#and my arms have been scratched within an inch of their lives...

[emeritusemeritus]

hello! absolutely love your writing and so happy to find someone who likes the weasley twins too! :D if it’s not too much trouble, i’d like to request a little drabble with fred where the reader adopts a ginger cat and fred finds it funny? thank you! <3

Hi Anon! Thank you so much, we are all definitely Weasley Twin lovers over here! It’s my pleasure, this was really fun to write 😂 hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: minor sexual references, brief talk of curses, fluff and humour, a million ginger jokes, mentions of future kids.

Word count: 1.1k

Ginger Root

"Hey baby," Fred shouts out as he steps through the door to the flat above the shop on his lunch break, instantly loosening his tie and popping open the top shirt button that was slowly choking him.

He briefly waits for you to reply but hears nothing, so he goes looking for you. He's hoping that you'd made him something to eat for his dinner, though of course he didn't expect it if you. The shop had been ridiculously busy this last week and the thought of having to stand and make something to eat in his break hour seemed too far of a stretch for him. He's also hoping for a cuddle, needing to feel you back in his arms for a little while whilst he can, and even more hopefully he wonders if he can convince you to cuddle naked, horizontally on the bed.

He freezes upon walking into the living room, seeing a single ginger cat sat proudly on his sofa. It's comical almost how he freezes at seeing the seemingly harmless cat, looking around the empty flat as if there's an audience waiting for his reaction that he was being pranked.

He walks slowly over to the cat, approaching it with as much caution as he would a hippogriff, squatting down beside the content kitty that barely flicks it's eyes over to the intruder, sitting pride of place in Fred's usual spot.

"Okay," Fred says seriously to the cat, their faces only inches apart as he gives the kitty a questioning look, attempting to level with the feline. "You've either been cursed or you've never told me you were an animagus in the, what, 10 years we've been together?" He waits a moment for any feedback from the cat but hears nothing.

"Give me a little meow if you've been cursed and I'll fix it right away."

"Meow."

You laugh as Fred jumps at your sudden noise, falling back onto his haunches after losing his balance in surprise, arms scrambling to stop himself and failing miserable, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation.

"Godric woman," he grumbles, mock-clutching his heart as he gets up using the coffee table as leverage. He looks towards you and you smile widely seeing his heated cheeks, the look in his eyes devilish as he seeks revenge, especially as he eyes what you're wearing.

You're leaning on the doorframe, wrapped in a fluffy white towel fresh from the shower and enjoying every second of seeing Fred recover from your unplanned prank. His eyes are focused on your towel, the little tuck hidden within the slope of your breasts and the smirk on his face looks almost dangerous as you try and figure out his next move.

"But your lunch!" You squeal as he lunges as you, lips first attacking your neck.

"It can wait," he mumbles, finding his roaring appetite for food suddenly replaced by something else.

"So you found him, or her?"

"Him... I think," you say, pulling a fresh Tshirt on as Fred buttons up his shirt, leaving the tie off for now.

"He was shivering in a box next to the leaky cauldron... I couldn't leave him there Freddie." You hoped Fred wouldn't be mad, that he'd understand your desperate need to rescue the poor little kitty.

"I know sweetheart," he says with a small smile, eyes gentle with understanding.

You walk ahead of Fred as you both made your way back to the living room, pausing briefly to scratch the little sleepy cat on the sofa before you stepped into the kitchen to pull yours and Fred's pre-made lunch out of the fridge. He kisses you as a way of thanks as you both take a seat on the unoccupied sofa and eat the lunch you'd prepared earlier.

"Have you named him yet?" Fred says, taking a massive bite out of his sandwich, hardly able to talk with his mouth full of food. You pull a face of disgust for a moment at his lack of eating etiquette but drop it once you look upon the cute cat app curled up on the other sofa.

"Not yet, still thinking of options," you say, mentally running through the admittedly short list of monikers you'd come up with on the way home.

"Well with that hair he's definitely a Weasley," Fred beams, "very on brand."

"Think your mum will knit him a jumper for Christmas? Or a little scarf?" You joke, earning a snort of laughter from your boyfriend as his delighted face takes another large bite, thankfully not speaking through this one.

"What shall we name you little Weasley?" You say, looking upon your new friend.

"Well it can't be George, s'got two ears," Fred mumbles through a devilish smirk.

"Fred!" You say, scandalised by his words, though you can hardly contain your chuckle that follows only moments later.

"What about Minerva?" You can, casting your eyes towards Fred to watch his reaction, seeing him nearly choke on the last bite of his sandwich at your suggestion.

"Marmalade? Keeping with the ginger theme."

"Garfield?"

"Eh?" Fred frowns, missing the joke entirely.

"It's a muggle thing.. oh! Thomas O'Malley!"

Again Fred gives you a bewildered stare that makes a giggle slip out of you.

"Muggle film, the ginger cat. We could name him after him!  Abraham Delacey Giuseppi Casey Thomas o malley... Weasley."

"Or we could not," Fred says blankly.

"Ron?" You ask, trying to glance at the cat's face to see what else would spring to mind.

"No, it's too clean," Fred jokes, nodding his head towards the cat.

"Squash? Cheddar? Pumpkin?"

"Stop naming food!" Fred calls out with a laugh before he pauses, clearly thinking. "Wait I like pumpkin! Pumpkin Weasley?"

"Our first child," you joke, throwing your legs over his as you lean back on the sofa. You knew he'd have to be going back to work soon so you'd take what you could get.

"Great we can name our children after root vegetables," Fred says with a mock roll of his eyes, big hands coming up to stroke your legs as he pulls them deeper into his lap.

"Ginger's a root vegetable, they'd fit right in," you beam, looking at your boyfriend's fiery locks, secretly hoping that whatever children you'd have would share this certain characteristic.

"Oh yeah! Meet the twins, parsnip and turnip," he jests, laughing as your eyes widen in horror at his words, knowing that it would be just your luck to get your own mini version of George and Fred.

"Who said anything about twins?!"

"Maybe we'll just stick with the cat then," he smirks, joining your gaze towards your new best friend, realising that it might not be a bad thing after all to expand your family.

"We'll start with Pumpkin."

[sgojoenthusiast]

needy.

✧.* miguel o’hara x reader

summary:

miguel is suffering with the side effects of his vampirism: the insatiable hunger. you, a doctor, will stop at nothing to help him, no matter what. it’s your job, afterall.

cw: smut, biting, lowkey vampire sex, rough, i didnt do amazing in my gcse spanish course so i’m sorry for the rough attempt at miguel speaking spanish LMAO, hardly proof read mb, bit of oral (f receiving), mentions of blood, pain and injury. fem reader.

word count: 2.1k

likes, comments and reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t resist. His brain felt like it was begging to break out of his skull. Everything hurt, but it wasn’t the kind of pain he could turn to you for help with.

It was the kind of pain that stemmed from the unfortunate bite all those years ago. A pain that derived from a never-ending hunger within him, resulting in constant hunger and sharpened fangs.

“Miguel, how many times do I have to say it? It’s my job. It’s what I'm paid to do! Just let me help you and we can-”

“No.” he cut you off sharply. When he had hired you after a particularly nasty fight that ended in a lot of spidermen injured but there was a lack of medics to help, he didn’t realise everything you did or said would have so much of an affect on him. If he had known, he would’ve never even looked in your direction because, god, you were intoxicating. “No puedo más, mierda. [i can’t anymore, fuck]. You can’t help me, okay? Just go home.” He seethed.

He wasn’t angry with you, never you. He was angry at how he had to turn your sweet words and caring touch away just because he couldn’t risk hurting you.

“You’re so frustrating, Miguel. you never let me help you.” He stood with his back to you, because he knew that if he looked behind him and saw you standing with your arms folded, a cute pout on your lips and the smooth skin of your neck on display, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anymore.

If he ever came close to hurting you, even if somehow the domino effect of something he did led to you getting injured, he would never forgive himself for as long as he lived. You were only human, you weren’t a spider like the rest of them. You were fragile, and couldn’t protect yourself as well as you could save others. 

“You should know by now I won't stop until I get what I want.” you began walking up behind him. “You’re clearly struggling with something. your breathing is heavy, you haven’t been walking or talking properly since you came back from your mission.” a sudden realisation popped into your brain. “You didn’t hit your head on your mission today, did you? Miguel- you told me there wasn’t a scratch on you, I can’t help you if you’re lying to me.”

Finally, he turned around to face you, his head hung low but he could see every inch of your perfect body. No longer could he restrain himself from the all-consuming thirst he felt as he flashed his fangs and suddenly appeared in front of you, pinning you against the wall.  “No quiero ayuda. [I don't want your help]. I just want it to stop.”

You tilted your head up at him. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in your eyes despite your position and he felt his heart stop. “You aren’t scared?” He breathed out. His eyes were wide and red. His heart was beating increasingly fast and his throat was getting dry.

