#I’m angry enough to rip out a throat with my teeth

[blood-teeth]

sick to my fucking stomach tonight. this country has voted against women, voted for hatred, voted for bigotry, against facts, education, morality. a father looked at his ballot today and sold his daughter out for the hopes of a .20 price decrease on fucking gas.

fuck Trump. i don’t know what else to say

[bunnis-monsters]

Fighting like vampires and dogs

Vampire x Fem!Reader x Werewolf

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 2nd

Oct 1

Oct 3

warnings: public sex, threesome, knotting, breeding, blood drinking, two ps in one v, possessive behavior

summary: You’ve been friends with the werewolf and vampire for a few years now, and they’re both head over heels in love with you… but they hate each other! It takes them saving you from a common enemy to realize sharing is caring…

🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇

It wasn’t uncommon for your two friends to bicker over who got to spend time with you, but it was unusual for them to get so violent.

“I told you, this week she’s mine.” your werewolf friend sneered, bearing his canines as he stood on his haunches.

“And like I’ve said, I couldn’t give less of a shit about what a filthy mutt has to say. This week, she’s MINE!” your vampire friend retorted, hissing as his brown eyes turned red and his fangs extended, ready to sink into the wolf’s flesh.

“That’s enough!”

You smacked them both over the head, huffing. “You can both come with me to the club tonight! It’ll be fun, maybe you’ll even bond together.”

It wasn’t easy getting them to go out with you… ut the second you suggested going alone they were already picking out something to wear.

The two were protective, staying at your side and watching your short dress, making sure it didn’t ride up. Anyone that dared to look at you were emt with menacing glares and flashes of sharp teeth…

Despite them hovering over you constantly, all it took was a slight bump from the other to set them off.

“Fuck, don’t touch me, mutt. I’m only here for her, you should just leave.”

“Oh really? Why don’t I rip out your throat and show you how much a mutt I am?”

You attempted to stop them, but your pleas fell on deaf ears.

But after fighting for a bit, they were suddenly alerted to your cries for help. Even over the loud music and their own angry screams, they recognize recognize your scared voice.

“Angel?”

They made their way through the crowd, spotting you being cornered by a tall man. You were looking around frantically, relief spreading across your face when you spotted them.

Within seconds the man was torn away from you and stomped into the club’s floor. You chose to ignore the bloody remains, instead stepping over him and into your friends’ arms.

“Thank you…”

They realized then that no matter how much they hated each other, they loved you so much more. Your safety and happiness would always come first…

And that’s why they both grew hard against you, their hands traveling to your hips and thighs.

Soon you were back on the dance floor, squished between your two friends as they kissed you. The vampire bit down on your neck, drinking your blood as the werewolf rubbed his fat cock against your wert panties.

“W-what if they notice?”

They both nuzzled against you, the vampire dry humping against your fat ass.

“They won’t, the music is loud and everyone is focused on dancing.”

You yelped as your friend’s cock pushed into you, stretching out virgin hole. You were too wet to protest, knowing that after this night your relationship with your two best friends would be changed forever.

He tried his best not to knot you immediately. He had wanted this for so long, and all your werewolf friend wanted was to fill your belly was his cum and knock you up.

The vampire groaned, stroking his cock as he looked over your shoulder, watching the werewolf’s cock push in and out of you. Soon, you felt something else prodding at your hole, wanting access.

Two cocks were inside of you now, and you felt impossibly full. Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was love, but your heart was fluttering and so were your gummy walls.

You came around them, the werewolf quickly knotting you as they both came inside.

Both cocks were trapped inside of you, the vampire burying his face into your neck as his cock rubbed against the werewolf’s fat knot.

“Mmph… happy to see my boys getting along…”

Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~

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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[grapejuicestyless]

Quiet When I’m Coming Home

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n and JJ would give anything for each other, but yet JJ’s insecurities of failing Y/n lead to the one thing they both never wanted to happen, and it’s too hard to let that go.

“Don’t you know I’m no good for you?”

She smiled, her fingers dancing across the dimples in my cheeks, her breath tickling the hair that curled over my brows.

“I’ve learned to lose, you can’t afford to.” My hands traced the curves of her body, holding her against my ribs and dipping my palms underneath her shirt to feel the softness of her skin against the callouses on my hands, feeling the frayed bottom from where the hem was ripped off, the soft material wrapped tightly around my bicep. “You’ll be alone. It won’t take long for me to drag you into my shit.”

“I want to be a part of your shit.” She smiled softly, the moon shining down on her pretty face. She really was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.

“No you don’t.”

“You don’t know that.” She argued, her thumb wiping the dirt out from under my eyelashes, her concentrated stare watchful and gentle all at once.

“This was my favorite shirt, you know.” She toys with the fabric around my arm next, the edges of the scrape poking through. “But it doesn’t really matter because I have a lot of shirts I like, and I can still wear this one. It might be different now, but it works just the same. I love it just like I did before I ripped it up. It’s still a shirt.”

“You’re talking nonsense.” I smiled, leaning in closer to her, in a way that pushed the boundaries of friendship. I wanted to hold her and have her, but even if she swore she wanted everything I had with no regrets or second thoughts, I couldn’t do that for her. I liked her a great deal too much to do that to her.

“No.” She smiled with her teeth. “You just don’t get it yet.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” I agreed, making no effort to move away from her. I didn’t want to move away from her, I liked the way my hands fit around her waist and her legs slotted between my thighs. I liked the feeling of her soft hands wrapping her thin shirt around a scrape on my arm because it felt a whole lot sweeter when she was holding me than when I was.

“I love you, JJ.” She spoke softly, and my breathing stopped. Deep down, I knew without a doubt I shared the feeling, how could I not? But the fear of commitment, and the greater fear of fucking her up made all confessions die in my throat.

“Y/n…” I sighed.

“You don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to feel the same way. But you mean a lot to me, and you’ve always been nice to me so I guess I just wanted to let you know.”

“It would never work between us.” I told her softly, not truly believing myself. She was perfect for me, my other half, a grounding force, but inside I felt just like the scared twelve year old boy who didn’t know what a family was, or how to express his feelings without yelling. “Your parents hate me.”

“Well, they hate me too, so we have that in common.” She joked quietly, even though it made me sad because it was true. Even if they had too much pride to admit it, they were always angry at how Y/n had turned out. Never mind the fact that she was smart, ambitious, sweet, and kind, she was bumming around with Pogues instead of laying around lavish houses with the Kooks.

They always wanted her to be the next Cameron, a clone of the fucked up children who lived expensive lives on figure eight. But she never was.

“They’d send you away the moment they would see us together.” I tried to reason. “What would I do then?”

“You’d come get me, I know you would.” She breathed softly. “But that wouldn’t happen, I’d run away before they could take me.”

“They’d get you in the night.”

“I’d sleep at the Chateau.” She argued quickly, a faint smile on her face. She really was something special.

Enough was said and we fell into silence, my nose bumping against hers in the darkness. I could feel her hair tickling my skin, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I risked it all for her.

“What if I hurt you?” I asked softly, my eyes trained on her lips.

“I’ll let you.” She breathed.

It should have made me sick, the way she readily accepted the possibility, but it didn’t. Instead, in some sick way, it only made me want her more. Her devotion was something I’d never known before, and in her oath in which she held me, I wanted to be hers so badly.

“I told you! I told you I’d fuck you up and you promised me you wanted it!” I shouted at her in the doorway, the chateau shaking from how heavy my feet slapped against the wood. I could barely look up, no amount of weed could blur the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I do, Jay! I want all of it, I want all of you!” She breathed out like it hurt her, like it was the last breath she could have taken and she used it on expressing herself to me.

“No you don’t. No you can’t, I’ll ruin you!” I fought back, and she pulled me away from the door. I could have easily slipped away, she hadn’t used much force, but she had me wrapped around her finger, and I let her drag me all the way back to where she stood, clinging onto the hem of my shirt and looking at me like it would kill her if I walked out on her now. Maybe it would.

“Then ruin me, I’m already tragic, so ruin me. Do whatever you want, but please don’t let me go. Don’t walk out just like everyone else ever has.”

Her teary eyes burned my heart, my stomach aching with a beating pain I’d never felt before. I didn’t want to ruin her, but when she begged so nicely, I realized how I’d only hurt her worse by abandoning her.

“Y/n/n, baby.” My thumbs wiped away her tears, my hands resting on her cheeks. Her face sat in the palms of my hands like it was meant to be admired by me, like we were supposed to be wrapped up in each other like this, a mess, but one that tangled itself back together in the end.

“I love you.”

Her voice was quiet, and needy, like she was scared to say it, not because of me, but because part of her believed that it wouldn’t be enough to get me to stay.

“I love you too.” I promised her softly, my lips pressing to her forehead in a lingering moment. “We just need a little space, baby. Just a little.”

She nodded understandingly, and her knuckles untangled themselves from where she pulled on my now stretched out shirt. I heard her mumble an apology under her breath.

“Don’t apologize, don’t. Stop it.” I held her firm again, her face tucked against my chest, her shoulders deflated. “I’ll step away for tonight, and I’ll see you in the morning, okay? It’ll all be alright.” I promised her, my lips finding a home on the top of her head, her hair smelling like sweet tea and mango.

“Okay, okay.” She sniffled, her tears drying up.

I felt the tips of her fingers sliding down from where her arms were woven around me tightly to the edges of my own hands. She held on tightly before flexing her palms, letting me go. Now that we were further apart I could see the redness in her eyes and the pout of her lips.

I wanted to kiss her, but it would only make it worse, so I headed for the door.

“I love you.” I reminded her. “And I’ll call you.”

She nodded, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. She looked so beat down like this, and for a minute I wanted to stay, but I had to think of an apology, and I needed to clear my head.

“Call me when the party’s over?” She confirmed quietly.

“Of course.”

My boots carried me down the old wooden steps, the loud slapping of my feet quiet as they hit the grass at the bottom. I hoped the beer at the boneyard would help sober me up, ironically, and maybe help me get the courage to hold her without the fear of breaking her.

Her shirts took up most of the dresser I claimed back at the chateau. Not that I minded, but sometimes I did find it amusing because more often than not she was laying around in my clothes. She said she liked the smell, though I thought she smelled much better than me. She liked how it made her feel closer to me, in a way. At least, that’s what she told me once.

She always took up have of the bed at least, we had our own sides from the moment we met, but she always slept on top of me, her head resting in the crook of my neck. She was warm, and in the summer, we’d both wake up sweating, but neither of us minded. We’d lay there, tangled and sweaty forever if we could.

I used to look forward to going to work, not because it gave me space from her, but because no matter how long, or short the day was, she was always waiting for me with a smile and a laugh, ruffling my hair between her fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to my skin. I wanted to hold her forever.

Sometimes, her laughter still rang through the house. When we all went on the boat, or soaked up the sun and stuck our toes in the sand, I thought of her, and I know everyone else still did too.

Her parents said she’d be back when they thought she earned it, but they hated her more than anyone I ever knew hated anything. So I knew that day would never come, though Sarah told me I should be more hopeful.

Somedays, I still wondered why she went back home the day I went to the boneyard. Deep down, she knew they would take her away the minute she stepped foot inside the place she never knew as home, but she still went.

Part of me believes that it was because she was so trusting, so willing to let people ruin her, take pieces of her, take advantage of her sweetness, she truly believed that her own blood would never do such a cruel thing to her. But they were never family, and blood only goes so far if those who are supposed to look out for you and love you can’t even look at you.

Nowadays, I hated going to work. I hated the beach, and I couldn’t stand the boat. I lied to everyone and promised I felt fine coming home to an empty house, and I lied to myself when I looked in the mirror and told myself it was for the best, because everyone knew it wasn’t.

I had called her, that night before she left. Her voice was quiet, and I thought I heard her feet hitting cement, but I blamed it on the alcohol. She swore she loved me and would be there when I eventually stumbled through the door, but she wasn’t. And she never would be again.

It was so quiet when I came home, and now it would forever be that way. Even if my friends were yelling in the kitchen, silence was all I felt. An empty, hollow feeling.

I wished I had never given us space in the end, and I wished she had never let me. But I wouldn’t change a thing, not with her, not ever. Changing nothing is better than anything.

Even now, I can’t let her go. I can’t let myself let her go. But I can lie and say I like it like this, because it makes it easier to forgive.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Right on the Wrong Side of It All

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Savior Era

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, canonical character death, blood, injuries

Summary: Negan doesn’t take Daryl. In the aftermath of the lineup, you’re trying to keep it together while Daryl is falling apart.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about the others. You were all in the same predicament. You were all scared. You were all angry. Now, you would all have to grieve. There was still the prospect that the casualties were not yet culminated. 

The certifiable leader of the Saviors was currently tormenting Rick using Carl. While that in itself was enough to sour your stomach, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from your archer. 

Daryl had been dragged out of the back of a van, a dingy blanket wrapped around his bloody shoulders. With several friends between the two of you, you couldn’t make out the wound clearly. What you could see was the pallor that was growing more profound; the way his eyes fluttered and struggled to remain open. 

His condition only worsened after his outburst. 

Negan was taunting Rosita with a bat lathered in Abraham’s blood and brain matter. Daryl launched himself at the man and landed a solid punch. Your cries rang louder than anyone’s when the archer was taken down and his own crossbow was aimed at his head. 

“Please, not him.” You pleaded, bowing your head when Negan approached you. His lip was still curled in distaste at Daryl’s actions but he seemed willing to entertain your demands. 

“Well, well, well. Someone knows how to behave.” You waited for the bat to meet your chin but the leather-clad maniac curled a finger there instead, guiding you to look at him. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“My—my name is Y/N.” You managed to stammer out between sobs. 

“Is that right? Now, Y/N, mind tellin’ me why a pretty little creature like you would speak up for mangy macho man over there?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out more tears, while he stroked a gloved finger down your jaw. You could hear Daryl’s struggles renew with threatening shouts becoming muffled when his face was pressed further into the dirt. You opened your eyes and fixed the man in front of you with the most supplicated gaze you could manage. “He’s my husband. Please, god, please don’t hurt him.” 

“God? Well, sugar, I’ve been called a few things but never god.” The way he laughed made you cringe but you kept your watery eyes engaged. He continued to smile at you, a sly leer that made your stomach flip. “Dwight.” He called over his shoulder. “Get him back in line.”

“But—” 

“Now, I know you weren’t about to question me.” Negan’s smile finally faltered. He patted your cheek and stood, twirling that damn bat with a flourish that was meant to sling around your friend’s blood. 

You were able to drag your gaze away from it to watch Daryl be roughly deposited back in his former spot, panting and grunting with a pained grimace. You willed his eyes to find yours, and he obliged, but he looked down at his knees when you slowly shook your head. 

“Now I already told you people—first one’s free, then—what’d I say?” Negan leaned back to add a certain brashness to the words. “I said I would shut that shit down. No exceptions.” There was a foreboding heaviness that settled in the air. You found yourself breathing harder, digging your fingers into the dirt. “Now, I don’t know what kinda lying assholes you’ve been dealing with but I’m a man of my word.” He smiled at Daryl, resulting in you baring your teeth like some feral beast ready to rip the man’s throat out to protect your mate. “First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So…back to it.”

