears, Ben released a sound of frustration. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until the house was silent again, so after another beat, he finally peeled back the covers. Sliding out of bed, he padded out on bare feet down the hall to the nursery, wearing his usual pair of sweatpants.

He peered over the side of the crib and found Lila blinking up at him. Her tears clung to her lashes as she wriggled around in upset.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked, as if the baby could answer him.

He reached in with careful hands and picked her up, resting her on his chest. She sniffed and predictably latched onto his hair as she cried.

He checked her in various ways, but she didn’t smell like a full diaper (upon which, he would've handed her over to you). She seemed fine, which meant she was being finicky just for the hell of it.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Come on,” he said as he paced the room with her. “Quiet the fuck down already.”

Still, she wouldn’t stop crying. The whimpers were pitiful, but at least they weren’t ear-splitting wails this time. He just really needed her to stop so he could sleep, expeditiously.

After several minutes with no improvement, however, Ben sighed and dropped down into the rocking chair. He was coming to the end of his tether.

“All right, what’s it gonna take for you to relax?” he muttered. At this point, he wasn’t above bribery. Candy? Money? A new fucking car? Hell, he’d get her a fleet of Ferraris if it’d make her pipe down.

He held Lila in the crook of his arm and tried rocking back and forth in the chair. When that didn’t work, he tried humming a tune—something he’d heard on the radio that now wouldn’t get out of his damn head. The only reason he remembered it was because of his daughter’s name.

“Oh, it’s what you do to me, oh, it’s what you do to me,” he sang softly, deep and baritone, and a little coarse from sleep. (And possibly a little off-key.)

Lila seemed to ease up a little in response to his voice, blinking up at him with those pretty green eyes. Maybe that was the solution.

He cleared his throat in slight embarrassment. He looked in the doorway to make sure he was alone before he kept going with this.  

Okay, what’re the words to the goddamn song…

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?” he started, a bit unsure. The baby blinked up at him, holding a little fist in her mouth. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks while she whimpered, but she looked like she was listening, at least. 

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty,” Ben continued. He couldn’t help softening a bit, looking down on her. He swept a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Tomorrow he was scheduled for another mission out of New York, with Butcher and the rest of the team. Ben didn’t know how long he’d be gone.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance,” he sang, “I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

He wouldn’t admit it, but it was hard to leave you and Lila. She was still so small, and he didn’t like the thought of you two being alone, even if Frank was watching out for you.

But Ben had a job to do.

“Close your eyes,” he almost whispered. “Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side…”

Lila had begun to settle down. He dried her tears as he continued to rock her, continued to hum the melody of the chorus. He couldn’t remember most of the song after that, but there were a few more lines he did have rolling around in his head.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” he sang quietly. “This one’s for you…”

 Just then, Ben thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up and found you there, leaning in the doorway. You were holding up your cell phone.

His brows knitted together in a glare.

“What the fuck’re you doing?” he said, sharp and incredulous.

“Shhh,” you reminded him, pointing at the baby. He saw your smirk below the frame of the phone.

Ben looked down and found that Lila was finally asleep. Gritting his teeth, he got up slowly. You were filming him all the while, even with your hair wild in bedhead and your pajama top hanging off your shoulder. Apparently, embarrassing him was more important than sleep.

Ben gently set her back down in the crib. Once he made sure she was safe and settled in sleep, he turned and saw that you were still filming him. He hoped you captured the deathly look of warning on his face.

You bit your lip. Without either of you saying anything, you darted off down the hall. Ben stalked after you.

“Woman, you better get the fuck back here!” he hissed in a coarse whisper. You struggled to contain your laughter.

“You’ll have to catch me first, old man,” you teased.

He chased you around the house—almost knocking over a lamp in the process—until he got ahold of you, and more importantly your phone. He grabbed it out of your hand and held you flush against him with an ironclad arm around your waist.

Ben looked down at you both in satisfaction, and a warning not to try anything else. You laughed and took his bearded face in your hands. You pulled him down to you for a placating kiss.

"You do have a nice voice," you whispered near his lips.

"Shut it. You're on thin fucking ice with me," he groused, with a shake of his head when it only reignited your inane giggling.

His lips reluctantly tugging at a smile, he silenced you with a deeper kiss.

The joke was on him though. While you were running around, you already managed to drop that video into the group chat with Hughie, Annie, and all the rest of your friends at Supe Affairs.

Come the morning, Ben was about to have a very interesting day at the office. 

AN: 😂 Did you enjoy another dose of dad!Ben in the BMD-verse? 💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben gets his revenge in Lesson Learned:

Summary: There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Lesson Learned

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @rizlowwritessortof @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[seraphicsentences]

hiiii its you know whooo, some reader x ellie arms and hands worship would make me sooooo weak. imagining those fingers in my mouth drives me wild🤭

hi you know whooo 😚 yes i absolutely can… i’m losing it just thinking about this while writing. have fun with this one ;) hoping to drive ya wild

~

ellie tightened her arm around your waist, biceps flexing as she muttered, “stop moving,” under her breath.

you traced your finger down her arm, admiring the way you could just barely wrap your hand around half of it, squeezing and groaning silently at how rock solid it felt.

you were seated in ellie’s lap, facing her, lips tracing gently over her pulse point as she worked away busily at some astrophysics assignment. such a nerd.

you couldn’t help the way wetness pooled in your panties after straddling her for so long. ellie’s scrunch between her eyebrows reminded you too much of the way she looked when she came hard on your tongue, or when she was thrusting deep into you— splitting you wide open against the mattress.

her strong arm pressing you closer to her large(er— we know ellie’s not massive, but for the sake of this she’s more built than you.) frame overwhelmed your senses with the delirium of possession, just knowing that you were hers, and you found yourself lost in a trance as you watched her hand continue to scribble down various numbers and symbols.

ellie’s long, calloused fingers shifted as she worked; curling as she twirled her pencil, bending when she cracked her knuckles mindlessly, veins popping when she flipped through that thick textbook of hers.

you nipped at her neck, dizzy with need, and desperate to work your mouth against something.

“your wetness is seeping onto my boxers, baby,” ellie laughed lowly, “can feel you pulsing against my thighs. you that needy for me?”

you almost mewled at the sound of her voice, raspy from its lack of usage, warm chest vibrating against yours as she spoke.

“want you so bad, els,” you whispered, legs squeezing around hers as you rocked slightly to soothe the throbbing at your core.

she runs a hand up and down your back softly, stopping at the top to run her fucking fingers through your hair. “mmm, i know. gotta be patient for me, ‘kay babe?”

“ellie-“ you whine.

“shhh, shh shh shh- shut up.” (DYK WHAT AUDIO IM REFERENCING HELP.)

“open,” she taps two fingers on your lips.

she taps again. “c’mon, be good f’me.”

you let her slide them in, swirling your tongue around and between the two digits, sucking and licking at them, utterly hypnotized.

a slight metallic taste coats your mouth as you reach the base of her fingers, decorated with her thick silver rings, and you groan around them.

“god, you’re really out of it, aren’t you?” ellie teases, arm muscles straining as she reaches down to squeeze your ass harshly, “fucking slut, can’t go a couple hours without something fillin’ your holes.”

you moan in response, muffled, as you lift your head in attempt to take her fingers further into your mouth, drool spilling out the sides as you make a mess of her hand to match the one between your thighs.

“uh-huh,” she cooes, green eyes burning into yours as she says, “go grab my strap. clearly need something more to shut you up.”

[shaisuki]

okay what if bully!Miya twins and bully!suna caught reader riding someone else in the locker room what do you think would happen next -😶‍🌫️anon

the betrayal.

it took a mere seconds before it sinks into the very realization that you're being impaled by an another huge cock that isn't theirs and worst of all in the locker rooms where they usually make you take their cocks and cum all over you as much as they like.

there's faint sound of skin to skin contact and it gets louder as they got closer and when they take a peek to the door slightly cracked open they get the surprise of their life.

you, their manager that have been with them for almost a year is riding someone's cock that is not theirs. it was obvious it was you. there's no other girls in the school who had a back like you. adorned with the extra weight you carry and the soft layers of flesh that are stacked is currently rippling from the impact. your fat pussy is split open while the cock of the person you're bouncing in disappears with every thrust. your ass is mesmerizing in this angle and from the looks of it you like it very much. soft mewls spilling out from you. head thrown back from how good the cock was stuffing your cunt. stretched from the girth and cum is already running down in the length.

they remained silent. not daring to make a sound. suna pulls his cellphone out making sure it was recorded. the twins are dead silent. staring daggers at your back but can't deny how you beautifully takes someone's cock. they know it's going to be and seeing this another perspective of you is definitely the one they need. standing behind the doors like the fucking loser they are isn't somehow how this should go.

they can hear moaning the same words again and again. “fuck!” the curse rolling in your tongue like it's natural. it's hot the way you say it and your moans increased when the guy suddenly holds your hips. stunting your movements. it was like a sudden pause and then a flash forward. he began thrusting his large cock to your gushing fat cunt. a broken moan came spilling and the curse you were spitting earlier changed. “that's it! oh m— i'm cumming — cumming!”

the obscene noises of your guts being rearranged lewdly echoed in the small room. they see how your cunt squirt a clear liquid and damn fuck. you fucking squirted they realized.

you were now panting. rolling your hips in a slow manner. holding hands with the guy who just had made you squirt. moaning softly as you teasingly bounce on his cock that it still rock hard nestled in your fat pussy.

he arched his back before lifting his upper body. hands wandering on your back. his head leveled to your chest. there's a purring sound akin to a cat coming from you from the feeling of his lips brushing to your chest sucking marks and you can't help but to tighten around him. turned on from the nth time after being fucked by him. your arms are in his shoulder, your fingers in the strands of his hair. he looks up to you and both locked in an intimate gaze before dipping for a kiss. moaning softly at each other's lips and his hands are on your plush waist. slowly bouncing you back in his length. breaking the kiss, he smiles before returning to suck the supple skin of your chest. you let him do that.

they stayed in the same position not often blinking. trying to memorize and burn the memory of you being fucked. it's clear that you enjoy it and the other guy. you hugged him closer and that's when you slowly turned around. your hair's a mess and your face reeling from the pleasure. they know you see them and that's when you said the words.

“like what you see?”

it was meant for them and the guy assumed it's for him. still covered by your back he hums. “ahh~” it was intentionally loud when you moaned still looking at the crack of the door where you see them peeking.

they realized one thing after you done that. getting back from being ravaged by that son of a bitch and your moans gets louder.

they realize that you can play your own cards too.

[usedtobecooler]

thinking about being eddie and steve's little cock hungry fucktoy <;3

content warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), mmf threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, nipple play, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation.

eddie's underneath you, thick cock rocking into your tight hole until you're gasping and writhing around on top of him. he has you pinned, large hands grabbing at squishy handfuls of your inner thighs to keep you spread wide for steve as he slides two fingers into your dripping cunt.

your hands grapple for purchase behind your head, settling in eddie's unruly curls and tugging hard — he punches his hips upwards, rocking your limp body until your head lolls back onto his shoulder, pushing his cock further into your ass and splitting you apart from the inside out. you cry out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

it feels so good that all coherency has evaporated, brain turning to a puddle of mush — steve grins at you, crooks his fingers upwards until you're rutting into his hand, rocking yourself down on them both in tandem. eddie grunts, slapping his hand down on your thigh, the loud crack of skin connecting with skin echoing in the electricity-filled room.

"think we can get another one out of her, harrington?" eddie's gravelly, thick voice bounces in your ears, his chest vibrating and sending the shockwaves through your back, leaving you shivering and begging silently, arching into him and baring your throat.

you're dumb. reduced to nothing more than a cock hungry whore, pliant under large, roaming hands. aching to be filled and used however they want you.

you'd lost count of how many times they'd made you cum already. in the back of your mind you think it's surpassed six, at least. your clit swollen and tender from fingers and tongues and teeth.

steve knew that, knew your cunt needed filled now, clit thrumming and all feeling lost in it a few orgasms ago. the rough pads of his fingertips brush over that fucking spot, pressing down on the spongey softness of it until you're keening.

he cackles. tan, mole flecked skin gleaming with sweat in the luminescence of the sun shining through the crack in the curtains — god, when did daylight break? how long had you been like this? your mind races, eyes crossing as eddie slowly, languidly fucks your ass, huffing small groans into your ear, smearing wet hot kisses on the junction where your neck meets your collarbone.

"i think we could easily get more than one from her, c'mon, look how desperate she is. feel how desperate she is." steve looks at eddie over your shoulder, cocking his head to the side, crooking his fingers at the same time — your tummy quivers, pussy fluttering around the long digits sinking in and out, making sloppy sounds that sound like heaven to both men.

"i— i'm not—" your eyebrows marry together as you struggle to form a sentence, sweat matting your hair to your forehead as you're rocked back and forth between the both of them. they're talking about you like you're not even there — using and abusing your holes and taking you for everything you've got. it makes you all the more dizzy, knowing they're thinking of you as nothing more than a dirty sex toy to pass around.

eddie chuckles, pouting enough that you can feel it when his lips purse against your heated skin, "aww, sweetheart. nothing going on in that tiny little brain of yours, huh?" he taunts, palms at the thick fat of your inner thigh again, this time soothing and squeezing it, setting your body alight.

steve's thumb swipes over your abused clit and you swear your vision whites out for a moment — it feels bruised, battered, enough so that it almost hurts when he brushes it. teeters on the right side of too much.

they worked together too well, steve and eddie. knowing glances between them had all four hands, all twenty fingers working together to work you up and push you over the edge in a record time. the deep, burning heat pooling in your belly and igniting just as quick.

the force of your orgasm shocks you — wracks through you until you're vibrating and clenching down around them both. eddie loses a slight bit of composure, whining high pitched as you hold his cock prisoner in the tight heat of your ass, pussy gushing even wetter than before and dripping down his balls.

"'atta girl, honey," steve coos, always more gentle than eddie and sure to give you the praise he knew you deserved, fingers slipping deftly from your cunt — only to be replaced just as quickly by the blunt, thick head of his cock.

you cry out, wiggling away but helpless to it. you're pinned in place at either side, two weighty, hard bodies holding you hostage. steve's cock slides into you with minimal resistance, pressing snug in the tight walls of your pussy.

you don't miss the way eddie groans, pushes up into your ass and moves his hands from your spread legs to grip at steve momentarily — "holy shit, can fucking feel you splitting her open, jesus christ."

they both give you a moment, if you could even call it that, before they're giving each other a knowing look over your shoulder. they look at each other like you're not even there, a silent agreement as they begin fucking you.

and it's not slow. at all. it's fast, brutal, teeters on violent as steve slides out and sinks back in, simultaneously pushing you down onto eddie and forcing him deeper into your ass until you're practically screaming.

it feels so fucking good you're sick with it. you're so full you feel like you could be torn open, but the way they work together with roaming hands and heavy bodies eases and relaxes you until you're nothing but a whimpering, begging cockwhore.