He was so used to being the one people would cower around. Yet with you, you always seemed to defy his expectations. He stood in front of you, restraining himself from killing you, and yet you had barely even blinked.

You moved your hair out of the way of your neck, causing him to try and push himself away from you but you grabbed his wrist before he could. “It’s my job to help you. That’s why I'm here. So let me help you.”

He found it so hard to disobey you when you looked up at him so gently. Yet it was that look that reminded him of his affection towards you and made him shake his head profusely in denial. He refused to hurt you, even when you asked him to.

You pulled him by his wrist, closer to you, tempting him in as he complied thoughtlessly. His mind was reeling with the thought that it was your hand touching his wrist. It was your hand that slowly traced up his back and it was your fingers that threaded through his hair at that moment. Slowly, you guided his head down towards your open neck as every doubt inside his mind froze against his will. All of his morals disappeared. Everything he stood by, his dedication to protecting you, gone within a minute of you delicately caressing him.

“Please, Miguel, let me help you.”

When you pleaded with him so innocently, when your words slipped so tenderly from your pretty lips, he could no longer hold himself back. The shackles he’d chained himself to for so long, the restraints he’d built with his bare hands, crumbled like castles.

His sharp fangs sunk themselves into the crook of your neck and you whimpered slightly in pain, biting your lip.

Miguel lost himself in the taste of you as he forced you up harder against the wall. Still, it wasn’t enough. He needed his entire body against yours. He grabbed your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he continued to slowly suck the blood from your neck.

His hands pawed against you and massaged your hips. You felt yourself growing increasingly more wet at the feeling of him pressed up so close against you with his lips against your neck.

Somehow, the pain faded as you got used to it and all you could feel was the sensation you got as he ground himself against you, overpowered with need and moaning into your neck.

His head was spinning as his blood pumped vigorously. He’d never experienced such a high, such an addictive drug that devoured him whole and swallowed him completely.

You could feel how much he needed this. The feeling of peace and pleasure overshadowed the one of pain, yet, as you felt yourself go faint, you began to shake yourself out of the trance his lips against your neck put you in. In an odd way, you’d let him drink from you forever if it meant the feeling of his skin against yours.

You tapped his waist, urging him off you as he withdrew.

You placed your hand against your neck as a sudden pang of soreness washed over you. However, the sight before you was one you’d never forget as you looked up to meet his eyes. His lips stained with your blood before he wiped it away sent a strange sensation down your back as you closed your legs.

“Thank you, mi dulce niña. [my sweet girl].” he took your face between his thumb and index finger. Your faces were unbearably close. The desire to taste your own blood on his lips consumed you as your eyes flickered between his and his lips.

You stood against the wall of the empty hallway to his room in silence, your bodies begging for each other yet your mouths too shy to make it known.

Instead, he opted for silently taking you down the dimly lit corridor to his room, his fingers intertwined with yours.

The second his door closed, your back was against it. His lips finally pressed against yours as you sighed in contentment. Once again, your leg was hiked up as he caressed the supple skin of your thigh.

A rough yet gentle hand made its way up to your face as he ran his thumb up and down against your cheek. “I need you so bad. You don’t know what you’ve done to me. Everyday, I think about you. Your lips, your voice, your smile, your hips. I can’t fucking get enough of you and it kills me that I cant physically be as close to you as I want to be.” he murmured against your lips whilst you breathed shaky breaths against his.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to put your feelings into words because he had already summed it up so perfectly for you. “I can’t get enough of you either.”

He carried you to the bed and placed you down, his touch never once leaving your skin except to take his suit off.

Your hand ran across the scars of his chest, some you had fixed up yourself, up to his neck where you pulled him against you once more. He struggled to get your uniform off quickly with the continuous kiss and lack of sense as the thought of you naked beneath him fogged up his mind.

Miguel broke the kiss, and the sight of you with your hair splayed out across the mattress, skin glistening and your eyes half-lidded with lust had him weak in the knees as his dick grew harder against your thigh.

The moonlight peaked out past the gaps of his curtains, highlighting your frame and making him desperate.

He began to kiss down your body, leaving marks across your collarbone where he would occasionally bite.

He sucked and licked your nipples gently as you writhed beneath his touch, desperately yearning for more of his rough touch.

“I need you, miguel.”

“Patient now, mi dulce niña. [my sweet girl]” he replied, looking up at you from between your legs as he slowly began kissing down towards where you needed him so badly. He stroked your thighs and nipped at them harshly, yet the pain merged so beautifully with the pleasure that it all became one big blur.

He asked you to be patient, but after so long of longing stares and discreet touches, being patient was the last thing on your mind as you bucked your hips up, itching for his touch.

“Niña mala [bad girl]. What did I just tell you?” he snarled.

“Please, Miguel, I'm begging you. I’ve waited so long- I can’t be patient anymore.” you pleaded with him. It seemed to be enough to convince him as he brought your hips up to his face and flicked his tongue skillfully against your pussy as you gasped surprisingly.

He moved his tongue rhythmically, snatching pleas and moans from your lips. It wasn’t too long before he slid in one of his fingers... then another. He thrusted them inside you relentlessly, praising you for taking what he was giving you without another complaint.

His tongue and his fingers combined clouded your senses and made you feel as though nothing - no one - would ever come close to satisfying you so well. However, just as you clenched around him, he pulled out. You whined and cried for him to stop playing around, but he simply ignored you.

Miguel needed to feel you come around his dick if you were going to come anywhere. He needed you both to finish together. He craved the feeling of your bodies merging together in that haze of relief and exhaustion before he pulled out.

He moved back up to your face and your eyes locked; a feeling rushed over you that made your heart swell. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him.

He grabbed his painfully hard dick, stroking it against your folds. You bucked against him hopelessly. Luckily, he took the hint and slid himself somewhat smoothly inside of you, though the pain of the stretch was inevitable.

Your hands immediately went to his back, gripping on as if it would save you. Miguel groaned at the pain as he pulled back slightly and thrusted harshly back in.

He noticed the bite marks on your neck, and the blood that still gradually fell from it due to the lack of treatment. He leaned down, licking the blood up and moaning as he pounded himself into you savagely.

Everything was overwhelming. The feeling of him licking and sucking the blood from your neck, the pain of your hands clawing down his back, the unrelenting pummelling inside of you and the sounds of skin against skin and voices intertwining in the air.

It sent you both spiralling.

“ ‘m g’nna- come, Miguel.” you heaved out.

His hand trailed down to your aching pussy as he slid a finger against your clit and began rubbing viciously. Your moans dominated the room at the extra pleasure as you began to slip from your control.

“Come with me.” he demanded as he hammered inside of you without any remorse.

It was everything you had both dreamed it would be and more. The feeling of letting go together shook you both as you clenched around him, sucking him in, and as he shot his load inside of you.

You both lay there for what felt like an eternity of comfort and serenity. Your bodies pressed up against each other with your eyes closed, just soaking up the moment without any anxieties or thoughts.

However, to your dismay, Miguel pulled back. He took your face in his palm again, marvelling at your vulnerable state. He would be the only one to see you like this.

He placed his forehead against yours as your breaths became synchronised along with your heartbeats, creating the sound of peace and belonging.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: read the extra here.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟsgojoenthusiast

[orange-peony]

Written for @flufftober with the prompt "fireplace".

A little wolfstar raising Harry, rated T.

“He’s so irritating.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says. “He’s my cousin Cissa’s son.”

“And he’s so bloody posh!”

“Language,” Remus chides gently from the kitchen, busy with Christmas preparations.

“The b word is not swearing,” Harry declares with a frown, then softly, to Sirius, “is it, Pads?”

“Nah,” Sirius says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me more about that obnoxious Malfoy kid.”

*  ~  *

“And he’s so fucking annoying with his pointy face and his white-blond hair,” Harry says, scratching his arm where another mosquito bite is swelling up.

“Language!” Remus says, even though Sirius can’t even see him. His husband seems to have a special radar for swear words.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking much less concerned than he probably should. Sirius feels a little guilty because he’s always swearing in front of Harry, but brushes it off as teenagers being teenagers. “And he’s just—so tall and so smart and so…”

“So?” Sirius asks with a frown.

“So irritatingly fit!”

“Wait, what?” 

*  ~  *

“Do you think they’re going to spend much longer snogging on the train platform?” Sirius asks with a resigned sigh.

Remus chuckles and wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Summer is long when you’re seventeen,” Remus says calmly.

“But they’re going to see each other in a couple of days!” Sirius protests. “We’re dragging the brat to France with us on holiday.”

“If I recall correctly,” Remus starts, his voice like a caress on Sirius’s cheek. “The first time we parted for a couple of days, you cried and begged me to come and visit you at James’s house.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies grumpily.

He thinks a kiss is in order, at least to distract him from his godson being snogged within an inch of his life by a Malfoy.