You screamed when the bat came down on Glenn’s head. 

Negan and his cronies had departed a while ago, but everyone was still sitting where they had been left. The air was pregnant with a cacophony of sobs while the birds continued to sing as nature awoke to a new day. Maggie was the first to move, Rick pleading with her to sit; to continue the journey to Hilltop. To Alexandria. Anywhere but where you were. 

You began to stir from your own torpor, instinctively seeking out Daryl. He was sitting on his hip, one leg outstretched while he leaned onto his good hand. He was staring vacantly at the ground as he swayed on the spot. 

“Daryl.” You whispered. Your voice didn’t want to cooperate but it made no difference. You were already crawling toward him. You didn’t dare trust your legs. “Daryl.” You tried again once you reached him. Your arms instantly encircled his neck of their own accord, holding him close. The feel of his warm breath hitting your neck in shallow puffs of air made your tears begin anew. He was still alive. They could have taken him from you but he was still alive. “Can you look at me?”

His head turned slowly, bleary eyes finding yours. You touched his cheek, finding it cold; his skin clammy. He said something so quietly that you didn’t catch it. 

“What?”

“S’my fault.” He repeated, a tremble to his tone. 

“It’s not.” You brushed his sweaty locks out of his face. He looked terrible. Pale with dark circles around his eyes; his lips colorless. His shirt was sticky with blood. “We need to get you to Hilltop. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He didn’t fight you when you began to peel the fabric away from the wound. “It went clean through but it had to be close range. It made a mess.” The wound had clotted, thankfully, but he wasn’t out of the woods. He had already lost too much. There was the possibility of infection. “Rick, we need to go. Maggie and Daryl need medical attention.”

“I’m trying, Y/N.” The former sheriff was exasperated and rightfully so. 

Daryl rested his head against your shoulder, trembling with the effort to hold back his tears. Your arms encircled him while you stroked his hair and whispered reassurances. “Just take it easy. I’ve got you.” You looked up as Rick kneeled beside you, his eyes bloodshot and face still wet. “Maggie?”

“Sasha’s gonna take care of her. Keep her safe.” He rested a hand on Daryl’s knee and squeezed. The archer didn’t stir. “How’s he doin’?”

“We’re all in some form of shock right now but he’s in medical shock. We need to get him to Hilltop. Bastards let him sit and bleed.” You hissed, rubbing circles on Daryl’s back. 

“You told Negan Daryl was your husband.”

You shrugged. “He might as well be. I just wanted to give him something. Play the sympathy card.” You glanced over at Maggie, feeling your heart contract. “It worked.” You felt horrible about it, you couldn’t help it. Still, your partner was alive and breathing in your arms. Your relief outweighed your guilt. 

“Let me get Aaron. We’ll get him loaded up.”

You felt Daryl growing heavier and heavier. “Hurry. Please hurry.” You pleaded, holding your archer tighter. Rick nodded and pushed himself up, calling for Aaron. “I’ve got you, Daryl. I’ve got you. Hang on for me. Okay? I need you to hold on.”

[vodika-vibes]

Would it be too much of a cliche to ask for a monster au with Commander Wolffe being a werewolf, and him finding out a monster hunter took his human s/o to lure him into a trap.

Sins Of The Father

Summary: You are the daughter of the nation's most well known, and least well respected, monster hunter. When you and your twin brother were children, the pair of you, and your mother, were attacked by a werewolf who wanted revenge on your father. Your mother died in the attack, your brother was turned, and you survived unscathed. Your father threw your brother in a cage, buried your mother, and you were left on your own…until you ran away from home at 18 and vowed to never return. And then you met Wolffe, a werewolf, and fell in love with him. And then your father found out.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2265

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Prompt: Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I don't think I followed the prompt to the letter, but I had an idea and I ran with it. I hope you like it!

“Are you listening?” You lift your gaze from your heavily bandaged hands, to stare at your father, your lips turned down into a dark scowl. “Don’t you look at me like that, I am your father, and you will respect me.”

“Or what?” You bite out, “You’ll break my hands…oh, wait-”

He roughly grabs your chin, roughly enough that you can feel the bruises forming on your already badly bruised skin, though you just grind your teeth and glare at him. 

Your father gives in first, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you and turning away from you, “As if it’s not bad enough that you’re whoring yourself out to a wolf-”

“He’s a man, you’re just a bigot.” You bite out as you painfully rub your jaw.

“Shut up!” He rounds on you, “You…you’ve whored yourself to a wolf. Your brother is a wolf. Your mother would be ashamed-”

You surge to your feet, “My brother, your son, was only attacked because of you! We were punished because of your actions-” You cry out in pain as his fist slams into your cheek.

You glare up at him, and he glares right back at you. “I should slit your throat.”

“You won’t do it,” You counter, “You’re a coward. You always have been. You always will be.”

He strikes you again, and again, before he’s ripped off by his second, a timid looking man. “Sir, you can’t kill her. She’s bait, remember?”

Your father heaves for breath, “Right…right…” He turns his back on you, “Girl, take care of the cubs. Mattio…get her out of my sight.”

“Yes sir.” Mattio hoists you to your feet, and drags you out of the small cell that has been your room for the last week, and to the large building that houses the werewolf kids. “I’ll come and bring you back to your cell at the end of the day.” He says, without meeting your gaze.

You glare at him, and rip your arm out of his grasp, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” Is all you say as you walk over to the large door and wait for him to open it.

Mattio sighs, and unlocks the door, allowing you into the large house. And then he shuts the door behind you with a final sounding click. 

The Cub House is home to over three dozen children between the ages of 6 and 12. All of them are werewolves. Many were plucked from their pack, some, though, were handed over to the Hunters when their parents learned that they had been turned.

Odds are, the second any of these children showed any violent tendencies when they’re transformed, they’ll be executed for being monsters. And it’ll be applauded.

Your lips twist with disgust, of course they’re going to lash out. Even young werewolves need space to run and to roam, keeping them caged won’t do anything but make the wolf angry. It is why so many packs live so far away from civilization. 

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and you lift your gaze from the dirty floor to the darkened edges of the room. Golden eyes, identical in color, though so different in every other way, peer at you from behind crates and beds.

You smile and slowly, painfully, sit down on the floor, “Hello little ones,” You greet, as you wait for them to come to you. A little girl, with vibrant red hair, crawls out from under a bed and she trots over to you.

Her sharp eyes take in your heavily bandaged hands and arms, and the dark bruises covering every inch of your exposed skin, and she frowns, “You’re not like us.” It’s not a question, so you tilt your head and wait for her to continue, “Yet…they hurt you anyway. Why?”

The little girl leans in and sniffs at you, and you immediately peg her as a pack born werewolf. That is a very specific action that you’ve never seen from people who were adopted into a pack later in life.

“You smell like an Alpha.” The little girl says, “But not my packs Alpha, but you’re not like us.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. 

“I’m not,” You agree, “I am, however, the life partner of one of the Fett Alphas.”

The suspicion clears from her gaze, “Oh, you’re a mate.”

You allow her to believe that, although you and Wolffe haven’t quite gotten to the point in your relationship yet. Well, Wolffe hasn’t, at least. You’ve been there for months now, though.

The little girl sits in front of you, and the other children emerge from the shadows, some of them pressing against your sides for comfort, “Why are they hurting you if you’re not a wolf, like us?” A little boy asks as he lightly traces a burn on your arm, and then holds out his arm to show an identical burn.

“I’m bait.” You explain, and you don’t have to say anymore, as the children nod in understanding. 

“You smell like the wolf in the lower levels,” One of the oldest boys says.

You start, honestly surprised, “My brother’s still alive?” You blurt, “Stars, I thought that father would have killed him ages ago-” You take a deep breath, if you had known that he was still alive, you would have returned for him ages ago.

“It’s not your fault,” The little girl sitting in front of you says as she lightly pets your knee, “The Hunter keeps him isolated, there’s no need for such guilt.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” You murmur quietly, as your eyes close. You nurse the guilt for a moment longer, and then you exhale and shove the guilt to the side to focus on the children in your care, “This is the story of the Mother and her most beloved children-” You start in a sing song voice, it’s a story you learned from the pack, and now you’ll share it with these children.

All you can do now is hope that someone will come for you, though you also hope that it won’t be Wolffe.

The last thing you want is for him to be in danger because of you.

“Calm down, vod.” Comet says quietly as he folds his arms across his chest while watching his older brother pace, impatiently, from one side of the room to the other. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolffe bites out, his mismatched eyes landing on the ribbon clutched in his hands. His partner, his mate, always wears a ribbon in her hair. Always. It allows him to find her, even in a crowd of people.

Several days ago, he came to pick her up for their date, and saw that her front door had been kicked in, and her braid, ribbon included, laid in the middle of the living room.

Her home was also trashed, clothes ripped to shreds, furniture destroyed, paintings slashed-

Whoever broke into her home, whoever took her, hated her. And made sure that everyone knew it.

Wolffe grinds his teeth, and then whips his attention from the ribbon in his hand to his brother, “Tell me you found something?”

Comet sighs and shakes his head. “The boys have gone through the entire house, Wolffe. And they haven’t found anything.” He taps his arm for a moment, “Are you sure that she doesn’t have any enemies?”

“She-” Wolffe pauses, and his gaze drops to the ribbon. An old conversation, had several weeks after they started dating, comes to the forefront of his mind.

“My dad is a terrible person,” She says, her voice soft as she lightly traces his fingers with one of her own.

“He can’t be that bad,” Wolffe counters, his gaze locked on her face, “He sired you, didn’t he?”

She smiles at him, his fingers gliding across the palm of his hand, and over his wrist, “My father is a werewolf hunter, one of the less well respected ones.” She admits, “When I was a child, mother took my twin brother and I to the market, and we were attacked by an Alpha who had lost their mate to my father.”

Wolffe exhales sharply, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t. But mother still died, and my brother was turned…and I survived unscathed. I never saw my brother again after that day.” Her voice is soft and wistful, “I miss him.”

“What happened after?”

“I grew to hate him, and he grew to hate me in turn. No one was unhappy when I left.” She smiles tiredly, “I took my maternal grandmother’s maiden name as my own, and have tried to put it behind me.”

Wolffe’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “If it’s in the past, then you needn’t tell me.”

She hums softly, and presses her hand over his, “If something happens to me, Wolffe, I need you to know that it was my father who did it.” Her thumb, soft and warm, brushes against the back of his hand, “He’ll never forgive me for dating you. Never.”

Wolffe’s gaze is serious as he leans in so his lips are hovering just over hers, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you-”

Wolffe is pulled from his memory at the feeling of Comet’s hand on his forearm, “Vod?”

“Her father,” Wolffe says, “He’s a hunter. You need to look into her father.”

Comet pauses, and then he smirks, “I can work with that.” He agrees, “You have a name?”

Wolffe smirks at him, “Of course I do.”

It’s the break that the pack has been waiting for. Once Wolffe gives his brothers a name, they get a location of the hunting camp. It’s not terribly close to Fett territory, which is reassuring, but it is a lot bigger than anyone was anticipating. 

Wolffe keeps his gaze locked on the camp, his jaw clenched and his hands curling and uncurling into tight fists. He can smell her. Her scent is strong. Too strong. The kind of strong that only comes with pain and suffering.

She’s probably still alive though.

He can hear his brothers bickering behind him, Cody and Fox’s packs are here as well, but it sounds like they have a basic plan in place. “I’m going to get her.” Wolffe says, interrupting his twin, “She’s suffering and in pain and I’m going to get here.”

“That’s why we’re here, vod.” Fox says, “But we need to be smart about this.”

“You be smart about it. I’m going. Now.”

Cody and Fox share a look, and then nod. “Fine. Go, we’ll be on your heels.”

The actual infiltration is a haze. Wolffe doesn’t remember how he managed to navigate the camp and make it to the small building where his mate is being kept without getting caught, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Because he climbs in the window and she’s there.

“Cyare,” Wolffe goes to say something else, I love you. I missed you. Are you hurt? How can I help? But he says none of them. Instead he walks over to her, and cups her face between his gentle hands, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her hands come up to press against his cheeks, but Wolffe carefully catches her wrists to look at her shaking hands. Her fingers are bent awkwardly, and there are bruises peeking out from under the dirty bandages.

“Cyare?”

“Broken,” She whispers, “He…father was…he’s not happy about you.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have protected you-”

“I’m the one who refused to move in with you,” she rasps out, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s his fault.”

She pauses and then nods once, accepting his words as a truth, and then she shifts to her knees, “Wolffe, there’s a small house not far from here where there are children being held and-”

“Shh, shh.” He bumps his forehead against hers, “It’s okay. Cody and Fox are here with me. They’ll take care of it.”

“My brother is here.” She says, “He’s here and he’s alive and you can’t leave him, Wolffe. You can’t-”

“Never. I would never. You’re my mate, which makes him family.”

She blinks at him, and there are tears in her eyes, “I am?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on asking you,” Wolffe admits, “I was going to take you out on the full moon so you could be there for my transformation and…” He sighs, “I had a plan, cyare.” He clicks his tongue, “Another crime to lay at your father’s feet.”

She watches him for a moment, and then lightly grips his shoulders, “Wolffe, I want to go home, please?”

“Of course, cyare. Let’s get you to the medic. And then I’m going to rip your father to shreds.”

He expects her to argue against it, for her to ask him not to, to offer mercy. But something icy slides through her gaze and she nods once. “Good.”

And Wolffe has never been more in love with her than in that moment as he leans in and kisses her gently enough to not hurt her, and then he pulls back to help her to her feet.

He knows that it’s going to be a bloody night. But he already has his mate’s permission for what’s about to happen. He’ll make sure that the massacre will be clean and quick, so he can get her home, so he can wrap himself around her and tend to her hurts to the best of his ability.

But for now, he has a battle to prepare for…and a mate to escort.

[holylulusworld]

A gentle scent (2)

Summary: He’s your alpha now.

Written for @spnkinkevents SPN Omegaverse Week – Day 4 – Sunday, April 17 - Submissive Alpha and/or Dominant Omega

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, late bloomer, dirty talk, cocky reader, needy Dean, Beta turns out to be alpha, true mates, possessive omega

Word Count:

Catch up here: A gentle scent

SPN Omegaverse Week Masterlist

Eight months later, …

“She’s dead,” you growl low in your throat. “I will go over there and rip her throat out. Maybe I’ll make a nice puzzle out of her body parts.”

Sam inhales sharply. He already knows that you are very territorial when it comes to his brother, your mate, and newbie alpha. “Y/N, he only tries to get information from her. Dean would never cheat on you.”

You huff. “I trust Dean,” you roll your eyes at Sam’s comment. “This is about that woman putting her hand on my man’s bicep. She can scent me on him and still, that needy bitch touches what’s mine!”

“You’re a very possessive omega, huh?” Sam watches you clench and unclench your fists. “I’m not saying that this is a bad thing.”

“Stay out of our relationship,” you snap at Sam. “I’m protective, not possessive. Dean presented not eight months ago. He’s not used to omegas being all over him, or how to tame his alpha. My alpha needs a strong hand and guidance.”