"who do you fuckin' belong to, baby, huh?" eddie's voice is unwavering, hands roaming from your waist to your tits that bounce with every harsh thrust, fingers gripping and twisting at your nipples until you're wailing and thrashing around on top of him, pushing both of their cocks out slightly, "use your words. now."

steve's hips piston into yours, emphasizing the brutal force by rolling his pelvis when he's buried as deep as he can go. you're so stupid and hazy you can't reply. all you can do is grab onto the meat of steve's bicep and cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks as every part of your body is set on fire with rough touches.

"answer him, don't be a brat," steve grunts, gripping under your thigh to bend your leg upwards to your chest, somehow opening you up so he can fuck into you deeper, harder.

"i'm—" you choke on your words, eyes rolling into your skull when steve's blunt cockhead catches on your spongey wall just right and drags, "fuck, fuck — m'yours, yours, all yours."

the clapping of their hips against yours increases tenfold as your pussy floods and gushes for them, eddie grunting and pulling at your nipples until you wail, steve biting and nipping at your collarbone.

you're reduced to nothing more than a set of holes for them to use as they please. you don't want it to end, never want it to stop.

eddie's tongue is sharp, a deep, rumbling laugh escaping him, "perfect, sweetheart. that's it, fuck. you gonna let us both cum in you, hmm? fill you up nice? you love it, being used like a cumrag, don't you?"

steve grunts from where he mouths at your flushed skin, hips stuttering, "shut your filthy fucking mouth, munson," he snarks, bitchy, "you're gonna make me cum too quick."

"don't worry, steve. i'm right there with you," eddie admits, "she's so fucking tight, goddamn you should feel it. if she ever lets you in her ass, that is."

you want to yell 'i'm right here!' — instead all that comes out is a desperate, whimpering moan, as your orgasm crescendos and washes over you in tidal waves. the stimulation hitting you like a freight train all at once and driving you over the edge.

you feel your cunt gushing, both holes clenching and unclenching sporadically as you cum, hard. the breath feels like it's knocked from your lungs, winding you. body going limp as you flop around like a ragdoll between both men.

"so good for us, sweet girl, oh fuck, fuck," steve groans, gripping onto your thigh tight enough to leave bruises as his cock kicks up and pulses inside of you, painting your cunt in his cum. you feel it paint your insides, hot and sticky, drooling from your aching, used walls.

"jesusfuckingchrist," you barely register eddie's voice as he pulls you down by the hips and practically impales you on his cock, rocking your hips back and forth on him and biting down on your shoulder until tears prick at your eyes. he grunts and moans into your salty skin, hands rough yet soothing on your sore hips as he unloads in you.

they apologise for being so rough later on, in their own ways. steve showers you down gently and kisses every last mark they left behind with soft lips. eddie tickles and rubs your back until you fall asleep, leaving you a pliant, contented mess of limbs.

[kissingchoso]

i’m so into the thought of your “best friend” just pressing you into the bed, making out with you.

it starts off as a slow afternoon. the sun was shining directly into your room with a nice summer breeze entering through the crack of your window. your favorite album is quietly playing on the record player somewhere in the corner. and there lies a handsome boy, right on top of you, dancing his lips on yours as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

he excuses this as a way to pass the time. lazily make out with one another until the heat from the summer and your hormones becomes too bothersome and you’re whining for him to pull away.

his tongue traces against your bottom lip before gaining access to your mouth. teeth gently knock into each other every once in a while the more he tilts his head. any onlooker would probably think he’s trying to devour you whole— and for a split second, you would’ve believed it.

he swallows all of your small sounds, every sigh, moan. it’s all claimed by him with no chance of you owning up to it completely.

this is the part where hands wander and your bodies readjust themselves. large hands slide from your hips down to the backs of your knees, pushing them up and out so he can slot his hips in the space. your cotton shorts slide up even further from the new position and right against your clothed cunt do you feel the hardness of his dick pressed up right against you. your smooth legs wrap around his waist to keep him trapped there while your hands slide up to the back of his hair.

you moan quietly against his lips at the new position, silently craving more but you didn’t know where to even begin asking for it.

it’s fine though. your best friend’s got it covered.

he pulls his lips away from yours to allow you to catch your breath, a thin string of saliva connects you two together before inevitably snapping away. you don’t get to properly look at him before he’s diving back down, peppering kisses against your check and all the way down to your sweaty neck.

it’s so hot in there.

a large hand slides its way up and under the tank top you were wearing. the heat from his hand almost feels scorching but that sensation fizzles out to pleasure once it reaches your breast. this is usually how far this goes before he stops completely, but there’s no end in sight this time around. your nipple is teased with his thumb rubbing against it every once in a while and causing it to pert up against his ministrations.

at this time, your moans have picked up much more. your head is pressed against your pillows and your rocking your hips against his without fully realizing it.

he doesn’t realize that he already has begun to grind down into you, offering the both of you some reprieve this way.

the heat becomes more pertinent when he breathes against your neck. his lips found a new spot to assault for a little while but this is a certain spot that has you keening. your body temperature has undoubtedly gone up higher and you can now feel the sweat beads forming against your pores.

you breathe his name out airily, squeezing the strands of hair that find themselves tangled between your fingers. but he doesn’t answer, opting to move his lips and tongue against any skin he finds.

again, you try his name but a little firmer. finally getting the hint, does he pull away to look down at you with far away eyes, struggling to bring himself back to his current reality.

“hm? what’s wrong?” he initially asks, bringing his hand from under your shirt to to cup your cheek. “‘s too much for you?”

quickly, you shake your head. “no, not that,” is all you say, legs tightening against him. the movement causes him to grunt slightly. “what is it then?”

“‘m really hot,” you whisper, pouting up at him. it’s only then does he realize the heat in the room. the once opened window does nothing to stave off the warmth emanating in the air, nor the rising heat from the skin to skin contact your bodies are making. there’s even hair sticking to his damn forehead from how hot he is.

he blinks a couple of times before nodding. “let me close the window and get the AC going, yeah?” he reasons.

while yes, it would be good to get some cold air circulating, he just wants to be between your legs again and making out with you. even if it doesn’t lead to anything more.

before he can move off of you, you grab his elbows. “just take your clothes off…” you say, albeit desperately.

“baby…”

“it’s fine. i promise. ‘s just me,”

“i know, i know. but we can’t go back after i get you completely naked,” he starts, eyes trailing down the bead of sweat that slides from your jaw to the base of your neck. “might not be able to stop myself at that point.”

you reach up from the bed to kiss him a couple of times, each of which he reciprocates immediately. “i don’t want you to, dummy.” you giggle. “if you don’t do anything, i swear to god i might implode or something.”

a devilish grin appears on his face at the implication. “been holding out on me, baby. if i knew i left you like this, i would’ve gotten you naked a long time ago.” he finalized his statement by sitting up, sliding his shirt off completely.

“we can make up for loss time starting now,”

“oh, i plan to sweetheart.”

kaeya, childe, kazuha (biased), aether, kaveh (i have a soft spot for him), hinata (extremely biased), bokuto, sugawara, kuroo, atsumu, gojo, toji, sero, shindou, steve harrington, eddie munson, your other favs ofc <3

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND

PAIRING: THOMAS HEWITT X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 5.8K

SUMMARY | This new man, the tall man with the icy somber eyes and expressionless mask, appeared above you, haloed in sunlight like an angel. By all accounts, he was a far more terrifying man than John or Mike or David, but you don’t see evil when you look at him, when his eyes meet yours for a brief second before looking away. No, not evil, but a familiar reflection, an unkind life that led to unkind circumstances and unkind decisions. You know the look well, it’s the same one you see in the mirror.

WARNINGS | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT; DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT - this is slasher fan fiction with canon typical violence, mentions of blood, death, cannibalism and gore. if slasher fiction is not your cup of tea, please keep scrolling.

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT: vaginal fingering, male masturbation, oral sex - f receiving, unprotected p in v, size kink, choking, creampie, praise kink

OTHER WARNINGS: no use of y/n, dual pov, able bodied reader, reader being picked up/carried, virgin thomas hewitt, no skin masks, monsters in love. if i’ve missed any tags, please kindly let me know.

Thomas hears a scream while he’s out in the barn. It cuts off so quickly he damn near thinks he imagined it but if he holds perfectly still and listens, listens, listens, there are noises that don’t belong. A grunt, a smack, a mumbled curse. Knife in hand, he ventures out in search of the source. 

Out on the road there’s a car, hood up and smoke billowing from the engine. A man has a woman pressed to the driver’s side door, forearm tight against her throat and a knife poised in front of her face. Red creeps into Thomas’ vision and his fingers begin to ache around the hilt of his own knife but just as he steps forward, something amazing happens.

The woman spits at the man’s face and in that brief moment of surprise, she brings her hands up and shoves the man back. He stumbles, falling to ground. The knife falls and she goes after it, lunging across the dirt and rocks. The man wraps a hand around her ankle, tugging her down and dragging her back as she screams, fingers digging into the dirt. She kicks, once, twice, the third time finally connecting with a painful crack to the man’s shin and sending him down to the ground again. She crawls away, grabbing the knife and scrambling to her feet. Thomas can see her chest heave with ragged breaths, skin glistening with sweat in the Texas heat. 

He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

She approaches the man, the knife brandished in front of her. The man rolls onto his back, holds his hands up. A surrender. The woman doesn’t care. Her boot slams into his skull, a shout echoing in the vast emptiness of the road and fields. Thomas feels himself grow hard, pants tightening around his cock. He reaches down, adjusting himself.

The man is on his hands and knees now. Blood streaks his face and drips to the dirt, baptizing the land in violence. She kicks him between the shoulder blades, knocking him flat on his stomach, and stands over him with a leg on either side of his body. The breath catches in Thomas’ throat as she reaches down and tangles her fingers in the man’s hair, lifting his head. The man stares directly at Thomas and his lips move, a cry for help, but he doesn’t hear it. No, not when all his focus is on the way the woman leans close and drags the blade across the man’s neck and the skin splits, muscles and tendons ripping with the force of it and red, red, red spilling free. 

The man’s gaze grows empty and the woman loosens her grip, his head dropping to the ground. She drops to her knees, slams the knife into the man’s back over and over and over, roaring fiercely as she does. She’s covered in the red, red, red, clothes soaked through with it, skin stained and sticky. When she’s finished, she collapses on the ground beside the man, on her back, basking in the sun.

It’s then that Thomas approaches, his shadow falling over her, broad body blocking the sun. She blinks at him but doesn’t scream. Doesn’t run. 

Thomas holds a hand out to her.

To his surprise, she takes it.

Your mind is somewhere in the clouds as you walk beside the lumbering giant that carries John or Mike or David over his shoulder like he weighs nothing, is nothing. The body bounces with each step and you find it almost comical, lips twitching as you fight a smile. Something simmers in your veins, more potent than the adrenaline of the fight or the relief that you won another day against life’s shitty hand. 

This new man, the tall man with the icy somber eyes and expressionless mask, appeared above you, haloed in sunlight like an angel. By all accounts, he was a far more terrifying man than John or Mike or David, but you don’t see evil when you look at him, when his eyes meet yours for a brief second before looking away. No, not evil, but a familiar reflection, an unkind life that led to unkind circumstances and unkind decisions. You know the look well, it’s the same one you see in the mirror.

A house appears on the horizon, a two story Victorian era farmhouse that must have been impressive once before falling into a state of disrepair. There’s a woman on the porch, arms crossed over her chest and a stern look on her face as she watches the two (or is it technically three?) of you approach. 

“Bring ‘im downstairs. I’ll tend to the girl,” she says. The man looks at you, hesitating to follow the command. You give him a nod, the slight dip of your chin enough for his shoulders to relax. His heavy footsteps rattle the dilapidated porch as he disappears inside the house.

The woman leads you to the kitchen and pulls a chair out from the rough wood table for you to take a seat. You watch as she wets a cloth before returning to your side. Cool water hits the hot skin of your face and the rough fabric drags away the dried blood. Her touch is surprisingly gentle.

“You do all that to the fella my boy was carryin’?” She asks.

“Yes,” you reply, voice cracking on the single word that claws at your vocal cords. 

“‘Atta girl.” She smiles. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Thank you.”

She sets a glass on the table and you don’t hesitate to reach for it, chugging down the cold water so quickly it makes your stomach turn. She wordlessly refills it for you, twice, before murmuring a gentle, “That’s enough now, you’ll turn your stomach sour if you keep it up.”

“What’s with this fuckin’ car out on the road?” A voice yells from outside the house. Through the window you catch a glimpse of a man in a Sherriff’s uniform, shotgun held loosely in his hand as he approaches the house. The woman stands, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You don’t say nothin’, alright? You let me handle Charlie,” she commands. You nod.

The man appears in the doorway, eyes immediately landing on you. His leery gaze traces you from head to toe and you fight back the shiver that threatens to race down your spine. Your gaze drops to the floor as he addresses the woman.

“What’s with the whore?” He spits. 

“She’s a guest.”

“A guest? This a bed ‘n breakfast all of a sudden?”

“Thomas brought her up here.” As if summoned by his name, the monster returns. He looms behind the other man, silent. There’s a bucket in his hand that he drops to the floor with a loud clang that makes you jump. The woman pats your shoulder. 

“Tommy boy is takin’ in strays now, huh? What’s next, he’ll find himself some dumpster baby and finish buildin’ a whole happy family?”

The monster, Thomas, grows tense. His shoulders lift and the muscles of his arms flex, his eyes narrowed on the man who’s giving him a shit-eating smile. 

“Tommy, honey, why don’t you bring your guest to one of the rooms upstairs?” The woman suggests. Thomas shoves past Charlie and into the kitchen and stands wordlessly by your side. She nudges your shoulder and you stand, following him as he stomps through the second door to the kitchen. 

Shouting starts up as you leave, the words muffled when the door swings shut behind you. Thomas leads you upstairs to the second floor, where the hallway dark and a thick layer of dust coats anything it can reach. With a grunt he opens a door at the end of the hall and stands aside to allow you through the doorway. 

The room is bare save for a small but tidy bed and dresser. Despite the dust in the hall, the room itself is surprisingly clean. You sit on the bed, testing the squeaky springs with your weight. You look up at the man.

“Your name is Thomas?” You ask. He nods, once, a sharp dip of his chin that has his dirty hair falling into his face. You tell him your name and his blue eyes blink back at you, the only acknowledgment you’ll get.

He lingers for a moment, eyes searching. It doesn’t feel gross, not like when Charlie leered at you downstairs. No, it’s more like he’s committing you to memory. You realize, then, that he’s not looking at you like a predator looks at prey.

He’s looking at you like you’re a prize.

Thomas slams the cleaver down, the thud of it rhythmic, soothing. His thoughts keep straying to ones of you, upstairs in the kitchen with his mama. You’ve been here for two days now and he’s having a hard time concentrating on his chores knowing that you’re in the house, knowing that you’ve stuck around for God only knows what reason. It makes him antsy, suspicious. 

The door to the basement opens and he expects to hear Charlie’s boots stomping down the stairs but he’s surprised when you appear on the last step in an ill fitting dress that mama must have scrounged up for you. Thomas stands perfectly still as you look around the room. 