*  ~  *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans, covering his face with his hands and making Draco squeal in embarrassment.  

He supposes it’s kind of his fault. He should have probably sent his Patronus to Harry before Flooing straight to his kitchen. But Harry is his son. And he’s been living on his own for only a week, so Sirius was worried and wanted to check on him.

He wasn’t expecting to find Draco Malfoy making himself tea in Harry’s kitchen, wearing only Harry’s oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers.

Sirius covers his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound.

“I’m going to go grab my pyjama bottoms,” Draco says. “I’ve made enough tea for an army. Help yourself, Sirius.”

“It’s Mr Black-Lupin for you,” Sirius grumbles.

“Oh, stop being impossible, Pads,” Harry croaks, appearing by the kitchen door wearing just a pair of pants and a collection of love bites. “Morning, love. Thanks for making tea.”

*  ~  *

The fireplace roars to life as a green flame appears and Draco’s blond head pokes through.

“May I come in?” he asks, looking extremely nervous.

“Of course,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and sitting up.

And Sirius should have known. He should have fucking known, because Draco sendt an official request to speak to him and Remus, written on the fanciest parchment Sirius has ever seen (and he grew up with a bunch of pure bloods). Draco is wearing the most dazzling formal robes, and he has a small, blue box clutched in his shaking hands. He looks like he’s about to be sick. He looks even paler than usual.

“I—I know you have your reservations about me, and rightfully so,” Draco starts, and Sirius is about to say well, of course, you little Harry-thief, but Remus places a hand on his thigh, and Sirius just exhales and listens. “But I love Harry with all my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, and I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make him the happiest man on earth. So, please, I know I’m asking you an awful lot, but…”

“Can we say no?” Sirius asks, but Remus pokes him in the ribs.

“Of course, you can marry Harry,” Remus says with a warm smile, and Draco starts crying straight away, looking at Sirius, waiting for his approval.

Sirius sighs.

He should have seen this coming.

He really should have.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I reserve the right to tease you both mercilessly and to swear in front of your kids.”

“Deal,” Draco says with the brightest grin.

[charlottes-diary-entries]

HELLLOOO :) could I request a wolfstar x reader where there’s an upcoming exam that r is super stressed about and how the boys would help or comfort them? (This is indeed self indulgent bcuz I’m stressin for finals 😭)

oh my god darling, i'm aware this is two MILLION years late, but i fear i was ALSO stressin for finals :( i hope all of your exams went completely swimmingly and if they didn't then here is a little comfort for the start of your summer <3

"academic avalanche" poly!wolfstar x reader, very fluffy, mostly comfort

This was it. You'd considered it might come to this, but today seemed to make it official. You were now living, to eventually die, and then rot forever, beneath a wall of books in the library that completely obscured you from view. It was ridiculous. One gentle breeze and you'd be a victim of an academic avalanche.

As you once again desperately tried to cram information about the giant wars of the 19th century into your brain, tears began to slip down your cheeks. Hopelessly, you thumped your head against the horrid tome before you and let the tears fall. Hiccups and sobs also began to escape before you could stop them, and soon enough, you were trying as hard as you could to break down quietly as to not disturb the peace of the library.

They would write your name and death date on your gravestone, paired with the phrase, "Killed by History of Magic."

"Dovey?"

At the sound of a familiar, endlessly comforting voice, you wished you could pull yourself together and only fell apart more. A miserable moan left you from your place faceplanted in the evil textbook.

"Is that you tucked away there, darling?"

One of the shorter stacks was shoved aside before the voice cooed and you were suddenly shoved by an overly-aggressive hug. The voice chided your attacker with a quiet, "Sirius..." but was ultimately ignored as you were squeezed within an inch of your life.

"What have they done to you?" Sirius pulled you upright and gasped at the tears that still flowed down your face. "Scratch that, how did we let you hole up here like this?! Oh, dovey..."

You hiccupped through another sob as Sirius shushed you, pressing kiss after kiss all over your face in attempt to cheer you up.

"I think-" You began, "I think this exam is going to kill me. Actually kill me, I can't do this."

Remus perked up from where he had begun to deconstruct your cavern of books. "Alright dove, it's okay. Why don't we take a break, hm?"

This only served to upset you more as you moaned, flopping completely into Sirius's arms. Frustration only continued to bubble up and out of you as Sirius cradled you.

"I've got to pass this exam. I think I'm going to fail otherwise and I can't fail. I hate this stupid professor, I hate History of Magic, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!"

Sirius cooed and pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you tighter. "I think passionate declarations of hate are a pretty decent sign you're due for a break. Just a little one love, and then we'll help you study after, yeah?."

"I second this plan, besides," Remus said, now a little sheepish, "we've missed you dove."

"Missed them! Missed them, he says!" Sirius scoffed, "You've been holed up in here for nearly a week and your absence has actually taken a toll on our health! I swear, I've never felt so sick as when you're stuck studying!"

At this, you sniffed and smiled a little up at Sirius, who only grinned down at you, allowing himself to kiss your forehead.

"Starting to feel better now, though."

You giggled and Remus rolled his eyes fondly, having now successfully returned most of your books to their respective shelves. Sirius then easily pulled you up and you didn't have the energy to resist. Now with you on your feet, he began to speak before you were tugged away from him and into Remus's bone-crushing hug.

Whatever dramatic protest at you being stolen from him died on Sirius's lips as he watched you deflate even more in your boyfriend's arms. A few more tears rolled down your face as he joined the hug.

"C'mon dovey," Remus said as he eventually pulled away, leaving his hand tightly entwined with yours, "let's all go cuddle for a bit, yeah?"

You nodded and let him pull you along, Sirius attaching himself to your unoccupied arm. You continued to hang off them as they walked you back to their dorm feeling endlessly grateful for their ability to carry the weight of the conversation on their own.

There was something indescribable about the comfort that came from Remus holding you on his bed with Sirius on your other side telling you both about some muggle band he loved. You felt loved. Completely surrounded by love, actually.

And exam be damned, there was no where you'd rather be.

this isn't very long, but i hope you enjoyed love! <3

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (Pt 5)

Summary: Seducing a Warlord is harder than Reader anticipated, especially when he seems so keen on taking care of her, but what happens when the past starts catching up with the present?

Content Warnings: SMUT (Porn with Feelings, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex); Mentions of Past Abuse; Drinking.

Previous Chapter/ Masterlist

-------------

I thought years of hiding my true feelings and desires from my father and subsequently Tamlin would prepare me for this sort of thing. I’ve spent my entire life delaying my wants and needs, shoving aside personal feelings for the sake of duty. I’ve become a master of shoving my needs aside to tend to everyone else’s without ever letting it slip that this isn’t what I want. So why the hell is it suddenly so hard?

Why, when given an opportunity to finally see the encampment and take stock of supplies and fighting men, did I all but beg to go back to Rhysand’s tent? There’s suddenly this needy, desperate thing that lives inside me and one touch is not enough to satisfy the roaring in my blood. As soon as lunch was finished, I’d all but dragged a freaking Illyrian Warlord into my bed.

Hell, it’s not even my bed! It’s his!

I should be better than this, yet, as soon as the tent flap shuts behind us, I toss my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss like my life depends on it. His lips are so damn soft! Plush and full against my own, parting as I slide my tongue behind his teeth, trying to take in more of him. His lips are such a contrast to the rest of him, all hard muscle and fighting leathers and some irrational part of me feels like it might die if I do not feel that firmness between my legs again.

He wraps an arm around my waist keeping me flush against his chest and this top is so damn thin I can practically feel the scrape of leather against my peeked nipples. There's still too little friction; I reach a hand down to pull at the fabric, trying to maneuver myself around enough to get it off in hopes that he’ll touch me like he had last night. 

“Such a needy little thing,” he chuckles against my lips.

“Please,” I whimper, trying to go in for another kiss, but missing in my haste, lips brushing over his chin. I’m not even sure what I’m begging for more. I need him to touch me, kiss me, fill me. Every one feels like it’s at war within me, fighting for dominance. I could cry at the understimulation, need pulsing through my veins like he might be the only thing keeping me alive.

I hate it! I don’t know how I’ve ended up here. I’ve gone years without sex. Have denied my desires and tried to be the good, demure little thing my father wanted so he could pawn me off. I played my part until I couldn’t take it anymore and found someone to scratch the itch who wouldn’t be brave enough to tell anyone what we’d done. But even then I hadn’t felt like this.

His hands slowly inch up my waist, his eyes glinting playfully as I squirm under his careful ministrations. “Didn’t you just fall apart on my hand?”

That might as well have been days ago, at the point.

My body feels like it’s on fire, every breath an effort as his callused hands scrape over my breasts. I want the motion repeated on my bare skin, thumbs circling and teasing my sensitive nipples.

“Please, Rhys.” I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to, I’ll do anything to ease this frenzied feeling beneath my skin. 