Sam snorts. He never took his brother for a sub. It seems that Dean trusts you enough to give up control and let you guide him.

“That’s it,” you push off the wall to stalk toward Dean and the witness. “Agent, Hetfield, you need to come to an end. We got a new lead.”

“Oh, sure,” Dean nods. Your scent got stronger, and he knows, you are about to attack the omega touching his arm. He didn’t think much about it. The hunter always used his good looks and charm to get information out of people. It’s different now that he’s mated.

You wrap your hand around Dean’s wrist and tug lightly. “If you’d excuse us now. Me and Agent Hetfield have more people to interrogate.”

“Maybe we can meet up later,” she dares to say. “I’m off work at five.” She batts her lashes and smiles at Dean.

“He’s mated,” you grit your teeth and glare at the woman. “Do you have no shame?”

Before you lose control you tug at Dean’s wrist again and guide him away from the woman and toward his brother.

Sam watches his brother follow you like a clueless puppy. He snickers, already knowing you are going to throw a tantrum back at the motel.

“Sweetheart, I’d never do such a thing. She touched my arm and I let her, to get her to talk to me. You know I only have eyes for you,” Dean whines when you throw your shoe against the wall.

You’re close to your pre-heat and angry at yourself for feeling the way you do. Dean would never cheat on you, you know that, but your omega can’t bear watching him near another woman.

“She touched you,” you wrinkle your nose. Even though you forced Dean to shower, you still smell her on him. “I can smell that bitch on you.”

“No, you can’t,” he murmurs, and steps closer to you. “I only want you, omega. You know that. No woman can compare to you. You took my knot virginity after all.” Dean grins now. “I hope you remember that you took it.”

“Of course, I remember that I turned a lost puppy into a feral wolf wanting to mate me anytime he gets the chance to do so,” you smirk and run your hand over his arm. “Now he’s a good alpha.”

“You helped me become a better man,” his features soften when you tilt your head in submission. You rarely give in to your nature and let Dean have control. “You know that I only want to put my knot inside of you, right?”

“I hope so,” you cup his crotch, lightly squeezing him through his pants. His cock twitches in interest, and you chuckle at his eagerness. “Because I only want your knot inside of me.”

“I hope so,” Dean mirrors your smirk. He tilts his head to expose his untouched mating gland to you. “How about you show every omega that I’m only yours…”

Tags in reblog.

[lovelybucky1]

I'm the one who requested the drug deal Jonathan Crane thing and I f*ing love it p.p Thanks for writing that! That was the first request I made on Tumblr that got an answer and I keep smiling like a cheshire cat when I look at it xD

Also I wouldn't mind at all if you ever decided to make a sequel (no pressure, though) :3

my inbox is open for cillian characters! please keep the request coming, i love them so much 🫶🫶🫶

warnings: dubcon, kidnapping, mentions of drug use, AFAB!reader, mild knife play, hitting/punching, mild blood, unprotected sex, breeding kink, degradation, really nasty horrible stuff, 18+ minors dni

part 1

masterlist

jonathan isn’t gentle in the slightest. his nails scratch your skin as he tears your clothes off of you, not bothering to even undo the buttons or zippers. he mutters to himself under his breath as he manhandles you without care

you fought him at first. you hit and scratched and bit and squirmed, but after a stinging slap to your face and a threat to your neck, you decided to back down. you dont make it easy for him, of course. you lay limply in the cramped van as he tries to manipulate your arms and legs to get your clothes off.

“you fucking bitch,” he spits, teeth still bloody from the well-aimed punch you got in. “no wonder he gave you up without a second thought.”

giving up on trying to get your pants of, he picks up a long hunting knife from the floor and slices through then with ease. somehow he didn’t cut you, but you suppose the fear was part of his plan

you were now left only in your underwear in a dark van with a psychopathic potential murderer. he looks at you hungrily, like he can’t tell where to begin with you. you try to close your legs, but he grabs your thighs and slots himself between them so you can’t hide yourself

“that didn’t have to be so difficult,” he hisses

“you said you like when they fight back.”

he grins, and if you didn’t know what you do now, you’d be charmed by it, but all you can see are the maggots that come from his rotten insides.

he reaches down and begins to undo his fly. he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock, and even in the dark you can see how hard it is. you know he won’t be gentle, and the size makes you nervous.

“i can give you something for the pain,” he suggests. “you won’t feel a thing except pleasure.”

“i’m not taking anything from you.”

he pulls your underwear aside and slaps your pussy to see you jump. “smart choice. i was lying,” he smirks.

he lines his cock up with your entrance and pushes in slowly, but unrelentingly. you cry out as he forces his way inside of you, carving space out for him as he goes. he has no care for your comfort

“fuck! you fucking asshole!”

“awh, does it hurt?” he asks condescendingly. “your little cunt can’t handle all of me?”

a scream rips out of your throat when he roughly thrusts into you. you try to push him away, pushing on his chest, neck, shoulders, and arms, but there’s no use. he laughs at your pathetic attempts to get him off of you

“you can’t escape it. let me use this dirty pussy like you let your boyfriend,” he smirks. “think about him, hm? you trusted him, thought he was a real nice guy, didn’t you? he’s the one who got you into this. he’s the one who let me do this to you. doesn’t that make you angry?”

tears sting in your eyes again as you think about your betrayal. he did allow this monster to violate you like this. you never would have done something like that to him.

“now look at you. you went from a happy couple to a duggie and his whore. well, now you’re my whore.”

jonathan fucks you hard and fast, clearly only using your body to get off rather than making it good for you too. his hips slam against yours and each time you hit your head against the metal wall of the van

“fuck you!” you scream, throat raw

“i’m doing you a fucking favor, sweetheart. you know what would’ve happened if i left you out there with him? you’d be in a living nightmare right now, praying for god to put you out of your misery.”

you pick your hand up and palm his face, pushing on his nose until his head is turned to the side. a growl escapes his mouth and he grabs your wrist tightly, ripping your hand off of him.

jonathan’s face flashes with rage and he pulls out of you entirely. for a moment, you think it’s over. that is, until he grabs you by the hair and pushes you face down on the floor. before you could get up, he drapes himself over your back and lines his cock up with you again

“you’re making me regret keeping you,” he hisses as he pushes inside again. immediately he resumes his brutal pace, fucking into you too deeply.

“then- fuck, let me go”

“i can’t do that. you’ve seen my face. you know too much.” he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “i could kill you, or you could shut the fuck up and take my dick.”

you try to scream, but he seemingly read your mind. his hand clamps over your mouth and he shushes you.

“fuck, baby, ‘m close,” he pants. his hot breath is sickening as it fans over your neck. “where do you want me to cum?”

“pull out,” you say, but it’s muffled by his hand. “pull out!”

“what’s that? cum inside? you naughty little thing,” he chuckles.

he lets go of your mouth and moves his head to push your head against the floor. his thrusts are erratic and sloppy, his hips hitting yours rapidly until a strained groan escapes his mouth and you feel his cum flood your cunt.

“shit!” you yell, but jonathan is unbothered

jonathan lays on top of you, his dead weight pinning you to the floor as he catches his breath. his softening cock remains inside of you and you cringe at the feeling

jonathan finally gets off and you sit up to try to find your clothes. before you could look, jonathan pushes you back down with his foot to your shoulder. you watch as he kneels in front of you and positions your legs where he wants them.

he has your legs spread with your knees up, used pussy on display. before you could realize what’s happening, there is a camera flash and a mechanical noise

“what the fuck?” you exclaim, finally realizing what he just did

“just in case you get any ideas,” he smirks, holding up a developing polaroid.

[sxgarworld]

𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 - 𝐲. 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢

your college jock boyfriend isn’t the big sweetheart everyone thinks he is. but he’s still sweet enough for you.

contains: oral (m!receiving), meanie yuji, black coded reader (anyone can read!!), dom yuji, anal, fingering, squirting, generally nastier than my other posts.

To everyone else Yuji was nothing more than a sweetheart. A boy with a bright smile and soft pink hair. A strong guy with a big heart and a love for everyone. Were they wrong? No, not exactly. I mean, he was your sweet boyfriend. When you weren’t in bed at least.

Now he’s just walked in the door to your little shared apartment that isn’t too far from your campus, looking almost worn out from another night of practice. He closes the door, heavy footsteps making their way to you, who’s curled up on the couch, watching some silly movie from the 2000s that probably had shitty acting and even worse props.

“I missed you too,” he says, half sarcastically from your lack of a greeting. You sit up excitedly as he pets your head and face lovingly, leaning into his touch desperately from a long day of not seeing him. “Ohhh do you did miss me? If you really missed me you’d show it.”

He sat next to you, his hands cupping underneath the fat of your ass and pulling you on his lap, bouncing you a bit. You gripped his shoulders with your acrylics, the nails digging into his traps. He sighed, as if letting out a long breath of stress that he’d been holding in all day. His large, rough hands smacked your ass once or twice, soft brown eyes watching the ripples against his knees.

“Jus’ so pretty f’me, aren’t you? Yeah? Look atcha droolin’ like a lil dog,” he mused, his other hand wiping off your bottom lip, immediately running that same thumb across his tongue. You watched warily as he called you a dog, knowing your boyfriend was the type of man to make you bark if he so pleased.

Because Yuji was a sweet boy. The sweetest boy you’ve ever met. But in private that man was nasty.

Fortunately he wasn’t in a mood to hear you bark, but he was in a mood to have you on your knees, his cock in your jaws.

“C’mon pretty thing,” his hand grips the plush of your rear “Don’t wanna help me de-stress? You do? Yeah I know girl, c’mon. On your knees… just like that baby.” His hands guide you to your knees, his legs spread with you in between them. You could see it, his rock hard cock pitching a tent in his cargo pants. You knew what he liked, taking his zipper in your teeth skillfully, and undoing his pants with your mouth. As soon as it was undone, you ripped his pants and boxers off in one go, his fat head slapping onto his stomach. He rubbed his thumb over the slit of his angry pink tip, as it throbbed to feel the touch of your mouth.

“Tongue out— yeah that’s a good girl.” He slapped his throbbing head onto your tongue, immediately tangling his hands into your hair, guiding you down his cock. The smell of it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t unnoticeable. He smelled like your tired sweaty boyfriend, hot and bothered and ready to shoot a load down your throat. His hips bucked as his bit his lip, his cock repeatedly bruising the back of your throat.

“Yeahhh… oh fuck-! Yeah that’s- oh fuck that’s how I like it,” he said, his voice hitting a whimper “Yeah? Yeah? Pretty girl please keep fuckin’ swallowing’ my cock like that!”

Your head bobbed, pretty tongue wrapping around his shaft as it moved up and down it, feeling each vein. When your put your hands on it, you felt it twitch, bouncing up and down. Just to tease him, you stroked his cock quickly, just kissing and kitten licking his mushroom head. He loved seeing your plump lips glossed with his pre and your own saliva.

“Baby… keep fuckin’ strokin’ like that and I’m nutting in your mouth,” he begged. His hips started to slam into your palm, your acrylics clicking against each other around his cock. You felt his cock twitch more, and soon his hands grabbed your hair and shoved his cock deep in your throat, cum splattering down your esophagus. It almost made you choke, coughing as you fought to swallow.

“C’mon good sluts swallow,” he said, grabbing your face by your cheeks and squeezing to keep your mouth closed. You nodded, tearing up as you swallowed his cum down. He cooed, bringing you back on his lap.

“I know you just want me to fuck you from behind, don’t you?” He slapped your ass as you sat on his lap. His cock quickly hardened again, pulsating as it sprung up to sit in between your plush asscheeks. “Maybe even in that other hole, huh? Yeah?” he smiled, sucking on his middle and index finger before plunging them into your asshole. The sudden burn almost made you scream, letting out a loud gasp as your nails started to dig into his back. His finger scissored a bit, trying to open your ass up.

“Mmhhh… I think I’m takin’ this one tonight. C’mon, ass up face down. Y’know how I like it,” he grinned. You quickly obeyed, your face and torso on the couch as your ass was in the air, his cock slapping against it. P-tuh! You felt him spit right on your puckering hole, trying to lube it up a bit. Then his fat mushroom tip was throbbing against your asshole, struggling to push in. It made you whine, gripping the blanket on the couch. Finally his fat head pushed in, then the rest of his cock slid in with ease.

It wasn’t the first time you two had done anal, but you knew he only did it when he wanted to hear you cry from pleasure immediately. The stretching of your tight hole never failed to make you whine and whimper, and immediately tighten around his cock. He slid down to the base, balls deep in your ass as he spat on the hole again.

“Gonna start movin’. Is that ight baby? You need any help?” he grinned. You shook your head, and he took that as a signal to immediately start plowing into your ass. His balls slapped against your fat pussy, which was soaking wet from pleasure just from sucking his dick. Over and and over his tip hit something inside you. Some part deep in your ass that made your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Something only he had the skill and knowledge to hit over and over again.

Balls still slapping against your pussy, now starting to drip with your own arousal. He slipped thick digits into your cunt, scooping up arousal and rubbing it on your asshole. Just from his fingers inside you, you let out a moan that he enjoyed. So he stuck them back in. Three thick fingers, pounding into your cervix. His hand was surely going to bruise your thighs, his thumb rubbing your pulsing clit.

“Babyyyy~ never seen pussy this wet in my life,” he moaned as he slapped his hips into your ass, watching your cheeks jiggle. You moaned back in response, drooling against the couch cushions. It was messy and hot, sloppy fucking between two desperate people.

Too sloppy and too hot, you felt your cunt twitch and your stomach knot up.

“Yuj- yuji baby,” you gasped “I’m gonna cum baby! Please… please!” You were begging… for what exactly? Who knows. Just him. You knew you needed him. His fingers in your cunt and on your clit. His cock inside your ass and his balls slapping your thighs. All the stimulation, plus all the nasty things he was saying to you? You couldn’t hold it in. He chuckled, slapping your ass.

“C’mon then baby, wanna see you squirt like that. Real cute,” he grinned. You nodded, slapping your ass against his cock at a faster, more needy pace. It was almost too much, the knot in your stomach burst as you squirted all over his hands and legs. As you came, he fucked you through your high.

“Baby! Just a bit more,” he said, his hands now gripping your hips and he slammed you into his dick, before hot, thick, creamy ropes filled your ass. His cum filled you up, pouring out as his cock pulled out with a small pop. He jerked the rest of it onto your cheeks, then falling back onto the couch.

“Yeah, c’mere. Bin such a good girl f’me, mhm?” He spoke to your breathlessly, pulling you onto his lap again, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Just such a gooood girl. So pretty too.” He kissed your cheeks and your soft plump lips, covered in saliva and still some of his cum from earlier. He licked across your lips, then placed another kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah I’ll… I’ll get you cleaned up pretty. Don’t worry. Just… yeah. Just lay down on me like that,” he sighed tiredly, remembering how fatigued he was when he came home.

𓆩♡𓆪

coming back with another yuji one bc i absolutely love that pinkheaded boy. also!! i changed up my theme. hope u guys enjoy.

[jeanniebug623]

🕸️🕷️ Weaving the Web 🕷️🕸️

Chapter 22: Shattered

More shout out to @cyren-myadd for more angsty trauma for Spider trying to sort out his trust issues based on water cooler gossip.

TW: Suicide Attempt

“Spider, I want you to eat a little more than that.” Quaritch said with equal parts concern and sternness. His boy was starting to look, dare he say it, weak. He was absolutely thinner than when he was first captured and it wasn’t just from lack of activity. Spider was losing muscle mass and definition as well. The recom had only started to notice after his last mission.

”I don’t want to…” the teen grumbled as he looked away from the stew he’d been swirling round for the better part of an hour now. It was ice cold by now and Quaritch could count on one hand how many bites the boy had taken.

”I know you don’t want to, that’s the problem.” Quaritch said flatly. Keep it in check; don’t get upset. These were just a few mantras the hardened marine had been saying to himself the last few days. Not only had Spider’s eating habits diminished, but he was exceptionally moody. Picking fights over small things and being oppositional for the sake of it.

”I’m not hungry.” Spider said as he dropped the spoon with a loud clatter into the dish and pushed it away before crossing his arms. It was what Quaritch had started calling ‘teenage tantrums’. More than once, he had lost his temper with Spider and it ended horribly. One of the other two always showed up. If it was MJ, Quaritch ended up apologizing a hundred times before the kid would stop crying. If it was Miles, it ended in a scrap.

Only Prager was at the recom table with them. It became something of an unwritten rule lately that the colonel always had backup, except at the apartment. Though Wainfleet and Ja had managed to score one right next to Quaritch’s after one particularly bad fight resulted in a split lip for the recom and dislocated shoulder for the boy. And Spider wasn’t stupid; he felt the eyes of the others on him.

”We really gonna do this again here?” Quaritch said with a tired sigh. He loved his son more than anything, but for fuck’s sake! Every goddamn day with the kid was a trial by fire ever since the first mission Spider was left behind. As much as Quaritch tried to argue it was detrimental to his health, Ardmore would not let up on this joint custody bullshit. That nothing had happened while Spider was in McCosker’s care.

”Sure, why the fuck not?” Spider said as he snapped his head forward with a mean glare.

Quaritch ground his teeth as he trapped a growl in his throat. What the hell was wrong with his boy? But no, he would not make a spectacle of himself or his son. He leaned forward and quietly ordered, “Home. Now.”

Spider shook his head as he slammed his hands on the table and pushed back off the seat. As much as Quaritch wanted to reprimand the boy for not cleaning up his plate he barely ate from, the recom had to jump out of his own seat and quickly dash after the boy as he stormed out of the mess hall. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the sweatshirt he wore all the time now with the sleeves ripped off above the elbows and the hood always up covering his face.

After a brisk walk back to their apartment, Quaritch expected to have to chase the boy into his room but Spider knew it wasn’t worth it. He’d let his father yell at him to just have it over with. He flopped back on the couch in a low slouch and crossed his arms, glaring at the wall.

”Alright, enough is enough. What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” Quaritch said harshly, not even feeling bad about his tone or choice of words. He was angry; the boy was angry. It was clear who Spider got his temper from.

”A whole fuck ton of things last I checked…” Spider spat back just as harshly.

“Nah, don’t pull that shit, Spider. Something is wrong. Something recent. I’ve told ya to come to me with anything. If ANYTHING is wrong, you come to me and I’ll make it right. I’ve kept my word on that. I can’t take back the mistakes that got you here but I’m doing my damnedest to make it right.” Quaritch said, staring at the boy’s profile barely peeking out from under the hood.

Spider bit down hard on the inside of his cheek at the guilt churning in his stomach to the point he tasted blood. He knew in his heart he didn’t want to be such a pain in the ass, even though it was Quaritch’ fault he was in this whole predicament to begin with. His father couldn’t fix him, but he had been bending over backwards to help.

Don’t trust them. I warned you.

Don’t trust who exactly? Who warned who? Were those messages between his other sides?

Spider had started regularly talking to a therapist after his stay with McCosker resulted in him unintentionally scratching his arms while under his former foster father’s care. It was weird at first. Really weird. But eventually it became a nice reprieve to talk to someone who was genuinely neutral and didn’t care what he talked about. The next closest neutral party was Ja but that had changed. He was, dare Spider admit it, starting to feel like an older brother. With a medical degree.

The silent treatment did nothing for Quaritch’s fraying hold on his temper. He crossed the room in a few strides and crouched in front of the boy while pulling him up by the shoulders to sit properly and pulled the hood down so he could see his face. Despite the kid’s eyes immediately darting to the side, Quaritch kept one firm hand on Spider’s shoulder to ground both of them. It almost felt bony underneath the fabric of the oversized sweatshirt.

“You show me some respect, boy, and look at me when I’m talking to you. I’m trying real damn hard not to slap some sense into you.” Quaritch said, still angry but some of it faded when Spider’s big, brown doe eyes finally looked up. Not only did his son inherit his temper but also his resilience to back down from a challenge. But Quaritch wasn’t Spider’s only opponent. He had two very strong alter egos to contend with.

”You’re gettin’ skinny.” Quaritch said with a defeated sigh, “It’s got me worried, ok? I don’t know if it’s the meds or somethin’ up here.”

Quaritch emphasized ‘up here’ with a light tap to Spider’s forehead. As much as Spider wanted to tell him all the things that were wrong, how could he explain it? He didn’t know who was leaving him messages on mirrors. He’d heard rumblings from people who passed him by in the hall that the colonel may not actually have his best interest in mind. Wouldn’t these two things go hand in hand?

”You’ve been skippin’ out on the gym. Not eatin’ right. Or sleeping.” Quaritch said the last part a little firmer and didn’t scold the boy for sheepishly looking down. He’d caught the boy spitting out his sleep medication one evening after dinner, making it almost impossible for Quaritch to trust if he was taking any of them regularly.

”Why don’t we go out tomorrow? Just the two of us. I got a clear schedule and you could use some time out of this metal box.” Quaritch offered. It was a small olive branch considering every outing ended with going back to the city. He continued with a nod to Spider’s arm as he slid his large, blue hand from his shoulder to his forearm, “I can’t even see your stripes these days.”

Spider still didn’t look up, but did nod this time. It was a good enough answer. At least they didn’t fight.

”Good.” Quaritch said approvingly as he ruffled Spider’s hair. But the truce didn’t feel fully reciprocated and it put the recom on edge. He knew something was still wrong and it wasn’t just his condition. He’d learned enough about his boy to sense when something was very, very wrong. Gently moving his knuckles under Spider’s chin, he lifted his face until their eyes met again. His heartstrings twisted into a knot when he saw the extra shine to his eyes as he fought back tears. “Tell me what’s wrong, tiger. Please.”

Spider’s eyes darted back and forth between Quaritch’s. He wanted to say - no, scream - that he was scared to go to sleep at night. That he was afraid of his other sides. That he was terrified that his father was lying to him just to get him well enough to be malleable for the RDA again. That he couldn’t trust anyone…especially himself.

More silence.

Quaritch set his jaw tightly and nodded, sliding his hand to the back of Spider’s head and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. He knew the kid wanted to say something but wasn’t letting it out. So, three things. The holy trinity of Quaritch’s personality had been passed onto his son: temper, resilience, and stubbornness.

After the one-sided conversation, Spider willingly ate a protein bar as a poor stand-in for the stew he didn’t eat. But at least he wasn’t going to bed hungry or risking nausea from the sleeping pill Quaritch watched him consume. Micromanaging Spider was the last thing he wanted to do but he needed his kid to get back on the good track he was on. He stayed up later than Spider to make sure he fell asleep.

Most nights the kid went out like a light within twenty minutes of taking his meds. Tonight was one of those nights and Quaritch was readying himself for bed an hour after Spider had gone to sleep. He did one more check on his boy, pulled the blanket that had been kicked to the floor back over him, and lightly pressed the back of his hand against Spider’s forehead. He was a bit clammy, no wonder the blanket was on the floor, but it didn’t feel like a fever.

Quaritch would make a note to tell Ja in the morning. All was calm and quiet in the apartment when the recom settled into his own bed. He never used to be a night owl before the kid came into his life. He was early to bed and rose with the sun. Strange how much he had changed with Spider in his life. Yes, finding Jake Sully was still the mission. But the initial drive wasn’t there like it had been.

He fell asleep quickly and woke almost as quickly to pressure on his neck. Quaritch woke in a panic but his keen eyes could see clearly in the dark that it was Spider looming over him. How the hell the kid managed to sneak into his room AND get astride his stomach like a predator ready to pounce before waking him up had him speechless. But not as speechless as the sharp object against his throat.

”You came into my room…” Spider said in a strained whisper. His hands were shaking on the sharpened butter knife as he struggled to suppress the panic. “Why did you come in my room while I was sleeping? What were you doing?”

”Just one last bed check before turnin’ in, Spider.” Quaritch answered coolly, ignoring how his Adam’s apple bobbed against the razor sharp, “Where’d you get a knife?”

Spider’s right eye twitched, almost completely closing before blinking a few times.

”Can you put it down so we can finally talk about what’s got you like this?” His father continued, staying calm despite the threat.

”No.” Spider answered quickly, his voice cracking under the hushed tone.

”Ok then…leave the knife there but still tell me what’s wrong.”

“…what if you lie?”

”Kid, the last thing I’m gonna do is lie to you. And it's got nothin’ to do with my life being in your hands.”

Spider’s breath shook as he inhaled. He pressed the knife closer into Quaritch’s flesh to the point of a small cut forming under the pressure. Could he trust his father?

”I…” Spider started, his chest starting to hitch as his panic started becoming too much to handle. His father stared up at him calmly and patiently as Spider tried to put the words together. Tears started to stream down his cheeks and drip off his chin before he could say anything else.

”Son.” Quaritch said quietly, knowing he was one shaking hand motion away from dying for the second time.

”I…I don’t know who to trust…” Spider answered almost silently, “…because of the mirrors…”

”What mirrors?” Quaritch asked, trying to get more clues to this riddle and remembering when he came back from his mission early that the bathroom mirror was covered in a towel.

”Sometimes there’s…things written on them.” Spider said, knowing how incredibly insane he was sounding. “They say not to trust anyone. A-And I hear things…like you…you don’t…you’re just-…”

Quaritch knew where this was going. He’d also heard the rumors going on that all his fathering to the boy was just for show. But it was complete bullshit. He loved that boy more than any damn thing in two lives. It was easy to see why his son might think it’s all fake. Kid was still a prisoner, just with a long leash.

”I love you, son.” Quaritch said. The words felt foreign, but right, coming from his mouth. Spider started trembling under the weight of his fear and the power he had over Quaritch at that moment. The recom continued, “I hear all the lies too. Every time I track the source of one, another pops up. But you know what? I’ll hunt down every single one of them who makes you think you’re not the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

Spider’s hands were shaking even more. To Quaritch’s reprieve, the teen pulled the knife back when it started and he held the knife to his chest.

”Please give me the knife, Spider.” Quaritch coaxed. He wasn’t angry at the boy. Instead, he was concerned where he got it and how long he’d been secretly armed.

”…no.” Spider said, clutching the knife tighter and closing his eyes. Quaritch was telling the truth. How could he have been so stupid to think this man who had stepped up to be his father in his fucked up situation not genuinely care for him? But then who shouldn’t he trust? Who was TELLING him not to trust anyone? What was going to happen after whoever they warned him and he didn’t do anything about it?

”Spider, the knife. Please just give it to me. You’re safe with me, you don’t need it.” Quaritch said. His heart was pounding harder in his chest seeing Spider have it so close to his person than when it was literally grazing into his skin.

”No, I-…” Spider choked out with a sob, “I can’t do this anymore!”

Quaritch cursed and grunted in pain as his hand moved in a flash to catch the blade Spider drew away from his chest with the intent to thrust it into his own neck. He clenched a tight fist around the blade as it pierced between his index and middle metacarpals. Slamming the captured blade to the side, he sat up so quickly Spider would have fallen off if not for Quaritch’s other arm wrapping tightly around him.

He held his boy to his chest as Spider crumpled and sobbed into Quaritch’s broad chest. His hand hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing compared to the cries of his son.

[frracturedjaw]

Had it some time in my head

Reader comforting Michael while he's struggling with his emotions and stuff (either version is fine)

I believe Loomis never actually gave him any emotional support resulting in what we have of our guy

warning(s): canon-typical violence, questionable relationship dynamics, michael beats the shit out of u 🤷

a/n: i’m a rz myers fan, but i wanted to take a swing at writing smth for the original guy :)

for once, it isn’t blood. whatever he’s staining the front of your shirt with isn’t blood. he’s shuddering and digging his nails into your back, but he isn’t bleeding. at least there’s that.

“Michael, what is it?” you ask, trying to coax him into looking at you. you don’t really expect an answer, you know better than that, but something is clearly wrong. his face still buried against your chest, he exhales slow and deep. his next breath in is almost a whine. you’re beginning to think you’re wrong about the blood.

then he raises his head. tears. he’s crying. his eyes are ringed in read and his nose is dripping. you move to wipe his face with your shirt, and the noise he makes is comparable to a snarl.

the wall comes up behind your head hard, and his hands encircle your neck, thumbs pressed into your windpipe. you can feel it creak under the pressure. you gurgle something that was meant to be his name, but he doesn’t hear it.

your kicking and flailing does little but put dents in the drywall. his hands only seem to push tighter, and white speckles begin to flicker in your vision. you plant your knee squarely into his gut and push, but it does nothing. he’s unwavering. until he isn’t.

it takes a moment for it to occur to you that you’ve been dropped. you crumple against the wall, taking deep grating gulps of air. michael has shrank away, folded over on the floor in front of you.

“fuck, michael!” you can’t help but gasp out, halfway between exasperated and terrified. you’d almost begun to forget he’s still a killer. you receive only a broken grunt in response.

when you raise your eyes, you see a version of michael that nobody has seen in a very long time. he has one fist knotted into his hair, the other wrapped around himself so tight you can see the veins standing out of his arm. you can hear the quiet pat-pat of tears hitting the floor if you listen hard over the thundering of your pulse. you can only think to gather yourself up against the wall and hold very still. and hope that that is enough.

he’s angry. angrier than he’s ever been before. he was born without ties, those tethers between people that keep them from detaching from everyone entirely. no impulse to connect, to savor or seek, to hold or keep. and what has he done? he’s gone out and found someone to tether himself to. something— no, someone worth losing. and he is furious for what he has lost in doing so. he wants to crush out this thing tying him down.

keeping still was not enough. you hear the howl rip from his throat for only a split second before he’s on top of you again, dragging his nails across your skin, biting, beating. you cry out, because it’s all you can do. you cry out and wonder if this was the point all along.

as much as he is angry, he is terrified of who he would be without you. he’d gone on so long without an ounce of humanity. he’s still unsure how you managed to worm your way in. how you convinced him to allow you to hold him, how you fed him and washed him, how you looked at him and saw something worth pitying. he laments losing the untethered way he’d lived, but knowing you’d be with him through the change might make it worth it. just might.

