#i say suddenly. this is probably 6 hours of writing done

[trashpremiium]

sat down to write a silly little conversation between two characters that i've been rotating in my head for weeks. suddenly there are 4k words on the screen and i'm not even to the damned conversation

[velarisdusk]

Burning Desire

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 4 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 6 - TBD!

word count: 17k (AAAAA?)

content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, BDSM, power dynamics, bondage, gags, sensory deprivation, pain play, spanking, paddling, flogging, begging, degradation, praise | infidelity, emotional infidelity, explicit language, alcohol, drinking, smoking (cigarettes, marijuana), bitches are fake as fuck, bad rebound choices, i.e. casually fucking someone who you KNOW has had an actual crush on you for years and not caring, the Vanserra family is a loving one in this he deserves happiness ]

summary: In a depression following being caught cheating, a troubling phone call brings a harsh revelation. Distraught and in need of comfort, you turn to Eris, who's been trying to reach out since that night. He provides the emotional and physical escape you need.

author's note: oh. my. god. i've been working on this for what feels like a decade i feel like years have been taken off of my life. school has been killer (negative), writing this was killer (positive), and i hope you enjoy >:)

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of rotting in bed, drowning in self-pity, and starting your days with cigarettes and bottles of rum. Over a week ago, you threw your phone into the drawer of your nightstand, barely resisting the urge to post a pity-filled story for your close friends. Before you essentially vanished, you noticed texts from Feyre and Mor. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but you didn't read them, dreading their content. Were they upset? Angry? What did they think of you? Were the messages even about the situation? You couldn't say if they knew or not.

You also received messages from Az, Eris, and Tarquin. Their concern surprised you, figuring that bro code would have outranked you on the list of priorities. But then, were they even still talking? If you were Cassian, you’d probably cut off all communication.

It was a complicated situation. They all worked together and had for years. They couldn’t just walk away; they were bound by contracts. You wondered how practice was faring if it was even happening. By now, they must have realized that Cassian wasn’t speaking to you. Whether they kept things private or shared the news with Feyre, Mor, or anyone else, you had no idea. You hoped they had the sense not to all come downstairs at once after your departure with Cassian. But even if they were careful, it must have been noticeable when they started reappearing suddenly.

Two weeks of these thoughts hurtling through your mind.

You haven’t told your mother why you showed up disheveled at her door in the night. How could you? You couldn’t bear to face her after admitting what you’ve done.

But as the hours stretch endlessly, a surge of loneliness (only the latest of many) finally drives you to your phone. You respond to the texts from Azriel and Tarquin, reassuring them that you’re as fine as you can be. When you open the text thread with Eris, you’re caught off guard.

Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?

If you need someone to talk to I’m around. Seriously.

Look, I get that it might seem weird coming from me, but I’m genuinely concerned. No strings, I just want to make sure you’re okay.

I’m not trying to pry, but isolation doesn’t help. If you need a break from everything, my line’s always open.

You sit there, staring at the string of messages, each one making you feel a little more seen, a little more cared for. You aren’t even sure you want to acknowledge that right now. It’s almost too much, the kindness wrapped in Eris’ words, especially when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around you.

But Eris’ texts… they’re a lifeline, a small thread of connection in a sea of isolation. You pick up your phone again, reading through the messages once more, feeling the sincerity behind them. The idea of responding, of reaching out, is both comforting and terrifying. But the thought of facing all of this alone, of letting it continue to eat away at you in silence, is somehow worse.

Your fingers start to move, typing out a response before you can second-guess yourself.

you’re not prying, thanks for checking in. captain morgan’s been keeping me company lmfao

No sooner do you turn your phone off and toss it onto the bed beside you does the screen light up again with a buzz. That was fast.

Sounds like he’s good company, but maybe not the best listener. How about a real conversation instead?

You can almost hear the playful tone in his words, a lightness that cuts through the heavy fog of your thoughts. It’s enough to make you smile, just a little, even as the weight of everything else still hangs over you.

Another buzz and his next message appears.

Seriously, if you want to talk, my door’s open. No pressure, just an offer.

You can tell he’s trying to strike a balance, not pushing it too hard but still getting through your head that he’s there. It’s disarming in a way, and it leaves you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should take him up on that offer.

thanks eris, i might take you up on that. it’s just… a lot rn, yknow?

There’s a pause, the seconds ticking by as you wait for his reply. You don’t have to wait long, and it’s as straightforward a reply as you expected.

I get it. You didn’t make the mess alone, just wanted you to know you don’t have to deal with it alone. And if you want to get out of your place for a bit, my offer still stands. You can even invite the captain as your plus one if that helps.

You smile at that, a small huff of amusement escaping you. The thought of getting out of your old childhood bedroom, of not being surrounded by the same four walls that have seen you at your lowest, is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Maybe a change of scenery, and the chance to talk things out with someone, would help.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think about how to respond. Part of you wants to dive in and take him up on the offer right away, but another part of you hesitates, unsure how it would look if Cassian found out. You decide to keep things simple. You don’t respond.

Without paying any mind to the countless social media, text, and call notifications from your other friends, you open your texts with Nesta and make a FaceTime call. The thought of her blunt honesty is a small comfort in your otherwise bleak current existence.

Her face appears on the screen, and though her expression is one of surprise and concern, you can’t help but feel a twinge of relief.

“Where’ve you been? You look…”

She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your appearance. You glance at yourself in the small window at the top corner of the screen. Your eyes are puffy and red, your face is pale, and the bags under your eyes seem darker than ever.

“Talk to me,” Nesta says, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You draw a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m a fucking mess.”

Nesta’s gaze softens further, her concern palpable. She leans in slightly, her tone soothing yet resolute. “You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

The hesitation is palpable as you search for the right words, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Finally, you find the courage to confess. “I messed up, Nesta. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Nesta’s expression tightens, her eyes flicking to something off-screen for a moment before she returns her focus to you. She runs a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as she gathers her thoughts. “Just... try to explain what happened.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before asking, “Do you know what’s been going on?”

Nesta’s gaze momentarily shifts away, a flicker of something you can’t quite read passing over her face. “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” she begins, her tone deliberately vague. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Sensing her evasiveness, you decide to give her a broad overview. You explain the guilt and confusion you're feeling, how everything seemed to unravel and make the situation worse than you could have imagined. You describe the betrayal and the weight of not knowing how to mend things. By the time you’ve caught her up, your words are coming out through hysterical cries and gasps for air between sobs.

Nesta listens quietly, absorbing the emotional weight of your words. Her expression reflects a mix of sympathy and contemplation as she processes the gravity of what you’ve shared.

“I broke that boundary to hell, Nesta. I ruined everything.” Your voice trembles with the weight of your confession, the words feeling like a leaden anchor pulling you down.

Nesta’s brows knit together, her concern deepening as she tilts her head slightly. “What boundary…?” she asks, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your unraveling story.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but a sniffle escapes you. “They’ve all been pretty flirty with me since the beginning, and Cassian and I… we decided early on that we didn’t mind it?” You pause, glancing down at your hands as you fidget with the red scrunchie around your wrist, twisting the fabric between your fingers. “So we’d just let them like… make comments… touch up on me a little–”

A sudden, sharp gasp crackles through the phone speaker, cutting through your words like a knife. Your eyes narrow as you stare at the screen in confusion. That sound hadn’t come from Nesta; you’d been watching her intently this whole time, and her lips hadn’t moved.

You furrow your brows, your heart quickening with unease. “What was that? Is there someone there with you?” you ask, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of your voice, but failing.

But her face is the image of calm, save for the confusion in her furrowed brows. “Huh? Oh, it was just the TV,” she says, quickly flipping her phone around to show you the screen. The shaky camera reveals a reality show playing in the background, the exaggerated drama of strangers’ lives filling the awkward silence.

But your gut tells you something’s off. The way her hand shook just a little as she moved the phone, the tension still lingering in her posture. It all feels wrong. Despite her attempt to brush it off, the seed of doubt has been planted, taking root in the back of your mind.

Nesta flips the phone back to face her, and her voice is smooth and encouraging as she speaks. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?”

You hesitate, letting out a sigh as you rub your temple. “I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say, or worse... what he won’t say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of rejection, Nesta.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening into one of understanding. “You have to do what feels right for you, but running away won’t make it any easier in the long run. I know it’s—and I’m sorry to say this—your fault, but you still deserve to know where things stand, even if it’s hard to face.”

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “I know, I just... I need time to think. To figure out what I want, what I’ll do.”

Nesta listens patiently, offering her quiet support as you continue to spill your thoughts. The conversation drifts from your immediate fears to the what-ifs. She shares some of her own experiences, her voice a mix of tough love and genuine care, giving you just enough space to feel heard without feeling judged.

The minutes tick by, and soon you find yourself leaning back into the pillows, the exhaustion creeping in. You talk about other things too, and an hour passes before you even realize it, the conversation winding down naturally, both of you running out of things to say. It’s a comfortable silence now, a brief respite from the storm of emotions you’ve been weathering.

“I should let you go,” you finally say, your voice soft. “Thanks for listening, Nes. I... I needed this.”

Nesta smiles, a touch of warmth breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

You nod, feeling a little lighter, if only for a moment. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

As you move to end the call, you hear it—faint, but unmistakable. A voice, muffled but clear enough to make out the words: “No way–”

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the call disconnects, leaving you staring at the screen, that single phrase echoing in your mind. The voice wasn’t Nesta’s, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the TV. You know that voice. It’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach churn, your pulse quicken. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

It was Elain’s. You’re sure of it. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, your mind racing. But why would she be there hidden from view? Why wouldn’t she just say hello or at least make her presence known? The questions tumble over each other, forming a gnawing pit of unease in your gut.

Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the thought hits you: Elain was listening in, but she didn’t want you to know she was there. The secrecy, the way Nesta quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t just about eavesdropping. No, it felt intentional, like Elain was trying to gain insight into your situation with Cassian. Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in. A cold, hard truth begins to crystallize in your mind. She wanted to know the details because it mattered to her. It mattered because she’s involved—because she and Cassian are…

You don’t want to finish the thought, but it’s there, undeniable and ugly. Elain and Cassian. It explains the secrecy, the way Nesta tried to protect her, and the sickening feeling gnawing at your insides.

The weight of it is almost unbearable, pressing down on you as you sit there, phone in hand, processing the cruel truth that’s just come to light. Elain and Cassian. How? Why? You never saw any sign in their interactions before. The bitterness of the revelation is a sharp, relentless edge in your chest — you need to do something, anything, to shake off this feeling.

You push yourself up from the bed with a determined resolve, your mind racing with anger and the need to reclaim some sense of control. First things first: you need to wash off the remnants of the last two weeks, the sweat and guilt that cling to you.

The hot water of the shower is a welcome relief against your skin, and you let the steam envelop you, trying to wash away the emotions churning inside. You lather up, scrubbing away the sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke, letting the water run over you until you feel clean, both physically and mentally. You stand under the spray, letting the water cascade down your body as if it could cleanse the memories away. When you’re done, you run a comb through your hair, detangling the wet strands with care before blow-drying and styling it, every strand perfectly in place and your arms sore by the time you’re done.

You reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen as you debate your next move. Finally, with a deep breath, you type out a message to Eris:

you still up for company?

It’s simple, to the point, and carries the weight of everything you’re feeling right now. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but you hit send before you can overthink it, nerves and anticipation bubbling in your chest. As you wait for his reply, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the freshly styled hair, and the clean skin. You look entirely different than you did this morning. You’re someone in control, someone who knows what she wants. Your phone buzzes.

Absolutely. I’ll swing by and pick you up.

You weren’t expecting that, but you don’t hesitate before replying with the address. His response is swift.

See you in 15.

Your eyes linger on the screen, absorbing his words as you double-tap and leave a heart his message. Something is grounding about the certainty in his response. No hesitation, no questions, just action. You set your phone down and take one last look in the mirror, a quiet determination settling in your chest. He’ll be here soon, and you have just enough time to get dressed.

You see Eris pulling up through your window, the white Jaguar rolling to a stop, and you take a deep breath before heading toward the door. As you walk down the driveway towards him, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the car’s window. Jean shorts and a hand-cropped t-shirt—casual and understated.

Eris’s eyes meet yours as you approach the car, his expression softening with concern. There’s no sign of the smirk you usually see on his face. Just a steady gaze that feels sincere. He leans over the center console and opens the door for you, a simple gesture, but one that makes your heart feel lighter.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you set your tote bag down in the footwell. It holds a mostly full bottle of Captain Morgan, a pack of Newports, some gum, and a lighter you grabbed on your way out.

Eris’s eyes flick to the neck of the bottle sticking out of the bag before he asks, “Bringing the party with you?”

You shrug, offering a faint smile. “You did say I was allowed a plus one.”

He nods, his tone softening. “That I did... You okay?” he asks, pulling away from the curb.

You glance at him, a bit surprised at the shift from teasing to concern. “Not really,” you admit quietly.

Eris gives a small nod, his eyes still on the road. “Could’ve guessed the answer, huh?” he remarks, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You offer a wry smile and a quiet “yeah.” You glance out the window as the sunlight reflects off passing buildings. “But I figured getting out of the house might not hurt. What were you thinking of doing?”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road. “I can swing by somewhere if you need to grab something or,” he pauses, a sly grin forming. “Or if you’re up for unwinding a bit…”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eye. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, one hand gripping the steering wheel casually. “We could stop by my plug’s place and pick something up, if you’re looking to take the edge off. He’s got some good shit.”

You lean back in your seat, considering his offer. The idea of numbing your mind with something other than liquor is very tempting. You glance at Eris, his casual demeanor giving nothing away, but you can sense that beneath the surface, he’s paying close attention to your reaction.

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settling in. “Let’s do it. I could use a change of pace.”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a flicker of approval in them. “Alright, then,” he says with a grin, shifting lanes smoothly as he changes direction. His hands move with practiced ease, one gripping the steering wheel and the other shifting gears with effortless precision. You glance up from your phone just in time to see him reach into the center console. He pulls out a sleek pack of Dunhills, taps one out, and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter.

The cigarette sits casually between his lips, its ember glowing softly as its smoke curls lazily around him. “Want a cig?” he asks, his tone casual as he cracks his window.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, reaching out for the cigarette sticking out of the pack. Eris passes it to you with a small knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to the road and lowering your window for you. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily dulling the edges of your lingering unease. It’s quite the difference from the menthol kick of your usual Newports. The flavor is richer, with a deep, earthy undertone that’s almost woody. It feels more refined, less about the immediate hit, and more about a lingering, sophisticated aftertaste. You exhale, the smoke curling in the air, and the taste leaves a warmth that’s oddly comforting.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” he glances at you, a touch of curiosity in his gaze.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke get pulled out the window. “A little… Thanks,” you say, and you both know it isn’t just for the cigarette.

Eris nods, his grin widening slightly. “Anytime. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so just get comfortable. We’ll hit the place soon.”

You settle back as Eris merges onto the highway. The sun is high, casting a warm light over the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the classic rock on the radio make for a relaxing ride. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape shift as the car speeds along. After finishing your cigarette, you hold onto the butt, not willing to litter. Eris is focused on the road, so you just hold onto it, unsure what else to do.

A few minutes later, Eris chuckles and glances over, eyebrow raised. “Were you going to hold onto it the whole ride? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

You give a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I wasn’t going to throw it out the window.”

Eris smirks, his eyes flicking to the cigarette butt in your hand. “Just give it to me.”

He reaches over, fingers brushing against your wrist as he tries to take it from you. But you’re quicker, pulling your hand away with a playful glare. “No!” you protest, holding the butt out of his reach. “You’re gonna throw it out the window!”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans closer, making another grab for it. “I won’t, I promise.” And for some reason, you believe him.

He takes the cigarette butt from your fingers and, with a practiced motion, opens the center console and undoes the locking mechanism on a glass jar. He drops it in, the jar already filled with likely a pack’s worth. The jar seals with a soft click, likely why you hadn’t noticed any lingering smell before. He shuts the jar and console, his attention never wavering from the road.

The smell-proof jar, not even considering littering, doing it all while keeping his eyes on the road—it’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The drive stretches on with the radio playing softly in the background. You watch the scenery blur past as the car weaves effortlessly through traffic. With the windows still cracked, you catch a glimpse of Eris’s auburn hair tousled by the breeze. The sun casts long shadows across the highway, and you find a strange comfort in the steady rhythm of the drive. Eventually, Eris slows the car, steering off the main road and into a sleek, gated driveway. The place is an upscale, modern mansion with neatly trimmed hedges. Not what you expected. He parks near the entrance and turns to you with a casual smile.

“I’ll leave the car running,” he says. “Lock up, I’ll be quick.”

You nod, watching as he gets out and heads toward the front door. The gate closes behind him with a gentle click, leaving you alone in the plush interior of the car. After a few minutes, Eris reappears with a small, discreet bag in his pocket. He slips back into the driver’s seat, the bag placed neatly into the center console.

The car pulls out of the driveway, and Eris’s eyes flick toward you as he navigates the streets with practiced ease.

“Any special spots in mind, or are you up for anywhere?” he asks, the hint of a grin in his voice.

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, yours is fine.”

He gives a teasing scoff, putting a hand on his chest as he speaks. “My place is special, (y/n), you wound me.”

His words pull a genuine laugh from you. It really wasn’t that funny, but hearing your name on his tongue so casually stirs a nervous flutter in your chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Besides the view, or the pool, or the game room?” he pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Yours, truly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what makes you so special?”

Eris lets out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “Well, I’ve been told I’ve got a talent for making things unforgettable.”

“Someone’s got a massive ego.”

He grins, his eyes glinting with confidence. “Guilty as charged. You like it though.”

You roll your eyes at that, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face any longer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ah, you didn’t deny it. I’ll take it.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh softly, shaking your head.

As the highway fades into the background, the road before you begins to wind through lush greenery. The towering trees start to crowd in, their canopies forming a dappled, sunlit tunnel. Fields of wildflowers stretch out on either side. The road curves gently, revealing glimpses of a large, elegant house nestled among the trees, its silhouette framed by the tranquil lake shimmering in the late afternoon light.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how effortlessly cool the place feels—like it’s been designed with a blend of sophistication and laid-back charm. The living room is spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors. The furniture is a mix of sleek modern pieces and cozy, oversized cushions that invite you to sink in and relax.

Eris heads over to a low cabinet and retrieves a small grinder and some neatly rolled-up papers from a hidden drawer. He moves with casual confidence, clearly in his element. You couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d invited here for a smoke before you, having to remind yourself that this wasn’t that. You’re here as a friend who needs an attentive ear.

“So,” he says, flashing a grin as he begins grinding the weed, “what do you think of the place?”

You settle into the sofa, taking in the room’s ambiance. The walls are adorned with tasteful art, and the scent of cedarwood and something subtly herbal fills the air. It’s inviting.

“Not bad, huh?” Eris continues, leaning against the cabinet and looking down at the papers in his hand.

You chuckle, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

His eyes dart up to meet yours, a playful, mock-surprised smile on his face. “Crazy…” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Oh come on, you know it’s a nice place. I'm not gonna shower you with more compliments than you need.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits on the couch, starting on the joint. The sound of the grinder and the rustle of the papers are the background to your conversation. “Fair enough. But before we get too cozy with this,” he nods toward his work, “let’s talk. I’d rather hear how you’re really doing.”

You hesitate, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can get through it all sober.”

Eris looks at you with a soft, reassuring smile, his fingers pausing briefly as they work the paper. “Just try.”

For a moment, you’re silent, the sound of the grinder filling the space between you. You look around the room, at the art on the walls, the low light casting a warm glow over everything. It’s easier to focus on that than on the storm inside your head.

But then you find his gaze again, and the quiet concern in his eyes makes something inside you crack, just a little. "It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming lately," you begin, your voice soft. "I keep making these choices that… I don't know how to explain it… I’m digging myself into a deep, deep hole. And I don’t know how to get out." You hesitate as you try to find the right words. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I let it happen. I mean, I love Cassian, he’s everything to me. But every time I’m with you,” the words catch in your throat, and you quickly clarify, “with all of you, I mean… I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m just drifting through all of it without thinking. It’s like I’m not even in control anymore.”

Your voice trembles as the floodgates open, the words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “And the guilt… it’s eating me alive. Every time I’d see Cassian, it was like I was drowning in it. When we went to sleep at night, when he’d kiss me, when we cooked dinner, when he’d tell me he loves me and I said it back with a straight face, knowing what I’ve done… I keep asking myself why I did it, why I kept doing it, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know if I’m looking for one or if I’m just trying to justify something that can’t be justified.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all is too much. “I thought I could handle it, that I could keep everything separate, but it’s all tangled up now. I’m tangled up. And I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.” You pause, swallowing hard as you try to gather your thoughts. Focusing on how methodically he rolls the joint is the only way you can keep from crying. “The past couple of weeks have been a nightmare,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day feels like I’m just… going through the motions. I wake up, and for a split second, everything’s fine. But then it all comes crashing back, and I remember what I’ve done. It’s like this constant weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

There’s a heavy silence as you finish, the room feeling almost too quiet. You glance at Eris, the exhaustion in your eyes reflecting your need for a break from the emotional turmoil. “I can’t keep talking about this right now,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “I just need to… I don’t know.”

Eris nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, I got you,” He stands up, moving with a relaxed confidence, and heads towards the kitchen. You watch him, feeling a small flicker of relief at the prospect of a distraction. He returns with two glasses of ice, setting them down on the coffee table before lighting the joint and pointing towards your bag for the rum. When you reach to pour the drinks, he gently takes the bottle from you, pouring them himself.

You take the glass when he offers it, the alcohol warming your insides and helping to dull the sharp edges of your thoughts. Eris hands you the joint, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “Here’s to a temporary escape,” he says, his tone lighter now.

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and the effects of the alcohol and weed start to mingle in your system. The combination is soothing, and you feel the tension begin to ease. As the minutes pass, you can feel the fog of intoxication settling in, and your thoughts become less jagged.

A while later, the room is darker now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the side table. The drinks are empty and the bottle of rum you brought stands proudly, and emptily, in the center of the table. The joint is long finished, and the conversation has shifted from heavy to light. You and Eris are more relaxed on the couch, and the air is filled with more classic rock, the remnants of laughter, and the gentle hum of your voices.

You lean back, feeling pleasantly buzzed, the haze of the alcohol and weed wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. Eris is sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on the cushion next to you. The shared warmth and comfortable silence between you feel natural.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred but lighthearted, “I didn’t think I’d find myself here tonight, like this. But... I’m glad I did.”

Eris glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes the unexpected turns out to be the best part of the night.”

You chuckle softly, the sound mingling with the music playing in the background. “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out. I definitely needed this more than I realized.”

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “It’s good to let go now and then. Just don’t forget there’s still shit to unpack when you’re ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, your gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. There’s a moment of hesitation as the weight of your earlier conversation looms on the edge of your thoughts. The alcohol and weed have softened the edges, but the heaviness is still there.

Eris shifts slightly, his hand moving a bit closer in the process. Whether it was intentional or not, you don’t know. “You know,” he says gently, “it’s not every day you find someone willing to listen without judgment. You should take advantage of that.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Cassian… he’s been nothing but loving, nothing but kind to me. And it kills me, Eris. It kills me to look at him and know that I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. Multiple times.” You feel the lump in your throat as you continue, the warmth of the alcohol making it easier to let your words flow. “I keep trying to think of ways to fix it, to find some sort of answer or way to redeem myself. But...” Your eyes search the dim room as if trying to find some clarity in the shadows.

“I keep going over every moment, every decision, wondering where things went so fucking wrong. It’s like replaying a movie where I know the ending is tragic, but I can’t look away. I did this shit to myself…

“The hardest part is that he saw everything. He didn’t even need me to confess; he saw it with his own eyes. And everytime I replay that night, I think about how coldly he looked at me. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not that I don’t deserve it.” You glance at Eris, the weight of your emotions clear in your eyes. “I’m trapped in this cycle of guilt and regret, and it’s suffocating. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore—whether it’s forgiveness, understanding, or just a way to get rid of all this guilt. The thought of facing Cass again… God, I can’t…”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes it all in, draping an arm across the back of the couch. You aren’t quite close enough for it to wrap around you.

You mentally chastise yourself for wishing you were. Thinking like that is what got you into this mess.

His voice is low but steady when he speaks. “You’re human. You made choices. Bad ones, sure, but it doesn’t make you a monster.” He pauses, his gaze intense. “It’s easy to get lost in guilt. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by going MIA. Especially not Cassian.”

You scoff. “Cass doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How are you so sure?” he asks, his fingers drumming lightly against the couch, the rhythm steady and patient, unlike the chaos unleashed in your mind by the simple question.

The Facetime with Nesta shoves itself to the forefront of your mind as if your subconscious has been holding it back all this time. You’d heard Elain’s voice in the background, imagined her laughter mingling with Cassian’s, imagined him sharing her breath, his tongue deep in—

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, just as the air had been knocked out of your lungs the moment you’d put the pieces together.

“I’m pretty sure Cassian is fucking Elain,” you blurt out, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession.

Eris’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “Why do you think that?” he asks calmly, though there’s a new edge to his voice.

You swallow hard, the memory still raw. “When I was on a call with Nesta, I heard Elain in the background. She was trying to listen in on me ranting about this all to Nesta… She didn’t even say hi to me, didn’t let me know she was there. Why would she do that unless she was hiding something?”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but curious. “You might be reading too much into this,” he says, but the sharpness of your gaze makes him backtrack quickly. “Alright, alright, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… how are you so sure they’re involved?”

You exhale sharply, frustration evident. “Cassian is incredibly vindictive in bed,” you say, thinking back to all the times he’d gone hard on you just for catching you making eyes at one of the guys. “I’ve been through his friends, I’d be more shocked if he didn’t try to go through mine.”

Eris’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Most of his friends.” He doesn’t elaborate but the implication is clear. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it’s not always best to assume the worst.”

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Eris is right. You and he never crossed that line, despite the heated moments over the years, despite the events the night of Ianthe’s party. If Cassian is dropping you off on your mom’s doorstep just to go after your friends, maybe it’s time for you to stop moping around and start embracing some fun yourself. Why should you sit at home and stew when he’s out there doing who knows what? Who knows who? For all you knew, Nesta had fucked him too. And, honestly, Eris doesn’t look half bad in that black, fitted t-shirt and tailored jeans, the thin silver chain around his neck glinting in the low light. There’s a roguish charm about him, just as there’s always been. It’s something that makes him undeniably tempting.

You look down at your lap with a sigh, a feigned sadness in your eyes, and a playful pout on your lips. “Well, if Cassian’s going to do whatever he wants, maybe I should too.” You look up, letting your gaze linger on him, lowering to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

Eris’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he maintains his cool as he raises a brow. “Is this where we’re headed now? I thought we were in the middle of something a bit more serious.”

You scoot closer to him, close enough for the hand on the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder if he wanted it to. “Maybe I’m tired of pitying myself. Or maybe I’m feeling adventurous.” A glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes before you slip back into your act.

Eris chuckles, a faint smile curling his lips. “A distraction, huh? You know that won’t fix anything.”

You shrug, maintaining your demeanor. “Who says it has to be about fixing anything? Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need,” you level. Tired of the theatrics, you scoot even closer and grab that god-forsaken hand, placing it gently on the back of your neck.

Eris’s fingers linger there, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued before he traces soft patterns on your skin. “Is that right? And here I thought you were just looking for a friendly ear.”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more flirtatious tone. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any other intentions? Not a single fleeting thought?”

Eris’s gaze drops to your lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So, what are you suggesting? Are we breaking some rules tonight?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, something like that. A night of enjoyment. No strings attached, just...”

Your words trail off as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, heated kiss. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It starts slow, almost exploratory, but quickly deepens as you both lose yourselves in the moment. The taste of liquor lingers on his tongue, a heady mix of rum and something uniquely Eris. You savor it, letting the alcohol-infused warmth of the kiss sweep over you. Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and you gently tug at his lower lip, pulling him closer.

Eris’s hand tightens around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets yours with a bold, almost possessive stroke, and you pull back just slightly, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes lock, the heat still palpable between you. “I like the taste of you,” you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes.

He exhales, a low, throaty sound that’s part groan, part sigh, as if you’re unraveling him with every word, every touch. It’s the kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’ve got him right where you want him. His eyes darken with desire and amusement before he leans back in to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss is more intense, a dance of passion and need. His hands roam to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside seems to fade away as you both lose yourselves in each other.

Eris’s lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, the sensation of his touch making you shiver. You let out a soft moan as he kisses a sensitive spot just below your ear, making your pulse race. You’re left feeling lightheaded from the drinks and the smoke, and every touch, every caress feels electrifying. His hands slide up to your back, pulling you tighter against him, if possible.

His lips return to yours, and this time, the kiss is unrestrained, filled with a raw, urgent need. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment slip away. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. There’s a breathless pause, the intensity of the moment hanging between you. “You said you were feeling adventurous,” he says, and you shrug. “How adventurous?” His voice is low and his words are laced with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost breathless from the heated kiss. “You’re not planning on taking me out back and murdering me, are you?” you joke, looking out the large windows at the sea of tree silhouettes around you.

Eris’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it…”

You nudge him playfully, your smile widening.

Eris’s expression turns serious again, though the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I promise, nothing like that. But I do have something in mind that might be a bit… beyond what you’re used to.”

You look into his eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement. “I sincerely doubt that,” you say, your voice steady. You’ve had more than your fair share of sexual escapades, indulging in all kinds of experiences in past relationships. And with Cassian, the bedroom was never without a spark—rarely did things stay simple.

Eris’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Good to hear.”

He stands and grabs another joint he’d rolled earlier, offering you a hand to help you up. You take it with a playful smile and follow him.

The music fades as you follow Eris down a short flight of steps. The hallway is lined with eclectic art and framed photos. One with Eris surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a grin on his face that’s more genuine than you’ve ever seen. Another with the Vipers, his arm slung casually around Azriel, all of their faces flushed with victory. You have to talk yourself out of paying too much attention to Cassian in that one. There’s even one of him with who you assume is his family, standing in front of a cabin, all smiles and warmth. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and it makes you see him in a different light—one that’s more personal, more real.

At the end of the hall, a large bookshelf stands against the wall. Eris pauses, throwing you a sly glance before reaching for one of the books. He pulls it, then pushes the bookshelf open, revealing a short set of steps leading down into a hidden space below. How cliché.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to step inside.

You look at him with creased eyebrows, to which he only gestures his arm in again. You find a lounge, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, with five or so steps leading down into it. The room is richly decorated, with dark wood paneling, plush seating, and warm, ambient lighting that adds to the intimate, secluded atmosphere.

Eris follows you inside, closing the bookshelf door behind him. The room is completely private, a hidden sanctuary within his home. He steps closer, holding the joint he rolled earlier between his fingers. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride.

You take a moment to absorb the space, your eyes drifting over the rich details—the king-size bed on the far wall, the soft glow of the lighting, the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall, the smooth texture of the dark wood, the way the room seems to envelop you in warmth. It's intimate without being suffocating, luxurious without feeling ostentatious. You notice cabinets discreetly integrated into the walls, their contents hidden behind polished doors. A smirk tugs at your lips as you turn to face him. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Eris. A sex dungeon? Really?”

Eris arches a brow, looking mildly offended. “Dungeon? That’s what you’d call it?”

You raise an eyebrow in response, your teasing tone unwavering as you gesture around the room. “Isn’t that what it is? Hidden room, dark wood, all the ambiance… seems like a dungeon to me.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Dungeons are cold and grimey. This is a private lounge, a sanctuary, carefully curated for… specific tastes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room. “A curated sanctuary, huh? You really do have a way with words.”

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk as he reaches for your hand. “Words, among other things.”

He lets the words hang in the air, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. You arch an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if challenging him. “Among other things?” you echo, your tone playful. “Care to elaborate?

He steps closer, his gaze steady and full of intent. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. “But first, I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Your heart skips a beat, not out of fear but from the thrill of the unknown. You’re no stranger to pushing boundaries, and something about Eris’s confident, almost predatory demeanor only heightens your anticipation.

Instead of answering directly, you take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. “You really think this kind of thing is—What was it you said? ‘Beyond what I’m used to’, was it?” you tease, your lips curving into a smirk.

Eris’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs before he pulls you in by the small of your back for another heated kiss, and he speaks against your lips. “You have full say in how this goes, I don’t want to go any further than you’re okay with.”

You pull him off by the hair on the nape of his neck, and the muted hiss that escapes him shoots straight to your core. “Oh, well if I’ve got full say,” you say, sarcasm lacing your words. “Give me whatever you think I can take, and then some.” You give him a dazzling smile, but he can only look at you in wonder.

His hands find your waist, giving the flesh there a tight, possessive squeeze. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your ear. “C’mon, pretty girl, strip for me.” His voice is low, almost coaxing, with a soft yet commanding tone that makes your skin tingle.

Though you’re surprised at his suddenness, you don’t hesitate. As you begin to strip away your clothes, Eris steps away, moving toward a large set of deep drawers. He looks back at you as he goes, drinking in your every movement as you peel off each item of clothing. First you shed your shirt, then the shorts, followed by your socks, underwear, and even the scrunchie on your wrist. The air thickens with anticipation as you wait, rather impatiently, to see what he’s looking for.

“Y’know, most guys wouldn’t have their back turned to the beautiful, naked woman in their basement,” you muse, examining your nails as you stand perfectly tall.

“First, it’s not a basement.” He turns to you, black rope in hand, his smirk tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. “But you’re right, baby. I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

You have to suppress a shiver at his words, or maybe it’s because of the cool air on your bare skin. He takes you in like it’s his first time seeing you, like he didn’t have you practically grinding against the heel of his hand two weeks ago. You’re not sure if it’s the substances in your system or the prospect of doing whatever he can imagine to you, but he feels different today than he had then.

Eris reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a small, sleek controller. With a quick press of a button, a rig begins to descend from the ceiling, the soft hum of the motor filling the room. He keeps his eyes on you, holding the controller loosely in one hand as the rig stops at around eye level.

His tone is almost casual as he walks back towards you with the rope, the controller goes into his pocket. “Ever use one of these before?” You can only shake your head in response as you walk around the metal hook, thinking for the first time that you may be in over your head. “Good. Go ahead and kneel there for me.”

Eris moves behind you as you kneel, working the rope through the rig and instructing you to place your hands behind your back. The rope isn’t as rough against your skin as you anticipated. His hands work with practiced ease, securing your wrists together. He steps back, watching you with a satisfied expression. Then, with deliberate slowness, he begins to raise the rig, the rope tugging your wrists upward. The position forces you to stand as it continues to rise, his eyes narrowing as you do.

Once you’re in position, bent forward with your arms forced behind you, Eris steps closer again, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs against your ear. His fingers skim up your arm, lingering at the nape of your neck. His touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Is it okay if I–”

“Do whatever you want,” you interrupt, your voice steady even as your heart races. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Just do something, please…” You needed a distraction from your thoughts, and the newness of this all was sobering you up.

A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips as he nods. Without another word, he goes to a cabinet, selecting a few items with deliberate care. When he returns, the scent of him envelops you as he carefully ties a blindfold around your head, plunging you into darkness.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something plastic. Before you can dwell on it, the world goes silent as something is placed over your ears. The shift is sudden, disorienting. The subtle hum of the room, even the sound of your own breathing, everything fades away, leaving you in an almost eerie stillness.

The rope tugs uncomfortably, but not painfully, at your wrists, the tension in your arms pulling you taut. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your chest, reminding you of the vulnerability you’re allowing yourself. Then you feel it—a gentle tap on your jaw, followed by his thumb brushing against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. You take the hint, opening your mouth for him. The next thing you feel is cool metal pressing against your lip as he slides a ring gag into place.

“If you need to stop,” he says after raising an ear of the sound-canceling headphones, “shake your head and I’ll check on you. Nod if you understand.”

Just as you do, the pad is back over your ear.

You feel the air shift as he moves around you. Deprived of your sight and sound, your body becomes hypersensitive to every touch, every brush of fabric, every subtle shift in temperature. The tension in the air is palpable, your anticipation growing with each passing second.

A light touch trails down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily. The sensation is followed by the warmth of his hand as it settles on your hip, steadying you. You can barely hear your own breath, the sound muffled and distant, heightening the sense of isolation. Then, a gentle tap against your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, the vulnerability of the action sending a rush of heat through your body as his touch lingers, waiting.

Then, without warning, a sharp sting lands across your ass. Your body jerks in response, the sting quickly dissolving into a low, throbbing heat. The unexpected strike pulls a soft whimper from your gagged mouth, but before you can even process it, another comes, and then another, each one precise and measured.

The blows alternate with the soft caress of his hand, the contrast between pleasure and pain pushing you deeper into the headspace he’s crafting for you. The strikes aren’t overwhelming, but each one is enough to remind you of the power he holds in this moment, the control you’ve willingly surrendered.

You lose track of time, each sharp strike followed by soothing touches, the rhythm lulling you into a dazed, almost meditative state. The gag keeps your mouth open, forcing you to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale carrying a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The warmth of saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth. The rhythmic stinging across your ass slowly transforms into a heated, throbbing warmth that radiates through your body. Each strike, followed by the soft caress of his hand, leaves you in a heightened state of arousal and anticipation, melding into pain and pleasure that lull you deeper into the experience.

Suddenly, the warmth of his touch disappears, and you’re left in disorienting solitude. The absence of his presence makes you acutely aware of the emptiness left behind, amplifying your anticipation. Without warning, you feel something cool against your inner thigh, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a vibrator pressed against your dripping cunt. It’s startling, and though you can’t hear it, you moan, loud and needy.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you as the vibrations increase in intensity. The buzzing becomes loud and clear as he gently pulls the headphones off, and you hear them thud as they fall somewhere. The sudden reintroduction to sound is jarring as the room’s noises flood back in—the loud hum of the vibrator, the sounds you hadn’t realized you were making, the now husky tone in his voice. Each sound is more vivid than before.

Eris’s voice breaks through this new sensory flood, warm and approving. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone a soothing balm. After being spanked, then paddled for God knows how long, between his calm, reassuring voice and the relentless vibrations against your cunt, you aren’t sure how long you’ll last.

His fingers replace the vibrator, brushing lightly against your clit. He teases your folds, just enough to drive you wild with need. You squirm against the rope, desperate for more contact, for release.

“You want more, don’t you?” Eris’s voice is low, almost a purr as he leans closer. His breath is warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

He rubs slow circles against you, his fingers like fire against your skin. You try to articulate what you need, but the gag muffles your words into incoherent sounds. The frustration of being so close and unable to finish draws an exasperated groan from you, and he responds with a deep, dark chuckle. Eris’s touch withdraws entirely, leaving you in aching anticipation. The sudden absence of his touch is maddening, your body craving the completion he’s denying you. You can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his presence lingering near.

Minutes pass, or maybe just seconds—time has lost all meaning in this swirling haze of sensations. Without warning, you feel the sharp sting of a flogger grazing your inner thighs, just enough to remind you of his control. The flogger’s strikes alternate between gentle taps and more forceful hits, never quite enough to satisfy your growing desperation, but enough to keep you on edge. Each touch pulls you further into the comforting fog he’s woven, and your whimpers morph into sharp yelps of pain, each one more urgent than the last.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Does it hurt, baby?” His tone is tender, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that promises much more pain.

You groan, the sound a mix of frustration and need, but Eris’s expression hardens. The flogger lands on your skin again, a sharp crack that reverberates through your body. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, yanking you closer until your breath mingles with his. You can feel the heat of him, the solid presence that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. His lips hover near your ear, his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Do you have something to say?” he asks, his tone noticeably darker and more dangerous. There’s a tense, almost impatient edge to it, a sign that stepping out of line is not an option. “A complaint? Are you ungrateful for what I’m giving you?”

The flogger’s strikes become more deliberate, more vicious. Each one lands with a stinging, biting pain that blossoms across your skin, the sensations mingling with the ache of your muscles straining to hold the position he’s put you in. He’s toying with you, savoring your helplessness, the way your body trembles and arches under his control, the way your breath hitches in anticipation of each new strike.

“Who’s in charge?” he whispers in a slow, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. You try to answer, but the gag in your mouth turns your response into a pathetic, muffled sound. Your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, tears of helplessness welling up and quickly absorbed by the blindfold. You can’t form the words, can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and that only makes it worse.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of feigned disappointment, and tugs your hair again, forcing your head back. “Ah, couldn’t quite catch that,” he sneers, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You whimper, the sound a pitiful mix of plea and frustration, and he chuckles, a dark, cruel sound that sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. He’s enjoying this — enjoying how easily you bend to his will, how every strike of the flogger makes you jerk forward with a cry. He wants to see it all, the way you crumble under his touch, the way you surrender every last shred of control and hand your worries away to him.

“I control how this goes,” he growls. “You said you’d be good for me, baby. Did you lie? Do I need to stop treating you like a good girl? Because I can do that if that’s what you want.” The flogger strikes down in the middle of your back with a crack that feels like it splits you open, and you cry out, the sound desperate. Your body lurches forward, but Eris’s hand is still in your hair, holding you in place, forcing you to stay still, to take every single lash he’s giving you.

“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with condescension. “So fucking needy. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy, something I can break however I feel like.”

The words cut deep, the filth of them sending shockwaves through you. You hate how true they feel, how much you crave the pain, the degradation he’s giving you. The flogger strikes again, harder this time, and your knees almost buckle from the force of it. But you don’t fall. He won’t let you.

“Oh, you like when I treat you like this. You like this a lot better than before, I can tell. You’re just a fucking hole, aren’t you?” he continues. “A pretty little slut who’ll do anything to please me. Do you even have any shame left, or do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” The flogger descends again, and again, each strike punctuating his filthy words. “I’m going to break you, baby. Turn you into the perfect little slut who’ll take everything I give and then beg for more. And you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love being nothing but my whore, thinking about nothing except wanting my cock.”

Each word, each degrading, filthy word, sinks into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of submission. The pain of the flogger, the sting of his words, they’re all you can think about. Your world narrows to just him — his voice, his hands, the way he’s tearing you apart and building you back up, molding you into what he wants, what you need.

He pauses, the flogger still resting against your skin, the rough leather a reminder of what’s coming next. He drags it slowly down your back, letting it scrape over the welts he’s already raised. The sensation is entirely new, a subtle pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone a bit gentler now, but still laced with that underlying cruelty. The change gives you whiplash. “I can see it. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to show me just how perfect you can be.”

The flogger strikes again, and you gasp, the sound a desperate cry. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He strikes again, and again, the rhythm relentless. Each lash pulls you further from the chaos of your thoughts, dragging you into a dark, twisted place where nothing exists but him. The pain and pleasure blend together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You’re going to remember this, baby,” he promises. “You’re going to remember how it feels to be mine, to be owned. And you’re going to beg me for it again, aren’t you? You’re going to come crawling back desperate for me to use you, to turn that pretty little mind off and break you all over again.”

He’s right. You can feel it, deep in your bones, in the way your body responds to him, in the way your mind clings to every word he says.

Eris’s eyes never leave your face, his gaze predatory as he watches you fall apart for him, unraveling under the weight of his dominance. You’re exactly where he wants you — lost in the moment, completely detached from anything and everything happening outside these walls. As the flogger comes down one last time, sending a final, searing wave of pain through your body, you know that this is exactly where you need to be tonight.

Finally, when you’re trembling, he lowers the flogger and returns to your clit, the light, teasing touch of his fingers reigniting the fire within you. “You feel that, baby?” he whispers, his tone teasing. “Feel how wet you are for me? You like when I hit you, don’t you?” He drags two fingers up your center, gathering your slickness on them before bringing them up to your open mouth. “How badly do you want to come?”

You nod, desperate to show him how much you need this, but he’s not finished with you yet. “Tongue out,” he purrs, his voice a low, silky command that sends a shiver through your already trembling body. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obey, sticking your tongue through the cold metal of the ring gag. A string of saliva spills out at the motion, glistening in the low light, and you hear a soft, satisfied exhale from him.

Eris drags his fingers down your tongue, cleans them off inside your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. “Can you taste how badly you want it?” His voice is a dark, teasing caress, each word wrapping around your mind, sinking deeper into that place where only his voice and touch matter.

You can’t respond, not even attempt to, but the question is rhetorical anyway. He doesn’t need an answer; he knows. He withdraws his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, yearning for more. The loss makes you whimper, as does the ache in your jaw — a pitiful sound that he savors as he continues, his tone a mix of mockery and care.

“You can taste how good I’m making you feel, how much you love it when I hurt you. You want to taste something better, baby?”

Before you can process what he means, you hear the familiar flick of a lighter, the soft his as the flame catches. Your heart thumps in anticipation. A moment later, the smell of weed fills the air, earthy and heady.

Eris takes a slow, deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he leans in close. His lips brush against the edge of the gag as he exhales, blowing the smoke directly into your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that you choke, your body convulsing slightly as you try to inhale and cough at the same time.

The thick, pungent smoke fills your lungs, burning them and reigniting your high. You can feel him watching you intently, relishing the way your body reacts.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle. “I want to see how much you can take.”

Your chest heaves as you fight to draw in air through the second cloud of smoke he blows your way. He chuckles, and with an almost casual motion, he reaches up and unfastens the gag, pulling it away from your mouth. The relief is immediate, but it’s laced with the residue of his control, the taste of smoke lingering on your tongue.

“There we go,” he coos, running his thumb over your wet, trembling lips. “Such a good fucking girl, taking what I give you. But we’re not done yet, are we? No, you’re going to give me more, right?”

His thumb presses against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly, and you instinctively suck on it, the action almost automatic. Your body responds to him without thought, driven purely by the need to please, to submit, to give him everything.

When he finally, finally begins to untie you, his hands are gentle but firm, his touch careful as he releases the ropes one by one. The sensation of freedom is almost overwhelming after being bound for so long. But before you can fully process it, his hands are on you — supporting you and guiding your arms back down slowly and carefully. He pulls the blindfold from your eyes, and you try to readjust to the lighting.

He’s taking another pull, holding the joint between his lips as he takes you in. But that isn’t what stops you in your tracks. At some point during your immobility, he’d rid himself of his shirt, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from taking him in. His hair is tied back into a bun, strands having fallen loose around his face, and his chest is covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Images of Eris spanking you, walking around you and assessing where to land the next blow, of the muscles in his arms flexing as he strikes. The hungry look in his eyes and the tightness of his jeans as he watches you writhe under his touch.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “Did I get you there? That nice little headspace where it’s just you and me?”

His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of satisfaction in it as if he already knows the answer. “Did it help?” he continues, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Did I get you out of that busy little head of yours?”

You nod, still dazed by the intensity of the experience. You’d felt blissful before, sure, but this was entirely different. This was unadulterated endorphins and adrenaline. He grins, the expression both proud and wicked. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering sensations.

But he doesn’t stop there. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Now, let’s see how long I can keep you floating, yeah? You’re not done yet.” Eris tosses the flogger in the general direction of the shelf it goes on, and guides you with a commanding yet gentle touch to a mat on the other side of the room, placed in front of full-length mirrors. The surface underfoot is soft and inviting, and he helps you kneel in the center, the plush cushioning molding to your knees. He moves behind you, his hands brushing along your arms until they rest on your shoulders, a comforting weight as he leans in close. He hands you the joint, inviting you to take a few hits before handing it back. The smoke in your mouth, in your lungs, it only boosts the floating feeling you have from the experience of this all.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety whisper that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “So beautiful, so ready. But I need you to understand something, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your arms until they reach your wrists, guiding them up to the back of your head. “I need you to be ready to trust me completely. How far I push you now is all about helping you relax, so you can completely lose yourself.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, his breath warm against your ear. “This isn’t about making things difficult, not for either of us. It’s about you letting me guide you through this. I want you to be my good girl, to follow my lead and take everything I give you.”

His hands rest on your shoulders again, squeezing you lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, aren’t you? You’ll be obedient, you’ll let me push you, because you know I’m going to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice is soothing, like honey, and you can’t help but melt into it. “You’re going to give me all of you, every last bit, and in return, I’ll give you everything you need. Remember how you begged for this last time we were together? I want you to be that good girl for me again.”

As his words echo in your mind, you recall the last time you were with him, at Ianthe’s party. The memory is all too vivid — your desperate need, your willingness to surrender completely. You had been so open, so eager, voicing all your desires and pleas. The way you had let go of all inhibitions, the intensity of your submission, and the way your words had spilled out in a fervent, almost frenzied confession. The memory is as intoxicating now as it was then, all things considered.

His words are a gentle invitation, luring you in with a calm confidence that makes it impossible to say anything but yes. You feel hesitant as you consider the depth of your commitment. The tension in your chest tightens for a moment, but then you nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yes,” you murmur, the word barely a whisper but laden with an unspoken promise to embrace whatever he asks of you.

Eris’s fingers brush lightly over your hands, guiding you to interlace your fingers. He steps back to observe you, his eyes raking over your form, taking in every detail. The floor beneath you is hard, unforgiving, but his presence—his authority—keeps you grounded. The anticipation builds as he circles you slowly, like a predator assessing his prey.

“Knees wider," he orders, his voice still soft but with a firm undertone that brooks no disobedience. You adjust, spreading them further apart, feeling the strain as your muscles stretch. You watch him through the mirror, watch how he gives a satisfied smirk as you obey. You finally see how blissed out you look. A dewy sheen of sweat covers your body, your chest rises and falls deliciously with each breath, and your skin is red where you remember him flogging you. You couldn’t imagine what your ass and thighs looked like; red as fire, you imagined, if the lingering, stinging pain was anything to go by.

“Arch your back for me.” His hand is at the small of your back, applying gentle pressure until you curve just the way he wants. The uncomfortable position has you on edge, completely exposed, and yet there’s a strange comfort in the way he controls you, in how thoroughly he’s taking over your body and mind.

Eris takes his time, relishing the sight. “Look at you, already so perfect for me,” he purrs, his hand trailing down your spine in a slow caress that sends shivers through you. “You’re going to stay just like this, sweet girl, you hear me?”

You nod as he runs a hand over your head in a soft caress, trails that hand down your spine. Then, without warning, his touch sharpens—a sudden, firm grip on your hips, followed by the sting of his hand against your ass. The first slap is light, almost playful, but it quickly escalates. The next one lands harder, and he pauses to run his hand over the reddened skin, soothing it briefly before delivering another, even harder.

"Does it hurt, baby?" he teases, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Or does it just make you want more?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he continues, alternating between sharp spanks and gentle caresses, pushing you to embrace the pain, to find pleasure in the way he’s handling you.

"You’re so good for me," he continues, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Taking everything I give you. I bet you love it, don’t you? The way I’m making you feel?" He chuckles a bit at your lack of response. “You can speak now, sweetheart, I took the gag off for a reason.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. “Hurts…” you manage to whimper, your muscles shaking. “Hurts really good. I want more.” He spanks you again. Hard.

“Is that how good girls get what they want?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and you recover from the sting of pain.

“No, I’m sorry,” you rush out, wincing from the pain of the spank, the soreness in your legs and arms. It’s too much. “Please, will you give me more?”

He takes one last, long drag from the joint, finishing it off and throwing the roach towards a bin. He drags his fingers down your back again, only to grip your hips and pull you further back, adjusting your position until you’re even more exposed, your knees straining to hold you up. The discomfort is intense, but the way he’s pushing you has you on the brink of something deeper, something more primal.

Finally, he moves in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He cups your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "If you want more you’ll have to work for it, baby.” You nod eagerly and he smiles endearingly. “You’re going to show me just how badly you want me," he says, his voice a mix of tender command and raw desire. "And you’re going to do it the way I like."

He steps closer, guiding your face until your lips hover just in front of the zipper of his jeans. "Open that mouth wide for me," he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before pressing it down. "That’s it. Nice and wide."

You obey without hesitation, the need to please him overwhelming everything else. He pulls you into him, his hand resting over your interlaced ones, rubbing your face and mouth into the denim. You feel pride at the way his cock grows stiffer without having taken him into your mouth. You can only imagine how good it must feel to get fucked by that cock, to have it slam into you from below when you ride him, to take it so deep down your throat you can’t even taste his release. A low ‘Now, look at that’ pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t even have to ask you to keep going,” he says, his voice laced with arrogance. Your ears turn red with embarrassment when you realize you’ve been practically nuzzling your face against his cock, but oddly, there’s a twisted sense of contentment mingled with it.

He takes his time undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, mere centimeters from your still-open mouth. No one can make taking jeans off hot. No one except Eris, apparently. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, but not too much—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His cock is hard and throbbing, a rich, warm shade of pink with a slight flush at the tip. The girth is impressive, making your mouth water with anticipation. It stands proudly, the pre-cum at the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. You lean in, ready to take him into your mouth. The heat and tension in the air are palpable, and you’re just about to close your lips around him when he gently but firmly grips your hair.

"Not yet,” he murmurs, a playful edge in his voice. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I haven’t given you permission yet.”

You pause, your lips hovering inches away from him. Your eyes flick up to meet his, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in your gaze. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You drop your arms, the strain of holding them there finally too much. He notices the shift, but to your relief, he doesn’t say anything, letting it slide.

Eris smirks. “Cruel? I prefer to think of it as… thorough. You wouldn’t want me to rush, would you? A little patience never hurt anyone.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Patience, huh? I expect a good reward afterward.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. “Is that so? And what kind of reward are you hoping for, baby?”

“Something a little more satisfying than just this,” you say with a teasing smirk, your wit finally returning after being silenced for so long. “I’m thinking you could make all this worth my while.”

Eris chuckles softly, looking down and relishing the view of his cock hovering over your face. “I will, without a doubt. But you need to be patient,” he repeats. His eyes linger on you as he shifts, rubbing his cock slowly against your cheeks and lips. The touch of his skin is warm and firm, and each movement is calculated, gliding with a teasing pressure. The pre-cum at the tip leaves a subtle, slick trail that only adds to your arousal.

You feel the ridges and veins of his cock brushing against your skin. His touch is firm but purposeful, making sure you feel every bit of his arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your lips part involuntarily, the way your breath hitches with each stroke. Eris’s breathing grows a bit heavier, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions, savoring the build-up and the control he exerts.

As he continues, he lightly traces his cock along your jawline and over your closed eyelids, creating a delicious blend of sensations. The warmth of him mingles with the coolness of the room, heightening the contrast between the two. He pauses occasionally, teasingly pressing his cock against your lips or rubbing it against your forehead, only to shift and start again.

Your need intensifies with each passing moment, the teasing just shy of maddening. You try to keep your composure, but the craving to have him in your mouth is overwhelming. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you whisper, “Please… let me.”

Eris’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with your plea. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly in your hair as he guides you closer. “Go on, baby.”

With a soft breath, you lean in, finally closing the small distance between you and him. The moment your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a soft groan escapes him, and it sends a thrill through your body.

Slowly, you take him deeper, your tongue gliding along his length, savoring the warmth and the weight of him. The slickness of his pre-cum makes it easier to slide him into your mouth, and you hollow your cheeks as you move. His fingers thread through your hair, guiding your rhythm, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained control he holds over himself.

You focus on the sounds he makes—the low, husky breaths, the occasional hitch in his voice when you find a particularly sensitive spot. Each reaction spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, to push the limits of your own control. Eris’s voice, rougher now with desire, breaks through the haze of your focus. “That’s it, just like that,” he praises, his grip on your hair loosening slightly to let you set the pace.

His hips start to move in time with your motions, a slow, steady thrust that matches the rhythm you’ve established. You relax your throat, taking him in further, feeling the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat. The sensation is overwhelming, yet you revel in it, the sheer intimacy of this act, the way you’re entirely at his mercy, yet completely in control of the pleasure you’re giving him.

Eris’s breathing grows more ragged, the tension coiling tighter within him. He watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to see how much he’s holding back. The knowledge that you’re the one drawing out these reactions from him makes you bolder, urging you to take him deeper, to drive him closer to the edge.

But just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back slightly, halting your movements. “Not yet,” he breathes, voice strained but firm. “I’m not done with you.” His words are a promise, and though you’re aching to continue, you obey, releasing him with a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Eris's hand slides from your hair to your cheek, his touch gentle now. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a brief, almost tender kiss before he straightens up. Without a word, he helps you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as they guide you toward the bed.

He lowers you onto the soft sheets with care. The roughness from before has melted away, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. As you settle onto the bed, Eris kneels at the edge, his hands gliding over your thighs, spreading them slowly.

He looks up at you, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. But just as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. He’s silent as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he continues, trailing soft, slow kisses up your leg. Each touch is feather light, as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he reaches your core, he pauses, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. But instead of diving in, Eris takes his time, pressing a soft kiss just above your clit, then another, slightly lower. His lips are gentle, tender.

Finally, his mouth closes around you, and he begins to work with a slow, deliberate pace, his tongue moving in languid strokes that send waves of pleasure through you. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a steady, sweet rhythm that makes you feel cherished in a way that takes your breath away.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them slightly as he brings you closer to his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that’s both gentle and utterly consuming. Each movement is tender, every touch filled with a quiet, unspoken affection. He takes his time, coaxing soft moans from your lips with each delicate flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle.

The pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising within you, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge, not from overwhelming intensity, but from the sheer tenderness of it all. Eris’s name escapes your lips in a soft, breathy moan, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush you to the peak, but lets you linger in the sweet, tender pleasure for as long as possible. It’s only when your body begins to tremble, when you’re right on the brink, that he finally picks up the pace, his tongue moving with a little more pressure, a little more focus, guiding you gently toward the release you’ve been craving.

And when you do fall, it’s into the softest, most blissful release, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless and utterly at peace. Eris stays with you through it all, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor of pleasure has faded, and then he pulls back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. When he does pull away, it’s with a soft, almost reluctant sigh. He moves up your body with the same tender care, his hands trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there.

Eris doesn’t rush. He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s more about comfort than urgency, more about reassurance than demand. His mouth moves slowly, languidly, tasting you as if he has all the time in the world.

Your hands find their way to his back, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arches instinctively toward his. There’s a quiet, almost reverent intensity in the way he touches you, his hands moving to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours.

He shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard, insistent press of him against you, the heat of his skin melding with yours, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft.

You nod, breathless, your eyes meeting his with a trust that’s unspoken but absolute.

Eris presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and comfort, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he begins to move.

He sets a gentle pace, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that leave you gasping. There’s no rush, no frantic rhythm — just a steady, measured movement that builds a different kind of tension. Eris’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he watches you, his gaze never leaving yours. Each thrust is accompanied by a whispered word of encouragement, a soft murmur of praise that only heightens the intimacy between you.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the softness of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of his body above you, and the gentle rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Eris leans down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, his breath warm and ragged as he moves inside you. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice husky, laced with a deep sense of awe. “So perfect.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both.

He shifts his angle slightly, his hips pressing deeper, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, each thrust making your toes curl with pleasure. “Eris…” you moan, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to spur him on.

“Right there?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand trails down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “I want to hear you, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you gasp, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “You’re perfect, Eris, just like that.”

His pace increases slightly, still measured but with a growing urgency that matches the heat building between you. Each thrust is powerful, and precise, and sends waves of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You can feel the sweat starting to slick your skin, your breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps as he brings you closer to the edge with every movement.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice gentle yet firm, and when you do, you find his gaze locked on yours, his amber eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart stutter. “I want to see you when you come,” he adds, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek as his other hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

The moment his fingers touch you, you’re lost. He circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he watches your reaction.

“Please…” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it, desperate for more, for everything he’s willing to give. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your body arching into his touch as the pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Please, what?” Eris’s voice is teasing, but there’s an edge of intensity there, a deep desire to hear you say it, to have you begging for him. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, I want to come,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I need it, Eris, please.”

His eyes darken with satisfaction, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “Then come for me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the deep, steady thrusts of his cock send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches around him, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much to bear.

Eris doesn’t let up, driving you through the waves of your orgasm with steady, unrelenting thrusts, his fingers never leaving your clit until you’re trembling beneath him, completely spent. He watches you the entire time, his gaze heated and possessive, a soft groan escaping his lips as he feels you come undone around him.

As your orgasm begins to subside, he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his hips still moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re barely able to respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you manage to whisper his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

Eris doesn’t hesitate, sensing the way your body melts beneath him, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. With a smooth, practiced motion, he flips the two of you over, his hands guiding you to straddle his waist. Your limbs feel like jelly, weak and trembling, but he shushes you softly, his hands firm on your hips.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm as he brushes your hair away from your face. “Just lay on me. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls you down gently, your chest pressed against his as your head rests on his shoulder. His hands slide up and down your back, grounding you, before they settle on your hips again, holding you steady. You barely have time to catch your breath before he starts moving, his hips thrusting upward with powerful, controlled strokes.

The sensation is overwhelming as he fills you completely, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the strength of his body beneath you, and the way his cock drives up into you with unrelenting intensity.

“Eris…” you moan, your voice muffled against his neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he takes control.

“Shh, just feel me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he continues to thrust up into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your body responds instinctively, your hips moving in time with his as he drives into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his low groans, the intensity of it all threatening to unravel you once again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his pace relentless as he chases your pleasure. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pressing your face against his neck, while the other grips your waist, pulling you down onto him with every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect. You’re gonna make me come, baby. Just like that.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The intensity of his thrusts, the way he holds you so close, the deep, reverent way he whispers your name — it’s all too much.

“Eris, I’m…” you start, but the words dissolve into a moan as he slams up into you with a particularly hard thrust, your vision going white as another orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the last.

“Oh, you giving me another one, sweetheart?” he growls as he feels you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.”

Your body convulses in his arms as you shatter, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Eris’s grip on you tightens, his own release just seconds behind yours as he thrusts up into you one last time, pulling out as he comes with a low, guttural groan, his cum spilling over your ass in hot, erratic bursts.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, your bodies entwined as you come down from the high together. His hands are gentle now, soothing as they trace patterns on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

After the intensity of your release subsides, Eris’s touch becomes gentle and soothing. He cradles you in his arms, his fingers brushing tenderly over your back and sides as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern. “You did so well, you know that?”

You nod, your body still shivering slightly from the aftershocks, but a soft smile plays on your lips. “I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eris gives you a reassuring smile, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone tender. “I’m here. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

He carefully disentangles himself from you, his movements slow to avoid startling you. As he rises from the bed, he gently helps you shift so that you’re on your stomach, your hips slightly elevated. “Just a second,” he says softly.

Eris heads to a nearby cupboard, opening it to reveal a small, built-in towel warmer. He retrieves a warm, damp towel from inside, the comforting heat emanating from it as he brings it back to you.

He returns to the bed and carefully unfolds the towel, its warmth a welcome sensation. “I’m going to clean you up now, okay?” he asks gently but doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to dab at your skin. The warmth of the towel is soothing, easing any lingering tension.

His hands are gentle as he tends to you. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all clean and comfortable.”

Once he’s finished, he places the damp towel aside and returns to your side, pulling the comforter over you both. He settles next to you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence. His arms are steady and reassuring around you, and his murmurs of affection make you feel cherished and adored.

You finally find your voice, looking up at him with a tired but content smile. “That was incredible. I didn’t expect to feel so…” So good? So much? So intimate?

Eris grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You snuggle closer, your head resting against his chest. “I feel like I’m floating. In a good way.” You mentally kick yourself — of course, it was in a good way. Who says floating in a bad way?

Eris wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “You deserve to feel this good. Just know I’m always here for you, not just for things like this, for whatever. Whatever you need, (y/n).”

You sink deeper into Eris’s embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. The comforting weight of his arms and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of serene contentment. The intensity of the earlier moments fades into a gentle afterglow.

As you relax, your thoughts begin to wander, drifting back to the complexities of your life outside this moment. Cassian's name surfaces in your mind, but it's quickly followed by the image of him with Elain. The idea of them together interrupts your peace. It should sting, but somehow, it doesn’t.

Instead, the memory of Cassian and Elain feels distant, almost abstract, overshadowed. You'll deal with it another time.

You shift slightly, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The world outside, with its complications and unresolved emotions, feels like it’s receding. In this moment, the only thing that matters is the warmth between you, the sense of being cared for, and the gentle hum of satisfaction that lingers from your shared intimacy.

Eris’s soft breathing and the comforting pressure of his touch anchor you, and you let yourself drift in the quiet aftermath, content that you’ve found a moment of peace and connection that you can hold onto.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@blessthepizzaman @celear @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @halo-hanging @julesvanslutta @lilah-asteria @meeperthejeeper @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretlyhers @starlightazriel @scarsandallaz @uncxmfxrtablex @xxemmarldxx

[gisellecnz]

Cherished moments.

(≧∇≦)/ Sypnosis. This is after your wedding with satoru. Your honeymoon together.

•Contents. Pure fluff, just fluff, reader is fem, gojo crying cuz your too pretty, cuddles

•note. I'm kinda new to writing + I'm new to tumbler, and english isn't my first language. So I'm sorry if my writing is kinda off, p.s if someone made a similar fic, please don't misunderstand. That might be just a coincidence, the moment I saw that picture of gojo (the one I used above this post) that inspired me to write a fic about it. Also, credits to the owner of the drawing! I just saw it on Pinterest and I don't know who the artist is.

It is now 11:48pm, it has been a long day and is probably one of your best days of your life. You are now married with the man of your dreams, the one and only Satoru Gojo.

6 hours ago was your wedding, the moment you started walking down the aisle, Satoru was in tears. You were also in tears, but Satoru was more emotional. You found it cute how his eyes were red and puffy after, you wiped his tears as you brushed your thumb over his wet lashes. You've done this before but now it felt so much more different- you've felt alot of butterflies in your stomach as satoru opens those eyes of his which you've adored a lot since you were in highschool. They were so pretty, they were as blue as the ocean.

You also couldn't believe you now have Satoru's surname. You are now called as Mrs. Gojo.

In Satoru's pov, he couldn't hold back his tears from seeing you. You were so beautiful, he thinks you were the most prettiest woman that has ever stepped into earth. His heart raced with anticipation, the way your pretty smile was illuminating the room, and how your veil was delicately flowing over your face like a cascade of dreams. The way your gown trailed behind you, your eyes sparkled with so much love and joy as you looked at him. He swore that if he was stuck in a time loop in this situation, he wouldnt get tired from it.

After you and Satoru exchanged your vows and said your "I dos", your friends: Shoko, geto, yuuji, Megumi, Tsumiki, nobara gathered for a group photo. Along side with that there's a seperate photo of you and Satoru kissing from the wedding. They are now framed, sitting on the lamp table beside you.

Right now, you are lying down on a hotel bed. Satoru made sure to book in a very luxurious hotel for your honeymoon. (It's also canon that he's rich rich)

You were very tired. Today was so much fun, you exchanged your clothes to a more comfortable one, which is why you are wearing satoru's shirt right now. It also has his scent in it which is why you always preffered to sleep in his clothes.

And there, your love of your life came out from the bathroom. He just took a shower, his fluffy white snowy hair is now wet. AND DAMN his towel was wrapped around his waist, his abs were showing. You've seen it a lot of times already but you just couldn't get used to it. Your face was now pink.

Satoru laughed at your actions, you were so cute. He dried his hair and changed into his clothes, he got into the bed and snuggled beside you.

"Tired, hm?"

Satoru layed down his head to your chest, he loves lying down there, he loves hearing your heart beats and the way your breasts were squishing his cheeks.

"Mmn, yeah."

You chuckled as you gave a kiss to his forehead, your fingers combing through his fluffy hair.

He looks at you with pleading eyes, looking like he wants something from you.

"More kisses- please?"

You gave a kiss to his cheek and his lips. "Gosh, so clingy as ever."

You said as you chuckled and smiled at Satoru. But suddenly you gasped as he rolls you over, making you the one on top of him now, laying down on his chest.

He gives you that cheeky smile, "I love you so much y/n, I literally couldn't hold in my tears back from seeing you in that wedding dress. "

You were about to say something but he cuts you off by kissing you in the lips. And starts saying one of the most sweetest things to you.

"The most-" a kiss on your forehead. "Gorgeous-" a kiss on your nose. "Prettiest-" a kiss on your lips again. "Sweetest-" a kiss on your left cheek. "Girl I've ever met. " a kiss in your right cheek.

His actions made you tear up, hes so sweet. But he wasn't expecting you to react like that.

"Hey, why're y' cryin? Don't cry." He frowns as he pulls you closer to him and gives you one last kiss to your forehead. You chuckle and tell him that's it's okay.

You both finally fell asleep, embracing each other. You will cherish this day forever.

note: I'm sorry if this is short and it's rushed plus again I'm sleepy and it's like 3:14 am, I'm gonna sleep now cuz I'm finally finished 🥰

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

In The Dark Of The Night

Pairing: Valak  / The Nun x Fem! Nun! Reader.

Summary: After arriving and joining the Covent you so didn't wish to join, Valak takes a liking to you.

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex (fem receiving), Tongue fucking, Fingering, Intercourse (P in V), Masturbation, Voyeurism, Unprotected sex, Overstimulation. Mention of reader possibly catching an STI from Valak and his ashy lips. Reader smokes weed.

Writing Time: 3 hours.

Word Count: 2251.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 6.

A/N:

Had a ball figuring this shit out. Started writing this at 1am, it's now nearly 4am and I have to be up in 2 hours 😁🔫 Think about that when the reader is crying about not getting enough sleep. I love this fic but I think Valak is very OOC, this is my first time writing him so hopefully I'll get better at it. Valak is referred to as 'The Nun' and with they/them pronouns (until they whip out their dick 😁) since I was semi writing fron the reader's perspective and they have no idea what Valak's name is or what they identify as. But I do write Valak as male, so they are male here it's just doesn't know until near the end.I'm tired so I didn't research Nuns and Covents before writing this, which I probably should of done but who cares since the movies do a poor job of explaining them? I'm sure y'all only came for the smut. I'll fix it when if I feel like it. Valak has ashy lips cause I said so.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

---///---

Something felt off, to say the least. You felt more uneasy in this new unfamiliar place than any other place.

When your father announced you'd be attending this new place, you were furious. Well, furious and heartbroken. He had written you off to become a nun because it was the easiest way to send you away. And all for wait? Because you had recently been having issues with your mental health and he couldn't deal with it? Or did he need you needed Jesus?

Either way, you started hating him on the drive here. And once you stepped foot in this place and felt the almost sicken bad vibes.

The teachers had been just as you expected. Strict, never smiling and so obviously loved having power over others. Others being the new not yet devoted Nuns or freshly devoted Nuns.

You was gonna hate it here.

You had met your new sisters and to be honest, none of them mattered to you. You weren't in any kind of mood to make friends, but you hoped that would change. You didn't want to be alone here.

The only Sister that seemed like friend material was Sister Irene. She had that kind and friendly spirit that you thought all Nuns should have.

But seriously, something wasn't right around here. You couldn't place your finger on it and honestly, you hoped you never could.

—-///—-

You tried to get comfortable in your new bed, but it seemed impossible. Like the Devil was purposely making the springs press into your back and then laughing at your discomfort.

You huffed as you gave up and got out of bed. You grabbed your carefully stashed away blunts and lighter and headed for your window. Unlocking the old window proved to be a little bit of a challenge but you managed.

You started at the sky as you smoked, the affect of the weed slowly crawled into you and eased you. You leaned against the wall of the window and slowly looked around your room. The atmosphere suddenly changed back to uneasy and even more so.

Something...or maybe someone caught your eye. You had spotted a figure in your room, in front of your bedroom door. It was so dark, you couldn't make out any features. Just the outline of a body.

It freaked you out to say the least and you knew you wasn't that high so this was real. It had to one of your Sisters right? Here to snitch on you for smoking a joint...right?

"If you're here to catch me up to something, well, you caught me. So what are you waiting for now? Go ahead and snitch." You called out.

No response. You were quiet for a few seconds, just staring at the figure. You then sighed a bit before drawing another drag and offering it up to the mysterious figure.

"Or do you want some?"

The figure suddenly disappeared and you couldn't see where it went. You stood up properly in fear and looked around again, you saw nothing. The room looked completely normal even in the dark but certainly didn't feel normal.

You nervously put out the blunt and crawling back into bed. You told yourself it had to have been the pot, even if you didn't feel that high it must of been that. Maybe your dealer gave you something different this time, some pot laced with something. God you hope it was just that. It has to be just a bad trip.

Fortunately, you managed to fall asleep fairly quickly after that. Bud seemed to be just what you needed to fall asleep. You would get you was asleep for maybe a little over an hour before you stirred awake.

Wonderful, awake again, and it only just turned 1am and you were gonna be woken up at 6am. Delicious, this is gonna be a night full of broken up sleep. You looked up to face the ceiling and hopefully fall asleep again, just get those much needed extra hours.

But you couldn't. And you didn't feel like smoking again, so you did the next best thing. Placed both feet against the bed with your knees bent and pushed a hand past your underwear. You carefully fingered yourselves with two fingers. As your pleasure built up, you closed your eyes and focused simply on your own pleasure. A few moaned slipped out of your mouth and when you felt although you was ready, you added another finger.

You lost yourself in your pleasure and smiled as you neared yourself closer to the edge. It didn't take too long, considering how sleepy you already was. But right as you felt your orgasm building, you opened you eyes. And boy did you regret it.

When you opened your eyes, your attention quickly went to the foot of your bed where another figure appeared. And this time, you could see their features. It was Nun, with a terrifying face say the least. You knew it wasn't another Sister because of their lovely face which was smirking down at you, giving you a lovely view of their sharp fangs. Their eyes glowing a piercing yellow.

'Hell no, not today Satan. Please no.' Is what you thought as you, now fully wide awake, threw your covers off, ripped all fingers out of your pussy and made a beeline for the door. You were stopped by a force that only could of been supernatural and air yeeted back onto your bed. You screamed as loud as you could and the creepy looking Nun inched closer and closer to you.

"Oh Baby, don't scream. Don't cry." The Nun pouted down at you and touched your right cheek.

Obviously, you screamed even louder. The Nun's soft expression disappeared almost as soon as it came and they clamped a hand down across your mouth and squeezed.

"Shut up, now." It's tone now gruff and aggressive.

You looked up at them in fear whilst noticing some strange beauty in their face and soon started crying, "Please don't hurt me."

"Oh Dear," Their soft tone suddenly back, "I'm not here to hurt you... I just wanted to help."

"H-Help?" You whispered.

The Nun gave you a smile and headed down south. You thought the smile was supposed to be comforting but it felt so evil and unsettling, it had the opposite the affect. You felt your heart beat faster in fear, the way your heart starts beating when your about to have a panic attack. It definitely didn't help that you still couldn't move and was completely immobilised by this supernatural force.

The Nun pulled your panties down to your knees, not bothering pulling them down all the way and quickly got to work. Their tongue was... something you had experienced before.

It was wet, messy and far too big to be normal. It was driving you insane. If you had to guess from just the feeling, this monster's tongue was almost the same size as the average dick. It quickly turned you into a moaning mess. Your cries became cries of pleasure and you orgasmed almost immediately. Either you was still worked up from fingering yourself, which was unlikely considering the brief heart attack you just had, or this Nun was unstoppable with their tongue.

The Nun gave you two more orgasms with their tongue before coming up. They looked down at you and smirked again. You could see now, their black lips and tongue were black from ash. It was all over their mouth and chin and you was now consumed with worry, hopefully now of that ash got caught in your pussy. Which STI would you get from that?

You hadn't noticed but the Nun had started pulling up their skirt and pulling at something underneath it. Out sprang the biggest dick you had ever seen.

Nope, that wasn't normal, if you saw that monster on any human man you'd tell them to see a Doctor. Cause 12.5 inches (you're estimating based on looks) is not normal. The Nun grinned and stared down at your terrified face as he pumped himself.

You looked up at him, "That's not going inside me."

"Yes it is." He stated matter of factly still smiling at you.

"It will kill me." You responded with a glare.

Whilst you was still a little iffy about the penis size, your fear was starting to melt away and you was no longer afraid to talk to this creature. It could be the dizziness from the multiple orgasms you just had but this was starting to feel like a normal not scary sexual encounter.

"I'll make it work." The Nun shrugged.

"Ok, but I need to know your name first." You told him.

The demon was silent for a few seconds, "I don't usually give my name... but I suppose you will need something to scream so. It's Valak."

Valak thrusted into you immediately after that, not giving you much time to adjust. You screamed in pain but Valak placed a hand over your mouth again and tsked at your vocals, as if you was the problem. He then pulled off your panties completely and shoved them in your mouth without warning, you choked a little and Valak moaned at the sound.

Fortunately Valak hadn't pushed all of himself inside of you, only the first few inches (which is still a whole dick, Valak, but ok) and didn't go any further than that. He moved in and out at normal pace, not seeming to care at all about your cervix which he was currently beating up with his monster cock.

But despite all the complaints, you was starting to love it. Once you had adjusted, you was moaning and crying again. Tears ruining your vision and making Valak more aroused therefore making him move faster.

He groaned as he fucked up and glared down at you, completely focused on your face. Deciding this wasn't enough, he bent your legs back as far as they could go, up to your head and leaving you in a mating press. This gave him more opportunity to add a couple more inches without hurting you as much.

You cried, screamed and whined as the creature defiled you. You felt filthy, absolutely disgusting. But also alive. Something you hadn't felt before. You were squirming and whimpered from a dick too big for your little pussy to comprehend and you loved it. It was now you realised there was no chance you could married to God, you was enjoying such a lewd act, letting a demon fuck you dumb, way too much.

"Please! More!" You whined against your panties.

Valak heard you loud and clear and pressed a thumb on your clit. He would of preferred to sink his whole dick into you but knew it would be too much.

He then leaned down and spat on your mouth. Most of it was immediately soaked up by your panties, which irritated the shapeshifter. So he pulled your panties out of your mouth and spat again.

"Swallow whore." He hissed at you.

You eagerly did as you was told, hoping there would be a reward. And there was, the demon grinned down at you again when he saw you followed orders well, and then shoved his whole tongue in your mouth.

He tasted just as you expected, like ash and death.

As you noticed before when he was eating you out, his tongue was not normal either. It was way too big and long, just like his dick. It filled up your mouth and made you choke slightly. But soon like before, once you adjusted to the size, you was moaning like a slut again.

You came again, you didn't know which number this one but it was definitely better than the last. But you were feeling drained now, overstimulated. You had no idea when Valak would cum though and it made you nervous, surely he would stop once he came you thought. But then, when would he cum? A demon's limit must be far greater than a human's.

And you was right, Valak could fuck for hours without cumming. And that's what he planned to do. He wanted to know what you looked like, excessively overstimulated.

You really wished you hadn't found out what made this place so off.

[withleeknow]

note (1): inspired by this ask. i literally do not know what this is !! i just know that i'm in a bit of a writing slump and i just wanted to post smth, so this is just word vomit lol. yes, i am aware that it is god awful ok bye

note (2): implied dancer!minho but not necessarily idol!minho bc i rarely ever write with them as idols in mind

you're used to late nights at the dance studio.

you often stop by after work and wait for minho to wrap up a session so you could go home together. sometimes, if it's a tougher choreo that he needs more time to really nail down, you'd bring him dinner and observe as he takes the extra hours to really study the movements.

you're sat in your usual corner tonight, watching your boyfriend with mesmerized eyes.

you've been watching him dance for years and yet, you're still blown away every time you see him in his element.

it's a little mind-boggling, a little incomprehensible just how graceful minho is, how he moves like water, how he makes every move look so effortless and poised.

he pauses the music suddenly, stands in the middle of the room for a few seconds to catch his breath, then calls out to you.

"c'mere."

"are you done?"

"no. just come here. wanna show you something."

you go to him out of curiosity. when you're within reach, he turns you to the face the giant mirror. "dance with me."

"what? nuh uh. nope. you know i physically cannot do the things you can."

"this one is easy!" he tries to reason. "it's slower. c'mon, just for a little bit."

of course you're hesitant, even though there's no one else around but the two of you. he's a miracle of movement and you basically have two left feet, zero sense of rhythm and sometimes trip over air.

he pouts a little, presses his lips against your cheek. "i'll show you how."

you bite the inside of your cheek. he takes you into his arms and kisses your face again.

"fifteen minutes tops, yeah?"

minho is cute about it though. he's always cute about it when he wants something.

"ugh, fine. but you can't laugh at me!"

the music starts from the beginning. you watch carefully by his side as he tries to slow down his movements to make it easier for you to follow but jesus it's hard.

"5... 6... 7... 8..."

you look like a cat on cocaine trying to walk like a human.

again, two left feet and absolutely no sense of rhythm at all.

he ends up laughing a little, when you fail to copy the way he skillfully maneuvers his legs and step on your own foot. you wobble for a few seconds trying not to fall on your ass.

"i told you not to laugh!"

"i’m sorry," he apologizes in between giggles. "you're cute. come here."

minho comes stand behind you then, taking your arms and moving them how they're supposed to move, kissing your cheek and the side of your neck whenever you slightly turn your head to follow your movements in the mirror. you blush every time.

it's easier than before, but that's probably just because he's literally operating your limbs like a puppeteer.

"look, you're nailing this."

you roll your eyes. "thanks."

the music dips, the melody flatlines. the song ends. he starts twirling you around a couple of times like you're ballroom dancing, which takes you by surprise a bit, makes you gasp when you finally land against his chest.

he's got his arms around you and a soft smile on his face, even as you look up at him with narrowed eyes, almost a squint.

"that was embarrassing."

"no, it wasn't. you're adorable."

"i was not. i looked like dori on catnip."

"and dori on catnip is adorable."

"that's not the point. when hyunjin misses the beat for half a second, you look like you could murder him on the spot but you call me adorable. check your double standards."

minho just laughs before he ducks down to kiss you sweetly, despite how you try to squirm away from him, complaining that you're starting to get hot even after just 15 minutes of moving around.

"of course i have double standards when it comes to you," he says after breaking the kiss, "you're literally the love of my life."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 (italicized = can’t tag)

[kimberly-spirits13]

Imagine You’re in School with Jason (AP Lit Style)

You’ve been basic friends for a while

Just the type that can have a good laugh but don’t know everything about each other

He’s probably not the first person you’d go to if you’re upset about something but he’s still considered a friend

That is until you start having all your classes together

I’d imagine that if you’re like me, your both taking the most AP classes that you like

AP Lit is the favorite

He loves Anna Karenina because it’s like a TLC show for the Victorian Russians

Jason is a stationary guy, so in class he’s got washi tape to mark chapter sets, non bleed highlighters, microns, little post its, see through post-its, book marks, nice mechanical pencils and refills, and it’s all in a brown leather pencil case

He likes Socratic seminars because he likes to talk about the books

He likes essays but always have to have a page limit given to him because he will write a full book about his thoughts on the book

In class, he’s always asking you what you think about something and he likes that you two can keep up with each other

I don’t think he’s the boy to be hyper concerned with grades, but because he understands his lessons, he naturally makes pretty good grades

You’re assigned a group project where you and Jason decide to partner up to do a poster of Anna Karenina

When you come over to his house for the English project, he has all the supplies and he suddenly realizes that he’s a bit embarrassed about it

“So Alfred (me) may have gone a bit overboard but we can do something simple if you’d like- or idk make it nice”

Please help this man decorate this stupid poster board

Alfred makes your favorite type of drink or gets it, makes food, you two put on a movie or some music, and get to work

“So what do you think is important about Karenin and Vronsky having the same first names?”

“I think it’s important for theme that Anna was introduced with a train and died by train”

“Betsy is a bitch”

He loves to talk about it with you

Once you’re done with the project, he asks you to come over and do homework together

If you’re a vigilante, you’ll do patrol after because you two connect the dots quickly

If you’re normal, suddenly Jason has to run off and says Alfred will take you home but we’ll talk about that another day

For time purposes, we’ll say that you quickly find out about his patrol life

I mean dude comes bruised, he gets called to the basement a lot, he’s a true crime buff, sometimes he goes missing for hours, and it’s Gotham like come on everyone might as well be a vigilante or smt

Dick teases Jason about you two, especially when you’re over

You can’t help that you get cold watching the 6 hour long Pride and Prejudice movie and Jason is right there like come on Dick

Jason is lokey blushing soooo hard if you cuddle up next to him or even if you’re on the same couch

You two start to become inseparable at school

Not in a pda way but like a “I mean we might as well just hang out all the time” kind of way

Automatically becomes your date to any sort of school function

Even if it’s an unspoken thing that you two will be each other’s date, he still gets you flowers and asks you to go with him

Dick eventually pushes him to ask you out because “for real dude we all know you’re crushing”

Jason is a tall dude, towers over everyone, bulked up, dark hair, dark blue eyes, he’s gorgeous and everyone else are the ones intimidated by him

But when he asks you out he is so nervous

I mean the logical part of him is pretty sure that you’ll like him back, but the irrational part is terrified that he is about to mess up your friendship

He asks you at the end of the school day on a Friday incase you say no, there’s a weekend to get over it and he won’t ruin both of y’all’s days by asking during first period or something

When you say yes he’s like “😱” and a part of him is reborn or smt dramatic like that

He basically speeds home and endures the lecture from Alfred on reckless driving

He’s even more excited that you asked if he wanted to go to the park or the bookstore

And he’s like YESSSSSSSSSSS

You two have enormous text message conversations and he likes to FaceTime

Please I think he’s a hot chocolate junkie

He’s got all sorts of mugs ranging from regular white ones to fandom ones

Sweat pants king and he’ll give you any sweat set you want

Or oversized t shirts

He thinks pda at school it gross (it is) so he keeps it on the down low but he’ll definitely hug you or run his fingers through your hair if one of you needs it

He likes playing with your hair because it’s soothing

Please watch documentaries and period dramas with him

Or book to screen adaptations that are good

[hoffmansnightmare]

Alright, now that I've had some sleep and time to process I can tell about how I met Costas Mandylor! Pics included!

Things went smoothly for the most part! The con is in my hometown and only a short drive. I was very excited but also super anxious! I'd had the art I'd drawn printed out and planned to buy another print for Costas to sign. Every scenario was running through my head, that'd he'd hug me and I'd make it weird, that he wouldn't hug me and just sign my things and then I'd feel bad I hadn't gotten a hug. Or maybe he'd ask me about the art, which I didn't really want to explain that it was from the fanfic I'm writing.

I tried to run through any responses that didn't make me sound like a total FREAK, or what'd I'd say to him in general. We got there at 2:30 and early entry wasn't until 4:30, but I knew from past experiences that it was best to try to line up as early as possible, so my husband, who was there mostly for moral support, and I went inside and for sure there was a line for registration started. At 3 they started checking us in and giving us our badges. We were pretty close to the front so I was feeling pretty good.

I didn't know how popular Costas was going to be. The last person I waited for was Robert Englund, and I waited 6 and a half hours just for him, and with the new movies bringing in more fans I wasn't sure how long of a wait I was in for and I wanted to be as close to the front as possible. Brad Dourif was also there so I was hoping he would be drawing most of the attention, and he was, but I was still nervous. We waited in another line for the celebs and we were right outside the door so I was feeling pretty confident at this point. C.J. Graham came out a few times to tease some of those waiting in line and to wonder the convention floor. I get the feeling that man has a hard time sitting still.

Then the doors open and half of the celebs weren't there. Now I do not blame them. I get the feeling that the staff of the con had some poor communication. I also met Dina Meyer, and her the staffer that was meant to sit with her wasn't there yet and she had to take money herself. I got her signature while I waited for Costas and she was very nice! Now the wait for Costas really started. I wasn't interested in many of the other celebrities. I did stop by Michael Ironside's booth because I'm a big V fan and Ham Tyler was one of my favorite's. He was behind as well, even when he got there we had to wait for them to get properly set up. Apparently they hadn't even been given his banner to put up. When he asked if I wanted it with my name him and my staffer looked up at with curiously and the staffer said "suspiciousssss"

"N-no! I just don't like my name on these things!" 😅 He probably thought I was going to sell it. I'm not Michael Ironside I swear!

With both Dina's and Michael's signatures a line had started at Costas's booth, so we mozied back over there to wait for him. Occasionally I'd look back at the massive line for Brad Dourif (who also wasn't there yet) and be glad I wasn't in that line. I'd done it for Robert Englund and could now rest in peace.

Around 5:30 someone shouted, "there he is!" And there he was! Just like that! I was suddenly looking at Costas Mandylor in person and he looked so excited to be there. I was third in line and I was really feeling the anxiety now. My fingertips were tingly and I was shaky on my feet. I have trouble asking for help at the grocery store, let alone face one of my favorite actors from some of my favorite movies. He was all smiles and high energy. I watched the woman right in front of me get a hug and he kissed her on both cheeks. Now not only was I worried about a hug, but would he kiss me too? I turned to my husband and said "if he does that you will be carrying my out of here."

My husband replies "nah if you faint he can carry you out of here"

He was kidding, but I wasn't. Hugs are a lot for me and a kiss on the cheek probably would have done me in. (I also had the horrible thought later that would have tried to kiss him on the lips out of instinct. I wouldn't have survived the embarrassment)

It was my turn and I was trying to keep it together, but I was shaking and trying to keep breathing. I'd handed my money to my husband to pay, as I didn't think I could sort through the bills, and then I was facing Costas, setting my art down in front of him.

He smiled up at me. "You drew this?"

"Yes!" I said, excited that he seemed impressed and also dreading any questions about it.

He complimented the art. I can't remember exactly what he said. I was like, in outer space in that moment.

"Do you want me to write anything? Personalize it with your name?" He asked next.

His voice his CRAZY nothing would have prepared me for hearing it in person and directed at me.

"Could you write "Congratulations"? It's a weird thing but that's what I'd like." I never get my name put on these things. I don't like my name that much and no one spells it right. It's not that hard of one but my spelling is apparently unpopular. He looked up at me and I think he was curious. Or maybe he knew I was a freak, but he smirked and wrote it for me anyway.

"Do you want my character name too?"

"Yes please!"

Once he was done he slid the second copy of the art I'd set down in front of him and asked "who do I make this one out to?"

"Oh no, that one is for you."

He looked confused, so I put it closer to him. "I printed this one out to give you."

He said "Oh!" Then looked at it. "You didn't sign it! If you're going to give me art sign it! And say something nice about me too!" And he set the sharpie in front of me.

I could have evaporated right there. I took the sharpie and wrote my signature as well as my full name and tried frantically to think of something quick I could write.

I landed on "You're my favorite Jigsaw" and when I handed it back to him for him to read he looked up at me with the sweetest expression. And I was absolutely honest. He is my favorite Jigsaw. He set it down behind him with a thank you and I set down the print I'd bought from his table.

Again I asked for just his signature. He pulled out a gold sharpie that was a little dry. "I hate dry markers" and he whipped it behind him dramatically as he watched me giggle at his antics. His staffer whipped out an entire case of markers and he picked up a fresh one "they ruin the signatures! Now I'm going to write a line I say in the next movie, I'm not even supposed to tell anyone, but I'll write it for you."

I was giddy and giggling the entire time at this point as I watched him write. I'm sure he's written for others, he's signed so many things for people at this point, but I still felt a little special. And I'm going to edit the pic to keep it to myself still just in case, but the fact that he still wanted to write something a little extra for me was so sweet.

Now it was time for the picture. I was shaking. A staffer volunteered but my husband insisted on taking the pictures. He's protective and wanted to make sure I got good ones. Costas put his arm around me and I put my around around his back and just focused on the camera. Then for the second picture Costas wrapped both arms around me and I was weak in the knees.

After the second picture he squeezed me tight. He said some things. Again I can't remember. Mercifully he didn't kiss me. On one hand of course that would have been amazing, on the other I really don't know if I could have handled it with any grace (or I might have fumbled it and wanted to die). I do remember him saying "you take care of yourself." In the most sincere way I'd ever heard those words spoken. And "I hope you see the new movie."

I said "of course and I can't wait to see you." And stepped back as my husband approached, and because I'm a total awkward weirdo I gestured at him and told Costas "this is my husband."

My husband is a big guy, 6'3" and visibly strong. Costas looks up at him with a big smile and holds his hand out for a shake, which my husband returns. Costas looks at me, still grinning and said "you have a strong husband."

I laughed. "I know"

Our time with him had to come to an end and I had to ESCAPE. The hyperventilating had started and I needed to get out of the crowd. We escaped the celeb room. I put my precious prints in the car and we shifted our focus to food.

The rest of the day was exploring the rest of the con! My time meeting Costas was amazing and I definitely want to see him again in the future. I'm staying home the rest of the con. I could go see him again but honestly I don't like being perceived that much and I don't want him thinking anything weird about me (he probably wouldn't but I'd feel so self conscious.) I'll see him again at a later con, but for now I'm content with meeting him this time.

Below are my signed pictures! I had Dina sign a third copy of my art that I'll probably fill up with other Saw actors. The Michael print has "Hey Gooder" on it teehee!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for tattling?

This was a couple years ago. Our ages, at the time, were I believe as follows: Me, 16F

My sister, Jane, 13F

My other sister, Rose, 11F

My cousin, Scott, 15M

My other cousin, Georgia, 12F

I’m trying to write this in a way that, if one of them does stumble across it, they won’t know it’s talking about them. But all important details will be there.

We were staying over at Scott’s and generally having a great time. I could drive at that point, so we were having fun being away from parents and with me able to drive them (not too far, as we all have somewhat strict parents).

I was aware, somewhat, that Scott was addicted to smoking weed, this was something that had come up before, mostly in Jane and Scott’s conversations. My stance on this was “I don’t care what you do, it’s none of  my business, just please do it safely” due to past experience with self-destructive people. I didn't know that Jane also was doing drugs (unsure which) though not while we were out of town.

The rest of the group went off with Scott to meet his dealer, I stayed home to spend time with my very young cousin (6 at the time, I think). I knew where they were going. The only ones who had contact with the actual dealer were Scott and Jane, I double checked about that, I didn’t want Georgia or Rose getting involved in that.

That night, they were all sleeping in one room and I in the next room over (I’ve always been sort of an outcast among extended family, just due to being kind of odd). I stayed with them and talked until about 11:00, and I saw both Scott and Jane smoking. I knew they were planning on letting Georgia smoke as well, but that they said Rose was too young.

I didn’t care what they did. I went to sleep hours before them.

The next day, something tipped off our parents (probably the fact that the whole downstairs smelled like weed… still don’t know how they failed to consider that, honestly) and everyone got pulled away for questioning. My mom asked me if I knew anything, I said I went to bed early and hadn’t seen a thing. I was never even suspected, I’m seen as too much of a goody two shoes.

I was in the bathroom, hiding, because I was suddenly feeling very, very guilty about not stopping them. I knew drugs could cause issues (although I also think that, at the time, it was a good thing Scott had that to help him, as he was extremely depressed) especially for Georgia and Rose.

I ended up texting my mom and telling her that I actually had seen them smoking. She texted back saying that she’d already pretty much known, but I’d just confirmed it.

I’ve never quite been able to convince myself I did the right thing. It tore the group apart. We can’t be alone together anymore. Everyone is paranoid about this happening again now. Scott ended up turning to harder drugs and getting sent to rehab after an overdose.

I don’t know what I should’ve done, or if I responded right.

Was I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[rayshippouuchiha]

I've noticed you're happy when people share snippets of things they're writing, so today I want to share with you one of the scenes I'm the most proud to have ever written

To give you a bit of context so it makes sense: Time travel fuckery happens when Naruto uses almost all of Kurama's power to get back in time. What little power was left of the Bijuu merges with his body and gives him orangy-red hair the same color of Kurama's fur so he makes himself pass as Kushina's younger brother when he appears in Konoha around the time young Naruto is 5/6 y/o, going by the name of Uzumaki Kurama to avoid raising any suspicious about two Narutos. Shit happens, he and Kakashi fall in love but are idiots who don't communicate. The scene takes place after Pain's attack and Kakashi dying and coming back to life.

-

The dust has long settled on the destroyed village, and now the moon was high in the sky, watching over Her people in silence.

Tenzō had done an amazing job, Kakashi has to admit. It's thanks to his Mokuton that the people of Konoha have a place to sleep at until the village is properly re-built.

Not him, though. He couldn't fall asleep.

He's not too surprised by the fact that he's awake in the middle of the night. He's used to it. Usually he can fall asleep for an hour or two at some point, but this time is different. He guesses dying and coming back to life will do that to you.

He's not the only one awake. ANBU are patrolling the village. Some of them nod their head at him when passing by, but no one stops to bother him as he stands on top of a mostly destroyed building, away from where the rest of the village is resting.

Kakashi is not on duty. He hasn't been since the day the Sandaime had told him that he was to become a Jōnin Sensei. Yet, tonight he misses the mask. He feels like his head is too full of thoughts, and he needs to put on his ANBU uniform and let that part of him take the lead. The youngest ANBU to have ever been made. The only ANBU with a perfect mission score. He misses not thinking about anything but a mission, his body moving mechanically as his mind takes a step back and rests.

Alas, he can't. He had to give his mask and uniform back all those years ago, leave them in the hands of the Hokage and never take them back.

It's barely past 0300 when someone joins him. Kakashi doesn't hear their footsteps but he does feel their familiar chakra, as bright as the sun and as scalding hot and dangerous as a forest fire.

Kurama doesn't say anything as he sits beside him, and it's in that moment that Kakashi realizes he hasn't seen the man all day, not even when the fight ended and everything went quiet.

Kakashi looks at him, but Kurama isn't looking back. No. He's looking at the village with an expression that Kakashi can't decipher. Oh, but how he wishes that he could. He would give anything to be able to read this man like one of his beloved books.

"I died today," Kakashi finds himself saying, unable, for once, to stand the silence.

"I know."

"I saw my father."

Kurama finally looks at him, and Kakashi can finally see. There's a deep grief in his blue eyes, a grief that looks as old as the man himself.

"How was it?" Kurama asks. He sounds tired, even more than Kakashi feels.

"Meeting him?"

"Dying."

The question hangs heavy in the air, and after a while Kurama looks back towards the village.

"All my life I've seen people either die or leave without me being able to do anything to prevent it. While I was here, I almost forgot how terrible war was for those who survive it," he sighs, then shakes his head. "I know we didn't lose anyone today thanks to Naruto, but..."

But we could have, he doesn't say. But we did, even if only for a short while.

Kakashi finally sits down, and it hits him suddenly that Kurama was probably already around when Uzushio was attacked and destroyed. That he had to witness his home be razed to the ground. His clan, his family, his friends, forever lost. And who knows where those who were able to run away ended up. Did Kurama escape with his parents? With a friend? And where are they, now?

Kakashi already knows the answer to that particular question for sure.

"But we're still here," Kakashi says, a gentleness in his voice he didn't think he was even capable of having. "And, you know, talking with my father made me realize something important."

Kurama looks at him so intently with those deep blue eyes of his, and Kakashi wonders, not for the first time, what is it about this man that makes him want to open up. Hatake Kakashi hates being vulnerable, so why does he want Kurama to know his every secret?

"While I was with him, we talked about a lot of things. I told him about my old team, my students, my mistakes and failures over the years, and," he stops for a moment. Has to look away from Kurama's blue eyes, "I talked about you, too."

There's a surprised sound from beside him, but Kakashi lets his eye rest on the sleeping village stretching in front of them.

"And I realized that, for you, I'd-"

A hand shots out, pressing against Kakashi's lips to silence him. The way Kurama is looking at him now is pained.

"If you're about to tell me that you'd die for me, don't," he sounds even more tired, and Kakashi can see it in the way his body is positioned that he's tense, so much that Kakshi almost fears it might hurt.

Gently, Kakashi grabs Kurama's wrist to pull his hand away from his lips, but instead of pushing it away he keeps it in his.

"I would have, before," he admits. Kurama's hand is warm in his, as he presses it over his heart. He can almost sense its warmth all the way under his jōnin uniform. "But that's not what I was about to say."

He looks at him again, and for the first time in forever Kakashi feels like everything is right in this shitty world they had been thrown in. That everything will be okay, no matter what the world throws at them. And a smile, gentle and small, pulls softly at his lips, hidden under his trusted mask.

For the first time, the little wrinkles forming around his eye are genuine

"I would live for you, Kurama."

[the-oc-lass]

Cody Day 2024

So APPARENTLY it's Cody day and I just missed that, but if you think I'm going to skip out on an opportunity to write about one of my favorite little clone guys, you'd be SORELY mistaken.

I'd love to draw him too but there's like 6 hours left in the day and I have other things to do, like eat and shower and homework.

ANYWAY, those of you who know me know that I'm the OC lady and for that reason, I'm going to write a little drabbly thing about Cody and my OC, who is like an adoptive mom to him and many other clones (see this post if you want to learn more about her). If you aren't interested in ocs, feel free to skip, the drabbly thing will be under the cut. Oh and also, the clones call her "mum" because Temuera is from New Zealand and that's how they refer to their moms (or, that's at least how my old friend referred to her New Zealander mom). Also, no idea if it's ooc, it's been a while since I watched anything with Cody in it.

Anyway, happy Cody day to all, now enjoy the first bit of Star Wars content I've written in months. Btw @langsnscraps since you've been asking for SW content for a while.

It's late in the night cycle. So late that The Negotiator is practically silent. His general and most of his brothers are blissfully asleep in their barracks, but Cody can't bring himself to do the same. He can't sleep yet. There's a cup of caf nearby, though he can't remember when he got it or if he finished its contents. Doesn't matter. He's too focused on the work in front of him, ignoring the insistent tug from his eyelids. When he hears something behind him—the door opening followed by footsteps, he quickly realizes—his hand jumps to his blaster and he whips around, ready to draw it if he needs to. But as quickly as his fight reaction was triggered, it's soothed. Onteile Tiax is standing a few feet away, a calm expression on her face even as she holds up her hands. He exhales, hand falling back to his side.

"Sorry, mum," he mutters. She lowers her hands as well, folding them in front of her as she tilts her head.

"It's alright, Cody. I should know better than to creep up behind you," she says. He frowns slightly at her.

"I could've hurt you." The calm expression shifts to one of soft amusement, and she raises her eyebrow slightly. Alright, that's probably not true. He sighs and turns away from her, looking back at the holotable in front of him. He can hear her moving again, and she eventually appears at his side.

"Can you not sleep, Cody?" she asks, voice gentle and concerned. He shakes his head and looks down at his data pad.

"I just have a few things I need to do," he mutters. Her gaze weighs on him, but he resolutely keeps his eyes on the information in front of him.

"I worry for you," she says suddenly. He lifts his head to look at her, met with a look of apprehension. She lifts a hand, gently cupping his face. "You put far too much on yourself. I just want to make sure you're alright." He leans into the affectionate touch, just a bit, and offers what he hopes is a comforting smile.

"I'm fine, mum," he says. Bright eyes inspect him carefully, and he feels her stroke her thumb across his cheek for a moment before her hand falls away again.

"Would you like some help?" He considers denying her offer, telling her that she should go back to bed, but he admits that company sounds nice. So, he nods, and she smiles softly before picking up a data pad of her own.

~~

When the work is done—or, at least acceptably lessened—she finally convinces him to go to bed. He walks at her side through the empty halls, The Negotiator humming around them. He takes a moment to look at her as they walk. She's not much taller than Cody himself, but the way that she carries herself makes her seem towering and important. She doesn't hold any official military rank, but she looks like she holds a great deal of authority. People respect her most everywhere she goes. Walking at her side always makes him try to stand just a bit straighter, hold himself with more confidence. A small, unspoken of part of him wants to make her proud. They stop outside of her room—because Cody is a gentleman and promised to walk her to her door—and she turns toward him.

"Promise me you'll rest, Cody," she says. He smiles slightly at her.

"I'll do my best, mum." She smiles back at him.

"That's all I ask." She reaches out, and he allows her to tilt his head down slightly so that she can press a warm kiss to his forehead. "I'll see you in a few hours, Cody." When she releases him, he looks her in the eye again, nodding.

"Sleep well, mum." She nods as well, and he steps around her to walk to his own room.

"I love you, Cody." He pauses, looking back at her. "I just wanted to remind you." His chest is filled with warmth at the affectionate look on her face, and he smiles at her again.

"I love you too, mum."

[kanmom51]

Dark topic (but not really)

We know jimin says he works 6/7 days of the week in his recent live. What do you think he’s working on?

Like do you think it’s something for when he leaves (like on the street) or are you leaning more towards what Yoongi said “do another album and a tour” and that he’s working on another EP/album with the many western producers he met last year that weren’t on face to have enough songs so maybe not tour like Yoongi but enough to do maybe 1-3 concerts in Seoul/US.

Jimin seems genuinely happy & excited. His sassy & suspicious reaction to the album question he chose to read is what’s making me lean towards album cause we know jimin isn’t good at lying/acting. (Bonus his smile to when Yoongi said to make another album and he suddenly started finding the couch interesting)

Truthfully I have no idea. So, I'm going to babble a little here, give you some of my own thoughts.

On the one hand I find it hard to believe he will be releasing another album. The timing, it's problematic. If indeed we are still waiting on an album from JK and Tae all before the end of the year, when will JM fit in his album all before enlistment, which I do think will be anytime after JK's promotions and before the start of 2024. And we definitley do not want another Face 9 day promotional period now do we?

On the other hand we kind of know he's already done some music that hasn't made it's way into Face, and Face was a mini album while the others so far have released full sized albums.

JM did say he's working most of the week, but he also told us what that work entails, his working hours, and to tell you the truth, what he described doesn't sound like him working on an album. Even when his sleep pattern isn't wacky he's telling us he starts his day pretty much at noon, and at night studying English. Yes, he's working, but not at an intensity that you would expect if it was on an album. Not at the intensity we know he was working when he was working with Pdogg on Face. And I will also say that if he was working on a second album, he wouldn't be doing it at Hybe. There, I said it. There was a reason JM worked on his album at Pdogg's. And I don't think that reason has changed since. If there was a new album nearing, most of the work wouldn't be done in the Hybe building, and that is not the case at the moment.

I'd even go as far as to say that his farewell song, that one is probably already wrapped and done - the song itself.

I suspect he's busy working on future music (perhaps writing, perhaps something that he has no issue to work on at Hybe like), filming content for when he's away, preparing for something that entails needing English. That one has me intrigued actually. Both him and JK working on their English. JK I get, his album around the corner and the company obviously wanting to push it internationally and more so in the States. But JM, why JM? If all that is left is a goodbye song and enlistment.

Anyway, like I said, I have no idea what so ever, lol.

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

ZMAN CHEIRUSEINU aka "I'M the terrible communicator!?!?!?!!"

Dear Future Husband,

I hope nobody ever quizzes me on this blog because there are so many things that I've started and stopped writing that never got posted that I literally never remember what I've actually put here...

Not that that's really fully relevant to what I was thinking about writing now, but I currently have two unfinished posts in my drafts folder (amidst 25 others that will probably never get posted) that are just a recap of this year so far.

Because I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare.

Explaining what's going on right now is kind of problematic because I haven't provided the lengthy backstory yet (which is one of the drafts I have yet to finish...)

Suffice to say, MotherLivelyHeart is being a nightmare to me again.

I think I've shared before that MLH and I share a vehicle? If not... yeah, we share a car. I'll have to look through my posts to see if I've explained that situation before, because that's one more thing to check off the "my life absolutely f*ing sucks" list.

Usually this isn't the worst thing in the world because we operate on different schedules and there isn't much crossover when it comes to who needs the car when, and when there is I usually drop her off somewhere, do what I need to do, and pick her up after.

For the record, I HATE when she offers the opposite because I have a history of being abandoned in places waiting for her to pick me up and it gives me such severe anxiety.

So last week on Sunday I asked MLH what her plans were for the next day. I asked this because I overheard a phone call she received on Friday from the dentist's office about an appointment she had on Monday at noon that she hadn't told me anything about and I knew if I was going to ever find out she was going to take the car, I would have to be the one to ask her. So I asked. And wouldn't you believe it, she had a dentist appointment on Monday at noon! Shocker.

Now, I'd been out of work since the beginning of January (again, details will hopefully be in another post) so I had a lot to take care of at work last Monday and I told her that.

We agreed she would have the car for her appointment and I would take the car to work when she got home.

Come Monday afternoon, suddenly everything has changed.

You see, her boss called in sick and she had the day off because she has a specific job that requires her to work alongside her boss and if he doesn't work, she doesn't work.

So she had the day off. Joy.

Of course, did she tell this to me directly? No.

Did she message me this information? No.

I'm just supposed to approach her and ask, "hey, did your boss call in sick and give you the day off?" I guess.

So she went to her appointment and ran some errands and called me while she was still out. Apparently some specific water bottles she can only get in like two places were available at one store about 20 minutes away from our house and she placed a pickup order so she could get them before they were sold out. The order had to be picked up between like 2:30-3:30pm and she called me at around 1:30.

Great.

She picked a pickup time that was directly during the time I was supposed to be at work.

Which she knew.

Because I told her this literally the day before.

So I told her fine. She should do the pickup order and when she got back I would take the car to work.

"Well, I also wanted to go swimming."

*Deep breath* Ok, what time is swimming?

"From 2-9pm."

At this point I didn't know how long I'd be at work because one of the things I had to take care of could be like 4-6 hours and I didn't know if there would be enough time when I was done to get home and let her get to the pool with enough time to swim before they closed.

"Ok, well why don't you go swimming, do the pickup order, and then I'll take the car to work?"

"Well, I want to come home and eat something first."

Ok. So now, what was supposed to be my time to take the car is going to be "stolen" by her coming home (15 minutes), eating something (15 minutes), going to swim (40 minutes), getting the pickup order (30 minutes), and coming back home (20 minutes).

This is TWO HOURS off of my time.

WHICH I HAD TOLD HER I NEEDED LITERALLY THE DAY BEFORE.

So she came home, ate something, and changed into her bathing suit. She left around 2pm for the pool.

I assumed at this point I'd hear from her around 3:30pm that she was around the corner.

But 3:30 came and went.

4:00pm came and went.

4:30pm came and went.

5:00pm came and BigSis messaged that she would be done at work in an hour and could either of us give her a ride home?

MOTHERF@*$%^#$ER

So it's been three hours without an update from MLH, but then she responds "I should be on my way back from the pickup order then."

EXCUSE ME!?!?!?!

She left for the pool at 2pm. THREE HOURS have gone by and she hasn't even gotten the pickup order that was supposed to be picked up between 2:30-3:30pm!?!?!?!!?!?

But she tells me that I'M a terrible communicator.

I was supposed to get the car by 1:30pm latest. It was now after 5pm and I STILL hadn't gotten to work yet.

As much as I hate when she offers to drop me off at work so she can take care of things that will take a few hours, SHE DIDN'T EVEN ASK ME THAT. She made it seem like I would have the car all afternoon to take care of what I needed to at work. And when her plans shifted, she made it seem like I'd have the car by 3:30pm latest.

And let me remind you THAT I TOLD HER THE DAY BEFORE WHAT MY SCHEDULE WAS SO THAT THIS S*** WOULDN'T HAPPEN.

But I'M the terrible communicator.

At that point I was so frickin annoyed already. MLH messaged me "should I get her or just come home" and I was so peeved I said "just get her because if you come home and I take the car I'm not picking her up."

She didn't respond to that message.

Great.

No thumbs up. No "ok." Just nothing.

Then at 6:12pm I get a message from her "car's downstairs in front."

So no message from BigSis that MLH had picked her up and they were heading home. No "we're around the corner." No nothing except over an hour later "take it."

BUT I'M THE TERRIBLE COMMUNICATOR!?

At that point it was too late for me to do some of the things I needed to take care of for work because, again, I was supposed to have been there FIVE HOURS EARLIER. And a friend messaged and asked if I could go with her to Costco, so I said to hell with it and I went to Costco with her.

While I was at Costco I messaged both MotherLivelyHeart and BigSis about what I was getting so we were all on the same page. Included in that message was eggs because, well, I was getting eggs.

I got home at like 10pm and MotherLivelyHeart and BigSis were already asleep. I made a couple of mini salami kugels with some spinach that oddly floated to the top, waited for them to cool, tried 1/4 of one before sticking them in the fridge.

Next morning I open the fridge and there's a new carton of 1.5 dozen eggs. Because apparently MLH went to the supermarket early in the morning and got eggs because "we were out."

DESPITE ME LITERALLY MESSAGING THE NIGHT BEFORE THAT I WAS BUYING EGGS AT COSTCO.

Oh, but it gets better. Because the salami kugel I had tasted the night before was missing.

BigSis was working from home so I asked her about it and she said she had no clue.

So I asked MotherLivelyHeart about it, thinking maybe it slipped out of the fridge, smashed, and she threw it out.

But no.

Guess who ate it.

Yep, the woman who has been suffering from gout and avoiding meat for the better part of a year.

The woman who saw it in the fridge and said to herself "oh, that's one of the broccoli kugels LivelyHeart made for herself for Shabbos that she said wasn't good. I guess I'll eat that for breakfast without asking her if she really doesn't want it because although she's on a weird diet right now, there's no way she's made a meal plan for herself that includes this food item she made for herself."

Because, did she message me to ask if she could have it?

Nope.

Did she knock on my door to ask if she could have it?

Nope.

Halfway through eating it she realized it was salami.

And she still finished the whole thing.

And still at NO POINT did she message me AT ALL to even tell me that she ate it.

I had to find out by inquiring OF HER.

BUT. I'M. THE. TERRIBLE. COMMUNICATOR!?!?!?!

I shouldn't be mad.

It's just food, after all, right?

Except that it's not.

It's a frickin pattern of carelessness and disregard for me as a person.

And I'm so frickin sick of it.

I'm so damn tired.

It wouldn't have killed her to ask.

It wouldn't have killed her to apologize.

And what I haven't really explained here (because again, that's in a draft post) is that I've been on an elimination diet since January 1st which has cut most things from my available food selections.

But is she on an elimination diet?

Nope.

So we have a HOUSEFUL, a PANTRYFUL, and a FRIDGEFUL of food she can eat.

And she chooses the ONE thing I made FOR ME.

Which she KNEW I made for ME.

Instead of the MYRIAD OF THINGS that she can eat that I can't.

Which means that she's not only taken a meal from me, but now I'm at a food deficit from the fridge while she lives in abundance.

BUT. I'M. THE. TERRIBLE. COMMUNICATOR.

So let's leap forward to today.

Today was Shabbos mevorchim. Pesach is in two weeks.

And MotherLivelyHeart decided we are going to change over the kitchen two weeks ahead this year.

So she scheduled her cleaning lady to come tomorrow (Sunday) to help clean the kitchen so it can be turned over.

Did she take into account that this would be motzei Shabbos and that we'd have to make Shabbos and that would involve dirty dishes and use of the stove/oven and pots and pans?

Yeah, no.

Did she take into account that the way she wants to clean the oven requires the oven to be self-cleaned before and after which takes a good several hours and creates so much smoke that we'd have to keep the windows open and also it's like 40F right now and she also wanted to go to sleep early because the cleaning lady is coming at like 8am?

Yeah, no.

BigSis went over the oven cleaning thing with her and she exclaimed "are you kidding me?! Then why am I having the cleaning lady come tomorrow?!"

BECAUSE YOU SCHEDULED HER WITHOUT CONSULTING US.

BECAUSE THERE WAS NO COMMUNICATION.

DO YOU SEE A FRICKIN THEME HERE!?!?!!?

Oh, but there's more. Because there's always more.

Thursday was another nightmare day for various reasons. One of which was that I ran errands with MotherLivelyHeart.

She scheduled an appointment for smackdab in the middle of the time I told her I'd be working.

YES. AGAIN.

And she wanted to drop me off at work and pick me up when I was done.

Well absofrickinlutelynot, thankyouverymuch.

I was supposed to work until 6pm.

I had told customers I would be available until 6pm.

Her appointment was scheduled for 6pm.

So of course "I need the car at 5:30pm."

She wanted to drive me to work earlier so that she could take the car at 5:30pm to her appointment that wouldn't be done until 7pm and then come get me an hour and a half after I was done working.

But I was supposed to trust that she wouldn't run errands or dilly dally around and that she'd actually get me at 7:30pm, which we know is never the case.

So I told her no, I'd be taking the car to work. But I would notify the customers I'd only be there until 5:30pm, at which point I'd get her and drive her to her appointment. Then while she was in her appointment I could do the Shabbos shopping, since it seemed pointless to have to wait for her to come home again before I could go out and shop.

For various reasons, we had three stores we needed to go to, one of which was about 20 minutes in the opposite direction of where her appointment was. I figured I could go there first, then on my way back to get her I could run by the other two stores, get her and then we'd go straight home.

But no.

Because it was raining and people apparently don't know how to drive in the rain. So despite me taking the highway, which should have cut like 10 minutes out of the ride each way, it took me about 30 minutes to get to that first store, which I was in for maybe 10 minutes, and as I was checking out MLH messaged "my appointment is almost over, where are you at?"

So all I had time for was turning around and going straight to get her.

Which, fine, whatever.

One of the stores we went to literally just for chicken.

And it was chicken for her because she wanted a specific type of breaded chicken for Shabbos.

So I figured I'd run into the store and grab it while she stayed in the car.

But no.

Because while I was unbuckling, she was unbuckling. Because she decided to come in.

So she went to look at side salads and I went to the chicken section where I waited but she never showed up.

Then I get a message from her.

"Where are you?"

Excuse me???? WHERE ARE YOU, WOMAN???

I told her I was at the chicken section waiting for her and she said "I already checked out. I'm going back to the car."

WE LITERALLY WENT TO THIS STORE TO BUY HER CHICKEN.

SHE CAME IN WITH ME.

PRESUMABLY TO BUY HER CHICKEN.

But she's checked out already!? WITH WHAT!?

Oh. Apparently something to eat. Because she's hangry.

Which she, OF COURSE, DID NOT TELL ME.

Fine. Whatever.

So I bought her frickin chicken.

And then on the way home she got mad at me about three driving-related things that were out of my control (like the car started making a weird noise that might be the muffler, and there was a huge pothole I couldn't avoid, and I was coming to a stop at an intersection when some lady rounded the corner quickly and we barely missed colliding...) which resulted in her yelling at me that she hates the way I'm driving.

So, yeah, that was a fun ride home.

*EYEROLL*

Anyway, on the way to her appointment she said "we never worked out a Shabbos menu."

I told her the same thing I've told her almost every week over the last three months: I'm eating differently from you guys, so you just tell me what you want and I'll grab it from the store, because I already have set aside what I'm going to eat.

And she tells me "my boss has off tomorrow, so I can cook."

Which is perfectly fine in my eyes because I'm still recovering from an injury (again, that's one of the drafted posts...) and I also had a horrendous cold for the previous two weeks so I'm still trying to get back to baseline. Any pressure off me is appreciated.

We basically worked out that for shabbos we'd do a big soup for Friday night (which I would make), then she wanted chicken (obvs) and I had bought green beans at Costco I told her she could have, and then Shabbos lunch would be fish and salady stuff.

Well, Friday rolls around.

The day already sucked because I tried adding some vegetables back into my diet during the week that are apparently problematic for my digestion. Fun.

But then MotherLivelyHeart decides to stick to her arbitrary Pesach cleaning schedule which says to clean the milchig dishes she's had piling up all week. So of course she decides to do this at like noon and doesn't finish the job and there are still milchig dishes in the sink at 3pm when I need to go in and make the soup.

Add onto that, one of my "chores" is the pareve dishes, some of which have been piling up too and also need to be done, which she feels the need to remind me of, despite her milchig dishes still filling the sink.

So I go in around 3pm and just start cooking, using the small bit of counter space that's available to me.

She decides that's the perfect time to finish the milchig dishes.

FINE. WHATEVER.

She gets them out of the way and reminds me YET AGAIN about the pareve dishes.

FINEWHATEVER.

So around 4pm I'm back in the kitchen, doing the pareve dishes, of which I only got about half done because it was causing pain and I still had to cook.

So I pivoted and did the soup.

But nothing else had been cooked yet.

So I made the green beans.

And I had to separate the soups so I could add things to theirs that I can't eat.

At this point I'm still annoyed from her the day before, my insides are so unhappy with the newly tested foods, I'm in pain from the injury, and I'm trying to cook for Shabbos.

Around 6pm I asked BigSis if she could help with the chicken. She was like "I STILL HAVE TO SHOWER!!!" As though she didn't have all day for that and somehow me needing help is my fault. She said "if you had asked me like three hours ago I could have done it."

Except that three hours ago, the milchig dishes were still filling up the sink, so.... what exactly do you expect from me!?

Sometime a little earlier when MotherLivelyHeart had been in the kitchen it was clear I wasn't doing so well and she asked what was wrong and I described the pain and she was like "I'm sorry" and then disappeared.

So then she gets a "20 minutes to candle lighting" alarm on her phone, and she's been trying to light early in zchus of the hostages and chayalim, so she calls out "20 minutes to licht benchen." Which I responded to but she didn't hear, obviously, because she yelled again "LivelyHeart, did you hear me!?"

To which I responded an annoyed "YES!!" and she was like "you don't have to talk to me that way! I clearly didn't hear you. And BigSis and I can make Shabbos on our own, you know."

Which, MYGODWOMAN. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO.

My responsibility based on our conversation was the soup.

ZE HU.

SHE was supposed to do the chicken and the green beans and whatever else they wanted.

So now she's annoyed at me because I'm annoyed at her for not doing the thing she was supposed to do, but I'M the one in the wrong.

FINE. Whatever.

In the end I didn't do the chicken.

I literally didn't have the strength for it, let alone the energy.

Not that it was really missed at the meal, but she was a bit annoyed and gave me that same "BigSis and I can cook for Shabbos on our own, you know." To which I responded "You said you were going to cook." I literally don't even remember what her response was.

Well, fast forward through Shabbos to tonight because I asked her if she wanted the chicken for melava malka or if we should stick it in the freezer for a week since it's KFP.

She wanted it for melava malka.

Which, fine, whatever.

I told her if she could bread it, I would cook it.

She got gloves, she got bowls, she got the chicken, and she got eggs.

She did not get the other ingredients she needed for the breading. Or a plate to put it on. Or a fork.

She sat down at the table and then asked me to get the other ingredients.

Which, fine. Whatever.

I got an interesting piece of mail that I'll discuss in another post when I know more what's going on with it, but it basically called my attention to research something. So I was on my computer off to the side while she was breading the chicken.

The next thing I know, she's frying the chicken.

I went into the kitchen and asked her why she was frying it when I told her I would do it for her since cooking usually exhausts her, and she got all frustrated and exasperated at me and said something like "I DON'T HAVE ALL NIGHT TO WAIT FOR YOU."

And I was like, "what are you talking about!? I was waiting for you to finish breading it! you didn't tell me you were done!"

Which just pissed her off more.

BECAUSE. I'M. THE. TERRIBLE. COMMUNICATOR.

But this is the time of year we celebrate freedom, right?

This is the time of year we thank Hashem for rescuing us from a horrible situation.

Well, where's mine?

We're supposed to celebrate every year as though WE ALL left Mitzrayim.

As though we were ALL saved.

But I am not saved.

I have never been saved.

The stupidity I've just described above is just a piece of the insane patterning of my entire life.

I have no escape from this nonsense.

And I'm just so done with all of it.

I want it all to be over.

I want it all to go away.

Where's my freedom?

Where's my salvation?

I really have to finish those other two drafts, because this isn't even the clearest picture of what I've been dealing with since 2024 started. It's barely April and I just want this secular year to be over.

There are a couple of people who have suggested guys to me over the last several months and, although they're not really what I'm looking for, right now I just don't have the emotional energy for a new relationship. I'm just so burned out from this one that I deal with every frickin day of my stupid life, which of course I can't even tell these people.

So... dear future husband, I hope you can hang in there, because I don't know when I'll be ready for you.

But maybe by then I'll be a good communicator.

-LivelyHeart

And now for the story after the story:

So, after that disaster of a drive back from the store on Thursday night, we got home around 8:30pm and although she got something small to eat from that second supermarket I knew that MotherLivelyHeart hadn't eaten anything since lunch so when I made dinner for myself I made a second bowl for her. I brought it to her and she said "oh... you didn't have to do that." Not a lot of enthusiasm there.

She didn't eat it for about a half an hour, by which time it was probably cold, and the next thing I knew, she was in bed going to sleep without another word about how it was.

Now, I don't demand praise or feedback for anything I cook, but she usually makes a comment about whatever I make, so I found it odd that she was silent on the matter.

On Friday I went to ask her about something else and while I was talking to her I asked how her dinner was the night before and she said something along the lines of, "it was... interesting. ground chicken just doesn't cook well, it's not your fault. you prepared it well, it's just not that good. ground turkey is better."

No "thank you," no "it was sweet of you to think of me," no "I appreciate the effort especially considering that you're working through the pain right now."

Just meh.

I love when I'm appreciated.

[ash5monster01]

Lessons of You

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of depression, future smut, broken reader, 18+

Summary: Blake Parker was used to running. When life got hard, she’d run. The idea of sticking around to end up broken was scarier then she’d like to admit. So she hid away, cut all ties, and lived contently on her own. She was done running because no one could find her there. That is until a Navy Pilot runs into her life, and she learns allowing yourself to love can be scary, but hiding from it can be even worse.

This will be a short series, I’m unsure of how many parts just yet. I just couldn’t shake the idea and I figure instead of writing a full fledged story I can get it out here. enjoy xx

Intro, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Final

Masterlist

Blake liked to wake up early. In the beautiful state of California, a sunrise was never a disappointment. The earth was quiet, the sunshine warm, and it was the only part of the day she could hit brew on her coffee pot and remind herself she wasn’t lonely. Once the cup of coffee was in her hands she’d sit on her porch, watch the sun as it left the ocean, and soak it all in. Then just as the sun was perched high in the sky, the same boy with champagne hair would jog across the beach and she’d retreat inside to start her day. Unless it was on particularly windy days. On those days it was hard to walk away from the sea breeze. She would soak in the salty air and study the boy a moment longer than she normally did. She figured he was from the Navy base but wondered why no one else ran with him. Yet it comforted her to know that many other people live their day to day alone. Just like her.

When Blake uprooted her life she didn’t expect how different it would be from her normal. Now she sat inside, glued to her computer. The job had flexible hours, but kept her tethered to the quiet and empty home. She still agreed living this life was her best choice, but she had to form a routine for herself to be able to accept the fact that she chose this quiet life. So when all her work was done, the house chores were finished, she’d grab a book, and walk to the nearest coffee shop to read. The people there didn’t know her and she didn’t know them, but sometimes all you need for human connection is the presence of other humans. This had to be good enough for her because it was all she had.

For Rooster, despite wanting to be a pilot his whole life he couldn’t handle spending all his time in base. He found it suffocating, the thoughts of his father living the same life, bringing up memories he never wanted to relive. So any free chance he got he tried not to be there, running in the mornings and going to the small coffee shop in town for the most delicious wrap he’s ever had. Much better than base food, and probably healthier too. Since being back at Top Gun he’d just go for the wraps but now he went for the girl with long brown hair and striking hazel eyes.

He noticed her beauty first, then noticed how she had a new book everyday. It shocked him that someone could read that much and suddenly he had a billion questions swarming his mind about her. So he’d eat his wrap, notice how she never looked up from her book, and wonder who she was. Then he’d leave, still curious about her, as he made his way to the Hard Deck.

“Something on your mind big guy?” Hangman looked at him with a smirk, clearly trying to start something. Rooster shook his thoughts away.

“Nope, just thinking about how many push ups you’ll be doing tomorrow” Hangman chuckled, moving to hit his next shot in the game of pool.

“Hangman’s right though, it’s like you’re checked out tonight” Phoenix said as she nudged his side and he shrugged.

“Just a lot on my mind” but there wasn’t a lot. Just that girl from the coffee shop and how he couldn’t go any longer without talking to her.

So he knew the only way to get the girl off his mind and out of his system was to finally say something to her the next time he had a chance.

[morganas-pendragons]

I want to tell a story about one of the best people I knew. Because he died today.

And he was one of the few people who pushed me to pursue my creative passion.

This is long and personal. Dont by any means feel like you have to read it. I just want it here for myself to come back to.

I moved to Illinois in August of 2016. Not long after, I was informed about a standing tradition in Indiana called The Covered Bridge Festival. I was intrigued. And since my mom was going, 18 year old me decided to tag along.

I remember walking down the main road of this event and finding a giant banner that said, “WALKING DEAD ART” on a barn nearby. I was perplexed. It was an antique show. What on Earth is art from my favorite show doing here?

So I went in and was greeted with the most beautiful art I have ever seen. I still hold to that, to this day. I remember walking into that booth and gazing upon that art: Art drawn by a man much older than me who saw the world in only black and white.

Hence his social media presence: the black and white guy.

I was so lonely at the time I had done this. I had just moved to a new state, had left everything I had ever known, to follow my family to a town I hated. And I was so lonely. So bad off. I just felt very.. lost.

I’ll never forget his response. Once I told him I also was a fan of the show, he asked me about that, and then I proceeded to spend the next three hours explaining my OC that I had written just for the purpose of Carol being able to keep a child.

Three hours. He listened to me talk about this for three hours. By the time my mom was ready to leave, she found me still in the barn, still talking his ear off. And he heard every word. I left that barn the same day with so much art and promises to return the following year.

Eventually I came to his booth so often that he started giving me his art at a huge discount because I was “such a devoted fan” (or something along this line) and it was so nice solely for this reason: despite him being an artist and me being a writer, we pushed each others creative passions. I was constantly asking him for art from different shows we both loved.

The last time I vividly remember seeing him was before he was diagnosed with cancer. My mother told me that he was coming over to the house but wouldn’t say why. I was so confused. I only met the man once a year, and now he’s coming to my parents house? Why?

This man, knowing my love for Carol Peletier, took one of his original art pieces of Melissa McBride and put it in this gorgeous frame. To give to me.

For free. Because he wanted to.

“I know how much you love her.”

At this point, I had spent probably 5-6 years expressing my love for Carol and Melissa every time we met. I only missed the festival once due to being too far away and in college. He’d driven from his little town in Indiana to give me this drawing, which now sits on my wall in my apartment. So do his drawings of Daenerys and Wanda.

I was working this morning when I went home for lunch. I had just prayed for him. He had been battling cancer something fierce, which caused him to miss the art show in October of 2023. His wife was there in his stead.

I haven’t been thrown off guard like I was this morning since 2015, when my choir teacher suddenly died of pancreatic cancer. All I saw was a picture of angel wings on his Instagram, and the words: Robin left.

He was gone. Just like that, just after I had gotten home for lunch. I lost my appetite. I lost my energy. I just… feel so defeated. I haven’t experienced death a lot in my life. Every time I do, it’s with someone like this. Someone who teaches me something so crucial, so beautiful, that end up passing away anyway.

My choir teacher in 2015 was the start of embracing my passion for much.

Robin in 2016 was the start of me properly embracing my passion for writing.

So.. Robin… thank you. I am so grateful for you and so heartbroken that you’re gone.

[depravitycentral]

i love that you don't shy away from yandere themes that are considered gross! Period blood for example and invading reader's privacy in the bathroom. (Thankfully there's no sc*t 😅) A lot of your posts are 10k+ so I was wondering about your writing process

Do you write it all in one sitting? How long does it take you? If you get a block in the middle, do you just give up on it or force yourself to finish it? What's your favorite thing you've written?

Aww thank you for the reassurance! I'm never totally sure how things like that will be received - my goal when I write yandere works is to tap into the more creepy and gross side of the yandere, and I think that can turn a lot of people off from reading my stuff. Thank you for being a trooper and dealing with it, though; you have my heart <3

(Also please don't worry, scat will NEVER make an appearance on my blog. Other icky, nasty body fluids? Sure, but I have to draw the line somewhere and that's where I've chosen.)

As far as my writing process goes, I kind of go in spurts! This weekend I've been feeling weirdly productive and I had a lot of free time (a rare commodity), so I was able to sit down and pound out some of those profiles. I tend to get inspiration for a character and write like 60-75% of their profile in one sitting, then suddenly lose all motivation and want to stop to take like a snack break or do something else for a while. A lot of times when I'm that close to being done I just force myself to finish it, which sometimes has better results than others. (The Nobunaga nsfw profile, for example, was completed about 65% of the way done when I suddenly crashed on it, but I banged it out from start to finish in one sitting, so if there are lulls in the writing that's probably why.) If I leave something halfway done, there's all kinds of little notes and bullet points written down on the document with ideas I was working with, but sometimes I wait so long to return back to that specific work that I totally forget/don't understand what the bullet points are saying, which sucks.

For time, I would say it takes me somewhere around 3-4 hours to write each profile if I'm really focused, but the total time (including brainstorming) is probably averaged more around 5-6 hours. The nsfw ones have less content so they take less time, but the general ones are the ones I have to really think about and analyze, which often tends to require watching a few more episodes with that character in it just to get a good feel for them as I head into writing. (Unfortunately, haikyuu has become virtually impossible to find for free nowadays, so for all my haikyuu works I'm mostly just working off memory. I'm a little worried they aren't super accurate to the characters, but the show must go on.)

I don't really have a favorite thing I've written! Occasionally I'll look through my blog and see something I posted and go oh really? Was that me? Did I post that? I don't remember most of the details of things I post, so it's actually kind of a treat for me to go back and reread my work because it's like I'm reading a brand new fic. (Aside from all the grammar errors I suddenly find. Ugh.) I will say that all the Feitan stuff came much easier than I thought it would - I was kind of dreading writing for him because he's so popular among the fans and is kind of difficult for me to grasp, but once I started it just kind of kept coming. So if I had to choose, maybe his profiles!

Thank you for all the questions - self reflection is always a good thing! And thank you for sending in this ask - the little rush of serotonin I get whenever I see a notification that something new is in my inbox is crazy.