His fingers skim the top of my shirt, barely brushing my flushed skin. It’s too cold out for me to feel this hot. Am I getting sick? Do I have a fever? Why am I sweating?

He purses his lips, now pink and swollen from how forcefully I’d been kissing him, “Since you asked so sweetly.” He doesn’t bother pulling the top over my head, just grabs the collar and yanks, the material splitting evenly down the center before he hurls it behind me. 

The ease in which he does that makes heat pool in my core, and I clench my thighs together. A move that doesn’t go unnoticed, especially in this skirt, as he lifts me up into his arms, setting my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bed. 

I put my lips on his throat, nipping and sucking marks into his skin as I grind my hips against his waist. More more more. How is this still not enough? I want these leathers off him. Want to run my hands over his tattooed chest, drag my nails over his shoulders and back; want to touch and claim as he does the same to me. 

Claim. The word makes my stomach twist in a bad way as he lays me down in the center of the bed, surrounded once again by all these pelts and furs that linger with the jasmine and citrus scent of him. I shouldn’t want to claim anything of his. Yet, as soon as I’m sat against the mattress, I push myself up enough to reach for the ties of his leathers, cinched tight beneath his left arm.

My body roars for more, despite all rational thought and protest. I need him like I need air, so desperate my hands are practically shaking around the ties. 

He chuckles as he presses another quick kiss to my lips. “Do you want help, mate?” His voice is lower here, a deep caress that feels like it wraps itself around my body. I shiver under the heat of it, trying not to acknowledge that I’m the only person I’ve heard him use this voice on. 

“Want you out of these. Now!” I hiss, moving myself onto my knees to get a better angle. 

He moves my hands lower, showing me an easier place to start unlacing them, and as soon as I get them untied, I push the leather off him and the bed, letting it clatter to the floor as I lean forward and place my lips to where his shoulder meets his neck. It’s a quick scrape of teeth, leaving a little mark before I follow the trail of his tattoos down his pectorals, nipping and biting as I go. 

I’m royally fucked, but I can’t stop. My hands are everywhere, tracing the plains of his body, until I get low enough to reach for the ties on his pants. There’s a little patch of dark hair beneath his navel, trailing down beneath his waistband and I head that direction with my lips. 

My lips brush the tip of that matching scar on his side, but I don’t stop to ask how he got it or who gave it to him. I know. And I don’t care. I don’t care what my father would have said if he knew what I was doing. 

I scrape my teeth over the little strip of skin visible above his waistband, my hands already reaching for the ties on his pants and he groans, a hand threading into my hair. He whispers my name like it’s a prayer, like this is something holy and divine, not this twisted sin I’ve made it out to be in my head. It certainly doesn’t feel like sin now.

These laces are easier, not cinched as tight as his chest piece, and I start pushing the leather down his hips, following the trail of them with my lips until the hand in my hair gives a little tug, halting me in place.

“Might be a little easier if I just…” a flick of his wrist and the rest of his clothes disappear entirely. A curious magic I’d like to see more of, later, when I can think clearly again. Even now it occurs to me that it would have been kind of hard to get him out of his pants while he was still wearing his boots. I’m not even entirely sure how I got the chest piece off without catching them in his wings in the first place. 

All questions for later. I’m sure a people with wings have made creative ways to put on and take off clothing, and maybe that would be something useful to know in terms of weak points in their armor, but I’m too far gone to ask as I drink in Rhysand’s fully naked form. I certainly hadn’t appreciated it enough last night. I could spend a very, very long time appreciating it now. He is miles of long, lean muscle and bronze skin, the sliver of light coming in beneath the tent enough to make him look like he’s glowing. Every bit of him has me itching to trace my hands over him, from the curl that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes all the way down to his very hard and heavy cock, now at attention against his abs. Gods he’s a lot bigger than I realized.

I get my hand around him as the hand in my hair yanks me up for another searing kiss, his lips hungry against my own. Beads of pre-cum dribble from his tip and I swirl my thumb over it as I get a better grip on his shaft and give him a testing pump. The moan he makes into my mouth, his eyes squeezing shut, chest heaving makes me think I’m not the only one that feels like they're on fire. 

I repeat the motion, just to hear that glorious sound come out of him again.

The hand in my hair slides down my cheek until he can get a firm grasp on my throat, fingers tight enough to make me gasp a little but not enough to restrict my airway. “Keep that up,” he rasps, lips brushing mine. “And I’m not going to last very long.”

It is a heady sort of glee that spurs me into doing it a third time, knowing that I hold even a modicum of power over this male. Everybody fears him. His prowess is legendary in both battle and in magic. Yet he sits here on his knees, pupils blown so wide I almost can’t see the violet, swollen lips parted in a gasp as I struggle to wrap a hand around his cock, completely at my mercy.

“Maybe I don’t want you to last very long,” I say, my voice no more than a whisper around the hand that holds my throat. Not because it hurts, I could pull free if I wanted to, but I don’t. The heat of him makes the burning beneath my skin feel like it’s lessening, soothed now by just the touch of his skin alone. “Maybe I want to see you come undone with just my hands.” 

He catches my wrist with speed I forgot he was capable of, before I can move on him again. “When I cum, I want it to be inside you.”

I clench my thighs together as wetness pools between them. “Death Incarnate only has one round in him, hm?” I manage to tease.

His eyes narrow, teeth flashing in a snarl as he pulls me off him and pushes me down onto my back against the mattress. His body is hot and heavy over mine as he slots himself between my legs. “Hardly,” his lips meet mine in a searing kiss that makes the room spin. “But we leave in thirty minutes and that’s simply not enough time to do everything I want to you.”

“We?” The word turns into a squeal as he gets his lips around my nipple and swirls his tongue over it. I pinch my eyes shut, back arching like I could push myself any farther into his mouth. 

“I meant what I said about you riding with me,” he says, hot breath over my now damp nipple making me shiver. He brushes his lips over my other one, teasingly. “And now that I have a taste of you, why would I leave you alone in our bed?”

Ours.

I whimper as he runs his tongue over me. He’s too good to be true. This has to be a wild dream. No male could feel this good.

He slides a hand beneath my back, arching my body so he can kiss his way down my stomach without having to bend down. I’m somehow still wearing a skirt, but only for a moment before he yanks it off my hips and tosses it over his shoulder. My whole body shakes when he runs his tongue up my center. I’d thought the under stimulation might kill me before, but this feels somehow like too much, even as my body begs for more.

“Rhys,” I beg like a sinner at the altar of an ancient deity in desperate need of salvation. 

He hums approvingly as he kisses his way back up my body and my legs instinctively open wider so he can settle between them. I’ve never been this pliant with anyone, nothing has ever felt this natural. His rightful place is between my legs, chest to chest, lips brushing over my skin as his callused hands settle on my thighs and drag me into whatever position he sees fit. 

He teases the tip of his cock against my entrance and if there was any chance I had a thought in my head aside from him before, it’s certainly gone now. I am not whole if he is not inside me. 

“Mate,” the word slips out of me as I babble and plead and get a hand around the back of his neck in an attempt to pull him into me.

That’s really all it takes for him to tighten his grip on my hips and sheath himself inside me, a growl rumbling through his chest as he buries his face in my neck and nips at my tender skin. 

The stretch of him inside me is too much and yet not enough and I rake my nails down the sharp contours of his back, even as my legs wrap around his waist to take him deeper. I have no idea what I’m doing any more, only that I need him everywhere all at once.

“Say it again,” he whispers in my ear, voice so low and husky the muscles in my core twitch. He hasn’t moved an inch, like he’s letting me adjust to the sheer size of him, and I am grateful for it but it’s also the worst kind of torture because I need more.

“Please?” he continues, lips pressing a lingering kiss beneath my ear. “Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.”

It’s just a word, and I’ll say anything to get him to start moving. “Please,” I brush my nose along the side of his throat, taking in the full, rich scent of him. “Need you, mate.”

His movements are impossibly slow for someone who claims we have to leave in half an hour, the drag of his hips as he slides out of me an even worse torture than him not moving because I can feel every empty space inside me.

“That’s my girl,” he praises and I think my eyes might actually roll back into my skull as he slides back in a little more forcefully this time, his lips meeting mine as he rocks down to meet me. 

My whole body chases him, hips rolling to match his thrusts, nails still sliding down his back. There is no beginning and end to us, just the motion of our bodies and the pleasure that licks its way so intensely up my spine I think it might rip right out of my skin if it’s not released soon.

“Rhys.” He keeps hitting a spot inside me that makes stars spin across my vision and I’m all too aware that I’m babbling nonsense as I lose myself beneath him, but I’m too far gone to notice the tears that slip from my eyes from the overstimulation until he reaches out to brush them away. 

“Do I need to stop?”

I’d rather gouge out my own eyes!

I’d sooner crawl across hot coals then ask him to stop.

“No!” It comes out like a squeak, my voice cracking and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more vulnerable than I do right now. “Please don’t stop!”

His lips brush my damp cheeks, his motions slowing, and my heart clenches in my chest. We’re too vulnerable again. This is just supposed to be sex, just scratching an itch, I’m not supposed to feel anything, but when he looks at me like he is now, like I’m something worthwhile, I feel my heart stutter in my chest. I want more of that too.

“I’m not hurting you?” He asks. 

“No,” I assure. “Feels good. So good.”

His lips find mine in a gentle kiss. “You’ll tell me if it doesn’t.” Not a question, but a demand. 

I nod as I thread my fingers through his hair and kiss him again, body arching into his next thrust. Pleasure licks white hot up my spine and I’d squeeze my eyes shut and fall into it if the sight of him above me wasn’t such a spectacular one. His wings flare out behind him, filling the tent, dark hair sweat dampened and tousled from my fingertips, lazily falling across his forehead. The muscles in his arms and shoulder ripple as he holds himself upright just enough to not crush me with the full weight of him, but when he rocks into me again I arch my back so our chests brush, just to get another feel of his warm skin on mine. He’s every bit a dark angel above me and I don’t know if I want to trace the patterns of his wings or keep running my nails down his back until I’m familiar with every ridge and plane more.

I want this to last forever. Dangerous territory, I know, but I am too blissed out to care. He’s good at this. Good at making me feel good. I’ve never been with a male this attentive to my body; I’m convinced it's an experience more addictive than any drug. 

He slides a hand between my legs, deft fingers finding my clit. “Later, when the wards are settled, I’ll take my time with you, see what other pretty noises I can drag out of you.”

I’m pretty sure the noise I just made at the circular motion of his fingers and the driving pace of his cock is as lewd as I can get, but I also thought I was more in control of this situation than I truly am, so who’s to say?

“But right now,” he purrs in my ear. “Right now I want you to cum for me.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust of his hips.

And who am I to deny him when he speaks like that? When his hands and body move inside me like that? One more thrust and an expert flick of his fingers and I’m gone, careening over the edge so fast I scream.

He follows right after me, spilling so hot and heavy inside me I can feel some of his release dripping out between my legs.

Fuck. For all my plans to ruin his life, he very well might just ruin any other male for me in the process. 

Even worse, I’m here driven by this aching need to be filled and even though he’s finished, he still peppers feather light kisses over my neck and jaw as he slides out. He’s impossibly gentle as he rolls both of us onto our sides, his large hands soothing down my back as he tucks me beneath his chin, holding me tight as I come down from this new high.

My heart aches like it’s a separate, living, breathing thing outside of my head and all its plans for revenge. 

Damn him!

“Are you ok?” He rasps, still catching his breath.

I let myself listen to my heart for a moment, burying my nose in the crook of his neck and letting my eyes fall shut. I cannot remember a time I’ve ever felt this content. “Perfect.”

One of his wings settles over us like a blanket, creating a little cocoon of warmth as the heat that had consumed me starts to finally fade.

He kisses the top of my head, hands still tracing patterns in my skin.

“Your wings are a lot lighter than they look,” I murmur into his shoulder. I should move, should pull away and put as much distance between us before my heart gets any more ideas about what has to happen here, but my body refuses to.

“We don’t typically let people close enough to realize how delicate they are,” he admits. “The right cut can make it damn near impossible to ever fly again, we are trained as children to protect them at all costs.”

The urge to touch them is damn near overwhelming, so I run my fingers over his tattoos instead. “So why do you need horses if you can just fly?”

“My people did the most damage to Hybern’s armies in the War,” he explains, stretching his wings out and settling them again. “The Night Court’s aerial forces were unmatched, until he got his hands on the Cauldron and blasted most of us out of the sky. After his victory, he used the Cauldron’s power to create a barrier in the sky. Fly too close and it zaps you with enough energy to fry your wings right off your back.”

I shutter at the thought. 

“It’s high enough that we can glide, but never enough space to really fly. We still train our fighters, here in the canyon, but save for a few elders, there’s no one here who’s ever been able to follow the siren call of the wind and really fly.”

“Not even you?” I tilt my head back to look at him and he places a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.

“I’m not that old!” He returns. 

“That must be hard,” I muse.

Rhysand finally unfurls himself from around me and sits up. At this angle I can see all the scratch marks I left on his skin, but beneath them is a network of scars over the same swirling tattoos on his chest and arms. 

“I dream of a day it’s not like this,” he says as he leans over the edge of the bed to find wherever he tossed his pants. “A day where we’re all free.”

I stretch my stiff muscles. It’s a pretty dream, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s all it’ll ever be. No one has ever beaten Amarantha, let alone Hybern. 

“Are you the only one fighting Amarantha?” Knowing who his allies are might be useful information. I have to keep telling myself that’s what I’m here for, that I need to keep asking the right questions when the opportunity presents itself. 

“For now,” he returns as he pulls his pants on and climbs from the bed. 

A moment later, he returns with a damp towel and grabs me by the ankle and drags me to the edge of the bed to clean up the mess he made between my legs. “I had some clothes sent over for you.”

His hands are nothing but gentle as he cleans me up, no teasing or amusement, like he might really just care about getting me cleaned up and not getting anything in return for it. This time, my whole body freezes at the contact; I don’t know what to do with this. There is no purpose here, no goal to be reached with this kind of touching. 

“Maybe while we’re out you can find some way for me to pay you back for them,” I say instinctively. It’s habitual; no one gives anyone anything for free.

But he’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “They’re a gift.”

I’m gonna start clawing at my skin! He has to stop this! I need him to show me who he really is, because this version of him is starting to freak me out. He’s not supposed to be anything like this! 

He slides an arm around my waist and lifts me onto my feet. “What kind of mate would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”

My hands might actually be shaking. My legs certainly are, but that’s a matter of what we’d just done and not the unease that swirls itself around in circles in my stomach. “But you barely know me.”

“I know enough,” he assures. 

A flick of his wrist and a new pair of clothes appears in his hands, including a new set of boots. “I hope they fit, I made a guess of your measurements. We can get you fitted better when we return in a couple days.”

I take them numbly, my head still spinning. None of this is how I anticipated this going. “Thank you.”

“You were gonna catch your death in your old ones,” he says as he moves away to let me change. 

My gaze lands on my old boots by the edge of the bed, the holes I’d worn into them from years of use painfully visible. I’d asked Tam for months to help me get new ones, he’d always said I hadn’t done enough to earn them.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I hurry into the dark pants and matching sweater. They’re both heavy and warm, if not a little too long. I have to roll up the sleeves on the sweater and the hem of the pants to keep them off the ground, but they’re both in one, solid piece-- save for the slits in the arms of the sweater, baring that fresh swatch of ink across my bicep--keeping the chill out. And the boots have fur! I could have climbed back into my old clothes and still been warmer with just these boots alone. 

Rhys comes back to my side a moment later, holding a sheath and a dagger as long as my forearm. “I’m gonna assume you know how to use one of these?”

My mother had taught me the weak points to aim for, had secretly shown me how to hold my wrist and step into a thrust. My father would have left me defenseless otherwise, and neither my mom or I had ever mentioned how many times those simple lessons had saved my life. But I would never say I had formal training. I was not allowed to train with the males. I only knew how to shoot a bow out of necessity and my own secret efforts of watching other people do it. 

“Well enough.”

He frowns at that. Taking the dagger by the blade, he holds it out to me, watching with rapt attention the way my fingers wrap around the hilt. The frown doesn’t leave until his hand covers mine, adjusting the grip, then his free hand bends my arm at the elbow, showing me a position I’ve held a thousand times, but he pushes his weight against me, testing the grip.

“Good.” His hand comes to my wrist and brings the blade to the left side of his chest. “Here if they’re not wearing armor, right between the fourth and fifth rib.” Another quick pull and he has the blade between the gap where his chest piece meets his shoulder. “Under the armpit if they are wearing armor. If you can’t get that angle…” the last stop of the blade is at his throat.

“I did try this on you,” I remind.

The frown finally turns into a grin. “I haven’t forgotten, Darling, but it never hurts to make sure.”

He slides the blade effortlessly from my hand, and before I can ask him what he’s doing, he’s kneeling at my feet and sliding the straps for the baldric around my thigh. It’s not even the casual intimacy of the action that has my brain short circuiting, but the fact that Death Incarnate is on his knees for me that makes all rational thought fly from my head.

“It’s not too tight?” He asks.

“No, it’s good,” I mutter.

His hands slide up my thighs, holding my hips as he tilts his head back to look at me. “Do you like the sight of me kneeling before you, mate?”

My treacherous heart thunders in my ears. “Yes.” It comes out in a whisper, heat already pooling between my legs again, as if he hadn’t just been inside me.