“i’m sorry- mic—“ his knuckles collide with your teeth. “michael,” you continue. “i wish it could—“

you finally manage to wrench him still enough to meet his eyes. he doesn’t look away. his fist hovers just long enough for you to get it out. “i’m sorry. i wish it could have turned out differently for you.”

for him. you want it to turn out differently for him. not for you. you didn’t even care that he was spilling your blood all over the floor of your own house, you were just upset that you couldn’t have helped more.

the shape of haddonfield collapses in your lap. he curls up like a scared child and pressed your bloodied hand against his cheek. you smooth your thumb across his face and let him weep, even as your eye swells shut.

[goddess-aelin]

Little Did I Know

Chapter 10: Late Night Talks Redux

Masterlist | LDIK Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: talk of death/murder

Aelin was miserable. It had been a day since the revelation. That, at least, is what she had taken to calling Rowan’s betrayal. She had left him sitting by the door and hadn’t left her room since.

 On the morning after she kicked Rowan out of her room, Lysandra came to check on her. Or would have come to check on her if she wasn’t stopped by someone in the hall. She couldn’t make out anything as Lysandra was talking to whoever was out there very quietly. She had a good sense of who was still probably sitting on the floor in front of her door. But there was no yelling, no berating. Just soft whispers. It made her anxious. What if she was wrong? She hadn’t even let Rowan explain. But what was there to explain when she had heard him confirm what he knew? Aelin tried to quell the rising anger that was building in her chest. She wished she was well enough to go for a run, to kickbox, anything to allow her to channel the pent up rage she was feeling. But her ribs were still bruised and her head still sore. 

Lysandra announced her presence simply by quietly closing the door and locking it. She sat on Aelin’s bed, enveloping her in her arms. Aelin buried her face in her friend’s shoulder, appreciating the comfort Lysandra offered, her friend’s hand making soothing circles on her back. When they pulled away, Aelin realized that her own cheeks were wet. She hadn’t even realized she had been crying, though it didn’t really surprise her given the events of the past 48 hours. She had so many emotions swirling around her head that it was difficult to pin down even one of them.

Lysandra brushed her sweaty hair from her head. “Girl, you need a shower.” 

At that, Aelin burst out laughing. “Probably true. But at least I have an excuse.”

“How are you feeling by the way?”

“Like I got hit by a train or two.” Aelin contemplated telling her friend the truth. That the bruised ribs and headache were nothing compared to the ache in her heart. “But not physically hit by a train. More like…emotionally.”

“Ah yes, the silver haired elephant in the room.” 

Aelin huffed in annoyance. 

“For what it’s worth, I probably would’ve reacted the same way. Except I would’ve used my teeth to rip out his throat instead of words.” Aelin gave her an incredulous look but Lysandra chose that moment to get serious. “I think you should talk to him, Aelin. Not because I think he’s right or wrong, that’s not my decision to make, it’s yours. But you should talk to him because what you two have is worth more than one possibly misconstrued conversation. I don’t know what you think you heard. I don’t know what he said. But from a third party, I’m telling you that he hasn’t left your door in the past day and hadn’t left your side for a day before that. The way he acted when you were missing were not the actions of someone who wanted or intentionally tried to betray you.”

Lysandra’s words should have made her angry. Should have made her want to kick Rowan’s face in. And yet, she just felt deflated. “And what if I talk to him and I can’t forgive him?”

“Then that’s a bridge you cross when you come to it. But you both owe it to each other to at least talk about it. He owes you an explanation and maybe you owe it to him to listen to it.” 

“And if I want another few days of wallowing in self pity?”

“Then I’ll bring up a bunch of greasy, unhealthy snacks and we can have a movie day. No boys allowed.” 

Aelin snorted. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Yes you do. I’ll always be here for you, Aelin. No matter what. Always remember that.”

“I think I’ll take you up on the offer of a movie day. I might fall asleep but I’ll get my recommended dose of best friend cuddles.” Aelin smiled genuinely at her friend, perhaps the first one in a day. Her heart felt lighter knowing that she had someone in her corner. Yet that someone wasn’t trying to push her like Aedion would. Or force her into doing something like Darrow and the lords. Here, she could just be Aelin for a day.  - - - - -

Aelin was awoken that night by her stomach growling. When was the last time she ate? She couldn’t even answer that question. Lysandra had brought a bunch of snacks up for their movie day where they watched as many stupid, sappy, romance movies as they could. Despite there being snacks, Aelin wasn’t sure that she really took advantage of that fact. She sure as hell wasn’t hungry, her heart still too tender to really enjoy any of the things she usually did. 

The clock on her nightstand read “11:49.” Perfect. It was time for her midnight ice cream snack. No one was around to tell her she couldn’t partake in her once nightly tradition, Lysandra having gone back to her room at some point in the nighttime. 

She hadn’t been down to the kitchens for a midnight snack for a month. Now that she thought of it, the last time was when Rowan had found her and apologized and–. No, she wouldn’t go there. She wasn’t thinking of him. She would only think of the vat of hazelnut ice cream that was awaiting her in the freezer. 

Her shuffling steps were the only sound as the wooden planks of the hallway became the stone tile of the kitchen. As she opened the kitchen door, her sixth sense radiated a warning that she was not alone. And though she knew there was someone in there with her, she knew she wasn’t in danger. Because her sixth sense also happened to be a Rowan sense. And sure enough, there he was, sitting on her windowsill, looking through her window. 

A flash of anger rippled through her. She didn’t want to see him. Not now, maybe not ever. The audacity he had to steal her secret spot. 

She was about to turn to flee when she heard him call her name. 

“Aelin.” His voice sounded as wrecked as she felt. “Please. Please let me explain.” She paused at the pleading in his voice. His voice was barely above a whisper and she had never heard him sound so…fragile. It was all she could do to tightly close her eyes, willing away the rising tears that were threatening to spill over. 

“Please just talk to me.” His voice sounded a little closer so she turned around slowly. He had stood from his perch on the window, not moving closer but still reaching out to her as if he couldn’t help himself. “If you still don’t want to see me after, I’ll respect that. But please.” 

She swallowed hard as she took in his words and as she remembered back to Lysandra’s. She didn’t want to admit it, but her friend might have been right. She owed it to him to listen to an explanation but he also owed it to her to be truthful. And neither of those things would happen if she didn’t give him a chance.

“Okay,” she whispered. 

She made her way to the window seat but her steps were slow as her ribs started to ache again. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rowan watching her like a hawk and even thought he might have tried to step toward her a few times as she slowly took steps toward the seat. But she ignored the help he tried to give and made it there on her own, just as she always had. 

They both sat in silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say. 

“I’m not sure where to start. What…what did you hear yesterday?”

“I already told you what I heard yesterday.” Aelin snapped. “I want you to start from the beginning. The truth. No more lies.”

“I never lied to you.” Aelin scoffed at his words. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t.” Aelin stayed silent as Rowan wrung his hands, his nervousness showing for the first time since she’d met him. 

“You already know how I came to be in Terrasen. Maeve basically ordered that I had to enter into a marriage contract with Terrasen’s future queen. I knew about you, of course. But I didn’t really know you. There was nothing I could do except do her bidding. While I may never take the throne of Doranelle, I’m still a prince. And that means that I have to do whatever she says.” From his tone, Aelin knew he did not hold his queen in high regard. She had already known but she wasn’t sure that she ever heard him speak about Maeve with such venom. 

“She was…too eager for me to come here. I can’t remember a time when she was excited to do dealings with another kingdom. Maybe excited isn’t a good word. But she pushed me to leave as soon as possible and was very adamant that I was to do whatever I could to charm you.” 

Aelin snorted. “Yeah, because we got off to the best start.” 

Rowan remained serious. “I started wondering why she was acting like that at that point but brushed it off, thinking she just wanted Doranelle to have an ally. I came here and haven’t heard a word from Maeve since. She didn’t call, didn’t text, and didn’t inform me of anything.” Rowan paused. “But then I started to care for you and we got closer. And I learned about how your parents died and I had some…suspicions. Accidents happen all the time in Doranelle. We were always told it was because those people deserved it, because they had done something wrong. And I’m ashamed to say that I hadn’t questioned it all that much. But your parent’s accident made warning bells go off in my head for some reason. I had no proof and couldn’t back up any claim so I stayed silent. You had enough on your plate so I kept my mouth shut.”

“You don’t think I should’ve known about this?!”

“Aelin, I didn’t want to worry you over something that might not have even been true. I thought maybe I was making it up in my mind, seeing something that wasn’t there. We were already on rocky ground with each other, how would you really have reacted if I told you that I think my queen had something to do with your parent’s death yet had no evidence to back that up?”

Aelin thought for a moment. She probably wouldn’t have believed him, to be honest. Would’ve thought that he was trying to rock the already wavering boat that Terrasen and Doranelle stood on. She gave a small nod for him to continue.

“And then you were taken. I know I said this yesterday but I was going out of my mind. I couldn’t even think straight until I found you safe and sound. And even then, I was more worried about keeping you safe and helping you recover than the implications of what happened. But I did have enough insight to call Lorcan in. He was already around the area anyway and he owed me a favor. So I explained the situation and he looked into everything.”

Rowan’s breathing started to get shaky again. “I wasn’t kidding yesterday when I said he’s the best of the best. He is. He could track a bird across the country if you needed him to. I just wanted him to look into your accident. I didn’t say a word about Maeve or your parents or anything. But while he was digging, he uncovered these things on his own.” 

“What things?” Aelin could feel anxiety rising in her gut. 

Rowan paused and she allowed him to gently take her hands. “Lorcan didn’t find any connection to Maeve and your accident. She either was really good at covering up her tracks or she had nothing to do with it. But he did find evidence that pointed to her hiring the person who killed your parents and uncle. I’m sorry, Aelin.” 

The silence was overwhelming. There was a ringing in Aelin’s head. Maeve….had her parents killed. Was still possibly trying to kill her, though there was no evidence. The sobs started slowly, gently, and then picked up when her emotions got to be too much. She felt Rowan’s warm arms embracing her and pulling her into his lap gently, so not as to hurt her bruised ribs. 

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Rowan gently rocked her while her sobs turned to small whimpers. He was running a soothing hand over her back and had her scooped into his chest in a comforting cocoon. She could feel his own tears dripping into her hair. 

Eventually, she stopped crying enough to look up at him. “I’m sorry.” She buried her face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so, so sorry, Rowan.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Fireheart.” 

“I didn’t even let you explain last night and I was so horrible to you.” 

“It’s already forgiven. Not that there’s anything to forgive. I’m sorry that you had to find out the way you did. I wanted to tell you but I wanted to let you rest and recover first. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” It was Rowan’s turn to bury his face into her hair, pressing firm kisses to the top of her head. “I never want to hurt you. Ever.”

 From her position in his arms, she twisted so she could wrap her arms around his neck tightly. He returned the hug in earnest, making her feel safe with such a simple gesture.

After a while, they returned to their positions on the window seat, though not going far enough to create any measurable space. He continued to gently hold her hands, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of them. Aelin couldn’t help but wonder, “What now?”

“Well, Lorcan went back to Doranelle this morning. He’s presenting the evidence to my uncle Ellys and my cousin Sellene, who is next in line for the throne. If it all goes according to plan, Maeve will be ousted and we won’t have to worry about that threat anymore. She’ll get what’s coming to her, I promise you, Fireheart.”

A small smile crossed her face at the mention of the nickname. She whispered back, “Fireheart.”

Rowan squeezed her hands, curious. 

“How did you come up with that nickname for me?”

“I’m not sure. I just think fireheart is the best way to describe you. You’re fierce and wild and unyielding like flames.” A smile crossed Rowan’s face. “But you have the biggest heart of anyone I know and you would burn everything for those you love. Fire heart.” Rowan’s brows furrowed. “Do you not want me to call you that? I can–”

She cut him off with a kiss to the cheek and offered a small smile. “No, I like it. I just haven’t heard that nickname in a while. My parents used to call me that.” 

He once again brought her hands to his lips, placing gentle pecks on the backs of them. “Well then, Fireheart, let’s get you the ice cream that I’m sure you came down here for and then get you back to bed, yeah?” 

Aelin chuckled, happy that they were once again back to an easy camaraderie .

Rowan did exactly as he said he would. He brought her the container of Hazelnut ice cream, both of them sharing it until they felt as if they were going to puke. Which for Rowan was not much since he had a particular distaste for sweets. They settled into a companionable silence, both sharing a few shy glances and smiles toward one another. Aelin couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, had changed. But something had. Their relationship felt stronger, more sturdy. More…full.

Afterward, Rowan walked her back to her room like the gentleman he was. She could tell he hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone. She told herself it was for his own well being that she did what happened next. She grabbed his hand, “Stay with me tonight.” 

“Aelin–”

“No. No Aelin’s. I’m calling in the favor you owe me from winning our sparring match the other day. Stay with me. Just for tonight.” And before he could protest more, she added a whispered, “Please.”

Rowan gave in rather easily for all his earlier jests of preserving her virtue. She gently pulled him into her room, divesting herself of her robe and slippers before burrowing under the heavy covers. Rowan did the same on the opposite side, choosing to wear only his soft trousers to bed. Aelin tried not to stare at his muscled chest as he raised the covers but it was a bit difficult. She told herself it was simply because she was ice cream drunk and tired. But that lie fell flat, even to herself.

Rowan turned toward her and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His hand slithered down to her arm and grabbed her hand, pulling her slightly closer to him. 

“Goodnight, Fireheart.”

“Goodnight, Buzzard.” 

She was sure the picture of Rowan smiling as he closed his eyes would be gracing her dreams for nights to come.

A/N: See, that angst didn't last too long! It wouldn't have at least if I had gotten this chapter out earlier and not 3 weeks later oops. We only have 3 more chapters and then an epilogue, that's it! Hope you guys are enjoying! As always let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list :)

Tagging: @cretaceous-therapod @morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @live-the-fangirl-life @charlizeed @violet-mermaid7 @euphoric-melancholyy @kritical24 @rubyriveraqueen @dealfea @wellofnothing @ayaashryver @moonknight-spector @leiawritesstories @whoever-you-choose-to-love @holdthefrickup @heirofflowers @thecrispypotatochip @shanias-world @rowanaelinn @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @hanging-from-a-cliff @fantacysoup @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @fromthelibraryofemilyj @westofmoon @lovely-dove-zee @books4eva04 @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @backtobl4ck @dreamer-133 @elentiyawhitethorn @writtenonreceipts @shyvioletcat @aelinchocolatelover @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @athena127

[even-disco-baby]

Heya, I know that given in-game circumstances it's probably almost impossible, but could I request something where you can get both cuno and cunoesse out of there? Or help them both or something. I get so sad about her

CUNOESSE — “FUCKING USELESS PIG!” Her voice echoes across the ice, seemingly loud enough for the whole world to hear. “FUCKING NAKKI! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL CUNO! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” She balls up her little fist and hits you right in your bad leg.

PAIN THRESHOLD — It nearly folds beneath you and sends you sprawling on the ice. Nearly, but not quite. You manage to stay upright thanks to the cane in your hand, but it slips dangerously on the ice.

“What the hell, kid?! I’m trying to *help* you!”

“Fine! Fuck you, too! I don’t know why I even tried.”

“God, I’m sorry, I know I’m a failure. There’s probably nothing I can do for you.”

“Cunoesse, please, listen to me...”

CUNOESSE — She does not listen. She just keeps on trying to slam her trembling fist into your leg. “You’re a fucking liar!” she seethes. “Not even the other *pigs* want you! You’re stuck here, you stupid cunt! YOU’RE STUCK HERE FOREVER! FUCKING NAKKI!” Rage rips her voice violently from her throat. Angry tears stream down her face as she screams curse after curse. Some you understand, some you don’t.

EMPATHY — She is in so much pain. More pain than should even be able to fit inside someone so small.

CUNOESSE — “You’re gonna die alone here, you hear me?! You’re gonna die and they won’t even care!”

“So what if I am?! It’s not like *you* would care!”

“I’m not alone! I have Cuno! You’re just jealous!”

“Nobody ever cared.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Dying alone?”

CUNOESSE — “I’m not fucking afraid of anything, pig! Go ahead and kill me, I don’t care!” Despite her words, she sobs as she beats her fists uselessly against your guarding arms. “You can’t even do that, can you? You’re no good to anybody! You just—”

Suddenly, her foot slips out from under her.

REACTION SPEED — Panicked, you reach out to try and catch her. But you’re even more unsteady than she is, and you grasp helplessly at thin air as she slams into the ice. For a long moment, you both seem to hold your breath, the groans and crackles of the ice setting your teeth on edge. But then... nothing. Cunoesse just lies there, and you are just watching her, and the world is silent and impassive.

CUNOESSE — Another sob pushes itself through her teeth. She lays her trembling arms over her face, defeated. Burnt out like a discarded match.

YOU — “Cunoesse...”

CUNOESSE — “Just leave me alone,” she chokes out. “I hate you.”

EMPATHY — She hates everything about you. Hates that you’re a cop. Hates that your bullet missed her. Hates that Cuno likes you. Hates that you let him down. Hates that they left you alone on the shore to die. Just like her.

YOU — “...You scared Cuno away so that he would leave Martinaise with me, didn’t you?”

CUNOESSE — “Who fucking cares?” she spits between shaky breaths. “Shut up about Cuno. I fucking hate him, too.”

DRAMA — Not a lie, but not the truth, either, sire.

EMPATHY — She hates that she is nothing and nameless without him. And she hates that she is the reason that Cuno went this long without running away.

“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, I messed everything up.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll probably die soon, and you and Cuno can go back to how things were.”

“It’s just life. You’re still young. It’ll get better.”

“I’m just trying to help. Just let me help you.”

“I’m not going to leave you to freeze to death on the ice.”

CUNOESSE — She lets out an exasperated sound, somewhere between spitting and sighing. “Why don’t you?”

“I would feel too guilty.”

“Cuno would hate me.”

“I love you, too, Cunoesse.”

“I just won’t.”

CUNOESSE — A long silence, broken only by sniffles and halting breaths. And then she pulls her arms away from her face, glaring darkly at you.

“Fine. Just help me up and get lost, pig.”

DRAMA — The anger and bravado have sputtered out. She can only drag herself wearily back to the shore.

CUNOESSE — She won’t take your hand, but she grabs onto your coatsleeve and pulls herself unsteadily to her feet. And then she’s storming wordlessly back to the fishing village, her stubborn back to you.

VOLITION — But at least she’s going back. She will leave thoughts of the sea behind for now.

[undertheopensky]

Moorhaunt 2

Whumptober Day 9: "You're a liar."

Characters: Four, Legend

STRONG trigger warnings on this one for frank discussion of suicide, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, and self-harm. Reading this ten years ago would have definitely been a bad idea for me, and it’s not a failing if it would be a bad idea for you. Skip it if you need to; no hard feelings.

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

-----

The dead tree is the only structure for over a mile in every direction.

If he’s careful to keep his back turned, he can’t see the camp the others had retreated to, after Legend had screamed at them all to go away. Bad enough they’re not allowed any weapons, bad enough they’re under constant guard, but the constant sad eyes and hovering is just – too fucking much.

He just feels so awful.

Hyrule had explained, carefully, what a moorhaunt was and what it had done. That he and Four, who’d also been affected, would effectively be on suicide watch for the foreseeable future, but that they would be okay. That there was nothing physically wrong with him.

Legend calls bullshit.

He doesn’t hurt any more than usual. The standard lowkey pain hums in his bones, drags slow claws up his spine. Even the quiet ache of grief is familiar. It’s the sensations layered over the top that drive it to unbearable heights.

Laying flat in the grass, his skin feels too small; not pain, just pressure, constant and inescapable. His heart is caught in the wake of a sinking ship, cold and dark and crushing.

Nothing he does matters; has ever mattered. In a few hundred years Hyrule will fall into such disrepair that it’ll probably never recover, because three times wasn’t enough for Legend to find Ganon’s real weak point, something that will kill him instead of just making him fuck off for a few years, before returning to terrorise the next poor soul who gets handed a sword and a destiny and that’s Legend’s fault too.

Legend’s used to pain, both physical and emotional. This urge to rip his own skin off, lay open his throat, anything to alleviate the pressure – it’s visceral, like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s not a whim, it’s a need – desperate to make it all stop.

He hates the feeling, just as much as he hates the fact that Hyrule had stripped him of everything that could be considered a weapon.

He hates even more the fact that Four was stuck in the same shitty situation, all because he’d jumped in to save Legend’s useless ass. And he shouldn’t feel resentful of that, fuck, but at least if Four wasn’t here he’d be alone, and able to sulk to his heart’s content about how bullshit this all was.

(He’s not angry at Four for saving his life. That’s the moorhaunt talking. He’s not.)

A small foot taps his shoulder. “You okay there, Ledge?”

Legend opens his eyes to scowl up at Four. “Oh, I’m just fucking peachy,” he growls. “I love being told I’m incompetent to hold a weapon and can’t be trusted with my own fucking gear, and have to be supervised like a three year old for who-fucking-knows how long!”

Four raises an unimpressed brow.

Then abruptly everything crashes around him.

It’s his fault Four is stuck out here, feeling just as shitty as Legend does. If he’d been more attentive, he wouldn’t have wound up at the back of the group. If he’d been more suspicious, more on guard, he never would have been drawn off the path, following a faint snatch of a melody and a feeling of warm-drifting-safe.

He’s a hero. He’s never safe. How could he have been so stupid?

The weight in the back of his throat turns strangling, and it’s only the fact that all his limbs feel like lead that stops him from grabbing at his own arms hard enough to bleed. He feels scooped out and hollow. All the guilt and hurt and fear is turned to the outside so everyone can see it and he can’t make it stop. He hurts, and he hates, and he wants it all to go away -

Legend grinds his teeth until the urgency fades. Until the irritation simmers down to a low, nagging itch, and the lump in his chest is just uncomfortable instead of overwhelming.

He still has to take a couple deep breaths before he’s sure he won’t snarl. “You can’t tell me you were enjoying the hovering any more than I was. I had to talk Hyrule out of taking my fucking bootlaces. Overkill much?”

“Ehhh.” Four jumps up onto the low branch jutting out from the tree, letting his feet dangle off it. “It’s a little annoying, being on active suicide watch, but like. It’s making them feel better, y’know?”

He’s so utterly unbothered. It’s fucking annoying, and Legend can’t entirely bite back the spite this time. “Not worried you’re going to off yourself the second our keepers turn their backs?” He regrets it the second it leaves his mouth.

Four just barks a laugh. “Ledge, I am the reigning champion of not killing myself. If I could manage it for two years with my support system torn to ribbons, I’m pretty sure I can handle it for a couple of weeks while the side effects of a magical attack wear off and I’ve got seven really annoying older brothers making me eat and sleep. Hell, it’s like an enforced vacation.”

For a second Legend gets stuck on ‘seven older brothers’ because Wind is definitely younger. Then he processes the rest of it, or tries to, because his brain keeps skipping over parts and circling back around to them.

Two years.

Reigning champion.

Support system.

Killing myself.

“Four, what are you - what do you mean, what are you talking about?”

Four smiles just like he always does, and for the first time, Legend sees right through it.

“You liar.”

“Yup,” says Four, utterly unmoved.

“I don’t – I don’t understand. You’re not – okay so you’re not Wind, or, or Sky, not cheerful all over the place, but you’ve never - I’ve never seen a hint of - of this, fuck, did I just not see it?” Legend feels like he can’t breathe. Just how shitty and self-absorbed is he that he missed this? He can feel the weight of the dark pool under his heart threaten to overwhelm but shoves it away - dismisses it. He doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself, shit. Fuck. How does he fix this?

“You’re - how long?” he manages to ask. “What happened?”

Four hums thoughtfully, feet swinging. “After my first adventure, things were really hard. I went through… a lot, and to everyone else, it was no big deal. Everything was fine. Flinching at unexpected touch, screaming myself awake most nights – I was just a little kid being overdramatic.”

Without thinking, Legend asks, “How old were you?”

“Eight,” Four admits candidly.

And this is more than he’s ever gotten before, Legend realises distantly. It’s not that he’s unfriendly. Four’s just – private. Close-mouthed when it comes to himself and his past.

But if Four feels anything like he does right now – like a disturbed lakebed, all the silt and muck drawn to the surface and unable to be ignored – then maybe it’s not so surprising.

Guilt rocks him. Four would have every right to be furious with him, once this wears off and he’s back to his reserved self. “Sorry, Four, I didn’t mean to push –”

Four ‘hmms’ again. “Doesn’t really matter.”

And if that’s not a bolt of ice –

“Four, listen.” Legend spins to face him, hands on the branch on either side of Four’s hips. Quickly Four yanks his feet to a stop to avoid kicking Legend in a very sensitive place. Legend ignores it and continues, “I know things are hard for you back home, but there are people who love you there. Your grandfather, Dot – they love you. And we love you.”

Four colours. “Legend, it’s fine, it’s really not a big deal –”

“It matters,” Legend insists. “You matter. I shouldn’t have pushed your boundaries and that’s on me, but it matters. You’re allowed to feel upset about it or to tell me to fuck off. And remember that we love you, and we’ll always support you. You’re not alone.”

“I’m never alone,” Four says with a crooked smile.

“Definitely not,” Legend agrees. “And don’t you forget it.”

The simple ease with which Four had relented knocks Legend off balance. He’d swung his sword as hard as he could and the monster dissolved with no resistance. He’s - he’s glad Four isn’t stuck in a cycle of self-depreciation, he’s glad he doesn’t have to dismantle an entire worldview today, but it leaves him feeling - cheated, almost.

Like Four is lying to him again.

He can’t bring himself to go back to the stiff distance they’d had before, but at the same time he doesn’t want to - to make Four feel hemmed in. So instead he just twists to the side, leaning against the branch Four was sitting on, shoulder pressed up against his brother’s leg in silent support.

“Did you ever talk to anyone about it?” he asks, more quietly.

Rather than answer, Four looks out across the empty wasteland of Hyrule’s world. It’s safer than the forest, since they can see any monsters coming long before they have a chance to attack. Legend still hates knowing this is what his Hyrule will become.

Everything you’ve done will come to nothing.

His nails dig into his palms.

“Dad’s biggest failing,” Four says at last, “is that he doesn’t understand people who don’t think the same way he does. He can work with them - he’s not an asshole - but he doesn’t get it, and doesn’t try to.”

“If he’s said anything to you,” Legend says, suddenly angry.

“No.” Four shakes his head. “He’s a soldier, he’s seen war. He’s seen what battleshock can do. But he doesn’t understand just wanting it to end. To him, surviving means you won. Maybe there were bad things along the way, but you won. Wanting to take that away yourself is - incomprehensible to him.”

“You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.” Shit, is he doing it again? His bullshit doesn’t matter, Four matters.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve never been that close with my father.” Four slides off the branch to sit on the ground, arms curled loosely around his legs. Legend follows him down. “I never really wanted to be a knight, but I was the hero, and I was good at fighting monsters, so obviously that was what I was going to do. It wasn’t until after adventure number three that he finally accepted it wasn’t what I wanted, and he let me move back home with Grandpa. That was a – a huge relief.”

There’s sadness in the creases at his eyes.

“It didn’t fix anything. I still went through – terrible things, and they still hurt me, years later. But it’s easier to breathe, outside of the castle. All the ranks, the manners, the schedules and rules – I felt trapped, and that was the worst part. Because no matter what, I knew there was always a way out.” Unconsciously, Four’s hand drifts towards where his belt knife usually hung, making Legend break out in a cold sweat. But the smithy shakes himself, and pulls his hand away, and continues, “Grandpa – understands, somehow, in a way Dad doesn’t. I want to say that makes it easier, but it more just – doesn’t make it harder. I still have really bad days, where I can’t work in the forge because fire and sharp things and – yeah. Sometimes though, I have good days, where I don’t even think about the fact that I carry a knife, or that I can’t swim well and the river is real close. Sometimes I even have more good days than bad days.”

“But it’s been pretty constant, for you.” Legend’s heart hurts, sharp and grounding.

Four tips his head from side to side. “I don’t want to say yes, but. I guess it kinda has.”

And - honestly, that makes the lump in his chest ache with cold. Imagining Four dealing with this - the hopelessness, the horrible whispers of they’d be better off without you, why don’t you do something useful for once and just die - nearly alone? For years on end?

“How do you deal with it? The – the feelings.”

Four leans back on his hands, letting his feet stretch out in front of him. “For something like this? Knowing it’ll pass. This is just temporary, and tomorrow will be better. And if not tomorrow, then the next day. Thinking of the things you’d miss out on helps, too. I haven’t finished the mystery book that got left back at the forge, and I want to know how it ends. I want to see the plum tree we planted flowering next spring. I want to eat bread from Pita’s bakery and trade kinstones with the Minish.”

“That’s… all?” Goddess, that sounds bad - “I just mean - such small things? What about - your family? Wouldn’t Dot and your grandfather - they’d be devastated if you died, to say nothing of -” taking your own life.

Four wobbles his hand. “Sometimes that helps, sometimes it doesn’t. On bad days, it just makes you feel guilty, and that compounds the bad feelings. On the worst days, you don’t care, because you won’t have to deal with it if you’re dead, so why bother being upset?”

Legend flinches; Four grimaces in apology. “Sorry. I forget most people don’t deal with this all the time.”

“Sucks that you have to, though,” Legend manages, and feels briefly proud of himself for making Four smile.

“And that’s what Dad didn’t get. It sucks, but you have to.”

“You’d think he’d be more understanding of it, since he thought being a knight was something you ‘just had to do’. How did you convince him, in the end?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. I’d told him so many times that I’d spent enough of my life fighting monsters and I didn’t want to do it anymore, and he never seemed to listen, but - I guess that time, it sank in.” Four frowns to himself. “Part of me understands where he’s coming from. It’s not that I don’t like fighting, exactly, but – sometimes I’m so tired, Ledge, y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Legend, through the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I wouldn’t make a good knight anyway. Blindly following orders got burned out of me a long time ago.”

Legend gives him a sharp look that Four returns with a smirk.

“What about you? Things back home okay for you? You live with Ravio, right?”

“Only because he wandered back into my damn house –”

Legend lets him steer the conversation to less-fraught waters. It’s been a horrible afternoon from this side of things, and Four’s bared his heart and soul maybe not entirely willingly today. Legend can play up being a bit cranky if it makes Four’s eyes brighten like that.

Afternoon trails into early evening. They’re both drowsing, leaning into each other to preserve as much of the sun’s warmth as possible. Four’s head is on Legend’s shoulder.

Four doesn’t usually let people touch his hair or his head. Legend is very carefully not thinking about why that could be. He just runs his fingers through strands as fine as silk, and hopes Four is finding it as soothing as he is.

It’s quiet, and comfortable, and Legend can only pray he doesn’t ruin it.

“You know we love you, right?” he says softly. “All of us, no matter what. Even me, and I’m the one saying it out loud when I’m a grumpy cactus of a person.”

“But at the end of this adventure, you’ll all be gone,” Four says quietly.

Legend goes stiff.

“It doesn’t matter.” Legend doesn’t need to feel the tremble in his breath to know it’s a lie. “S’not the first time I’ve had to say goodbye.” He tucks his head further into Legend’s collar, signalling the end of that line of conversation. Not that it looks like he’ll be awake much longer. Legend cards his fingers through fine blonde again.

“It’s interesting, actually,” Four murmurs. “This isn’t even the worst I’ve ever felt. The way Hyrule was talking… yeah, the moorhaunt pulled up the most painful memories, the sharpest ones, but – not the worst ones. Makes me wonder what exactly it is they’re consuming, when they attack Hylians.” He sighs softly, uninvested in the answer. “You’re warm…”

Four drifts off, unaware of Legend’s heart breaking in new and horrible ways.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 7: I Should Tell You

~1740 words

CW: nightmare, dream-like discussion of noncon, panic, mild self harm, negative self talk

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~~~

Simon was hiding in the bathroom again. The too-large room towered above him, all slate and marble and glass. He sheltered in the bathtub, knees pulled up to his chest and hands raking through his too-long hair.

“Simonnnn.”

Tap-tap-tap. She knocked gently on the door. She wasn’t angry yet. It wouldn’t take long. 

“Mr Finch will be here any minute,” her voice was sweet, cajoling, “You need to come out and get ready, hun.”

Get ready. Those words were loaded. Certain preparations had to be made, when the men came, or the women who liked to use toys. So that they wouldn’t rip him open. So that they wouldn’t break him. Lara got so angry when he broke. 

“Simon.” Already, her tone had shifted.

He couldn’t do it, not today. Please, not today. All he could do was rock back and forth and shrink as small as possible in the bathtub. He tried to breathe, but the smell of bleach caught in his mouth.

“I’m starting to lose my fucking patience with you.”

A bottle of it sat in front of him in the tub. Another by the sink. A jug next to the toilet. They tipped, they spilled, they overflowed. Simon choked on the air as the stench became overpowering. Bleach pooled around his bare feet, stinging his skin. He knew the smell would linger for days. There’d be so much cleaning to do, the sheets, the floor, his clothes, the sink…

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!

“GET OUT HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW.”

The fumes of bleach invaded him, burning his eyes, his nose, his throat, his lungs, forcing their way in just like Edward, just like Lara, just like all of them, constantly breaching Simon’s body, their hands, their tongues, their teeth, their toys, their dicks -

Simon jerked awake fully sobbing, slamming a hand to his mouth and biting down hard on the soft flesh at the base of his thumb to stifle it. He managed to limit further noise to a low whine, and he curled up tightly. Easing his jaw loose, he lifted his hand to look at the dark indents left by his teeth. No blood. He took a long, slow, calming breath.

And choked on bleach. 

Simon lurched upright, panic swelling in his gut, and the room tipped and his ribs complained. He was still feverish, but not nearly enough to be hallucinating smells. As he started to get off the bed, the door opened.

“Simon?” Matthew stood there, wearing big yellow rubber gloves, “What’s wrong?”

He’d been too loud. Idiot. Crybaby.

Half-standing with one foot on the floor, Simon scanned him up and down, wild-eyed.

“Bleach, are you using bleach?” he demanded.

“Uh, yeah, you didn’t have any so Dev brought some, for the stain on the carpet.”

“Just pull the squares up and throw them out!” Simon yelled. 

Matthew blinked, taken aback by Simon’s outburst. 

“Yeah, that’s - You’re right, we didn’t think of that,” he swallowed, trying to find the right words, “Did you - are you okay?”

“Get out!” Simon shouted, and he immediately felt childish for doing so. 

Matthew moved as if he was going to leave, then changed his mind. 

“Are you scared of me right now?” He asked.

“What?” Simon wasn’t scared of him, Simon wasn’t scared of anything, he was angry. Angry about having stupid dreams, about people trampling uninvited through his home, angry about being in pain - his ribs, his shoulder, and his head throbbed. He wanted to jump on the treadmill and run away from it all.

“I just think,” Matthew took a careful step forward, “That if you’re able to, we should talk about what’s happening, so that maybe it doesn’t have to happen again.”

Simon sank back to sit on the bed. Part of him didn’t want to let the anger go, wanted to kick Matthew and Gina out to fester alone; and part of him had read a lot of self-help books, and knew Matthew was right. Another part of him wanted Matthew to stay, in particular. He forced himself to breathe through the smell of bleach, to slow his heart rate, to tamp down the adrenaline.

“Bleach is a trigger for me,” he eventually muttered, unable to look Matthew in the face.

“It gave you a nightmare?” Matthew asked.

Simon felt his face heat, but he knew this was the right thing to do, to just get it out, little by little. He’d done it before, with Chris - he could do it again. For Matthew.

“The nightmare was already happening,” he massaged the bite on his hand, “The smell made it worse.”

“Okay,” Matthew was clearly thrilled by this progress, but trying to stay calm. “Thank you for telling me, I know that must have been difficult.”

Simon looked up at him, his eyes narrowed.

“You watched a training course about this, didn’t you?” he accused.

“Uhh,” Matthew shrugged sheepishly, “Maybe?”

Simon glared at him a moment longer, then let out a single, short laugh that surprised both of them. Simon quickly ducked his head back down to fiddle with his hand.

“Thanks for… Trying so hard,” he said, immediately regretting how lame that sounded.

“We’re doing our best,” said Matthew softly.

Simon looked to his bedside table. His alarm clock read 8:32 PM. There was a full glass of water and a bottle of acetaminophen next to it.

“There’s an HVAC control panel next to the front door,” he picked up the pill bottle, “Can you turn on the fan to air things out?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Matthew affirmed, “And if you’re hungry, and feel like you can do more than crackers and cereal, I made fettuccine alfredo.”

“You made food?” Simon couldn’t hide his surprise, the medicine temporarily forgotten as he stared at Matthew. 

“Hey, I live alone, and I look like this,” Matthew flexed his stocky arms with a confident wink, “I know how to cook.”

Simon laughed again, more easily this time, but it brought on a sharp pain in his head. The victorious grin on Matthew’s face dropped when he saw Simon wince.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just my head, it’s fine.” Simon quickly downed two pills and gulped some water. 

“I did a bunch of Googling about concussions too,” Matthew said, with a level of earnestness that did something funny to Simon’s stomach, “You should avoid physical activity, loud music, TV, and bright lights,” he listed off on his fingers, “And Gina already put you on the right painkillers, no NSAIDS.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Simon, trying not to sound dismissive. He’d had concussions before.

“I should have remembered all that stuff, but it’s been a while since I had a concussion,” Matthew said, “I got one as a teen, playing football.”

“Football, huh?” Simon smiled a little, entirely unsurprised. He looked up at the bright can-lights in his bedroom ceiling. They were very all-or-nothing, and Simon wasn’t excited to explain the issue with the ‘nothing’ option. He didn’t usually sleep with them on, but right now…

“The lights haven’t bothered me so far.”

“Okay! Do you want food?” Matthew pointed a thumb over his shoulder, skipping the lights question entirely. It set Simon off guard.

“Uhh, sure?”

“Be right back!” and Matthew was gone.

When he returned with a bowl of creamy noodles, Simon ate while Matthew changed his bandages. The HVAC hummed and the smell of bleach slowly faded, leaving along with a lingering anxiety Simon hadn’t even realized he was holding. He focused on chewing the al dente noodles and feeling Matthew’s firm but gentle touch, first at his temple and then pulling aside his pajama shirt collar to see to his shoulder. He was more comfortable with Matthew handling him, now. Maybe even enjoying it. It still felt new, to have someone else take care of these things. Chris had never needed to. Lara never bothered unless he was dying.

“Hey,” Matthew finally spoke as he set Simon’s shirt back in place over the fresh bandages, “I need to tell you something.” His tone was unexpectedly serious, and Simon suddenly found it hard to swallow his food.

“It’s about how everything happened,” Matthew continued, but waited for Simon’s go-ahead to proceed.

“Just tell me,” said Simon.

“Finch escaped because Amber fell asleep while on watch. I mean, he might have escaped anyway, but we would have known a lot sooner if she hadn’t. She’s… really beating herself up about it.”

Simon listened, staring into his near-empty bowl. His stomach twisted, and he regretted eating so quickly.

“How did he escape?” he asked quietly.

“He took smokeform, and went through the vents. We heard from processing that at some point when he was off our radar he advanced to a grade A.”

The grade scale indicated the level of a vampire’s super strength and healing factor. Grade A meant they had an additional ability, like shapeshifting or telekinesis. In a handful of cases, a lower-grade vampire could advance by drinking the blood of a compatible higher-grade vampire, but compatibility, and a willing grade A, were extremely rare. Finch must have found a benefactor.

Simon’s first instinct had been to be angry at Amber, enraged, actually, but this changed things.

“He would have killed her,” he said knowingly, “If she got in his way, he would have killed her. It’s good that she was asleep.”

Matthew nodded slowly.

“Would you mind if she stopped by to see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

Is it?

He liked Amber enough. She was sweet, if sometimes condescending. She was good at her job too; not as physically capable as Matthew and Gina, but quick and smart.

She could have died for you. She could have bought you a precious few minutes. She could have - 

Simon shoved the bowl into Matthew’s hands.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” he said flatly.

Matthew blinked for a couple seconds, taken aback by Simon’s change in demeanor.

“Okay, well… Holler if you need anything.”

He gathered up the used bandages and left, casting multiple glances over his shoulder as he went. Simon hunched back down under the covers. He didn’t like seeing Matthew go, but he needed him gone before he said something he’d regret. He forced his eyes closed against the bright lights, and an old mantra sprang to mind.

It’ll all be better in the morning.

He used to say that to himself all the time.

It only came true once.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy @pigeonwhumps @sunshiline-writes @seasaltandcopper

[childewife-baby]

King of Fatui's

Chapter 3

His eyes rake over my tits. “Do I ?” he asks dryly.

“That’s what they say.”

A demonic smirk tilts his lips. “And what else do they say?”

I swallow. “That you only fuck from behind.”

His gaze lifts to mine, flashing black.

“How very gentlemanly of me.”

In one swift motion, he sheds his shirt, balls it in a bloodied fist, and tosses it on the floor.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.All other characters in the Bible too. Backlit by the early morning sun streaming through the window, he’s a mountain of muscle and sin, and no amount of ink staining his body can conceal his brawn or definition. Rubbing a bloodied paw down his abs, he takes a lazy step toward the bed, a move that makes my mouth water in anticipation and my toes curl in fear.

He looks up at me warily. Spreads his arms like we’ve found ourselves in an unfortunate situation, and the consequences will be less painful if we just accept our fate.

“Guess you were right.”

The sunbeam cutting across the playing cards and scriptures on his chest traps the meaning of his words:I’m no gentleman.

I shouldn’t be so stupefied. I knew it from the beginning. From the moment I sauntered up to him at the bar and his gaze heated the flesh through the slit in my stolen dress. But I guess being faced with the reality is scarier than the fantasy.

And Scaramouche Raiden in all of his sinful glory, is scary as fuck.

Clink, thawp.His belt slides from its loops with a flex of a bicep. It sounds like the crack of a whip and it sobers me immediately. On instinct, my eyes dart to the door, and I wonder if I’d make it past the monster if I ran fast enough. Deciding there’s not a chance in hell, I stifle a groan and stare at the sheet by my thigh instead. Run a trembling hand over the cream Egyptian cotton and make a shitty joke, as if it’ll poke a hole in my unease.

“I knew you ironed your sheets.”

An animalistic grunt spills from the bottom of the bed. I look up just in time to catch ink dipping under black boxers before a strong hand grips my ankle and yanks me flat. The ceiling disappears as quickly as it arrived, obstructed by shoulders wider than a soccer field and some beautiful purple eye's.

Sweet, holy hell.Despite only being five-foot-two with a straight spine, I’ve never felt small before. Guess most girls whose thighs chafe in summer have the same issue, but when Scaramouche ’s hot, heavy body comes down on top of mine, pinning me to the bed with steel muscle and ill-intent, I feel like I’ve been swallowed by an eclipse.

Despite the delirium-inducing warmth, I shiver when he grabs my bun, tugs my head back, and nestles his face into my throat. “Do me a favor, Y/N”, he growls against my racing pulse. “Unless you’re moaning my name or sucking my dick, keep your fucking mouth shut.” Another tug on my bun, another crackle in my clit. “I’m so sick of the shit that comes out of it.”

I know I’m meant to be furious, but fuck, it’s hard to be angry when you’re melting under meat and muscle. Hard tothink.His torso skims down my body, his hands following suit, until he’s nestled between my thighs. Thick, swollen fingers curl over the waistband of my shorts, and my heart gives up beating altogether.

Fuck. Is he going to finish what he started in his office? I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. I haven’t been able to handle the mere ideaof it. I’ve used the shower head on my clit four times thinking about it, and haven’t made it past the third imaginary lick before—

Oh, god.He rips my shorts down my legs, and with his absent-minded toss, they disappear into the shadows behind him. He glances quickly at the strip of lace covering my pussy, then buries his face into it.

My gasp melts into a shudder at the warm, wet pressure. Some mine, some his. A deep rush of pleasure spreads out from my center and through my limbs like a wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.

I know I won’t survive it.

When I feel his tongue push the fabric of my thong into my entrance, I clamp my teeth over my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning. I might not be in the right state of mind, but my desire to not give this man the satisfaction of breaking me is instinctual.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of anything but what’s going on between my legs, but it becomes impossible when he yanks my thong off, too. My lids pop open just in time to see him fist my panties and toss it in the direction of his dresser. They fly through the room and land on a lamp.

He glances up at me. “Mine now.

“You fucking my panties, or something?”

A hard flick on my clit makes stars flash in front of my eyes.

“Or something.”

Christ.The thought of him jacking off into my panties has my head spinning. It’s so crude, soungentlemanly,and it’s obscene how flattered I am. With a rough tug, he pulls my legs apart, clamps my knees to the bed, and sits up just enough to study what’s in between them.

[the-decaying-ramskull]

Wear My Name- Dabi x Fem Reader

CW: NSFW, vaginal penetration, knife play, marking, blood, burning, condescension, masochism/sadism dynamics, degradation, pussy spanking, dirty talk, mild breeding kink, pet names, angry sex, Dabi being possessive, mild breath play, biting ---- The night out with your friends had been nice. Dancing in the club had been the perfect way to relax after a heavy workload. When you came home, your apartment was dark, empty, and silent. Well, you thought it was empty.

It wasn’t until you saw the moon from the window catch the glint of a knife, balanced precariously between two fingers as the tip rested on the arm of a chair, that you realized you had company. The shine of the silver blade caused you breath to catch in your chest until you saw the same rays light up a familiar set of boots.

“Dabi?” your voice shook with nerves.

All you got was a hum of affirmation. The shuffle of clothes sounded as he stood, and there was a dull clicking as the knife disappeared into the darkness. You frowned and turned on the hallway light.

“Dabi,” you hissed. “What are you doing just randomly sitting in the dark? And the hell? No text saying you were coming? A call? You’ve been gone for a month, you said it’d be a week at the most.”

His eyes were chips of ice as they stared at you, so different than the usual heat they held. They roved over your dress, your body, your heels, and a sneer pulled at his mouth.

“Were you worried, dollface? Is that why you went clubbin’?” his words were toxic, filled with accusation.

What he was blaming you of? You honestly couldn’t be sure. There were traces of dark insinuation beneath his words, within his dulled eyes, and in that snarl twisting his face.

“What do you mean Dabi? I’m not gonna stay home waiting for someone who rarely messages me for more than a booty call, even when he is in town,” you snorted with a roll of you eyes. “You are acting like you’re my boyfriend or some shit.”

His eyes went from dull to burning in two seconds flat, a growl ripping forth from his throat as he stepped into your space. You backed up against the wall, palms flat against the plaster.

“I may not use that fuckin’ childish label, doll. But you’re sure as hell mine,” his eyes narrowed, lips quirking into a dangerous smirk.

You knew the response you were desperate to spit out was wrong. You knew you should swallow it down and let him fuck his anger out. You knew, god did you know. But you were so frustrated and so you let the words slip out without even hesitating.

“I don’t see your claim on me, no ring, no nothing,” you scoffed, pushing off the wall only for him to shove you back against it.

You hit it hard enough that all the oxygen punched out of your lungs. You gasped, your head ricocheting so hard that you saw stars for a moment. Then you felt the heavy weight of his hand around your neck, felt his teeth bite into the shell of your ear, and the warm metal of his piercing tracing the edge of your cartilage.

“Should we fix that then?” Dabi’s voice was nothing more than a toe-curling whisper.

You shouldn’t be affected by this, you should still be pissed, that beast of frustration should still have you tight in its grasp. However, all you could focus on was the slight pressure of his fingers on the sides of your neck, the heaviness of his palm against your throat, the drag of his scarred cheek and staples against your soft jaw, and you whimpered. Throaty and desperate as your thighs clenched and you worked your tongue silently.

The breathy laugh you heard in your ear as his knee shoved it’s way between yours, made your face grow hot, “Oh baby girl, you are so desperate for my cock, aren’t ya? So desperate that when I just hint that you may get it… heh, you go fucking dumb.”

The harsh grind of his jeans against your panties, his free hand having fisted your dress up around your waist, had you yelping and panting. His pupils were endless, swallowing the blue of his eyes until it seemed you would fall into the gaping black that was left. He bared his teeth in a dangerous smile and bit down on the thin skin of your jugular.

“Nnng, careful,” you whimpered. “No marks, work.”

You squirmed under his strong hold, feeling his fingers flex against your neck to keep your still and he bit harder, sucked with more aggression.

“No marks,” he mocked, pitching his voice to an annoying tone while he dragged his lips across your bruised skin. “I don’t care, doll. Wasn’t it you sayin’ that I had to stake my claim?”

You hissed as his teeth sank into your shoulder, and you felt the sting as they pierced your skin. Just you were about to squirm away his thigh ground up against your clit, his hand leaving your hip to graze your waist and ribs, then circle your nipple with such familiarity it had you swallowing hard under his hand. The pain wasn’t so bad anymore, the mix of delirious pleasure and throbbing ache from your shoulder pulling your mind apart easily.

“Remember, I’m the only one who knows you like this, who can make you feel like this. You are mine, your body knows it, your soul knows it, now we just need the world and your mind to accept it,” his face was in front of yours again, with that twisted angry smile, only this time it was coated a light sheen of pink with your blood.

God you hated that you craved him so desperately. You hated that Dabi was your drug in every sense of the word. That when he’d been gone you had slipped into the closest thing to withdrawals that you could have. You shivered under his hands, melting into him so perfectly, like he’d never left.

Usually Dabi was rough, but he was never this furious with you. Yes, the two of you had fucked each other in anger, but this time, you knew he’d push too far. You also knew you’d take it without hesitating. You were not just hopelessly in love with him, you were addicted to him, and he was obsessed with you.

“Please,” you whispered, brain heady and filled with cottony thoughts that you couldn’t form into words.

“Please what, babe? Use those big girl words,” he pouted out his lips before grinning again, his tongue swiping over the crimson on his teeth.

“I need--,” you gasped, floundering to finish because you weren’t really sure what you needed.

Did you need him to take you, to fill you to the brim? Or was that just what you wanted? Did you need him to leave you alone and never come back? Or was that just what you wanted? Your brain was a swirling mass of confusion and you couldn’t find the answer no matter how hard you clawed at the tangled threads.

“How about I help you, hm?” the hand around your throat slid up to cup your skull, his thumb tracing your jaw.

You nodded, sparks alighting on your skin from the gentle caress. His eyes flashed, and the hand that had been tracing your breasts disappeared to between your thighs, slipping under your panties and swiping along your slit.

You moaned, hips eagerly following his movements, bucking into his fingers even as they retreated, “Oh god, yes!”

“Ah, there’s my little doll,” he snickered, eyes narrowing with cruel approval. “Now what do you need?”

His head tilted, and he watched you critically. Your brain scrambled to keep up, eager to please him, your irritation a soft buzz in the fog of your mind, the memory of his fingers on your clit was all you could focus on.

“Need you, need you to- to fuck me,” your head lolled, as you swallowed the drool pooling in your mouth.

“Yeah? Is that what you need?” he said, his grin all harsh lines and sharp teeth. “What is it I need, though? What is it that you need to let me do to get you fucked, hm?”

There was something different in his glare now, something brutal again, and you could tell in the haze of your mind, that Dabi was trying to control himself and he was failing. He was hungry for something from you. He was enraged… and was he scared? You couldn’t tell, too lost to the needs of your body. But there was an extra layer of emotion in his eyes that was rare, and you were unable to place it.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” you shook your head, sucking your lip.

His teeth snapped together an inch away from your face, flecks of spit hitting your cheeks, his blue irises burning with frustration, “I need to make you mine, sweet cheeks.”

You nodded, “Yours, yes, promise. Yours, I’ve always been yours, never not been.”

You were delirious, and you both knew you would never babble such things under other circumstances. If you weren’t high on endorphins and sipping the nectar of lust, you would never be promising him your soul, even though you both also knew he already had it.

He growled, as his teeth worked over the wound, he created earlier. Worrying it, making the clots open again, the bruise worse, and your mouth open on a gasp.

“Oh god, please, just--,” your voice was high and pitchy as you canted your hips forward, trying to entice his fingers to dip lower over your puffy clit.

“Please… please what? Use your words, slut,” he spat, his mouth releasing your pulsing flesh.

You whined, your hips bucking harder against his hand, “Please, D-aaabi. I need you to touch me.”

You were practically sobbing, your brain muddled and thirsting for more. When his calloused fingers slide over your slick clit it was enough to make you moan unabashed. Breath stuttering, catching in your throat, as your chest shuddered, and you felt an ache start while his finger traced light circles around you.

He hissed in between his teeth, “Such a needy cunt, so sloppy for me already, so fuckin’ wet.”

Each word was condescending, judging and yet pleased, like he was praising you for being his whore, and for the first time that night he pressed his warm lips to yours. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, coaxing you closer to the edge. His tongue took control, slipping against yours and the titanium adorning it seemed to leave a burning trail on everything it touched.

His teeth sank into your lip and you felt a sharp pain again, the tease of his tongue sliding against it as he drew away. You could taste iron and knew he bit through your skin. You stared at him through blurry eyes, and he rolled his jaw, seeming to think for a moment even as his fingers continuously drew circles over you, pulling more moans from your throat.

Slowly the tension in your body grew tighter, and you watched him through half-lidded eyes, the tip of his tongue caught in between his incisors as he pushed you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“D-Dabi, so close,” you whispered, squirming against the plaster, you’re back shifting between straight and then bowed.

“Yeah? Cum for me. Show me how desperate you are for my cock,” he growled, his free hand splaying next your head as he loomed in front of you, watching every micro expression.

It wasn’t necessarily the command, but that coupled with the sinful need in his eyes had you humping into his fingers in seconds, falling apart and finding peace all at once. You were flying so high that you knees buckled and your eyes rolled until they ached.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” your words became indecipherable from the noisy gasps and moans that tore from your chest.

You arced violently away from the surface behind you, feeling your muscles tremble and the sensation of his teeth snagging at the soft spot under your jaw. He chuckled, a mean sound in your ear as he dipped the first knuckle of two of his fingers into your fluttering pussy, humming in approval at the tight grip that greeted him.

As you drifted back down, slipped into the bliss that was post orgasmic haze, you vaguely registered Dabi shifting your thighs around his waist and hauling you into his arms. Your head leaned onto his shoulder, bouncing lightly with each step he took down the hall.

The next thing you knew, you were being tossed on the bed and there was the sound of rustling clothes and a clinking belt buckle. You forced your bleary gaze to focus, to see Dabi shucking his pants, to see him palm something in his hand and your eyes wandered over the piercings of his dick, the flush at the head, drool pooling in your mouth.

Your tongue was heavy and mind clouded, but there was something you needed to convey, “Dabi?”

It wasn’t what you wanted to say but it might get him to slow down. Might give you a moment to collect your thoughts and get your mouth functioning.

“Shhh, doll. I’ll give you everythin’ you need. Everything you fuckin’ deserve, make you mine,” his eyes flashed with his words.

You should have known something was wrong, that he was going to go somewhere the two of you had never even discussed. Yet, he was throwing his shirt to the side now, and your eyes were distracted by the glitter of his staples and the dual tones of his flesh. All you could do was whine in the back of your throat and he bared his teeth in a knowing smirk.

Your thoughts were starting to clear, body starting to regain sensation again and you moved easier. He could see the awareness gleam in your eyes, and he knew he couldn’t let you slip into full consciousness yet.

Dabi was quick to lean over you, rutting his dick in between your glistening folds, and the first bar of his Jacob’s ladder catching your clit just right to have you hissing in wonderful pain and pleasure.

“There’s my little masochist,” he growled, gritting his teeth.

You whined and shook your head, “No I’m not.”

He laughed cruelly, “Sure.”

You missed the way his hand discreetly slid under the pillow, instead distracted by his dick leaving you and taking away that delicious friction. Pulling a wanton whine from your throat.

“Sure you ain’t? Sure, you don’ like this?” he delivered a light slap to your pussy, making sure the weight of his palm hit your clit.

You squealed, feeling the more heat flush through your system and bucked your hips instinctively.

“Yeah, looks like you absolutely hate it,” he sneered.

Whimpering in embarrassment, or was it need, it broke into a throaty groan as you felt the blunt head of his dick press against your spasming hole. You gasped, clenching down, forcing him to push harder and hiss at the tension when he slowly started sliding inside.

“You better fuckin’ relax, or this is gonna hurt like a bitch,” his eyes were fluttering, and neck muscles straining.

He couldn’t go faster even if he wanted, and god knows he wanted. You were bearing down on him so hard he felt like his dick might snap in two. It was just on the pleasurable side of pain, and fuck if he wasn’t worried that he might blow his load as soon as he seated himself inside you completely. You were writhing, hiccupping shallow breaths into your burning lungs. Pushing at his chest weakly as tears stung at the corner of your eyes.

“S-slow down Dabi, it hurts,” you begged.

And when he bottomed out, he groaned, “Yeah, bet it fuckin’ does. But your takin’ me so damn well, I can’t stop. Feels so good, baby doll.”

He scooped your thighs into his arms, folding you in upon yourself, and you looked up at him, at the flush across his cheek bones and the way his lower lip turned white from the pressure of his teeth. He never looked more beautiful. It made the ache in your trembling walls ease a bit, that is until he surged forward even more, touching a spot in you that caused your body to snap tight and sheer jolts of pain to shoot through your taught muscles.

“Fuck! N-not there,” you rasped, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

He grinned harshly, panting as he dragged himself out of your clenching body, “Gotta make sure I breed you right. Sorry doll.”

He sounded anything but apologetic though, and when he thrusted forward the wonderful pressure was almost enough to chase away the pain until he was flush against you, slamming into your cervix again. You screamed, white hot flashes of agony tightening you around him. He shuddered and moaned as he gripped onto you, watching tears spill down your cheeks.

“You look so pretty like this, cryin’ while your split open on my cock, beggin’ me to stop. So perfect, how could you think…hng,” he trailed off into a guttural groan as his pace picked up.

Your brain was melting into a mix of euphoria and complete aching anguish. Severe pain and rippling pleasure blended headily, leaving you panting and screaming until all you could do was open you mouth in a silent cry as you convulsed around him.  

He spat out a curse and slowly rolled into you, panting harshly, his hand patting around behind your head. While you drifted higher than you ever had before, swearing that your body was numb, he pulled back to tilt his head and look at you intently.

“You know, I don’ think a ring is enough. Not to show everyone and you, that you’re mine. No… it's not permanent,” he said, and it was almost like he was saying it to himself, trying to convince himself of something.

You blinked dully up at him, swallowing thickly, and squealing every time he pushed forward too hard, causing a dull throb in your pelvis.

“I know how to fix it though, don’ worry doll,” he murmured, you saw him lift the knife and adrenaline began to spike through your system.

Sluggish movements became a little more coordinated and you shook your head, “No!”

You struggled, but were still weak, too easy for him to fend off and hold you down even as he barely rocked inside you dragging unwarranted moans from your throat.

“It’s ok, it will only hurt for a moment,” he whispered, placing a tender kiss on your temple. “But this way we will always be together. Everyone will know you are MINE.”

Blue flames licked along the metal, causing the steel to burn so hot it looked like platinum. He shuddered as the knife came down on the outside of your thigh, he murmured praises as you clenched around him, body jolting in his hold when it cut through your skin like paper.

There wasn’t a sting, but the searing burns left from the heated metal caused your flesh to sizzle and made you gasp and shake.

“Such a good girl… my girl,” he whispered, and you knew in that moment you’d pushed too far that night. The cut wasn’t too deep, but easily deep enough to scar, you slowly faded in and out of consciousness while he sliced his name into your skin. He only came because of you spasming around him from the pain, but in your mind, you were almost giddy. So blissed out from the orgasms, so lost to his nonsensical words. He was back, and he was yours. He was back, and you were his. What more could you ask for?