“This is what you do all day?” You ask. He nods. “That must be hard work.” Mama shouts your name from upstairs, making you jump. You give him a sheepish look. “I’m supposed to come tell you dinner’s ready.”

Thomas grunts, setting down the cleaver and wiping his hands on his apron. He washes up in the bloodstained sink, scrubbing at his fingers as best he can. You’re still on the stairs when he finishes, watching him. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the way you don’t look away, ashamed of your staring. 

You turn to climb the steps and he follows, a step below you. Your hips sway in front of him and he has visions of grabbing you by the hips, pulling you against his body so tightly you can’t leave, can’t leave, can’t leave. 

Mama is sitting at the table when you both emerge from the darkness, bowls of stew set out for each of you. Thomas sits down to mama’s left and you to her right, across the table from him. The two of you chat about the chores she’s assigned you and are they too much, honey? No, you tell her, you’re happy to help. Mama smiles at you and he knows what she’s thinking, that you’re sent from God himself, the perfect addition to the family. The daughter she never got to have, only the fucked up sons she was cursed and forsaken with. 

Thomas feels something prod his knee beneath the table and he freezes. All of your attention is still focused on mama, your head propped in your hand and your elbow on the table, relaxed as can be. He thinks maybe he just imagined it but he feels it again and this time he jumps, rattling the dishes on the table and sloshing stew from its bowls.

“Thomas! What’s the matter with you?” Mama asks, patting at her dress with a napkin. “You just got us all wet.”

“Yeah, Thomas,” you chime in. “Got me all wet and messy.”

By the look on your face, he knows that you’re not talking about the soup. He’s got some dirty magazines he snuck into the house over the years, women with their legs spread and their hands tied, glistening pussies on full display or the one videotape that Charlie got him, where the woman is split open on a man’s cock, begging for more as the lewd, slick sounds of sex grow louder and louder. The thought of you like that, maybe even because of him, makes his cheeks burn. He grunts, an apology, and his mama waves a hand at you both.

“You better get changed outta that dress before it stains. Can’t be lettin’ one go to waste so quick,” she tells you. You nod, standing from the table and heading for the door. You pause, looking over your shoulder at him and give him a wink. Mama clears her throat, a stern expression on her face as she looks at him.

“And you, boy. Go get yourself cleaned up and brush your damn hair for once. I raised you better than that.”

She didn’t, not really, but he listens to her anyway, trudging back down to the basement to hose himself off and change his clothes. As he cleans up, he thinks about you, because when hasn’t he been since you appeared? His cock hardens and he tries to ignore it, tries to think of the Bible lessons mama loved to teach and how it’s a sin to touch himself but maybe God will forgive him, just this once? 

He wraps a hand around his thick length and squeezes, almost punishing himself. His head drops back and he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide as he tugs and pulls at his cock, slow at first then fast, fast, fast, fist flying with a tight grip until stars burst in his vision and warm come dribbles over his hand. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, blinking away the dark spots as his high fizzles out.

Thomas dries himself and gets dressed before lying down on the mattress in the corner to toss and turn until the sun rises.

The next morning, Thomas doesn’t realize that you haven’t come down from your room until well into the afternoon. Mama’s gone to town and Charlie is off playing Sheriff so it’s just the two of you in the house. He debates whether he should check on you or leave you alone but ultimately the worry that something might be wrong pulls him upstairs and finds him knocking on your door, a quick tap of his knuckles to the wood.There’s no sound from the other side, no shout of fuck off like he’d get from Charlie or a quiet just a minute, sweetheart he’d hear from mama. Tentatively, he turns the handle and pushes the door open, just a crack, enough to peek inside.

You’re in bed, sprawled out on your back with the quilt kicked off to the floor. Your bare breasts draw his eye and he looks away quickly, shame clawing up his throat. The bed creaks as you shift, sleepy noises leaving your lips in the process, and panic races through his veins, worried that you might wake up and find him standing there, worried that it might be what sends you running, worried about what mama will say if you up and leave and it’s his fault, worried, worried, worried.

“Thomas?” You ask, voice raspy. He didn’t even realize that you were awake, stupid, stupid, stupid of him. He should have turned around and left, should have—

“Hey, it’s okay,” you murmur, sitting up. Thomas hesitates, eyes still fixed on the floor. You must notice because from the corner of his eye he notices the quilt get picked up and then you’re telling him, “I’m decent.”

He swallows around the rock lodged in his throat and looks up, meeting your gaze. You don’t look mad or disgusted or upset. You’re actually smiling at him, a hand held out in welcome. He doesn’t dare touch you, but he takes a step closer, body moving like a moth to a flame.

Your head tilts to the side, assessing him, eyes flaying him open and leaving him feeling more exposed than when someone catches him without the mask. You’re holding the quilt up over your chest but Thomas can still see the tantalizing curves of your shoulders, the long line of your neck with the flutter of your pulse beneath delicate skin. It makes his mouth go dry.

“You ever touch a woman, Tommy?” You ask. The question catches him so off guard that all he manages is a strangled noise. “Well? That a yes or a no?” He shakes his head. You smile, lowering the quilt just enough to expose the top curve of your breasts. 

“You wanna?” 

Thomas’ eyes drop to your chest before quickly looking away. A flush creeps up his neck, staining what little of his cheeks you can see above the mask he wears. His hand flexes at his side, fingers curling open and shut. 

“It’s okay, you can look,” you say, gentle, gentle, gentle, like coaxing a scared animal. He looks at you again, blue eyes wide. “Come closer.”

He shuffles closer, looming over the bed, back so wide that he blocks the sun streaming through the window and casts a shadow over your body. You reach for his hand and he jerks away, as if on instinct. You pause, giving him a few seconds of reprieve, then reach for him again, keeping your eyes fixed on his face. Lightly, you touch his hand and when he doesn’t flinch, you grasp it more tightly. 

You guide his hand to your breast, settling his warm palm to your chest. He holds perfectly still for a moment and the restraint of it drives you insane, makes you bite your tongue so hard the taste of copper blooms across your tastebuds. Finally, he leans a little closer, fingers digging into your skin and making you gasp. He massages one breast, then the other, playing with the weight and feel of them in his large hands. You press your thighs together, cunt aching from the attention.

“That feels good,” you tell him, arching into his touch. The praise spurs him on, makes him more confident, and he starts to focus his attention on your nipples, pinching and twisting the sensitive buds. He’s surprisingly gentle despite his size and demeanor. 

You kick away the quilt from your legs, exposing the rest of your body to him. His eyes trail down your body, hands going still. He looks up, tilting his head, asking a question, looking for permission. You nod your head quickly and your heart races as a palm slides down, down, down, until he’s cupping your pussy over your panties. Your hips jump at the friction.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. Thomas holds his hand still as you grind yourself against his palm. You reach your hands down, holding onto his forearm with a death grip. “Please, please, please!”

His fingers slip beneath the elastic of your panties and you both groan. He plays with the embarrassing amount of wetness, smearing it over your skin. You guide his hand the slightest bit upwards until the calloused pads of his fingers swipe over your clit.

“That’s it, Tommy,” you tell him. “Right there, right there.”

Dutifully, he continues to lavish you with attention, taking every direction beautifully. Slower, faster, harder, he adjusts to every suggestion and has you moaning and crying his name in desperation, but it’s not enough. You’re right there, so close, but you feel so empty, you just need—

“Inside?” You ask. He pauses, brows pinching together. “Put your fingers inside me.”

Slowly, slowly, slowly, he eases one thick finger into your drenched hole. Your head drops back at the sensation, at the relief, and begin to grind your hips again. He starts to see the pattern, moving his hand so that he’s working with your rhythm. You look up at his face and the concentration in his eyes leaves you breathless. All he wants is to do good, be good, make you feel good. 

Thomas presses another finger to your entrance, glancing at your face to make sure it’s okay. When you don’t say otherwise, he works both inside of you in tandem, the stretch making you groan. He curls them, exploring, skimming a spot inside of you that makes you cry out and dig your nails into his arm so hard that he grunts but doesn’t doesn’t pull away.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “You’re doing so good, Tommy, oh my god.”

He’s panting, sweat dripping down his neck, muscles tight with his efforts to wrench an orgasm from you. The lethal combination of his fingers inside of you and his palm against your clit and the muffled noises sneaking past his mask have you tumbling over a precipice so high you worry you might never come down. Your cunt pulses around his fingers and you babble his name and an incoherent stream of praise as your release washes over you, wave after wave of it.

Thomas waits until your body collapses against the mattress and you’re gasping for breath before slowly removing his hand. He holds it up to his face, pink tongue darting out from the slit afforded for his mouth to taste your cum from his fingertips. He groans, his other hand reaching down to press tightly to the sizeable bulge in his pants. He thrusts against his palm once, twice, before going still, shoulders shaking.

A door slams downstairs. Luda Mae’s voice shouts for Thomas and he takes a step back, head whipping towards the door and eyes wide with panic. You scramble from the bed, grabbing your dress and pulling it on quickly so that you can rush out the room, shutting Thomas inside. You lean over the banister and see Luda Mae standing at the top of the basement stairs, hands on her hips.

“I think he went out to the barn,” you call down. She looks up at you.

“Why would he be out there?” She huffs. “And what are you still doin’ in your room? You look a mess.”

“Sorry, m’am. Had trouble sleeping last night.”

Your politeness softens her annoyance. “That’s okay, darlin’, you’re still learnin’ the ropes. I gotta go find Thomas, Charlie’s found some troublemakers.”

“If I see him first, I’ll let him know.” You nervously smooth your hands down your skirt. “What kind of trouble?”

“You don’t worry yourself about that. We’ll let the boys handle it, alright?”

“Yes, m’am.”

“Good girl,” she says. “I’ll be back.”

Luda Mae leaves through the front door and you return to your room. Thomas is standing where you left him, hands curled at his sides. 

“You hear all that?” You ask him. He nods. “What’s going to happen?”

He walks to the window, peeks through the curtain. His shoulders are tense. When he turns back to you, he sets his hands on your shoulders and steers you to the bed, pushing gently until you’re sitting, the springs squeaking beneath your weight. He cups your cheek with one hand and points around the room with the other.

“You want me to stay in here?”

He nods.

“What if you need help?”

He shakes his head. He won’t need help.

“Okay. You better get down there.”

He nods again. Leaning down, he presses his forehead to yours, an approximation of a kiss. You smile at him when he pulls away. He lingers for a brief second longer before tugging open the door and disappearing from the room.

Trouble is heralded by the arrival of Uncle Charlie. You watch through the window as his cop car pulls up in the yard and he gets out, spitting curses you can’t hear. He waves a shotgun in the air, firing off a warning shot that makes you jump. You know Thomas told you to stay in your room but curiosity gets the better of you and you head downstairs.

Luda Mae is in the kitchen, sat at the table with a cup of tea. A piercing scream filters through the open window as she takes a tiny sip from her cup. 

“You need somethin’, dear?” She asks, unperturbed by the interruption. You shake your head.

“No, m’am. Just came to ask if you needed help with dinner.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I got it covered.” Another sip. “Could you get the laundry from the line?”

It’s then that you realize she’s testing you. Earlier she told you to let the men handle it, but she wants to see where your loyalties lie. Thomas told you to stay put, to stay safe, but she’s sending you out to join the wolves because she knows, she knows, she knows that you’re just like them. 

She just needs proof.

You smile. “Of course.”

On your way out of the kitchen, you slip a knife from the butcher block.

One of the men that Charlie dragged home writhes in pain, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. His friend takes off at run, pace as fast as his injured ankle will allow. They’re the last two that need to be dealt with. Thomas raises his chainsaw in the air, ready to end the animal’s suffering, but movement from the corner of his eye makes him pause.

The back door to the house opens and you stroll out into the yard, looking around frantically with a frightened expression. Thomas feels a rush of anger that you didn’t listen to him, didn’t stay up in your room, didn’t stay inside. The anger quickly turns to fear when he sees the other man, the one he intended to deal with later, rushes toward you. You take off, running across the field toward the barn.

Thomas cuts the gas, tosses the chainsaw aside. The muffled whimpers from the man on the ground piss him off and with one, two, three strikes of the heel of his boot, he silences him for good. He heads for the barn, red in his vision with every step. If the other man lays a single finger on you, Thomas will keep him alive but begging for death.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here,” a male voice shouts. “They’re goin’ to kill us!”

Thomas throws open the barn doors, the wood shaking with the force of it. You’re turned away from him and the first thing he notices is the knife held in a tight fist behind your back. The man stumbles to the ground, trying to scramble back from you as Thomas comes closer.

“No. We’re going to kill you,” you tell him. You spring forward, jumping on the man with a feral scream that sounds like music to Thomas’ ears. Your arms swing up, up, up and then slam down, down, down, burying your knife into the man’s chest over and over and over.

Thomas can’t wait anymore. He approaches you from behind and wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you away from the mangled body. You struggle in his hold and he hauls you over to a work bench, swiping the tools to the ground with his other arm and setting you on the surface.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say immediately, head shaking side to side. “I just wanted to help, I just—“

Your rapid apologies morph into a choked off moan when he lifts your legs, wrapping them around his hips, grinding his painfully hard cock against you. He buries his face into your neck, licking at the blood that stains your perfect skin, the taste of salt and copper opening a pit of hunger in his belly that could never be filled by food.

“Tommy,” you whimper, head dropping back. He licks and bites at all the skin he can find and when he runs out, he drops to his knees and begins anew on the muscles of your legs. 

He pushes the fabric of your dress up, bunching it around your waist to expose your pussy, still covered by the same panties you wore earlier when he made you come on his fingers. Wrapping his fist in the elastic, he pulls until it snaps under the pressure, fabric falling away and leaving you completely bare. 

Thomas pushes your thighs apart, spreading you open. He leans closer, biting at the soft flesh of your thigh, a little harder than he should. The tiny indents his teeth make in your skin are proof that this isn’t some dream. You’re flesh and blood, just like him.

Just for him.

His mouth waters as he nears your cunt, the earlier memory of your taste making that hunger grow to near starvation. His tongue slides over the slick flesh, exploring the dips and folds that taste so sweet it hits him like a sugar high, like when he’d steal a handful of candy from the corner store and eat it all at once, afraid of getting caught.

There’s a quiet thump and Thomas looks up to find that you’ve collapsed onto the table. Hands reach down and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on the strands. He remembers the spot that he rubbed with his fingers and searches for it with his tongue, knowing he’s found it when your thighs press against his ears and you moan his name like you did in your room.

“Oh, god! Just like that, Tommy,” you say, holding his head in place. “So good, so fucking good.”

He licks and sucks and grazes his teeth against you to his heart’s content and you writhe beneath him, bucking up against his face so fiercely he has to hold you down with an arm across your lower belly. He grows braver, dipping his tongue into the warmth of your cunt and drinking you from the source until you’re shaking. When he pulls away, he’s awed by the mess he’s made of you, your lips puffy and skin slick and shiny from your cum. He uses his thumbs to spread you apart, admiring the way your hole clenches around nothing.

Thomas stands, unsure of what to do next. You sit up from the table, expression dazed. Tear tracks stain your cheeks and a brief strike of worry hits him. Did he hurt you? Was that too much? Are you—

“Come closer,” you whisper. His thoughts go silent as he obeys. You reach up, cupping his face, hands trailing down to the strap of his apron. You lift it over his head and drops down, hanging limply. 

Your arms wrap around his thick middle, working the knot of strings loose behind his back. It falls to the floor in a heap now and he stares at it, pulse racing as your hands roam to his chest. His breath stutters as your touch traces lower, lower, lower, until your palm presses against his cock and his mouth drops open at the pleasure of it, so different from when he touches himself or ruts his hips into the mattress. He can feel the heat of your skin even through the thick fabric of his pants.

You’re popping the button and dragging down the zipper, wrapping a soft hand around his cock and pulling it free. Thomas groans, loud and rough, as you slide your hand up, thumb swiping over the clear fluid gathered at the very tip. 

You tug on his cock, hard enough that he stumbles forward, pressing closer. You look up at him as you rub the flushed head through your wetness and his shoulders shake at the sensation. You feel so good, so warm, he just wants to—

You notch him at your entrance and on instinct he thrusts forward the slightest bit, just enough that the fat tip of him sinks into tight heat. You gasp, eyes going wide and he’s once again struck with the fear that he could be hurting you, maybe he’s too big, too much of a monster, but when he tries to pull away you’re grabbing his shirt in a tight fist.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss. “Keep going.”

Thomas obeys, just as he always does, pushing his hips closer, shoving his cock deeper, deeper, deeper. He watches his length disappear, your body stretching to accommodate his size. You look beautiful, with the tears that gather in your eyes and the blood smeared on your chest and the way your thighs shake with the effort to take him, that his chest aches, that last thread of control keeping him slow and steady snapping like his hips as he buries himself inside of you, completely and thoroughly.

You’ve never been this full before. You fall back on the rough wood of the work bench with a gasp, stars in your vision as your body adjusts to the sheer size of the man, the thick length of him splitting you open and leaving you breathless. He leans forward, the angle changing and tears spilling from your eyes as you stare up at the hulking monster above you.

“So big,” you gasp. “God, you’re so fucking big.”

His cock twitches inside of you and you moan, back arching off the bench. He feels so good, even through the burning stretch. You give a tentative wiggle of your hips and his eyelids flutter, a moan escaping him. When the pain eases into a dull ache, you lift a shaky hand to his face, settling your palm against the cool leather of his mask.

“I want you to fuck me, Tommy,” you tell him. “I want you to ruin me.”

His pupils grow impossibly wider and a shadow falls across his features, his demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. Gone is the man who was worried he would hurt you and in his place is the ravenous beast that matches the one clawing at you from the inside, just beneath your ribs where your chest aches with need. He draws his hips back until the tip is barely inside of you before thrusting forward. Your mouth opens, a scream ripping from your lungs but it’s cut short when a large hand wraps around your throat and squeezes. 

Thomas is a man possessed, pounding into your body like it’s nothing more than a toy for his pleasure, filling your pussy to the limit with each stroke. The hand on your throat holds your body steady and he uses his other arm to lift one of your legs, then the other, your thighs pressed to his thick belly and your ankles by his ears. His moans mix with the lewd sound of skin against skin, a soundtrack of hedonism that you want to listen to on repeat until God calls you for judgment and sends you straight to Hell.

Your orgasm is quick to build, a pressure in your tummy that grows tighter and tighter until it bursts, all your muscles going taut with the force of it. Thomas roars, hands gripping your hips and holding you impaled on his cock as he floods your pussy with his release. You feel untethered, like you’re floating, and it’s not until you’re squinting into the Texas sun that you realize you are floating. Thomas is carrying you through the field, back to the main house, one arm supporting your back and other under your knees, holding you close to his chest.

Luda Mae is on the porch when he reaches the door, hands on her hips. He pauses and her keen gaze assesses you both. Finally, she smiles.

“Get yourselves cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready,” she says. 

Wordlessly, Thomas brings you inside and down to the basement, where does exactly as he’s told.

Just as he always does.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment.

Want more to read? Check out my masterlists.

[afewproblems]

Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs. 

Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.

It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.

He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar. 

So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together. 

Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all. 

Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead. 

Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.

He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more. 

Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.

"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth. 

He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.

"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?" 

A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy. 

But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.

The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed. 

Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.

"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.

It happens so quickly after that. 

The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.

"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.

"Harrington?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.

Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both. 

A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.

He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels. 

And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.

It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.

A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.

He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.

He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.

"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.  

"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".

"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground. 

"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.

"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.

Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.

Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of  thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants. 

He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie. 

"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.

"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes. 

"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"

Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand. 

It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie. 

From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes

Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.

"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".

Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"

He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"

Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people? 

It'll be fine, he tells himself.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Part Two

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

All parties involved are 18+/aged up.

♡ Note ➳ Keep in mind this is written as FEM READER, but you can imagine however you’d like.

The men who are direct, cold, but who have no filter. Who will bite your damn head off under normal circumstances — but become whiny, writhing, fucked out messes when they get eaten out.

They white knuckle the sheets so desperately, so tightly that you’re worried they’ll rip as they lay face down with their ass in the air. They’ll wiggle and tense their thighs when your warm tongue runs over their soft, twitching holes again and again until they’re choking on their own moans.

Men whose voices splinter and crack as they beg you not to stop, who roll their hips in time with your tongue just to chase the sensation. The men who can’t help but arch their spines so prettily, one of their hands pressing on the back of your skull so you don’t stop tongue fucking them.

Men who want to sit in a chair, legs dangling over the arm rests with their asses on the edge of the seat so you they’re exposed entirely. They just love to watch you on your knees before them.

Men who bite their lower lips so hard it almost splits, fisting their cocks quick as hell to the sight of your pink tongue disappearing to lap over their holes. Who just about jolt out of the chair when you suck the soft muscle between your lips.

Men who beg you to touch your pussy while you eat them out. They get even more strung out watching you touch your clit, gazes locked on the way you’re getting yourself off.

Men who all but wail, who whimper and moan when you lick their rim as eagerly as one would eat an ice cream cone. Who plead desperately for you to let them cum when you dig your nails into the tender flesh on the undersides of their thighs.

Who gasp and cry out with voices that are absolutely wrecked — “fuck! fuck baby please, m’gonna cum, oh god, m’gonna cum! please please let me cum!”

Men who jerk themselves off until they’re at the very edge, who then stop and tangle both sets of fingers in your hair and tug sharply. Who let out loud, broken moans as their cocks kick, making messes all over their chests.

Men who stay so fucking turned on that even after they cum, they get a new fire in their eyes. Who stay rock hard and throw you on the bed to fuck your pussy until you can’t feel your legs.

DABI/TOUYA, levi, eren, GOJO, BAKUGOU, kageyama tobio, TOMIOKA GIYUU, MEGUMI, rayne ames + any of your faves!

[tired-biscuit]

hi just thinking abt a uhhhhhhhhhh werewolf who's already filled u full but keeps rocking his knot inside u until it swells up all over again bc ur godly writing just ??? 🫣👉👈

imagine trying to push him off of you because you’re so overwhelmed.

one of your hands is on his jaw; fingertips accidentally bumping against drool-slicked canines, the other is on his chest, the hair there so coarse and thick, hiding a wild-beating heart.

your hips wiggle as you attempt to cause some distance between your body and his intimidatingly bigger one just so that you’d be able to gather your breath and a shred of your sanity at least, but you just can’t — no matter what.

he’s got you pinned underneath him, after all; pressing you so far into the mattress that the bed frame is protesting. the wood of the bed frame repeatedly snaps and cracks but he keeps on pushing, keeps on pushing inside you. to make matters even worse, his knot is swollen again and is snuggled tightly against that tender spot that makes you want to close your legs and weep.

but despite the fact that you can’t currently close your legs from the way he’s claimed his rightful place between them, you still cry out at the fullness; at the way his inhuman tongue laps at the single tear that slides from the corner of your eye, then; gliding right down the curve of your cheek. he catches it before it reaches the edge of your jaw. sniffs, warm puffs of air tickling your skin, to see if there are any more to follow before he settles on painting a single line of warm saliva up your neck, right across your pulse point and up the side of your face.

you twitch at the bestial portrayal of affection he gives you now, writhing atop the sweat-soaked bed sheet but stopping immediately when the flash of heat sears you at the place where you connect to him, or rather he to you.

he’s literally stuck inside you for a second time in a row, causing you to feel like your pussy is about to burst. a small hiss leaves your lips in response to the sensation, however you’re relieved to find out that it’s fast to mellow out when you don’t move around as much.

still, it shouldn’t even be there in the first place, now should it? he promised you that the entire thing wouldn’t take long…

and yet here you are.

“i can’t believe you,” you chide, chest heaving because of the anger that bubbles within. “we’re seriously doing this again?”

at your nagging, your werewolf boyfriend stares down at you with what you could best describe as an unimpressed look his eyes. the slits that have replaced his pupils dilate sideways, eating up most of the yellow iris before relenting and thinning back to their original size again.

“keep still and it’ll be okay,” he grumbles, agitation lacing his already gruff, animalistic voice, causing it to sound even more dangerous than it already does. he doesn’t want to come across as mean or inconsiderate, especially when you’re so vulnerable and split open for him like this, but he knows your constant squirming may cause pain for the both of you.

“you’re gonna kill me like this, you know,” you mumble, stubbornly turning your head to the side when he leans in to kiss you. “gonna lose your mate just because you’re one greedy motherf—f-fuck!”

he huffs a laugh that sounds like thunder at your stutter, at the way you pretend to refuse him even if he can feel your pussy clamping down on him tighter, tighter, tighter when the knot finally does its job and stuffs you full completely, locking itself inside you yet again.

your inner thighs are still tacky. his cum and your arousal that have dribbled out of you after the first time are still drying, and here he is: already planning on spilling another load inside you. already thinking about plugging you and keeping you submissive until the seed sticks, just like he did earlier.

it’s his favourite part, especially because the face you make whenever the warmth of his release pools inside your belly is absolutely priceless.

however, nothing, absolutely nothing beats the face you pull when he sneers, gets real close to your ear and whispers,

“the only thing i’m gonna do is make sure you’re pregnant with my pups, sweetheart.”

[vishapsking]

pros and cons of dating

pros: rocks

cons: rocks

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Twelve

Summary - The High Lord's meeting takes place which provides the perfect opportunity to set you free.

Warnings - Get ready besties! Angst, trauma, ptsd, fluff, mentions of death, depression, weight loss, mentions of scarring

Word Count - 8.5k

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Time had ticked by tantalizingly slow, hours felt like days, and days felt like weeks. The rawness of your throat made every cough and splutter tease the death that was lurking around your small form, the same body that was shaking from the chill in the air and bones protruding from your skin from the lack of nourishment you had been given.

It was as though you had been forgotten.

The taunts had stopped, the other prisoners noticing how dire the situation had become, and they instead sought to comfort the imprisoned princess holding onto life by a single tensed golden thread. It had become clear that you weren't much different from them, plagued by the need to create a better life no matter the consequence. No matter the cost.

Visits from your fractured family had dwindled, only Feyre could enter the hell you found yourself in unnoticed, though, she carried the intriguing scent of cedar on her clothes but she didn't speak of him, she knew that above all, the betrayal of Azriel had cut you the deepest. It was Feyre who reminded you of the light beyond the confined walls, she carried messages from Cassian and Mor, and Amren, she carried whatever hope she could to you.

They were all desperate to convince you to just hold on for a little longer. Just another day.

Though, what you couldn't understand was how the queen dwelling deep inside of you could leave so abruptly. Perhaps it was the thick onyx stone embedded into the walls, maybe it made her cower back into her cage leaving the weakest part of you in the dim faelight.

Shuddering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, curling into a ball atop the stone altar that had been calling to you for Mother knows how long, so long that you had succumb to it and used it as a place to rest your dreary head. The matted hair attached to your scalp swept across the stone, gathering the last remnants of blood and dirt from the surface, the rest had seeped into your bones long ago.

The air had shifted somewhat, like the shifting sands of a land far away, telling you that beyond the walls that worked tirelessly to contain you, something was happening.

Thunder rumbled in the grey skies, you could hear the lightening barrel into the tower where your cell lay, cracking rock in its wake, as though nature itself was growing restless. There were little tears left to cry even when the shackles binding your limbs broke through your once glowing skin, it didn't hurt anymore, nothing did.

You were empty.

Is this what death felt like? To feel so stiff and empty, numb to the point where the screams within the prison no longer made your toes curl or heart clench?

If it were to be your end, then you would accept it. A part of you welcomed the idea, to be free of it all, to go to a place where you could find peace.

Eris.

It was the only name that could make you ache.

You had made peace with the fact that you may never see them again, that you’d never get to feel the touch of Eris' lips on yours, or Lucien's arms wrapped around you, Elain's kind words or Nesta's friendship. They would be better off without the danger your existence brought to their lives, not even from Rhys, but from whatever evil dwelt within you.

Running your tongue over your bottom lip, you hissed slightly, the skin broken and sore from the gnawing of your teeth; the same sensation grappled at your fingertips, your nailbeds raised and angry and nails split and jagged. When you ran your fingers down the front of your body, all that met your touch was the boned outline of your ribs that you could count one by one, and the sharpness of your collarbone and shoulders.

If Eris saw you, he would burn the world to ash. You were sure of it.

Had he met with Helion and Tamlin? Had he forged a path to free you? Had Rhys ended him before he could rise?

"Your thoughts are too loud, Princess," the taut voice of your neighbour called through the darkness, the thunder acting as the sonnet to his ire as it clapped somewhere overhead, rumbling the skies and shaking the ground beneath the altar where your body lay.

Jovian was one of the very few prisoners who hadn't taunted you after your rather unfortunate arrival within their home. What he did to land himself in such a place you never wished to know, but he had become an important crutch in your dwindling existence. The smallest surviving part of your imagination wanted you to believe that he was a handsome male, such notions derived from his voice being as warm as summer rain and as rich as chocolate.

Being neighbourly wasn't something you'd find within your personal hell, but you had learned that life had been made to surprise you in the most strangest of manners.

A strained hum sounded against your wilting lips, plastered downward as though they didn't know joy anymore, "Sorry," your voice broke with the rawness of your throat, the dryness that settled so deep within your oesophagus that you were convinced it would never leave even if you did by some miracle become free.

Jovian was daemati, just like Rhys, although, he couldn't control it very well at all, he was never trained with the gift after being locked away at such a young age. Thoughts seemed to scream at him, like a carriage racketing through a tunnel, loud and grating. He had been nice enough to you though, using gentle words and a soft voice to make you feel seen and heard, to make you feel like you were still important to someone despite being locked away and the key dropped into the Sidra.

A faint shuffle moved through the air, a sign that Jovian was moving closer to the bars of his cell, and he sighed, the warmth of his breath stretching to kiss your ice cold skin, "It's alright," his voice spoke, you could almost picture the male with his back pressed against the bars, his fingers reaching outward to where they could graze against yours if you would only move to accept it.

Thunder screamed beyond the walls, lightening and rain battering against the foundations, wearing away the stone bit by bit so that it may be able to reach you. "Can you feel it? The world tilting?"

Jovian hummed low, "I can. We all can."

It wasn’t a lie. The residents of the Prison had become restless, their maniacal laughter howling into the night, and part of you had wished to join them.

Using whatever little strength you had left, you pushed yourself upward and swung your legs over the side of the altar, the flashes of the same moment in another time splintering their way into your consciousness; your bare and bruised feet padded against the damp floor, a slight limp possessed your step from the countless times your ankle had twisted from not being able to hold your own weight.

Matching Jovian, you pressed your back against the onyx bars of your cell, crawling your fingers through them to brush lightly against the tips of his own, "What does your name mean?"

It was something you had thought of since the moment he told you it, it was such a unique name, much different from the names you knew. Jovian's index finger curled around your own, "Father of the sky. My mother enjoyed astrology and the study of planets, she said that it fit me perfectly." A beat of silence passed, "What does yours mean?"

Furrowing your brow, you couldn't seem to remember it, "I- I don't know."

A contemplative sound came from his lips, "I think it means warrior, it takes great strength to survive and hang onto your light in the face of great darkness."

A humourless laugh passed through you, "I'm no warrior."

"You're still here, aren't you? You could have given up long ago, but you didn't. What keeps you here?" Here as in Prythian, here as in the world, here as within life.

Flashes of laughter and love caressed against your soul, of warm Autumn evenings with your legs propped up on a lap and a furry head resting on your thighs, "Someone that I love, very much."

Reuniting with Eris was something you had forbidden yourself to dream of, it was futile given your condition, and maybe he would take one look at your ruined form and decide that he was better off. Eris would never do such a thing, but it helped you to believe that there was better things in the world awaiting him. Though, when those dreams did grace you, you had always awoken feeling full with your soul glowing gold. Multiple scenarios of it had poured through you, running through the forest at the edge of the estate into his open arms, on the beaches of the Day Court in the instance that Helion would break through the rock and pluck you from your cell, in Velaris when you would overthrow Rhys and bring peace to the Night Court.

Every scenario was beautiful and perfect, but they were just dreams, and dreams didn't tend to come true for you.

Jovian's finger traced the hem of the cuff secured against your wrist, cringing at the marred flesh thriving beneath it, "To love is a beautiful thing," his was was toned with longing, of a desire he would never get to experience for he too was subject to the knowledge that he would never leave.

"Yes," you cleared your throat, "It is."

"Whoever owns your heart is the luckiest male in the universe, y/n. Fighting is worth it when you have someone waiting for you."

Laying your cheek against the bars and staring onward like the stones may part and reveal you to one another, you asked, "Do you have someone waiting for you?"

Jovian pondered the question, sadness settling into his chest as he thought of how long he had been locked away, at how he had slowly aged over the time where everyone he once held dear had perished, "I may have once, not anymore though."

"If I ever get out of this place, I'll come back for you. I swear it."

For awhile after your voices died against the roaring skies, you sat with your backs pressed against your respective bars, fingers entwined, and for just a moment, you both didn't feel alone.

The Day Court was just as stunning as Eris had remembered it to be, tall marble pillars and ethereal artworks encapsulated the ceilings, and he wondered how he hadn't spent longer admiring it all the last time he had been within Day. Then he remembered that the last time he had been in the Day Court was when you had asked him to take you away, you had stolen his attention that night, and you had each day after.

All of the High Lords of Prythian had answered the call, even Rhys, and the day had come where the world would get to know what he had done to you.

Tension had been rife within the family you had brought together, Nesta was on edge about seeing Cassian and Feyre, Elain was on edge about seeing Azriel, Lucien was ripping at the seams at the thought of being around Rhys, and Eris was on edge about everything. One wrong move and Rhys could easily send the order to have your existence wiped from the world.

It was silly to assume that Rhys would bring you despite the demand for it, though Eris couldn't help but hope to see your glossy hair sauntering through the halls or the hem of your dress sweeping against the stone as you turned a corner.

The Day Court had always been your favourite place, you had often spoke of how you adored the sun seeping into your pores, how you'd never felt more complete and peaceful when walking along the sandbank with the water rushing up to greet you. Eris pictured you leaning against every wall he passed, a soft smile on your lips and skin glowing with love and health, hair bundled over your shoulders that he could twirl a finger in if he so wished, eyes burning so brightly that it made his stomach flip.

Helion had studied the texts as he had promised to do, and he was confident in his approach to rid the demon queen from your body thanks to the talents nestled within his court. Eris had been warned that it would be painful for you to endure and him to watch, but that it would put an end to the evil entwined within you.

The chamber chosen for the meeting was regal in its own right, high ceilings with coving made of solid gold, larger than life chairs arranged in a perfect circle around a pond of seawater that scattered its waves across the ceiling, large open arched windows with thin drapes that danced in the ocean breeze.

Kissing the horizon, the low sun signalled that it was time.

Eris sat across from the chairs assigned to the Night Court, Nesta to his left and Lucien to his right, both of whose orbs were trained on the empty seats awaiting the presence of the High Lord and Lady of night, if the latter would even show her face that is. Helion sat to the right hand curve of the sphere before the largest of the windows with the sun dipping just below the arch of his seat, fingers tapping against the table becoming annoyed with the lateness; Tamlin sat to the left curve, eyes darting to the High Lords and nose occasionally sniffing to catch a speckle of your scent.

All the other High Lords knew was that a crime had been committed, and that such a crime required a hearing of sorts, an attempt of resolution before the land was consumed by war on four fronts. Day. Night. Spring. Autumn.

It was clear that Rhys had spouted lies to the Winter Court, such was clear by the stone-faced glare being sent Eris' way by Kallias, and Eris could only imagine what vile words had been spoken between the two of them. Kallias had no doubt been told that Eris was a kidnapper, a manipulator and liar that had weaved his way into the mind of his dearest sister and turned her against her home and family.

The doors to the chamber opened once more, to announce the presence of the final bodies they were awaiting. Rhys appeared as stoic as ever, dressed in his finest onyx tunic, his crown dipping low on his brow and violet eyes swimming with poised anger; beside him was Feyre, eyes weary and stressed, dressed in her usual blue-grey ensemble. Then the Inner Circle appeared, all varying in their levels of ire and discomfort, Cassian whispered Nesta's name as soon as he saw her and she froze in response, noting how his wings had drooped slightly and skin tinged with illness. Mor hadn't looked much better, the shine to her hair had disappeared, her nail polish was chipped and her dress seemed a bit loose on her frame.

Counting them all one by one, it soon became glaringly obvious that a certain Shadowsinger had refrained from attending the meeting.

Rhys all but glided to his seat, giving Feyre a stern look as they both sat, their Inner Circle following suit to either side of them and bringing their night-kissed dread to a once warm room.

From their pallid complexions Nesta knew what they had seen, she knew that they too now knew the truth, and it gave her some form of hope to know that maybe you had some people looking out for you. Nesta's eyes connected with those of her mate, and she felt the air rush from her lungs at the pleading she found within them and the gentle tugging on the bond that she opened willingly, feeling his guilt and reassurance soaring across it.

"I appreciate you all for coming on such short notice," Helion spoke after a beat, allowing the tension to fester upon Rhys' entrance, his power causing the room to swelter.

It was taking all of his control to not lunge across the serene pool that separated them, Eris would give anything to be able to wipe that smug grin off of his face. The day would come when he could do such a thing, but that day wouldn't be the one where your life and sanity loomed over his pretty red head.

From the way Helion's eyes drifted to Rhys, with fire coursing through the speckles of his irises, did the other High Lords realise what had called them to the Day Court Palace, or rather, who.

"Rhysand," Helion drawled his name, a smirk tugging on his lips, "You are here to answer to a court of your peers, to the High Lords who wish to rule this world harmoniously, for the crimes you have committed against your own court, and your own flesh and blood." Helion moved his gaze to Kallias, then to Thesan and Tarquin, then to Tamlin who shuffled in his seat, and then to Eris who he gave a short, curt nod.

"For those of you who don't know of Rhys' treachery, allow me to fill you in," Helion waved his hand and sank back into the comfort of his seat, "For the last fleeting eon, Rhys has held his own sister captive within his court for fearing that her power could overthrow him. Upon realising the betrayal of her own brother, y/n approached Eris and asked him to free her of the confinements of the prison that she called home and found herself thriving within the Autumn Court."

Not expecting the words but also not wanting to go head-to-head with Helion, all Rhys could do was sit and listen, and Eris caught the poorly hidden smirk itching its way onto Feyre's mouth.

"Rhys threatened her, manipulated her into believing that she belonged to the Night Court and that if she didn't return then he would kill the family she had made with Eris," Helion's stare bore into Rhys, his orbs glowering with intensity and anguish over what he had done to his friend, "Rhys placed collars of onyx stone on her to make her void of power, and has psychologically tortured her to the point where she no longer resembles the female she used to be, and," Helion turned his head slightly to Eris in silent permission, not once tearing his eyes from the seething High Lord in his eyeline. Eris nodded once and felt the fate of the world move at it, "Rhys removed the memories of Eris and y/n from one another. They are Carranam, and they were very much in love. It threatened his power and position, so he stole their memories and locked her away so that she would never learn of what he did, and instead spread vile lies and vicious rumours so that no one would ever think to look for her or wonder about her."

Feyre soundlessly uttered the word, Carranam, her lips moving perfectly with the roll of her tongue, and her eyes widened. Feyre turned to her husband and mate with horror laced within her orbs but said nothing, instead her gaze flickered to Cassian, and then to Mor, before settling on Amren whose fists were clenched and nostrils flared.

"Where is she?" Tamlin asked, voice low and dangerous, "You were ordered to bring her."

Rhys ticked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, seemingly unphased by the stare of betrayal from his mate and the mother of his child, "My sister is elsewhere. To move her for a meeting so futile would cause her a great deal of pain."

"Where is she?" Eris hissed, his fingers creating scratches in the arms of his chair. Rhys was too smug, the lazy grin on his lips made Eris' blood boil so much so that ash pooled beneath his palms.

Finally, Rhys looked to Eris, he cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips, "The location of my sister is none of your concern," Rhys relaxed into his chair, unphased and unbothered, which only irked Eris more, "As Night Court tradition stipulates, an unmated female is the property of her family until she finds her mate or a suitable arrangement is made. My sister is unmated, and therefore, she's mine."

"That thought would hold if it were true," Nesta smirked, peering at Rhys through her lashes, her fingers drifting over the hilt of Ataraxia.

His eyes narrowed, and more a moment, Nesta could have sworn that she had saw a flash of fear within them, "It is true."

Eris hummed, "No, it's not actually," he allowed his glamour to fall, and the scent of your bond flooded the room, pine and spiced orange mixed with jasmine and salted air, "Y/N is my mate, she is my Carranam," Eris rose to his feet, "She is to be my wife, my High Lady, and the mother of my children. But before all of that, she is going to be free."

No one had been expecting so much information when they had arrived within the Day Court that afternoon, the collective mind of Prythian was reeling.

"Tell me where my mate is, Rhysand. We won't ask again," the red of his waistcoat strained against his chest and he inhaled deeply, partly relishing in the surprise in Rhys' eyes as he attempted to hold onto some reason why he could continue entrapping you.

Then, a sweet voice spoke, one raw from holding back tears of fury, "She's in the prison. Rotting away on his orders," Rhys' widened gaze moved to the owner of the voice, finding Feyre unwilling to look at him after confessing his darkest act.

A low growl emitted from Eris and he felt Nesta rise to her feet beside him, "We've been helping her the best we can, but she doesn't have much longer left," Cassian added, flinching when Rhys' head snapped to face him, but his eyes didn't move from Nesta, and she felt his sincerity flow down the bond and settle within her heart.

Cassian had become your ally, he was on your side trying to help you, but there was little he could do against Rhys' power, no matter how determined he was.

Realising that his own Inner Circle, his own family, had betrayed him, Rhys' eyes darkened and the ground began to rumble beneath their feet. Then it stopped. Rhys shivered. Rolling his neck at the sensation peeling down his spine, Rhys snarled, and peered back to the door as though he was expecting someone to enter. His ears twitched and his eyes narrowed, then he froze, it dawning on him what exactly he was feeling.

"What have you done?" Rhys turned his head to Feyre sadistically slow with a voice dangerously calm, but Feyre didn't back down, no, she rose to her feet and stared down at her mate with every ounce of disdain in her body.

"We," Feyre motioned between herself, Cassian, Mor, and Amren, "Have done what is right."

It dawned then on your found family that all this time, when they had believed that they were all against you, it was actually the opposite. They had been working tirelessly to find a way out for you, had been orchestrating their own movements to get to that moment, to get Rhys far away from the Night Court for long enough to give you a fighting chance.

And on knowing what was happening, Rhys blew through the wards around the Palace like it was nothing, shattering the shields into oblivion with his fury, and winnowed from sight.

The stiffness in your legs warned you what was coming.

There was no energy or fight left within you to do anything about it as you retreated to the far corner of your cell and draped the thin blanket over your tattered dress.

Wind slammed against the side of the tower, roaring into the night, desperately attempting to break through the stone as strong as iron. The skies cried with it, unable to idly stand by and watch you succumb to the thing that terrified you.

Death.

It had always been a concept you had been scared of, you loved life too much, and all of the possibilities that could have been yours if you were brave enough to just take the chances when they were in front of you.

One more dream, you could allow yourself that.

Your eyes drifted closed and you drowned out the words of Jovian who felt so close yet so far away, focusing solely on the male who owned your heart in every single way that mattered, on the male who had never been afraid of you.

In that moment, you imagined laying in your bed at Fir Manor, his ear pressed to your swelled stomach and lips stretched into a wonderous smile as he tried his hardest to listen to the heartbeat of the babe growing inside of you. His babe. You imagined running your fingers through his hair, wondering if your children would be blessed with hair the shade of glowing embers or hair as dark as the night. Eris would press his lips against your skin, whispering sweet promises to your growing babe that he would be nothing like his father, that he would protect your little family with every fibre of his being.

It was a sweet dream, a glimpse into the future, so sweet and perfect and impossible that you felt a single tear slip down your ashen cheeks.

One day you'd see him again. One day you'd be reunited in the stars and the heavens would sing their adoration. And you'd wait, and you'd watch him go through life, and you'd guide him to the next day, and protect him with your light until he would one day join you.

It would be a beautiful day.

Though, apparently someone was eager to pause that day from occurring as the bars of your cell splintered, the door itself twisting from the hinges with a sickening groan and and an array of cool kisses pecking at your calves.

Hazel eyes hovered before your own, marred fingers grazed your hallowed cheeks, "You don't get to die on me, Princess," he looked about the room, tucking the thin blanket around your body to keep you as warm as he possibly could, "It's time to go home."

A pained cry sounded from your lips and Azriel internally cringed at it, knowing that even cradling you in his arms was bringing you untold amounts of pain, "I know it hurts. I'm sorry, y/n. We don't have much time, I need to get you out of here."

Azriel rose to his feet and curled his wings around you, trying to will some warmth into your trembling form as he stepped into the hallway and kept walking without looking back, paying no mind to the teary eyes of Jovian who was pressed against the bars to his own cell, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes open and full of fight, fingers outstretched and trying to brush against your light for one last time.

As soon as he exited the Prison, Azriel halted, feeling your fingers curl around the skin of his armour. Looking down, he noted the tears in your eyes as you stared up at the calming skies, the clouds splitting to reveal the brightest stars you had ever seen glimmering overhead, "I didn't think I'd ever see them again," your raw voice spoke, and if he looked hard enough, he swore he could see your heart pulsing in your chest.

"You're going to be seeing a lot more beautiful things than this sky," Azriel promised you, holding you a little tighter in his arms, knowing that it was probably going to be the last time he ever could. "I'm going to have to winnow us, okay? It's the only way to create enough distance between us and Rhys."

Nestling further into his arms, you nodded stiffly against his chest, your cheekbone rubbing against his leathers, so sharp that it threatened to split the intricate fabric. Curling his wings tighter around you, Azriel inhaled deeply, and then disappeared from sight, the only sign of his presence being the tint of cedar laced into the air.

Within a few minutes, the winnowing had halted, and your once screwed closed eyes softened as the scent of fresh foliage blossomed within your gut, gently caressing you and whispering to you that you were safe, that home was so close, mere metres away.

Azriel gently placed you on the ground, the grass soft beneath your feet, but he kept his hands on your waist to steady you, to catch you if your knees gave out.

The air felt lighter, teeming with life and the chirps of small creatures, glancing about, you spotted a manor in the distance, shrouded with fresh flowers and vine. "Are we in Spring?"

The Shadowsinger hummed softly in agreement, "Autumn is just over there," he motioned to where a shield of glamour rippled, a sign of the wards of Autumn ready to part and welcome you back, "Can you make it?"

"Yes," you answered instantly, energy flowing to your limbs and loosening the muscles within them. You peered up at Azriel, "Rhys-"

"Had to believe that I was on his side, had to trust me enough to loosen the leash," his brutally marred finger brushed a stray hair behind your ear, "I promised to never hurt you, I intend to keep that promise. I'm sorry for everything that I've done, for letting you believe that I betrayed you. I'm sorry. Rhys had to believe that he was winning, but I should have never allowed it to go this far. I should have protected you, got you out at the first chance I had."

Azriel stumbled back a step as your body collided with his own, winding your arms around his neck and doing your best to contain your wobbling bottom lip, "I forgive you," at the sound of your broken whisper Azriel curled his arms around your frame, allowing his shadows to pepper their love over your shoulders and spine.

It was a tender moment, one full of the unspoken love that had once flowed between you, a love that was still the centre of his universe but that had been replaced in yours. Azriel pulled back, his fingers lingering over the bargain tattoo that wrapped around your bicep, and smiled sadly, "You have to go. Rhys would have been alerted by now, he'll be looking for us."

"He'll kill you."

"Maybe," Azriel shrugged, "But if my death means that you make it out of this alive then it's worth it," the sky rumbled and you felt Rhys' power draw closer, "Go. I'll hold him off. Cross the boarder, go home," Azriel pressed his lips to your forehead and closed his eyes, drinking in everything he could about you before he stepped back and nudged you toward the rippling wards that were already parting for you, almost reaching out to envelope you in their protection.

You couldn't waste a moment, so you turned toward the boarder and willed yourself to not look back as that power rumbling in the skies slammed into the ground behind you. Ignoring the screaming ache in your limbs, you propelled yourself forward, feeling the wind rip through your hair and your skirt glide against your thighs.

A roar sounded behind you, a clash of swords, sinful words and the sickening crunch of bones as bodies smashed into the ground. The wards of Autumn reached for you, wrapping behind your body and urging you forward, and you leapt over the boarder, feeling Autumn welcome you back like a lost lover and solidify the shields around the court.

You spared a glance backward, witnessing Rhys looming over Azriel who was grounded and spitting blood, Truthteller curled in his grip and ready to dispose of the Shadowsinger. A scream ripped through your throat, loud and shrill enough to pull Rhys' attention from Azriel for a singular moment; his gaze shot up to find you, knowing that cry from anywhere, and he rose, going to take another step just as red siphons entered your vision and propelled Rhys through the air.

Cassian moved to Azriel, steadying his brother and muttering something to him, and then you saw Mor, and then Amren, and finally Feyre winnowing onto the field of Spring, all dressed in their leathers and the latter of which turned her head to you and as clear as day, you saw her lips telling you to go.

Stumbling backward, you turned again, moving through the forest and paying little mind to the blood seeping from the bottoms of your feet. A gentle galloping drew near, growing louder with each passing second until his black coat shone in the light and his large eyes found you, approaching you with urgency and softly whimpering as his head nuzzled into your shoulder.

"Hello Axos," your fingers raked through his mane and he lowered himself to the ground, bending at the knee and waiting for you to clamber onto his back, you hitched the hem of your tattered dress around your thighs and swung your leg over his back, leaning your chest against it as he rose from the ground and cantered onward.

Arched branches brushed against your back as though in greeting, small animals peaked up from their stones and hearths to watch you pass by, and the darkening sky sparkled as the last touch of sun vanished from sight. Weakness settled into your bones, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving you exhausted and wincing at every movement Axos made as he carried you through the forest.

The stallion came to a slow stop, craning his neck to tell you that you were safe. Sitting upright, a sob escaped you as you laid eyes on Fir Manor, and you rubbed your eyes to make sure that it was real and not some sort of wicked dream. Sliding from Axos' back, cool cobbled stone greeted you, the warm Autumn wind flowed through your hair and filled you with energy.

You ran down the path, dress billowing behind you, and flew through the oaken door. Part of you had expected to see them all in the seating area, a fire roaring, Nesta curled up reading one of her smutty books, Elain and Lucien cuddling in the corner and comparing the sizes of their hands, and Eris sat reading reports with Willow resting in his lap.

But the manor was cold and dark, the usual fire that roared in the hearth was nothing but ash, the only light that existed was birthed from the moonlight pouring between the curtains. Tugging at the skin around your fingernails, you moved through the house, calling out for Eris and Nesta whilst following the soft tug deep within your soul; you made your way up the stairs and winced at every step, the twisted muscles in your leg causing you more pain than you'd like to admit. You padded down the halls, peeking into each room and feeling warmth pool in your heart, the neatly made beds and the cascade of trinkets that told you which room belonged to each member of your found family causing a faint smile to pull at your lips.

Continuing your search, you used the walls as a crutch, having to pause every few metres to take a deep breath to control the contorting pain in your leg and shoulders. The grating of your chains filled the silence, that, and the sound of your breathless straining as you meandered through the space. You stumbled forward, reaching for a familiar set of doors that upon looking to them caused memories to swirl in the forefront of your mind, memories of opening that same door on a light morning, a certain shirt drowning your figure and whiskey amber orbs trailing up your thighs. Hesitantly, you reach for the handle, taking it between your fingers and pushing the door open to find the same darkness that lingered across the estate, but also a pair of furry ears that had perked up the moment your head curled around the door.

Your shoulders fell lax and you let out a sigh, "Hello Willow," the pup cried and unfurled herself from the ball atop the cream comforter, tail wagging and softly slapping against the sheets, relieved whimpers flowing from her lungs. The hound gingerly nuzzled her snout into your open palm, resting her chin atop it and giving small licks to your wrists, "Have you been looking after him for me, hm?" As if she understood you, she cried once more and saddled up to the edge of the bed, leaning her body into yours and shivering as your hands rubbed small circles into her fur.

It hadn't changed, the room, all that was different was the aroma that clung to the air, of spiced oranges and pine, a tell-tale sign that Eris had tortured himself just to be able the breathe your scent to sleep. His clothes were strewn about the room, lazily draped across the back of the armchair and his riding coat hung on the corner of the mirror where your dress had once swayed. Open books were played over the coffee table, and upon further inspection, you recognised them to be the books that you had read once upon a time when you had been wedged beside him and dousing in his fire.

The windows were wide and welcoming, and you allowed yourself a moment of serenity. You approached the glass panes, fingers running down the lapels of Eris' riding coat before you wrapped your arms around yourself as your eyes scanned the estate, from the quaint ponds to the right to the small garden Elain had erected to the left, and sighed.

As if it were a dream, you heard voices darting about by the treeline, and your weak vision pinpointed the location exactly just as a speckle of red stepped onto the cobbled path. His eyes were frantic and wild, and he inhaled deeply, the scent of you threatening to cripple him to his knees.

Within moments his eyes were darting through the windows, working their way upward until he froze. Eris' eyes faltered, blinking furiously, and he took a single step forward, and that action was enough to make you turn on the balls of your feet and hurtle through the manor, ignoring the screaming in your body as you flew down the stairs and through the halls and seating area until you were flinging the door open and stepping into the moonlight.

Eris stood frozen at the end of the cobbled path, staring straight ahead at you, loosening a breath and eyes watering as you wobbled down the steps, "Eris? Are you listening? She wasn't there, she has to be in the forest somewhere," Nesta appeared at his side, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him lightly, trying to pour some sense into him to get him to turn around. Frustration built within her gut as he continued to stand there, cemented to the ground and staring ahead with features teeming with disbelief, "Eris, what are you-"

Nesta followed his line of sight, her words catching in her throat as her eyes landed on you; Nesta's hand dropped from his arm and she turned slightly, to Lucien and Elain who had also just stepped forward from the treeline.

It was then that Eris realised that it wasn't a dream, that Rhys hadn't somehow infiltrated his mind and filled it with torturous hope. The air was brimming with jasmine and sea salt, though it was laced with pain, of despair so heavy that he was wondering how you were still standing.

The cobbled stones shifted beneath his feet, each step absentmindedly quickening until he was running up the path. The closer he got, the clearer he could see the bags under your eyes that were illuminated by the pale moonlight, the thin arms and tattered skirt, the knotted hair and pallid skin, and the bands of onyx stone wound around your neck and ankles as well as the shackles tying your limbs together.

Before he had even reached you, your face contorted, arms stretching out to meet him as he collided with you, his arms wound around your broken and trembling body, lifting you into the air and burying his nose into the curve of your shoulder.

A sob ripped through you and your body shook, the weight of all that had happened crashing down on you causing a sorrowful scream to split past your lips. Eris sank to the ground with you, his arms not once moving from your body, they ran from your sides to your shoulders, and one hand curled around your head, tugging you into his chest, and Eris rested his chin atop of it, pressed his lips into your hair.

It was meant to be a beautiful moment, but the reality of it was far from beautiful. All you felt was pain, from the shackles digging into your skin to the onyx collar drinking your light, none of your thoughts were making any sense, and all you wanted was to have them off.

"Take them off," your broken voice pleaded, tears falling from your chin and sizzling against the searing skin that was peeling and marred, "Please. Please take them off."

"It's alright," Eris kept on repeating, his tone straining with each time it fell from his lips as you continued to plead, your gut wrenching sobs infecting his bones. Eris took one look into your eyes, and tears that streaked down your cheeks, and curled his fingers around the cuffs, willing them into molten pools of metal atop the cobbles and running his thumbs along the rings around your skin left in their wake.

Eris watched your eyes dart about, as though you were trying to figure out if it was all a hallucination or some cruel nightmare, like you'd blink and you'd be chained back inside the Prison. Eris cupped your face in his hands, his fingers cringing under the roughness of it, and will you to look at him, "You're safe. You're home and you're safe. We all are."

"I'm home?" The voice that asked him was so quiet, so full of doubt and disbelief that it made his features crumble, his bottom lip wobbling.

"You're home, my sweet fawn."

Stones skidded to your side, and gentle fingers rested against your elbow. Nesta smiled sadly at you, equally as horrified as relieved; she shuffled closer, the black velvet of her skirt cushioning her knees, and her fingers grazed over your protruding cheekbones, and you could tell that she was trying not to cringe at the touch, that she was trying not to hurt you.

"Nes," you travelled from Eris' embrace into her arms, resting your head against her sternum and allowing your eyes to drift closed.

Nesta nuzzled her cheek atop your head and locked her arms around you, rubbing soft circles into your spine, "Let's get you inside. How does a bath sound?"

The sound of a lavender soak kissing your muscles and sores made you moan, you nodded gently against her chest and groaned as she moved, securing her hands under your shoulders and lifting you to your feet. Nesta waited there for a moment, head low and eyes pleading you to tell her to stop if it was too much, after a few moments you nodded and leaned into her warmth and strength to lead you back inside.

Eris watched Nesta handle you with care, he too had rose to his feet and trailed behind your form, counting each knot of your spine that peaked out from the ripped dress on your body; but he stopped at the steps, waiting until you had disappeared into the house before turning to Lucien and Elain.

"Elain, would you-" Eris' voice trailed off, his eyes drifting to the ajar door to the manor before moving back to her. Elain, not needing him to finish, squeezed his forearm and lifted the hem of her dress to follow after you, leaving Lucien and Eris in the moonlight.

The two brothers shared a look, one of concern. Helion was right, Rhys had diminished you to an entirely different being, starkly different to the female who had left the Autumn Court late in the night.

"All that matters is that she's back, and that Rhys is far away suffering the same torture he imposed onto her," Lucien was trying to be positive despite the doubt in his mind that you would never be the same, "She'll need time to adjust."

Eris turned to his brother, to the one who had brought some semblance of light to his days without you, "She can have whatever she needs," he told Lucien sternly, doing his best to keep himself from losing his mind and tearing the Night Court to shreds, from decimating the Prison that would haunt your life for eternity.

A faint smile worked its way onto Lucien's lips, and he rested a firm hand on Eris' shoulder, "She's home, Eris."

Humming, Eris exhaled, "Yeah, she is."

The two Vanserra's entered the manor, sealing it shut and working quickly to warm the room, lighting the fire and preparing an array of teas and warming delicacies for you to graze on if you could stomach it. Eris fluffed the pillows and gathered your favourite blankets that he had stuffed away into a cupboard, and he had propped a stack of books on the tabletop, each one whimpering for your touch.

Elsewhere in the manor, you sat in silence, curled with your knees to your chest in the deep set tub of your, or Eris', bedroom. A thick shirt covered your figure, you didn't want anyone to see the body beneath it, but the water and soaps still worked tirelessly to wash away the pain etched onto your skin. Nesta was perched behind you, gingerly conditioning your hair and brushing the concoction through, untangling every knot with her nimble fingers whilst Elain applied healing creams to the brutalised flesh left behind from the shackles that had limited your every movement and thought.

Once they were done and your skin was clear of dirt, ash, and blood, the two Archeron sisters lifted you from the tub and settled you on the edge, drying you off and wrapping bandages around the bridges of your feet, and making sure the most comfortable of Nesta's loungewear drowned your frame.

The soft fabric felt like a luxury as it coiled around you, it glided against your skin and the painless friction made you shudder, like you had just then realised that nothing could hurt you ever again as long as you were in Autumn surrounded by those who adored you.

Nesta fitted the robe around your body, making sure that it fell down your legs and was long enough for you to tuck your feet into once you were sat down.

Before she left, Elain pressed her lips to your cheek, smiling softly against your skin at the colour that had returned there. It was wonderous what a bath could do to a person. Blissfully promising to see you in a few minutes, she slipped from the room and didn't linger.

Moving your gaze from the door to Nesta who was rising from the ground after applying the last of the healing cream to your ankles, you spoke, "He's my mate. Isn't he?"

Nesta shot upright, the small jar of cream tumbling to the ground, "You know?"

"I felt it," your fingers drifted over the spot in your chest that you had forced yourself to ignore for so long, now knowing what it was, "The moment he started running," your brow furrowed and Nesta took a step closer, noticing the wandering thoughtful glint in your darkened eyes, "I think- I think I always knew. When I was there, I felt this tugging, and I tried my best to ignore it but it didn't want to leave," your gaze shifted to her, "It was him, wasn't it?"

Nesta thinned her lips to stop them from quaking and nodded, "Yes. It was," you trailed small swirls atop the fabric of the robe, a soft smile turning the corners of your lips upward, "I think you should speak to Cassian. I know that you left him, that you chose me, but," you picked at your fingernails but she gently took your hands in hers, halting the faint self mutilation in its tracks, "I just think that you should speak to him."

"Alright," a flash of knowing sparked in her eyes and it had you wondering what she had seen, what she knew, but that was a conversation for a different day. Nesta turned her head slightly, grinning at the conversation and warmth floating up through the manor, "Let's go. They're waiting for us."

The manor felt starkly different to how it had when you had first arrived back within it. Warmth coated the walls that were illuminated by golden faelight, soft chatter drifted up the stairs as well as the aroma of herbs and faintly-sweetened citrus, so delicate that it make your stomach grumble in desire. Though, the food wasn't what you were craving.

The weightless padding of your feet down the stairs drew the attention of the room, and Eris was relieved to see you clean and skin nearly glowing despite the rings of onyx that Nesta had done her best to mask, more for you than anyone else. He didn't know how he was going to rid you of them, but he was determined to find a way, so that you didn't have to live with them constantly reminding you of what you had endured. Gaze flickering across the room, you noted the spread of Autumn delicacies and pastries, and your focus faltered when you spied the lemon cake resting in the centre of the table surrounded by an array of steaming teapots.

A gentle brush against your calves pulled your eyes away, and you peered down to see Willow at your side, nose nudging you onward, and it would have been rude to deny her.

The space beside Eris was waiting for you, his arm was slung over the edge of the deep cushioned seat, blankets positioned in such a way that all you would need to do was grab an edge and pull it over your frame. Without thinking, you moved across the room and crawled along the cushions to nestle yourself under his arm, wrapping your arm over his torso and resting your head against his chest to feel his heartbeat against your skin.

Eris sank a little deeper into the cushions, pulling you closer to him and reaching over to drape a blanket over your legs, a thick red wine piece that you had often bundled yourself up in, and smirking when Willow hopped up onto the surface to prop her chin on your thigh.

Eyes drifting open, you caught Lucien in the chair opposite you, he offered you a small smile, one full of promise that everything was going to be alright.

And for the first time, you felt as though it would be.

You returned the sentiment, matching his smile in silent thanks for keeping Eris going for the duration you had been gone, and Lucien caught it, nodding in response.

The tugging in your chest had returned, a gentle knocking on your soul no doubt spurred on by Eris' nose in your hair, his lips pressing into the crown of your head. Closing your eyes, you opened the door and allowed the bond to complete itself and drown you in all of his love and pain and peace, and you caressed his emotions, balling them up in your essence and soothing them.

At the feeling, Eris gasped, his fingers clenching around your waist and the hand that had been resting on the arm moved to lay on the side of your face.

You know.

Eris' voice sauntered into your mind. The Carranam status of your bond ran deeper than the layers of the world, than the very foundations of life, and the mutter of his voice in your consciousness brought a level of serenity to your soul that you thought you'd never get to feel again.

I know.

To anyone else, the sight before them would be a tender moment between two lost souls, but to you, everything you had ever dreamed of was happening right before your very eyes and within your soul. A mate. A home. A family. A chance of life.

Not needing to say anything else, Eris pressed his lips to your forehead, his fingers caressing your skin and running through your still slightly damp hair, "Would you like some lemon cake? It's your favourite," he told you with a slight tone of teasing, eyes faintly mischievous.

Humming, you glanced to the side to see Elain already sliding a piece of it onto a small plate, the icing shining in the light, and she rose to place it within reach, "Do you even have to ask?"

Author's Note

FINALLY 🥺🥺

Hope this was worth the wait x

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @julesofvolterra @5onedirection5 @darling006 @coldmermaidhologram @herondale-lightworm @rcarbo1 @babypeapoddd

[starry-bi-sky]

"Stillborn? No, still born" Danyal au -- VLAD MASTERS THE BITCH HIMSELF

*Points at Vlad* THIS MFER GOT SOME TEEFS TO HIM. !! Okay okay, Vlad Masters in the stillborn au is different compared to most of my other aus in the fact that I am far more heavily leaning into his original ambitions of wanting a family and being desperately lonely. Because you know what wanting a family implies? Wanting to be a parent.

Fucked up father figure that could've been Vlad. Complicated love-hate relationship between the only two halfas in existence.

Danny hates Vlad, but he hates even more that he's genuinely considered his offers of mentorship. Vlad is the only halfa around, and they both have fire cores. Danny has these powers he doesn't understand, can barely comprehend some days, and can't control. But Vlad does. Vlad can. And Vlad wants to help him. He's the only other person who can get close whenever Danny runs too hot. Whenever his igneous hair cracks, splits, and spits back out into magma and his friends can't get close, Vlad can.

His hair is made of magma, which runs so hot that people need specialized suits in order to get near it. He physically cannot get close to the living as a ghost unless he's calm enough for his hair to cool into igneous rock. Which isn't as often as he would like. And sometimes he's too hot for other ghosts to get near unless they have fire cores -- which Vlad has.

There have been many times when Danny's having a meltdown (literally) and gone somewhere to be alone, to let his anger and hurt and loneliness overflow and spill out, that when he's come back to, Vlad's right there with him as an anchor. It's desperately frustrating, it's the only time they can get along. They don't say anything, Danny just turns and clings onto the only person he can touch as a ghost.

Its not fair. Vlad wants to kill his foster dad, and Danny can't let him do that. But he wants to be trained by the man, he wants his help and wants what he can offer. But Vlad can't step away from his revenge long enough to let him. It's just not fair. He thinks for a moment that maybe it could work, and then Vlad does something to remind him that no, it can't.

Vlad Masters sees too much of himself in Daniel Brown -- from the way he holds himself, to the defenses he puts up, his quiet anger that builds and builds and builds until it explodes. That simmers beneath his skin. All the way down to the fact that they have matching cores. This boy is cut from the same cloth as him, and by god does he want to help him. He's always wanted to be a father, and Daniel Brown is too much like him for him to ignore. He genuinely, truly cares about Danny and his wellbeing.

He wants to help him, child just let him help you. Let him kill your foster dad so he can adopt you himself and help with these powers that terrify and intrigue you -- he knows what that's like to have something that you can't control, to have a heat that you can't cool down from. "We're in the same boat you and I, let him help you please."

But his methods are all wrong, and Danny is too much like him -- stubbornness and all -- for him to agree when they oppose each other so greatly. But again, Danny is much like him -- which means that Vlad is equally stubborn, and in every single one of their fights he's parental. He's annoyingly parental. He drops his interest in Maddie to focus his efforts in trying to coax Danny onto his side. It's like trying to get a traumatized cat to trust you, and on some levels it works. It's like he makes some progress, and then moves too quickly and the cat immediately runs off and you have to start back from square one.

TL:DR; Vlad and Danny both want to find family in each other but they're too different to get along and ultimately they are doomed by the narrative to be at constant odds with one another unless one of them is changes, and it doesn't matter who.

[just-jordie-things]

Can you do 58 with Megumi but make it something like enemies to lovers 😊 love your writing so so much

58: Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/On The Bed

**aged up characters!!** ___

megumi didn't think he was capable of despising someone this much. you got under his skin and you knew it. you'd settle in there, nestling- twisting- clawing- seemingly making yourself at home. and it didn't matter if he ignored you or if he'd snap at you with quick, bitter insults, you were an irremovable thorn in his side.

when he first met you, megumi was indifferent. you were a decent enough sorcerer that you handled your own so he wasn't thrown into training with you like gojo had him do with yuuji, and honestly, you were closer with nobara anyways, so you spent most of your time hanigng out with her.

but god, if megumi could take back that first mission he'd been sent on with you, he would. he'd get on his knees and beg that man-child of a teacher not to send him with you.

because as it turns out, he hated being assigned on exorcisms with you. you had a powerful cursed technique and you were quite confident in using it. too confident.

you were reckless.

it seemed no matter the threat you were throwing yourself on the front line, your weapon of choice imbued with the blue energy or your cursed energy, your excitement and blood lust evident. you took almost a twisted joy in exorcizing curses. megumi thinks this is the reason you were always running into the threat of a curse head first, refusing to strategize with him, and refusing to look at the big picture.

this meant that more often than not, you found yourself in the infirmary after your assignments. you always had scrapes and bruises, occasionally broken bones or concussions, too. he couldn't believe that you were so negligent, time and time again. it was like you didn't even care about getting hurt, it was like you almost enjoyed it.

the last time megumi had been partnered up for an assignment, he'd had to carry your unconscious body to shoko himself. after brazenly climbing a rather large second-grade curse, hooking your blades into it's scaly back as if you were rock climbing, you'd exorcized it with a strong swing to it's neck, sending it's head plummeting to the ground- just a few feet in front of megumi, mind you, so he'd been covered in blood so putrid he'd almost thrown up.

in your victorious pride you'd failed to realize that decapitating the beast at your height was a foolish choice, as now you were falling to the ground with a crack! that had a chill going down megumi's spine with fright. when you didn't get up right away, he'd had the manager of this assignment on the phone before he even reached you.

it makes his blood boil just thinking about it now. you'd sprained your wrist from awkwardly trying to brace yourself too late, and you'd hit your head against the pavement, hard. when megumi had lifted you, the blood had already made your hair wet and sticky, and it pooled into his hand at a speed that megumi was sure meant death was imminent. honestly he couldn't believe you'd gotten to shoko in time.

you'd been out for six days. and when you awoke, he'd screamed your ear off about how ridiculous your actions were, how if he could help it he'd never partner with you again. you were conscious for it, still fighting off a splitting headache, but you'd heard every word and you knew he meant it. you'd barely said anything, just let him rant and pace around your cot until he got it all out of his system. however, before he left, you tiredly called him a coward before you drifted back to sleep.

despite your mutual distaste in working together, you'd only been put on a small break from being partnered up- and that was mostly due to your healing period. the last month and a half of megumi working alone, or with yuuji and nobara, was only a vacation of not working with you because gojo made sure to throw a few easier assignments your way while your arm healed and the stitches at the bottom of your skull and into the nape of your neck had begun to properly scar.

once you'd regained full mobility and strength, it was only a matter of time before you were thrown into an assignment with megumi again.

because the truth of the matter, was that you worked perfectly together.

even with you swinging your weapons with abandon, megumi seemed to be able to read your every move before you made it. he chalked that up to simply knowing how to match his partner's fighting style, but gojo always insisted the pair of you shared a synergy like no other.

megumi thinks gojo just liked throwing fancy business words around to confuse people, and maybe that worked with the others, but he always rolled his eyes at that word.

because to him anyone could have synergy if they fought alongside each other for long enough- at least this is what megumi convinced himself of.

he'd never really thought twice about how with one look, you were able to switch off fighting styles- sometimes this even meant throwing your weapons towards one another- and you would take defense while he took offense- etc. he'd never really thought about how even though it felt like he had to keep an eye on you, your exorcism-driven rage meant you were always ready for an attack, and that made you more than capable of watching his back too.

and he especially hadn't noticed how his shikigami seemed to have his same ability of predicting your next move, too.

even if he conjured nue for a surprise attack from the sky, if you happened to be in trouble, the owl-like shikigami was swooping to your aid. if your weapon was knocked out of your grasp, his divine dog was leaping in to cover you with snapping fangs. if he summoned the toads, one always seemed to flutter up to your shoulder to watch your back. and god forbid he went for rabbit escape- damn things loved to swarm you with fluff and nuzzles.

and tonight's assignment was no different. except that you've been sent overseas. and except that maybe that it's the first time he does notice his shikigami's parter

his divine dog is darting out of his sight suddenly, and megumi notices instantly this time, seeing as he'd just commanded it to go after this curse's throat, and instead it's running in your direction.

bewildered, megumi whirls around, watching as it barks and howls as it runs to you.

you, who's laying on the ground.

when did that happen? fuck! what happened? fuck! were you conscious? fuck! had you been there long? fuck!

his mind is operating at a million thoughts in a minute, before he snaps into reality and strategizes what the plan would be now that you're out of the equation and this grade one curse is still trying to tear him in half.

and while he lunges towards it with his blade aimed for the throat, he find he can't help but keep you in his peripheral vision.

his divine dog is standing over you protectively, snout nudging at your shoulder, but you don't move. your arm falls lifelessly to the ground.

as he approaches the curse he sees there already is a deep gash on it's throat, certainly an effort made by you before you'd been struck down. and despite the heavy rage and concern you'd shoved onto his shoulders as soon as he'd seen you rlimp body on the ground- again- megumi's face morphs into a twisted grin.

because you'd just made this all the easier.

it only takes on swing for him to slice through the rest of the way, his blade tearing through muscle and tissue, taking it's head clean off. a signature move of yours, that for a moment, megumi understood why you enjoyed it so much. because it felt fucking amazing.

the moment he relishes in is short lived, and once the curse is taken care of he's racing over to you and his shikigami.

there's no pool of blood this time, is the first thing he notes, which is a little bit of a relief, he supposes.

what does concern him is the fact that his shikigami is whimpering, nose pushing against the back of your head, before moving to lay by your side, laying it's head on the ground as it watches you carefully, protectively.

megumi doesn't know where this action comes from. while his shikigami did hold a certain for him, as their conjurer, but he'd never seen this.

"it's alright, don't worry," he mumbles setting his hand in the space between the dog's ears. before sending it back to it's domain.

he kneels quickly in front of you, carefully grabbing you by your shoulders to move you onto your back and check for your injuries. to his surprise, you let out a groan and are able to twist yourself just enough to flip off of you stomach.

"what happened?" megumi's quick to question you once he realizes you're at least a little conscious.

"i'm fine" you say, but your face is contorted into a wince and there's a groan erupting from your chest.

"can you even sit up?" megumi scowls at you, but you don't see. you're hissing and arching your back to keep it off the ground, and megumi realizes he's going to have to get you out of here- again.

he's not afraid to tell you the whole way back to the hotel you're staying at too. it's a bit of a hassle to half-carry you into the building without alerting staff or other patrons, but still, he's muttering reckless and idiot and stupid like a mantra.

when you get to the conjoined rooms you protest, but megumi's still muttering as he drags you into his side of the room.

"we gotta get you patched up. unless you want to bleed out in your sleep?"

"i can do it myself" you shove him off you, making him scoff as he grabs the medical kit out of his bag.

"knew i would need this," he's still muttering, pointing for you to sit on the end of the bed. "just cause of you of course"

"i told you i can do it myself" you snap back at him, and megumi's not sure why this is the last straw for him but he's tearing open a gauze patch with more furosity than he'd shown exorcizing the curse earlier.

"you clearly fucking can't!" he also doesn't mean to yell, but he get's wrapped up in his irritation and he gets carried away rather quickly. "i mean- you were barely out there for ten minutes, i look over, and you very well could have been dead!"

"you'd like that wouldn't you?" you grumble unde your breath, snatching the guaze pad out of his hand and rolling your shirt up to inspect the slash at your hip. lucky for you, it wasn't deep, but it was a long swipe of claws, so it was a nasty looking thing.

"is that what you think?" megumi snaps, and he's reaching out to get the bandage back out of your hand. "you think i want my partner dead?"

"you sure like to complain about everything i do, so, yeah, megumi, you've made it abundantly clear that you'd have a easier time if i wasn't there!"

megumi huffs at the accusation, beyond pissed with you now. were you really so dense to think such a thing?

and yet while he bandages up your would, his every touch is gentle, and he even mumbles an apology when you hiss at just the wrong amount of pressure in the wrong spot.

"you can't seriously be upset with me," he scoffs. "just cause i'm sick of this always happening"

"what are you talking about?" you furrow your brows as you push your shirt back over the bandage, your hands balling into fists as you stand from the bed.

"i'm talking about you always getting yourself hurt!"

megumi's eyes are wide and his brows are furrowed as he gives you that look. the one that tells you he thinks you're an idiot. something he's good at doing, even without words.

"i swear, i don't know why they pair me up with you. i don't know what gojo sees that i'm missing, but clearly he's as delusional as ever. you shouldn't even be on the field!"

that had your patience snapping (and your heart breaking)

"i shouldn't be on the field?" you scoff back at him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. "do you even like protecting people?"

"what the hell does that have to do with anyting? of course i do!"

"well it's hard to tell! you're so goddamn stoic all the time, sometimes i can't tell the difference between you and- and-"

"and what?"

you bite your tongue, trying not to say something you can't take back, but megumi's glowering at you and you're so mad just looking at his stupid face that you let it out.

"and the curse" your words are low, but they're just as sharp as when you were yelling back at him.

megumi scoffs. he rolls his eyes.

you don't think he's ever taken you seriously.

"you're so ridiculous. i swear to god- i've dealt with your recklessness for the last time. i won't be pairing up with you for another assignment again. i'm done"

"oh please," you let out a bitter laugh, a snicker that hits his ears and buries deep into his skin. nestling, twisting, clawing. "as if i'd ever choose to partner with you!" you're yelling again, and it makes your head hurt, but you don't care. because he hurt you first. and you're not retreating to your own room before returning the favor. "i only agree to it because gojo knows and i know that it's worth it. even if i have to put up with all your snide comments and- and just rude behavior! you're a child, you know that?"

"i'm the child!?" he's darting in front of you now, before you have the chance to make a break for the door. you have half the mind to push him, to shove him hard and storm out of the room.

hell, if you called ijichi now, you might even have him book your the first flight back to tokyo.

but you stand in place and scowl at him, because you can't have him thinking you're running away from him.

"you run into every assignment without looking both ways!" megumi throws his arms out, and you can see his hands are shaking. "you get yourself injured, every, single, time, (y/n), and it's exhausting"

"exhausting?" you repeat with a scoff.

"yeah," megumi narrows his eyes at you. "exhausting"

"oh, i'm sorry," your lips curl into a gruesome smile, a threatening snarl, held by an irritation only he could bring out of you. "i didn't realize that my coma was so hard on you! were you tired megumi? hm? that was exhausting for you?"

he's fuming. you can see his teeth gritting together, his nostrils are flaring, and you've never seen so much emotion in his eyes- much less this much disgust. you've thoroughly pissed him off, and you know you should be giving him faux apologies and pleasantries because he's your equal, your ally, your partner, but you can't help but feel pride blossom in your chest, knowing you've bothered him this much.

"yeah, it was!" he yells back in your face. "can't you wrap your fragile mind around the idea that maybe it was hard on me to think you'd died!?"

you blink, your expression falling from it's sick pride, replaced quickly by confusion.

"when you're my partner, and i'm supposed to make sure you're alright, it's infuriating to turn around and not know if you're even fucking breathing!"

megumi's still yelling, but your ears are no longer pounding with your own rage boiling in your blood. his words echo clearly in your mind now, and you stare at him in bewilderment as he continues to rant.

"did you even ever fucking think about how that makes me feel?" he asks, but he doesn't give you the time to answer. "you were knocked out for a week, (y/n). if i hadn't gotten you back when i- if shoko hadn't gotten to the infirmary in time-"

he begins to shake his head, a humorless laugh falling from his lips as he has to look away from you. you were making him too angry. and worried. the emotions brewed inside of him and it made him sick to his stomach. you made him sick to his stomach.

no, you made him worry sick over you.

and you could see that now. watching him unravel in front of you, it was like the final piece of the why is megumi upset with me all the time puzzle. he cared about you. in his own way, and he had a weird way of showing it, but he cared about you.

and you were a reckless, proud piece of shit that didn't even care about yourself.

"i-" you start, but you're still not given a chance to speak.

"i don't even want to hear whatever stupid excuse you have for acting like that," he turns back to you before you even get a full syllable out. "i mean it, (y/n), i'm done. i can't take it anymore. i- i really thought i let it happen again, you know that?"

you blink at him, your eyes round and focused as you watch his look of anger fall to something else, something sadder. is this what his concern really looked like?

this is why you had been woken up by his divine dog pawing at your arm. it wasn't the shikigami breaking megumi's orders, it was worried about you, because megumi was worried about you.

your heart stutters in your chest at the sudden realization. it's all fitting together in your mind and you find that it makes you feel...

like an idiot.

"if you- if you'd actually died..." megumi trails off, hanging his head back to stare at the ceiling bitterly, as if the old worn paint would give him the strength to walk away from you.

you seize his moment of silence, and you move quickly.

you're darting towards him, your hands grabbing his collar, drawing his attention back to you in a quick, almost horrified manner. his eyes are wide and his brows almost rise into his hairline.

you hesitate, as does he, your eyes moving quickly between one another's, each trying to read the other person's silent reaction, both too afraid to actually say something in that brief moment where you're standing so close he can see the slight scar poking around the curve of your neck. megumi's eyes stay on that spot for a long moment, before he's looking back at you.

and then you're pressing closer, leaning onto the tips of your toes and holding onto his collar so tight it actually yanks him down towards you. he doesn't find his breath to protest before you're kissing him.

he blinks, his eyes wide and still staring at you, and you're kissing him.

a few seconds delayed, his hands fly to grab you by the jaw. but he doesn't pry you off of him. his eyes fall shut and he's holding your face firmly in place so that he can properly slant his lips over yours.

you try to take a breath in between kisses but he gives you no time to do so, making a whimper suffocate and be swallowed down your throat. you inhale sharply through your nose instead.

your hands release the collar of his uniform only for you to throw your arms around his neck, latching on snugly, and pulling him down, down, down, until you're standing flat on your feet and he's towering over you in an attempt to keep your mouths sealed.

you have to admit, you didn't expect so much eagerness, but you can't complain as his lips dominate over yours, melting you down to putty in his hands.

"i'm sorry," you mumble into his mouth, not bothering to break away, knowing he won't let you. "i'll be more careful next time"

you're huffing for air, and megumi does you the favor of pulling away, just a little bit, just enough that you can catch your breath, and he can look at you.

he wasn't expecting you to kiss him, but he certainly wasn't expecting you to apologize to him.

your eyes meet his, full of an emotion he's never seen before. concern? is this what your concern looked like?

"it's alright," he finds himself forgiving you instantly, calloused thumb tracing along the edge of your jaw, while he looks at you like you're something new he'd just discovered.

and maybe to a certain degree, you are, because he's never seen this side of you before. the self awareness you showed now struck deep, and he believed you when you spoke.

"i'm sorry too" he mumbles, brows furrowing as the cruel words he'd said to you replay in his head now, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

you don't say anything, you just reach up on your toes again so that you can keep kissing him, and he seems to understand that you forgive him, too.

and you pull him then, much like you'd wanted to earlier but now you have a new fervor of intention as your feet move backwards and you're tugging him along to blindly follow. neither of you deem it necessary to break apart as he gets the idea and tries to guide you in the right direction.

the back of your heel hits the dresser and you groan in dull pain and surprise, and still, you don't bother to part your lips from megumi's for even a second. in fact, you card your hands through his hair and move even faster.

you're kicking off your shoes in the process, and megumi trips over them as he tries to take his off in the same fashion, although it's difficult without his hands and without looking, he puts up with the task anyways, his mouth straying from yours as his hand pushes your chin up so he could trail kisses down your jaw and then down your neck.

you hum, your hands fumbling as they try to hastily unbutton his jacket. you're still trying to make your way further into the room but you don't exactly have your bearings, but just as you have his jacket open your legs are hitting the back of the mattress.

megumi practically drops you onto it before shoving the material off his arms and following you quickly. his arms brace himself at either side of your head, as he doesn't want to put an ounce of his bodyweight on you, seeing as you were injured after all.

"you'll still be my partner?" you mumble before he can kiss you again.

"we'll talk about it in the morning" he speaks through a heavy breath, about to lean in to capture your lips again, but you put a hand to his chest.

"you know," you raise an eyebrow at him as he looks confused as to why you stopped him. "if you're still my partner, there will be many more hotel rooms in the future"

he blinks, your words processing slowly, and then he's smiling, and letting out a small chuckle.

"you drive a hard bargain, (y/l/n)"

you grin, finally pulling him down towards you.

"i know what i want, fushiguro" ___

a/n: got carried away again no one's surprised ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

xoxo ~ jordie

[poppy-metal]

ooh a continuation of your texts with patrick. he gets to your house, and you open the door, already annoyed. he lets himself in, smug smirk on his face like he knows how the night’s gonna end. you turn away from him, practically ignore him while you make yourself do chores around the house. he talks about how good you are together, but you just roll your eyes and sass him back because (last you recall) you left things off very messy.

somehow, patrick manages to maneuver his way behind you, whispering in your ear about how you belong together and how nobody can make you feel the way he can. you try your best to wash the dishes in front of you, but patrick’s hand that’s down in your pajama shorts, in your underwear, flicking your clit, makes it hard to concentrate. he slips a couple of fingers in, grinding his palm in the same rhythm he’s rubbing his hard on on your ass.

he nips at your ear, spare hand roaming under your shirt to fondle your tits, pressing your gasping body towards his. with a couple of flick of his wrists, your shorts are pulled down and his cock is splitting open your pussy from behind. soon you’re rocking as a single unit against your kitchen sink, dishes forgotten.

fuck man him just coming up behind you and maybe it's better that you don't have to see him and face your own weaknesses - the second his hand is cupping your bare cunt you're gripping the sink and biting your lip. telling him he's a bastard in the same breath as you grind your ass back against him. you need it just as much - just as bad - already clenching around nothing in anticipation for the stretch but patricks sick in the head because he makes you wait for it - yanking his jeans down just enough to fit the length of his cock against the seam of your cunt - just let's himself rock back and forth there and when you whine you feel his chest move like he's laughing -

"what is it, baby? what do you want?" while he bullies the fat head of himself between your lips - nudging back and forth against that tiny opening that always, always, opens for him. "is it this? you want this?"

of fucking course you do. so bad your whole body is thrumming with it. pulse damn near in your clit it's throbbing so needily. "fuck you -" you snap instead, because you hate how weak he makes you for this. that he's so goddamn good at giving you what you need you throw out all your promises to yourself as soon as he's teasing himself at your entrance. "- fuck off if you're gonna play games - ah!"

you whine when his head pops in. the stretch sending tingles all the way down to your toes which you stretch up on - running away from and chasing the sensation of him inside you. patrick fists a hand in your hair, yanks your head back roughly so his lips are at your ear - "who's fucking playing, huh? nothing funny about how much this pussy needs my dick." and he feeds you another thick inch, groaning softly right into your ear. "fuck - you take me so well. there's no one like you - no one else with this fucking -" a crack fills the room as he spanks your ass - "- tight little hole."

you hate how much that makes you wet. how it makes you moan and fuck back on his cock, ass rippling against his pelvis because you do need it - you need him so desperately it makes you sick with longing. it feels wrong to sleep without him wrong to exist without him - all you can do is. is hope he needs you just as badly.

"did you mean it?" you pant - squeezing your walls around him. "when you said you missed my pussy, daddy? d'you mean it?"

his fingers dig into your waist. "fuck yes." he grunts. animalistic. yanks you back and forth on his dick, sawing it into you. the wet slap slap slap of your flesh meeting filling the apartment - "fuck yeah, baby. miss your wet princess cunt choking my dick just like this -"

you reach down, fit your hand between your legs to feel where hes splitting you open wide and wet - feel his cock everytime it slides out and then slides back in. god, you're so good together. bodies made for eachother. "no one takes this dick like me." you tell him, possessive. "you were made for my pussy - you'll never find better -"

you dont know if it's a promise or a curse, but you mean it all the same. and patrick groans like he knows it to be true. like he fucking believes it, too. he's watching where he fucks in and out of you - watching the way your lips splay around his cock - how you suck him back in every fucking time and wrap around him so fucking snug. mouth fucking dropped open in awe of it.

"no I wont." he agrees. slams back inside with a force that rocks your pelvis hard enough into the sink to hurt. "you've got me addicted to this shit between your legs, baby. and you keep it from me - why is that, huh? why do you fucking torture me?"

he doesn't pull out. grinds his hips into your ass in slow sensual swivels. his cock is so thick inside you - you can feel him against your walls - rubbing.

"shit." you gasp. "shit that feels so good, daddy. oh fuck - I'm gonna -"

he abruptly pulls out. leaves you clenching around nothing, your orgasm fading from where it'd been building and you look behind you with this kind of betrayed expression, a wounded puppy. hole spasming like it needs his dick back inside.

he's hard and flushed, cock standing straight and touching his stomach - wet with the sheen of your pussy and he fists one hand around his thick base. strokes from root to tip as you watch with hungry eyes.

"patrick." you whine. petulant. "get back inside me. I was so close."

"so you can throw me out after?" fuck why is he so hot when he's angry. and he is angry, you realize. eyes blazing on your bare cunt - the veins in his arms prominent as he pumps himself. "nah, I don't think so."

you had planned on doing that but - "please - I need to cum -"

"you will. on my cock - when I decide you deserve it. after I've heard you tell me how much you want me back."

you scoff. even as your pussy clenches at the raw determination in his gaze. how he looks on the other side of the net when he already knows he's going to win, but he'll still have a fun time demolishing his opponent. running them ragged.

it's a good look.