He gives my hips a little squeeze before standing. “Something to try another time, I think.” Rhysand leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear before his full lips press a lingering kiss against my jaw. “I think I’d very much like to watch you fall apart on my tongue from that position.”

It is an effort to swallow. An effort not to grab him for another kiss, pull him back into the bed and back on top of me. It’s like the last time didn’t happen five minutes ago, it might as well have been days ago. My blood is starting to feel like it’s on fire again and I can’t seem to get a handle on it like I usually do. 

A cough in the doorway spares me from acting on my newfound impulses. It’s Cassian, smirking in the doorway, his long hair pulled back away from his face. His own fighting leathers gleam with a new polish, a giant broadsword sheathed between his massive wings. I shiver at the sight of him; these are the Illyrians from our stories. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he says with a smirk. 

“You say that as if we didn’t use to bed females in the same tent when we were younger,” Rhysand returns. 

I glance back and forth between them. It’s not unheard of, especially when sleeping spaces are tight, but the thought of having an audience for what we’d just done makes me clench my thighs together. I never thought I’d be much of an exhibitionist, but I also came on this male’s hand in a room full of people not that long ago either.

Cassian smirks like he knows what I’m thinking of, hazel eyes roaming over me in my new clothes. “Shared a few too, if I recall.”

Rhys flashes his teeth at him, a growl rumbling through his chest. “Choose those next words carefully!” Shadows drift from his shoulders, slithering out from underneath his wings. 

But Cassian doesn’t balk, he laughs. “Mating bond chafing a bit?”

Rhysand curses something in Illyrian at him as he goes to one of the chests and starts rifling around. “Did you bring what I asked for or are you just here to be a pain in my ass, like usual?”

Cassian holds out what looks like a twin chest piece to theirs, only smaller. “Both.”

Rhysand finishes pulling things out of the chest and snatches it from him. “Horses ready?”

“Saddled and waiting. Most of the men too.”

“Good. We’ll be out in a minute.” Rhysand says in dismal.

Cassian looks my way and winks, “Only lasting a minute these days, huh?”

A wave of dark, glittering powers hurls Cassian out of the tent so hard I hear the thwack of his body landing in the mud, even though he’s too far away for me to see it. 

“Bastard,” Rhysand snarls, more to himself than anyone, as he stalks back over to me.

“They’re not fighting leathers, but they’ll be an extra layer of protection, just in case,” his tone immediately softens, shadows retreating as he steps back into my space to strap me into the chest piece. It’s lightweight and durable, the leather thickest in the front and back, with a lot of ties on either side. Not complete coverage, but coverage enough to save me if someone attacks me with a knife. He laces it for me, taking his time to assure the pieces are all in place. 

“Thank you.” 

Next is my bow and arrows, and as if in apology for the way he’d ripped them off of me last time, he slides the strap over my head and under my arm. Though I don’t miss the way the worn leather strap has been replaced with a new, sturdier one. 

“Didn’t want you to lose these,” he says, fiddling with the belt.

I feel guilty. All these gifts and this obvious affection are starting to press against me like lead weights. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You don’t have to keep giving me things.”

“I’d hardly call basic necessities gifts,” he retorts.

“I haven’t done anything to earn them,” I say, looking anywhere but at him. 

His hand comes to cup my cheek, turning my head back to look at him. “Who told you that you had to?”

The words catch in my throat. I already said too much to Mor yesterday, I don’t need to start running my mouth here and give away too much to Rhysand now. I am here to get information, not give it. “No one,” I mumble.

“No one is going to hurt you,” he says gently. “You can trust me, you know?”

“That’s just how we did things back home,” I say. 

His wings twitch behind him. “Not here.”

I nod and he presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “We should get going.”

Please, before my guilt starts getting so loud that I admit something stupid or lose my nerve. Maybe going on this ride is the safest thing to do. Sleeping with him is starting to feel like it’s getting too many emotions involved. Maybe I made a terrible mistake starting this way instead of another.

---

We ride out with thirty other males. Only three of them bring a companion with them, everybody else is heavily cloaked and armed to the teeth, supplies for several days' journey strapped to their saddlebags. Cassian, Mor and Azriel among them. Rhysand and I, atop his midnight black mount, lead the way back out the canyon, with the others on our flank. The rest follow behind in a somber procession. While the execution and following meal had been boisterous, this feels like everyone is holding their breath, expecting war to be knocking on the wards. 

My body feels full of nervous energy, fingers ticking against my thigh the closer we get to those giant winged statues that guard the pass. It looks even more treacherous in daylight than it had at night, yet these horses are as sure footed now as they were then. 

Rhys rides stiffly behind me, one hand on the reins, the other loose against my waist. He has that star flecked cloak on again, the long folds of fur lined fabric enough to keep both of us warm. I’d almost forgotten about it until he’d slid back into it right before we mounted. 

The scent of overripe fruit reaches us as we draw closer to the edge of wards, and we pause briefly here to let a scout pass ahead of us. Only when the rider returns do we all pass through, the heavy press of power making my hair stand on end until it's once again sealed shut behind us. It is strange to be outside of it now. I am used to always moving, never planting roots because I had always been told no such places existed after the War, but now that I’ve had a taste, I strangely miss it. 

If the others feel the same, they don’t say so. We continue to ride for hours in silence, until we finally come out of the canyon into the grassy plain beyond the Mountain Regions. When the path is no longer narrow, the procession fans out around us, the sound of shifting hooves and riders no longer an echo in the open space.

“I half expected an army,” Cassian admits to our left. Mor rides with him, her own cloak shrouding her face, but there are wisps of blonde hair peeking out from underneath the cowl.

I feel rather than see Rhysand shifting around behind me as he looks around. “Split off. Take half the men and strengthen the wards to the left. The rest will handle the right.”

“Last attack came from the north, she won’t be foolish enough to use the same approach twice,” Azriel cautions. 

“So be prepared,” Rhysand says to Cassian. “Half your group on lookout, other half on repairs. I don’t want any gaps.”

Cassian nods, his horse dancing beneath him in response to his own nervous energy. “We can do it, but I think it’s smarter to stick together.”

“Keep a scout ready, check in at dusk and again at dawn. If we need to regroup we will. I’d rather not leave multiple blind spots if we can help it.”

Cassian barks out the orders and half the men split off without a word, leaving the rest of us standing there, monitoring the grass until they pass out of sight. Rhysand waits, mount turned towards where they disappeared around a bend, following the base of the mountain, to ensure there is no sound of scuffle before leading us the opposite direction. 

“How do you repair a ward?” I ask as he guides the horse to the base of this side of the mountain. I can’t feel the wards here like I could in the canyon; I’m not even sure they’re intact here.  

“Think of it like weaving a tapestry,” he explains, the hand around my waist leaving so he can stretch out his arm. Where his gloved hands should meet air, I see the faintest ripple, like he brushed a very transparent curtain. “You have to weave all the strands together in the correct pattern and order to make a cohesive picture. Sometimes, the thread gets tangled, or frayed, and you have to pluck out the thread and start over.”

“But you use magic instead of thread?”

A glitter of stars trails from his fingertips, dancing and swirling in the air like they might braid themselves together. “Yes. My ancestors used a ward stone in the heart of the mountains as a cornerstone, then used their magic to pull its powers out and form a hedge of sorts.”

A ward stone. 

Was that something I could steal? Or break maybe?

“I thought Hybern used the Cauldron to destroy such things?” I can’t sound too eager, but I’m finally getting somewhere and I can’t waste this opportunity. 

“Not all of them,” Rhysand explains. “There are a few in existence that were buried or were hidden from his sight.”

“And they’re powerful enough to shield a whole region?” If so, it’s probably not something I can move out of here, but maybe it can be damaged. Its very existence gives me options. Tamlin would kill to even know Rhysand was using one.

“With regular maintenance,” he says. “That’s why we regularly do stuff like this.”

“Will we get to see it?”

His shadows drift off him, poking at the rippling power that makes up the shield, looking for weak spots. “No, not for this.”

I try not to let my disappointment show. At least the knowledge of how it works is something profitable to take back, I draw comfort in that, but still, the doubt that it’s not enough to let me get back home gnaws at me. I need more. I need enough to have this ink on my arm forgiven. 

“Does it hurt you?” I ask. “To use this much power?”

“It’s taxing, but it’s not painful,” he assures. “Not usually anyway. If there is a fight to be had, then maybe the strain of both things at once would cause some discomfort.”

I put a hand on his thigh, “Good.” To my dismay, I think I actually mean it.

----

We make it a fourth of the way around the mountain before we stop to make camp for the night. By this time, the sun has long since set. Nighttime is a sight to behold out here, the sea of stars and full moon are enough to make me wonder how much better it could have possibly looked if the Night Court had remained intact after the War. 

I make myself useful and set up the tent from the supplies Rhysand packed while he finishes dolling out guard duty to the men. At least I am not totally useless. I even manage to get the mat for us to sleep on all set up by the time he comes back, the single layer of fur a harsh contrast to the amount that adorns his bed, but it’ll do. It’s still more comfortable than what I had waiting for me back in the Grasslands. 

He looks tired by the time he kicks off his boots, a bit of red streaking his eyes from the strain of weaving the wards for hours on end. He hadn’t lied about it being taxing then.

Azriel lets himself into the tent a moment later. “Cass checked in. Nothing amiss on their end. Wards are looking good, Mor got nearly as far as we did before they made camp.”

“Good,” Rhysand rolls his shoulders and neck, wings flaring behind him as best he can in the confines of this much smaller tent. Both he and Azriel have to stoop when they stand. “Guard duties have been assigned, everything looks normal so far.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Azriel replies, his gaze flicking momentarily to me. “We’ll cross over where we ran into them last time. Even knowing they won’t strike the same way twice is enough to put me on edge.”

“You’re always on edge, Az,” Rhysand replies. “You should sleep.”

Azriel huffs and disappears as quickly as he’d come, a bit of shadow trailing after him. 

With camp set up, there’s not much left to do other than dole out some of the rations that had been packed and settle in for the night, but I do wish I’d had anything to pack that would have given me something to do with my hands. Going to bed with threats knocking on our door has never been anything new, but it never gets any easier either. 

“Do you think we’ll run into Amarantha’s men again?” I ask as I split some bread, hard cheese, and dried meat between the two of us. 

He produces what I initially thought to be a waterskin from the supplies, but it turns out to be wine instead, a bit of the red liquid dribbling down his chin as he takes a long drink. It has been a long day, riding has not lessened the soreness in my muscles from our earlier escapades, if anything I should want to stretch out on the mat and sleep for a very long time. Instead, the path that little bead of wine makes down his chin makes me want to climb into his lap and lick it away. It is an effort to focus on the food in my hands and eat instead. We got a little too vulnerable last time, I need to be better about how and when I offer up my body if I want to make it out of this with some semblance of my soul intact.

“She is vindictive, but she is patient,” he muses, leaning back on his elbows. “If not now, then in a few weeks. She will not take our little gift kindly.”

“Why poke her at all?” I blurt. “You have all this, why risk it?”

“This is a fraction of what we used to be,” he says, but his eyes grow distant, like he’s looking somewhere far, far away. “And she and I have unfinished business, I will not be satisfied until I have her head on a pike.”

I’m glad he is too distracted to see the shiver that works its way up my spine. It’s a good reminder of who he really is. I will need it to keep my wits about me. 

I take a bite of bread, weighing my options. I should ask what kind of business would prompt such a response, but that conversation with Mor stops me. He’d loved someone else and she was gone, given what I knew of him, that seemed like enough, and I didn’t have it in me to talk to him about lost loves. That was too vulnerable. 

He gives himself a little shake after a few minutes, clearing whatever cloud was in his head, and takes another long drink of wine before passing it over to me. I should stay as far away from the wine as I am his body to preserve some semblance of self-control, but I can’t think up a good excuse to not if he were to ask why. There are too many things in my head tonight. One sip can’t be too bad, right? 

The warmth that spreads through me is addictive, helps the stale bread and the guilt that’s been sitting in my chest all day go down easier. The next sip is more of a very long drink, until the bitterness of the grapes doesn’t taste so terrible.

Silence stretches out between us, nothing but the sounds of our chewing and the quiet passing back and forth of the wineskin. There’s only a single lantern for light, swaying in the breeze of the open tent door. Beyond us, the camp rustles as it gets ready to sleep, but someone in the distance is singing a song in Illyrian.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rhysand asks a moment later, the silence stretching between us bordering on uncomfortable now.

It’s my turn to have the wineskin again and it freezes halfway to my lips. Shit!

I force my voice to be even as I say, “I’ve been asking you questions all day, it’s only fair.”

He sits up, dusting some crumbs off his chest. “How trained are your powers?”

I don’t know what question I thought he was going to ask, but it was most certainly not that. “There’s…” I flex my fingers, thinking of the way Tam’s claws slide in and out at will. I’d only ever summoned my own twice. The first was an accident, when I was twelve or thirteen. I’d had my first cycle and my hormones were all over the place, I’d been trying to scrub a persistent blood stain out of my skirts and when it wouldn’t come out I’d gotten so pissed off the claws had come out to tear the fabric to ribbons. The second… the second had been the night my parents died. “There’s not enough to train.”

Which makes this whole mate thing make even less sense, because how am I supposed to be this male’s equal? If he sits still for too long darkness starts leaking out his skin like it’s trying to escape the confines of his body. Sometimes if he steps down too hard I can feel the power of him rattle the earth. He is called Death Incarnate for a reason. And I somehow barely have enough for a few party tricks. 

He inclines his head to study me as I take another long drink of wine. My head is starting to feel a little fuzzy with how much I’ve drank and I pass the skin back over before I lose my last shred of self-control.

“But your mother’s power surpassed your father’s and it certainly didn’t pass to Tamlin,” he muses. 

The warmth of the wine leaves me in a rush, only the cold mountain air in its place. He’s wrong. Wrong about their power levels, wrong about Tam, wrong for even mentioning them in the first place when their blood is on his hands. 

“We never talked about it,” I grind out through my teeth. There are too many things on my tongue and I feel my control quickly spiraling out of reach. “And nothing ever manifested.” 

“I only ask because I haven’t seen you expel any magic, I just wanted to make sure you’re ok. It’s fine if you don’t have any, as long as you’re not hurting yourself trying to hold it in, is all I meant.”

I shiver, arms wrapping around myself as a gust of wind whips through the tent in a ghostly howl. “It can hurt?” 

“It can drive you mad,” he replies, standing and offering me his hand. 

My legs wobble a bit, the room spinning and he keeps a hand on my waist to steady me. Only when he’s sure my footing is sure does he let go enough to help me untie my chestplate. I should have drank a lot less than I had.

We climb silently onto the mat, nestled under the fur, and I fully expect to go back to sleeping back to back now that our moment of horniness has passed, but he wraps himself around me, wing once again draped over us. It’s like our own little pocket of warmth.

“My mother used to say the trees talked to her,” I whisper, his words clinging to me as tightly as he is now. It’s probably the wine, but I can’t get the nagging feeling that I’m seeing the wrong picture as memory after memory drags itself to the surface. My mother had bouts where she wouldn’t talk for weeks, just staring off into the distance. I remember being a kid, holding her hands and talking for hours, making up stories like the ones she’d tell me at night, trying to get a reaction out of her. 

“She’d wander off into the woods, rambling about it and I…”  Those bouts always ended with her having slipped out of the tent, searching for things she insisted were calling to her. “I learned to track by following her footprints and helping her get home.” She never remembered leaving. And I’d get her back home, helping clean the mud and leaves out of her hair, braiding it out of her way and making her presentable before my father returned to see her missing. There came a point where I’d stopped sleeping to make sure I could catch her before she got too far out.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently, warm breath ghosting over my neck.

I shiver despite the heat of him. My father couldn’t have known, right? He would have helped her if had thought it was her own magic not being released. He wasn’t that cruel.

He wasn’t!

“I know a lot of males who chase after power so they can breed it in their sons,” he continues.

I want to put my hands over my ears. 

I want my lungs to stop feeling like they might cave in on themselves; my heart to stop feeling like it might just beat right out my chest. He. Is. Wrong. He has to be!

“My father was like that too,” he admits. 

I don’t know where the words come from, or why my mouth moves without me thinking about it. “I guess we’re all just products of our fathers.”

I’m prepared for the consequences of such a truth, but I’m definitely not ready for him to say, “Guess it’s a good thing they killed each other then.”

-----------

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[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

Tags : @fatfagsj @brokenloverr24

[zin-fan-del]

Orange Inflation Afterparty

2,500 word story written over the course of a day. Features two men startled by an expansive beginning to their lazy morning after a huge house party.

“Hey, dude,” I nudged the husky boy asleep on my couch. He tossed and turned as my prodding continued throughout the minute, lulled into drowsiness by its gentle suede texture. I sighed, pulling myself back to admire the snoring slob: his short but stocky frame curled admirably into the loveseat, strange wine stains dribbled down the white wife-beater stretched across his chest and tucked into red track pants. Still seemingly asleep, he lifted his shirt with a slow hand and scratched at his happy trail. My eyebrows raised.

“Yo, Austin.” I pressed harder against his arm, and the thick eyelashes hooded by dark furrowed brows parted lightly. “Oh, shit, man. It’s even worse.” “What’s worse?” His hoarse, deep voice creaked out as the man gradually climbed out of slumber. His body jolted before he erupted into a belch loud enough I was forced to wait for it to end. After he recovered with a deep breath, I launched into my explanation:

“There’s some stuff spreading on your face.” It was succinct but accurate; the sweaty athlete hunkered down on this chair in the middle of the sofa and went basically comatose. I could smell alcohol on his breath as the burp pervaded my general area, which explained his roaring gut—but orange…?

“Stuff? The fuck?” Austin, ever the wordsmith, quickly leapt into action with a curious arm, shuffling his digits all over that sleepy freckled visage. “I don’t feel anything. But man, what a party, right?” Beneath the discoloration, I could tell that my eyes burning holes in our star player brought a lively rosiness to his slender pale face. Between burps, he tried to give me a reassuring grin.

My brows furrowed as I watched him sit up, dipping his face down as he pulled his center of mass upward. When he raised it, I gasped: his entire head was bright orange, minus the worried hazel eyes that darted about and those pearly whites. “You look like… well, like an orange?!” My arms crossed and my mouth fell open as I guffawed at the deeply discolored athlete surveying his body on my couch. By now, whatever this effect was had slid down his thick trunk enough to be noticeable even by him.

“What in the hell…?” His muscular arms stuck out as he watched the hue spread down them as though someone had taken an airbrush to his skin. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow as his breath began to quicken and the rumbling of his belly churned even louder. The confident smile on his face mutated into a surprised, inquisitive glare as every last inch of his skin was doused in what looked like beaming neon orange paint.

It would seem that things were at a head to the two of them: this transformation alone was bizarre enough to be simply inexplicable. How did this man, who has been sleeping for hours, just get turned into a walking orange highlighter? If it wasn’t for the clothes wrapped around his nearly fluorescent body, the beaming glow amplified the luster of his rough skin. I was pinned to the spot, admiring this abnormality as he lifted up his arm and took a heavy whiff of the hair in his armpit. At first, he pulled back as though reacting to the pungent body odor he expected; but he froze, lulled into a sense of curiosity, and went back to sniffing himself.

“This is insane, man. What just happened?” I asked him, finally composed enough to assemble a functional question.

“I smell so fucking good,” he muttered. “Good God,” he reclined into the cushion and closed his eyes, ignoring my inquiry outright. He puffed out his gut with a heavy breath in, his hands sliding down the front of his torso to gently dig his fingers in his abdomen. Austin’s pot belly was the talk of the fraternity after he ballooned up 50 pounds in weight within a year, fattening himself up with an insane diet that expanded him seemingly faster than pregnancy could have. He would slim down considerably as years passed, but beneath the wrinkles of his sleeveless shirt I could spot the plump paunch that time left behind.

“Are you… are you okay?” I began to wonder what merit these questions of mine even held at this point, since he seemed preoccupied by moaning and groaning. “You’re not in pain, are you?” I stepped towards the human nightlight, concerned his writhing was out of pain.

“M-Mitch,” he gasped between breaths and deep belches. “I’m gonna pop… H-help…” From that belly beneath the off-white tank, sounds of gurgling as vicious as boiling water erupted.

“Pop?! What, what, are you horny or--?!” My question would get answered not with words but with yet another astonishing sight. At first, I thought Austin’s heavy breaths were causing his body to expand with air. But as he rumbled away, moaning uncontrollably, he seemed to fatten up at an insane rate. What remained of his Adonis belt melted as every last pound he lost over the years were immediately reverted.

Austin must have been stunned speechless, because the only thing coming out of his mouth was dribble seeping from the corners of his pursed lips. He ballooned up as though someone shoved an air compressor up his rear and cranked it up without warning: the little belly Mitch noticed before swelled round and tight, pushing out over the lap between his spread legs. The front of his shirt was pulled out from under his sweatpants, unable to remain tucked as the hunky man’s gut filled it out in seconds. The deep voice he spoke with seemed to quiet as his cheeks filled up, puckering his bright red lips and forcing his pitiful moans up an octave.

Mitch could only watch in shock as his friend’s dramatic growth spiraled out of control. It appeared as though his belly was growing into a nice, fat orange all on its own up until the expansion began to spread. Whatever was pumping him up seemed to have no intention of letting up anytime soon and this world-record-sized ball gut surely couldn’t fit much more in it? Austin groped at it with his hands vigorously, pressing against himself to try and empty his growing body before he loses all control.

He felt a heavy surge of liquid fill his bottom and stretched his neck out to confirm it by sight. His thin but nimble legs had puffed up into ridiculous water balloons in his pants, stretching the seams of his pants to their limits. The bubbling had spread throughout him wherever he seemed to swell; as his wide breasts fattened like beach balls, his head sunk behind them and his moaning drowned in the orchestra of noises his huge body was letting off. Periodically, gas would release from either end of the humongous boy’s body at a rapturous volume but the pressure filling him tight refused to ease whatsoever.

I watched him widen, his wide butt ballooning up enough to spill out from behind his thick legs. Any slack in those track pants had stretched out to its limit, struggling to contain the burgeoning fat within. Before my very eyes, his expanding body transformed like a balloon animal, filling up with girth enough to shove his limbs out. Austin grumbled and groaned as he strained against his own frame, appearing to be drowning in the expanding pool of weight centered around his waist.

His groin lifted his belly up like an auto lift as it grew, twisting the seams of his pants and fully pulling his stained tank out from under their waistband. His furry gut bulged out from beneath his shirt enough to reveal a dense happy trail leading up to his belly button. Surely, his weight had doubled in an instant. The growth appeared to crawl to a stop, leaving the quarter-ton balloon pinned to the couch in a resigned starfish pose.

I strained my ears as the vicious roiling subsided somewhat, having stepped forward and placed the side of my head against his swollen paunch. Were it not for the rough touch of his skin, which sent shivers up his spine when pressed into, there could have been a weather balloon puffed up under that raggedy top or some other exaggerated inflatable costume. He even sounded like a water balloon, the surge of growth from earlier having quieted into a gentle glug, glug, glug…

That explains the ripe orange smell tickling my nostrils, and the syrupy citrus flavor his skin imparted on my curious tongue. The pool of liquid building up beneath him, the bright blotchy stains around his nipples and groin, the relentless bubbling and gurgling… it suddenly all made sense. But, this has to be a dream, Mitch rubbed his own belly, concerned that the effect might be contagious only after tasting his friend’s engorged belly. He could see the orange stain left behind on his tongue but otherwise felt normal; what did Austin do to turn into a fat piece of fruit all of a sudden?

As that thought crossed my mind, I realized that my focus had been lost. Somehow, in the instant I looked away, the rapid expansion that seemed to have been quelled resumed in full force. If there was a hose up the vivid athlete’s rear as Mitch once hypothesized, whoever was its cruel master dialed its pump up to the max. With a troubled yell, muffled by the juice filling his face, Austin’s growth exploded in rate. The boy rocked back and forth as his ass, swelling with the rest of his waist, raised him out of the relaxed pose he assumed on the couch. Buuuuurp! With a splatter of juice raining over his breast down upon my head, the overblown blob of a man belched, likely in response to the rumbling of gas bubbles rising within his distended stomach.

I barely recognized Austin in the mass that bellowed like a fluorescent hot-air balloon. I could see the top of his freshly-shaven head, the floral tattoo running down his right arm, the clothes he’s been wearing all night. But this was barely a human any longer: his skin stretched beyond its natural limits to contain the juice being crammed into it. The lower half of his body grew from a bloated pear-like shape into that of a teardrop as his midsection ballooned out around his waist and sucked in the thick legs beneath it. His socked feet, dirtied by an evening of partying, pressed tight against the flesh that swallowed them up. The overblown remnants of his legs shoved were apart by the mass expanding between them and filled with enough juice to bring them flush with the curvature of his fat waist.

“No, no!” I could barely recognize the words beneath the goop sealing his trap. Austin’s growth refused to slow as his chest similarly forced his arms out to the side and swallowed them up. Slap, slap. His bare hands struck what little they could reach, immobilized and enveloped in big fat arms fit for a nice, round orange.

“What the fuck,” was all I could say as I scanned the human blimp. Just moments ago, I expected the nimble athlete to slink off the couch and crack open a beer like usual. In fact, I came here to ask if he wanted my lunch leftovers, since he slept uninterrupted straight through midday. “Um.” Needless to say, I was shocked into speechlessness throughout almost the entirety of Austin’s sudden inflation. But surveying his new plump body was exhilarating both to the eyes and to my curious digits.

At the base of his shirt and near the fattest area of his waist, the seams of his clothes lost their valiant weight against his girth. But shockingly, the orange was still wrapped in clearly undersized apparel where it counted: juice spurted from his wide nipples gently, the fountains of liquid pushing through the cotton tank squeezing into his torso. The imprint of a penis sprayed it to the side as though his polyester track pants were hardly present, right where it should be at the base of his groin. Wordlessly, I sated my curiosity by pressing my upper body into the blimp, marveling at its immense heft and soft texture.

“Mmmph!” Austin’s eyes rolled as he moaned, the streams surging from his round frame intensified only slightly by my prodding.

“Shit, