#lowkey stormed out of the sanctuary today

[aforgottennotebook]

✖️

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”

[deathlessathanasia]

It is widely known among Greek mythology enthusiasts that Hera never actually wanted to marry Zeus and that she had to be tricked into marriage or forced via rape. One could be surprised to notice the popularity of this idea, seeing how no major Greek author, from Homer and Hesiod to Nonnos of Panopolis, seems to ever state such a thing. So where does it come from?

"The presence of a cuckoo seated on the sceptre (of Hera's statue in the Argive Heraion) they explain by the story that when Zeus was in love with Hera in her maidenhood he changed himself into this bird, and she caught it to be her pet.”., Pausanias, Description of Greece 2. 17. 4.

Despite this being a very particular, localised myth that is an idiosyncrasy  of Hera's Argive cult, it somehow became the most popular version of how Hera ended up married to Zeus. Though this is by far the most accessible account of the story, what with it being even quoted on theoi.com and all, one can notice that it actually says nothing about marriage, or sex, or basically anything truly informative about what exactly took place there. For this reason, using Pausanias to argue whether or not Hera was raped or tricked or forced into marriage is pretty much useless. Still, on a first glance nothing here seems particularly rapey, or at least it wouldn't seem so if this weren’t Greek mythology and if we didn't know for what kind of purpose Zeus uses such disguises. To my knowledge, we have precisely one instance in surviving Greek literature of Zeus employing metamorphosis into an animal without a sexual purpose: when he changed himself into a serpent and his nurses into bears in order to escape Kronos. In any case, his purpose is already suggested here, but the following account spells it out explicitly.

In explanation to the passage in Theokritos’ Idyll according to which "women knew everything. They know all about Zeus marrying Hera.", a scholiast gives us the following account, based on a treatise on the sacred traditions of the city of Hermione (the author of which, incidentally, is not a woman): "He (Aristocles) reports that Zeus wished to unite/mix/mingle (μιγῆναι) with Hera from the time he saw her alone, apart from the other gods. Wanting to be invisible so that he was not seen by her, he changed himself into a cuckoo and perched on the mountain which then was called Thornax, but now is called Kokkyx, and that very day he caused a terrible storm to break out. Walking by herself, Hera arrived at the mountain and sat down there, where today is located the sanctuary of Hera Teleia. She saw the cuckoo flitting about, and it perched on her lap, trembling and frozen by the storm. Looking at it, Hera pitied it and took it under her mantle. Zeus suddenly changed his form again and grasped Hera. When she refused to copulate with him because of her mother, the god promised to make her his wife. Among the Argives, who honour this goddess more than any others of the Greeks, there is in a temple a statue of Hera seated on a throne, holding in her hand a sceptre on which is perched a cuckoo."

These two accounts seem to differ quite a bit in the way Hera came across the metamorphosed Zeus and what happened afterwards (no pet keeping in this variant, it seems), but they obviously refer to the same Argive tradition. It is evident that deception is involved, and the situation is clearly reminiscent of similar tricks Zeus employs in other stories. I have occasionally seen attempts to interpret what he does in this myth in a less odious manner, mostly by trying to pretend that his intentions towards Hera are not necessarily sexual in nature. That is, of course, absurd and naive (read: deliberately obtuse) in the extreme even in the very lowkey account of Pausanias, but here it is easily refutable by simply looking at the text. The verb μίγνυμι doesn't necessarily refer to sexual intercourse (though this is definitely one of its meanings), but  the context really doesn't leave much to interpretation. It is clear at least that we aren’t dealing here with  an act of rape in animal form, since Zeus does abandon the disguise before taking hold of Hera. What is most significant here is that the text makes it explicit that she refuses to have sex with him, though it’s worth noting that the reason she gives has nothing to do with her wanting to remain a virgin forever as it is commonly claimed (nor with his propensity to sleep around as it is also commonly claimed lol). For some reason her concern is her mother, which is certainly odd because what on earth does Rhea have to do with any of this? Karl Kerényi and Robin Hard interpret the mention of the mother and Hera's reluctance to sleep with Zeus as a reference to the fact that they are full siblings, children of the same mother. That has never stopped Greek deities before, but in lack of anything else I suppose this explanation is as good as any, though Nicole Loraux points out that this passage “may allude only to a young girl's modesty in the presence of her mother.” Now whether the promise of marriage is meant to be a sort of compensation for the rape or a way of reassuring Hera and persuading her to accept Zeus's sexual advances the text doesn't say and is something I can't even begin to guess. I suppose one could be charitable (the way people would doubtlessly be if such a myth was told about Hades and Persephone) and choose to believe that she accepted to sleep with him once she received the guarantee of a socially sanctioned and official union, just as one can choose to read it in a more unpleasant manner.

A third version of the myth appears in Pseudo-Plutarch’s “About Rivers and Mountains and Things Found in Them”, and though it makes no mention of marriage, I think this one is most clear about rape taking place: “But the mountain was denominated Coccygium for a reason of this sort. When he had fallen in love with Hera his sister and bedazzled his beloved, Zeus produced from her a male (alternative translation: and having vanquished her by his importunity, begat a male child). Then the very mountain called Lyrceium from the occasion was named Coccygium, as Agathonymus records in Persis.). I am not very happy with the English translations I’ve found, so here is the Greek text describing what Zeus did: "Ζεὺς Ἥρας τῆς ἀδελφῆς ἐρασθεὶς καὶ δυσωπούμενος τὴν ἀγαπωμένην ἐγέννησιν ἐξ αὐτῆς Ἄρη". All possible meanings and connotations of the word δυσωπέω are negative (to put out of countenance, importunate, abash, disturb etc), all the more so in the context we have here, and this variant is unique in mentioning a child (Ares) being conceived, which makes it beyond any doubt that sex did take place. Add to this the fact that virtually all sexual unions used to explain the names of rivers and mountains in this work are rapes, and I’m convinced that this one definitely involves sexual assault.

In short, it is safe to say that, as with most events in Greek mythology, different versions of this particular story existed and that some were more rapey than others, though I must add that just because rape isn’t explicitly and unambiguously described in an ancient Greek text doesn’t mean that the text in question does not involve rape. Also, anyone with common sense and without an agenda can doubtlessly come to the logical conclusion that when a male deceitfully approaches a female for the purpose of sex, her consent is, to say the least, not of primary importance to him.

Next, there is this late and odd story from Ptolemy Hephaestion. Or rather, we have a summary of it related in the Myriobiblon of Photius and, though no one seems to ever use it as a source, I'm putting it here for the sake of thoroughness: "The author (Hephaestion) speaks of the Achilles son of the earth and of all the Achilles who have been celebrated since Trojan times; it is this son of the earth who, when Hera fled from the union with Zeus, received her in his cave and persuaded her to marry Zeus, and it is said that this was the first marriage of Zeus and Hera, and Zeus promised Achilles that he would make famous all who bore his name. It is for that reason that Achilles son of Thetis is famous.".

Not much I can add here. I know of no other source that mentions this Achilles son of Earth (in all probability the author invented him and the entire story), nor of any other source according to which Hera needed to be persuaded to marry Zeus by a third party. That aside, I don't see any allusion to rape or forced marriage here, though Hera's initial unwillingness is not up to debate.

Now my question is this: why should any of these stories take precedence over others that don't include rapey elements? It should be mentioned that half of the  accounts given above are rather questionable; the authority of the writings of both Pseudo-Plutarch and Ptolemy Hephaestion is flimsy at best, since both of them are generally thought to have essentially made up many of the sources they cited in support of their various stories. We still have the Argive tradition attested by Pausanias and in the scholion to Theokritos, but it is certainly interesting that the idea of violence, trickery and unwillingness in the context of this particular relationship is so eagerly emphasised by so many, to the point that different traditions are hardly ever mentioned, considering how the much more blatant violence, trickery and unwillingness in the abduction of Persephone myth are constantly glossed over and rewritten into love and consent. To be clear, I don’t like this kind of revisionistic whitewashing when it is done with that myth and I wouldn’t like it done with this one either. I have absolutely no interest in the erasure of the uncomfortable aspects of this myth or cutesifying a story which, at its least disturbing, is about a man approaching a woman for sex on false pretenses and naturally I have nothing against those who want to explore Zeus and Hera's relationship or Hera's character from this angle (not my thing, I must admit, and personally I find it a bit overdone). What irks me about the almost exclusive focus on the cuckoo myth is twofold: it overshadows all other traditions, making people get the impression that no other narratives exist, and it makes those who don't want to deal with rapey elements in the relationship of Zeus and Hera try to sanitise this particular story which is a personal pet peeve of mine but, more importantly, is a complete waste of time when there ARE other traditions that do not (seem to) involve rape and are in no way less authoritative than those that do.

As a first example there is Homer, who has little occasion to say anything about how Hera and Zeus got married, but who does instead allude to "that time they first went to bed together and lay in love, and their dear parents knew nothing of it". In all fairness there is no way to know with any certainty that the sexual union invoked here was consensual, but there is also no indication that it wasn’t... and I mean, if someone wants to read rape in such an innocent-sounding description, there really isn’t much to say other than I hope they are equally exigent when analysing situations involving those mythological characters they do like. Anyway what Homer describes here  could have been a pre-existing tradition or it might be an Homeric innovation, no way to tell and ultimately it matters little, since the idea of a secret premarital tryst between Hera and Zeus is attested in several local traditions as well which means that if it was an ad hoc invention of the poet of the Iliad, it sure became influential for such a small reference.

back to local traditions then, there is this Boeotian one related by Plutarch and quoted by the Christian Eusebios of Caesarea: "they relate that Hera, being brought up in Euboea. was stolen away while yet a virgin by Zeus, and was carried across and hidden in this region, where Cithaeron afforded them a shady recess, nature's own bridal-chamber. And when Macris----she was Hera's nurse----came to seek her, and wished to make a search, Cithaeron would not let her pry about, or approach  the spot, on pretence that Zeus was there resting and passing the time in company with Leto. And as Macris went away, Hera thus escaped discovery on that occasion, and afterwards calling to mind her debt of gratitude to Leto she adopted her as partner in a common altar and common temple, so that sacrifices are first offered to Leto Μυχία, that is, 'of the inner shrine'; but some call her Νυχία, 'goddess of night.' In each of the names, however, there is the signification of secrecy and escape. Some say that Hera had secret intercourse there with Zeus, and, being undiscovered, was thus herself denominated Leto of the night: but when her marriage became openly known, and their intercourse first here in the neighbourhood of Citliaeron and of Plataea had been revealed, she was called Hera Τελεία and Γαμήλιος, goddess of the perfect life, and of marriage."

In this instance we have abduction followed by sexual intercourse, which I would normally find a HIGHLY dubious situation, to put it mildly. However, seeing how Hera is described as grateful for not being discovered by her nurse, it doesn't look like she was an unwilling participant here.

Samos was one of Hera's main centres of worship, so naturally The Samians just like the Argives had their own traditions concerning the goddess. As well as claiming Samos to be the place where Hera was born and brought up, "She is also said to have been deflowered by Zeus on Samos, as reported by certain scholia to Book 14 of the Iliad, which comment on the premarital union of the two and connect it with a local ritual which took this form: for the sake of Hera, it was said, the Samians assembled all their marriageable daughters in secret, but then the nuptial sacrifices were carried out in public view before all the world." - Vinciane Pirenne-Delforge and Gabriella Pironti, The Hera of Zeus: Intimate Enemy, Ultimate Spouse. The Iliad scholia (to which I don't have access so I must resort to the writings of modern scholars) also relates that "after Kronos had been sent down to Tartaros, Hera was betrothed (as a presumed virgin) to Zeus by Okeanos and Tethys but promptly gave birth to Hephaistos, having anticipated her marriage by lying with Zeus in secret on the island of Samos; to cover the deed, she claimed that the birth was without benefit of intercourse" - Timothy Gantz, Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources (compare and contrast with the story of Ares' conception from De fluviis of Pseudo-Plutarch above). It also seems that Zeus and Hera were said, again in the Iliad scholia, to have slept together in secret on Samos for three hundred years: "Most of the local legends and rites that are recorded in connection with the divine union refer to the first prenuptial intercourse between Zeus and Hera rather than to their wedding. It was claimed, indeed, on Samos that the pair had first slept together on that island in utter secrecy for three hundred years." - Robin Hard, The Routledge Handbook of Greek Mythology.

This premarital intercourse of Hera and Zeus might also be alluded to by Kallimachos in the following fragment (this is how, as far as I know, most scholars interpret the text, though differing opinions do exist) regarding a Naxian prenuptial custom: "And already the maid had been bedded with the boy, even as ritual ordered that the bride should sleep her prenuptial sleep with a male child both whose parents were alive. Yea, for they say that once on a time Hera - thou dog, thou dog, refrain, my shameless soul! thou would sing of that which it is not lawful to tell".

Nonnos has Aphrodite claim that she had "joined Zeus in wedlock with Hera his sister, after he had felt the pangs of long-lasting desire and desired her for three hundred years". This tells us nothing about how Hera felt about it all, but, well, she did keep the robe she wore "when she came to her brother a virgin in that secret union.". She seems so weirdly nostalgic about it, too: "the embroidered robe she wore was her oldest, still bearing the blood marks of maidenhead left from her bridal" (wtf Hera?) and when preparing to sleep with Zeus she decides to wear it in order to "remind her bedfellow of their first love". I don't know what to make of this (other than Nonnos being a weirdo as usual) but it doesn't seem like her first sexual experience was traumatic or unhappy, since she keeps such an... unusual memento of it.

There are quite a few other texts that mention the marriage of Zeus and Hera, though they give little to no detail about it and, as one comes to expect from Greek mythology, don't provide any insight into how she felt about it and whether she was willing or not. For example, we learn from Hesiod that "Last of all he (Zeus) made Hera his fertile wife, and she bore Hebe and Ares and Eileithyia, sharing intimacy with the king of gods and men.", and from Pseudo-Apollodoros that "Zeus married Hera and fathered Hebe, Eileithuia, and Ares". The very simplistic and unfanciful nature of these accounts may or may not be significant, but contrast them with how even Hesiod mentions the abduction of Persephone by Hades, and Apollodoros does not shy away from mentioning instances of rape: he does specify, for example, that Porphyrion tried to rape Hera, that Asteria and Metis did not want to have sex with Zeus, and that Hades kidnapped Persephone. Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, but if Hera's forced marriage were as common a fact as people make it out to be, it is at least a bit surprising that not even the Bibliotheke says anything about it. Diodoros of Sicily relates that "Men say that the marriage of Zeus and Hera was held in the territory of the Knossians at a place near the river Theren, where now a temple stands in which the natives of the place annually offer holy sacrifices and imitate the ceremony of the marriage, in the manner in which tradition tells it was originally performed.", but again this doesn’t tell us much, nor does the story according to which Gaia brought golden apples at the time of their wedding. In Aristophanes' Birds it is said that "the Moirai formerly united Olympian Hera to the King who governs the gods from the summit of his inaccessible throne." and that "Rosy Eros with the golden wings held the reins and guided the chariot; 'twas he, who presided over the union of Zeus and the fortunate Hera.” which, if nothing else, is a nice (if conventional) image.

In any case, Hera's behaviour in the myths hardly looks like that of a woman who hates her marriage and wants nothing to do with her husband, so those who argue that, actually, Hera persecutes Zeus’s mistresses and children not because she is angry about him sleeping with other women but because she is upset about having been “blackmailed” into marriage (I’ve actually seen this claim) or the like are objectively wrong. Even when she is so angry with Zeus that she leaves Olympos and refuses to return, she still can't stand the idea that he might take another wife. As Pausanias relates it: "Hera, they say, was for some reason or other angry with Zeus, and had retreated to Euboia. Zeus, failing to make her change her mind, visited Kithaeron, at that time despot in Plataia who surpassed all men for his cleverness. So he ordered Zeus to make an image of wood, and to carry it, wrapped up, in a bullock wagon, and to say that he was celebrating his marriage with Plataia, the daughter of Asopos. So Zeus followed the advice of Kithairon. Hera heard the news at once, and at once appeared on the scene. But when she came near the wagon and tore away the dress from the image, she was pleased at the deceit, on finding it a wooden image and not a bride, and was reconciled to Zeus. ", to which Plutarch adds the detail that "with joy and laughter (Hera) herself led the bridal procession, and gave additional honour to the statue, and called the festival Daedala, and nevertheless from jealousy burnt the thing, lifeless though it was.". More relevant is the fact that Argive Hera can regain the status of parthenos and does so annually through her bath in the Kanathos spring, which can easily be interpreted as her willingly choosing to renew her marriage over and over again.

[omoghouls]

Relaxing drive

(Aka: I'm not over Bloodwings death and wanted to write some lowkey Brick/Mordecai)

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

The gaunts under his eyes ached when his knuckle rubbed over the tender flesh. The sniper adjusted his goggles, fiddling with the strap as he became all too intuned to his surroundings. The murmured voices talked about furthering the mission, hushed as if the room was wire tapped. The constant droning hustle of the town below.

He couldnt stand it anymore.

[[MORE]]

Mordecai stood up. Catching the attention of the woman across the table.

"Where are you going?"

The sniper glanced at siren before continuing for the door. He lerched back as a hand gripped onto his shoulder.

"We need everyone to stay in headquarters until we get intel from the vault hunter," Roland gave, blankly staring at the lanky man.

Mordecai harshly shrugged him off, freeing himself from the crimson leader's grip.

"Solider!"

Mordecai clenched his fist as he swung his entire body around.

"I am not your fucking soldier, I am not apart of this stupid goddamn patrol of yours," Mordecai barked, "So if you excuse me," he added as he stormed out of the room, into the grundy streets of Sanctuary.

"Mordecai, wait!" Lilth called out.

"Let 'em be Lil'," A previously silent voice said.

Lilith looked at Brick with confusion. How could he be so calm? His friend just left.

"He's going for a drive," Brick said, as if reading her mind as they watched the man walked into the small hub of the city.

"A nice relaxing drive."

--

"Soldier, so God fucking far from the way it is," the man grumbled under his breath as he stomped away from the fast travel.

His vision adjusted as he looked around the wastelands. Empty. For now at least. Mordecai walked over to the florescent sign.

"Catch a riiiiiiiiide~"

Usually the grating, thickly accented voice caused the man to roll his eyes. But, today. Today it was a comfort as he waited for the vehicle to materialize.

Mordecai ran his hand over the metal before climbing into the driver's seat, engine purring as he pulled from the idle spot and onto the pathway.

There was no particular destination in mind.

Anywhere but back there was good.

--

Occasionally, Mordecai took his eyes off the road, glancing to the side. Nothing but barrenness and remnants of bygone times.

The past. Distant yet still so close.

The sniper sighed, shaking his head while taking a sharp turn to keep his mind from wandering futher than what was meters infront or in back of him.

Back on his home planet, driving was something he loved. The freedom of rolling faster than the local habitat, everything he passed became an uprooted blur. A Nomad of his own town.

The way he had liked it.

Maybe that's why other reason he left, dropped off land, wandering until he got to where he really wanted to be. Even then, he wasn't so sure he would stay rooted for long.

Mordecai swerved around the rocks, the car leaning just slightly too much to the right before smashing back onto the dusty ground.

A smile cracked on his face as he pressed his foot to the ground of the vehicle. The wind, the kicked up dust hit his face as he laughed.

"Just like old times in New Haven, eh gir-" His voice trailed, shoulders dropping when he saw only empty air above him.

The vehicle jerked as it came to an abrupt halt, drifting beneath the shelter of rusted bars.

A nomad without his pasture was just, a displaced man.

His fist slammed against the steering wheel, the searing pain traveled up his arm. He didn't care what damage he was causing to him, or the vehicle.

Frankly, he didn't care about anything; his mind clouded with resurfacing rage and a chest filled with a cold, lowly ache. His blurry vision glared towards the sky, the giant 'H' that loomed over Pandora. The lump in his throat emerged as he let out an angry,anguished cry; echoing off the sun washed billboards.

The sniper's chest heaved, breaths shallow as he rested his cheek against the steering wheel. Relishing in the cold material coming into contact with his burning face.

Exhausted. He was, exhausted; in the physical and emotional sense, he couldn't sleep, sure as hell couldn't drink the exasperation thoughts away. He tried.

But, with it replaying in his mind, he didn't even have to close his eyes to hear her pained screeching. The gurgling cries muffled from the echoes of the detonation. Followed by the hoops of laughter from the tyrannical bastard on Helios.

The sniper roughly rubbed at his tear stained face as he grumbled weakly.

And it wasn't fair.

It just wasn't fair.

Mordecai peeled his face away as he sat back up, silently watching the sun setting behind the mountains. The pink hue mixing with the natural yellows and oranges as the darkest times of twilight slowly emerged. Dim lights of the vehicle blinked on, casting skewed shadows against the boulders. He blinked slowly, wincing as he gripped the wheel once more.

--

Silence, save for the electric humming from the lights. Mordecai slipped into the headquarters, careful to avoid the few creaky steps as he walked upstairs.

He paused in his motions as he looked to the sleeping bodies. Lilith curled into a small ball, blanket tucked around her securely. Eyes wandered up, spotting the Roland, sleeping upright as he acted as a bed. The sniper held back a gruff chuckle at the two.

A yawn escaped past his lips as he tugged further in, hanging his rifle back up for the night before wandering out onto the porch. The sniper leaned against the guard as he looked past the monochromatic skyline of the town.

Sleep was at a fingers brush away, he finally was going to seize the opportunity.

He clutched his chest when he spun around, face to chest with the berserker.

"Ey, ey, give a man a warning before you do that," Mordecai said, although the tone came off as annoyed, he was glad to see the bigger man, in a sense.

Brick shrugged, "Guess I'm getting better at that sneakin' huh?" He chuckled.

Mordecai gave a lopsided grin, slowly fading when he saw the other man yawn.

"Did I wake you up?"

Brick shook his head, "Was waiting up for you, all were. "

The sniper's stomach knotted with guilt.

"You, you didn't have to do that," he quietly told.

"You went out without sayin' where you were going, of course we all were staying up, make sure you made it back," making a small nudge towards the other sleeping two,"Had half a mind to send one of my boys to find you. But," he paused with a small shrug, "I know you can handle yourself out there. Still though."

The sniper rubbed the back of his neck, he felt as if he were a teenager being caught sneaking home late.

"Fun drive?" The taller man said to fill the awkward air.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess," Mordecai said, "Same old shit just at an elevated speed, less dusty boots."

He flinched when the large hand patted his back. Leading the lanky man back inside.

Usually, Mordecai would stay put, not budge from the leading action. Tonight, tonight was an exception to that rule. He leaned into the contact, letting his head drop.

"Not the same without her."

Brick raised a sympathetic brow when he heard the mumbled voice.

"Course it ain't the same, ain't gonna be for a while," he explained, "you two were close, like me and Dusty."

Mordecai chuffed as the two sat on the cot. He didn't have to worry about being psychoanalyzed when it came to heart to heart conversations with Brick.

"Yeah, kinda like that," the sniper gave, letting his body slump onto the mattress. Too tired to further comment.

Brick looked at the man for a moment before standing back up. Mordecai tilited his head up in curiosity.

"Unlike you, I can't wear my shoes to bed, go to sleep, I'll be back in a bit," the berserker said.

Mordecai simply nodded before curling his knees to his chest, he wanted to see what the man was up to but, his body had made claims to the cot and was not leaving. The sniper closed his eyes to a dreamless sleep.

--

The light of a new dawn shone through the room. Mordecai groggily lifted his head, patting around blindly. He blinked slowly once his goggles were on.

He was the only one in the room.

"How long was I-?" His thoughts were paused when his hand brushed against a box by his head.

The sniper squinted as he held the box in his palm, carefully he tugged at the bow that held the top securely to the box. Mordecai peered in, eye widening as he quickly pulled the object out.

A chain dangled between his thumb and index finger. An all too familiar feather tickled the gap between.

"Oh, you're up."

Mordecai turned his head towards the door, watching as Brick walked in, standing idly by the cot, glancing at the opened box.

"Do you make this, amigo? How, how did you find her feathers?"

Brick smiled with a nod, " 'fore, what happend, when you two came by here she was shedding and dropped a few. Kept them, it ain't much but," the man was cut off when arms wrapped around his sides. Surprised by the sudden fling of affection coming from the scrawny sniper.

"Thank you," Mordecai softly said as he looked up at the bigger man, rolling the chain around his fingers when he moved away from the embrace.

The berserker tugged at his own necklace, the paws clinking together from the jostling.

Mordecai pulled the chain over his head, tucking the feather under his shirt,

"Gotta keep 'em alive somehow." Brick said as he gently patted the sniper's chest.

"I uh, saved you some breakfast, if that's something you wanted to come get right now?"

The man swallowed back the lump in his throat, "Yeah, actually might take you up on that," he said as he walked with the other man down the stairs.

Brick smiled, slinging his arm around Mordecai's small frame. He knew it would be a lengthy process for the sniper to go through, but this, this was a nice step towards that.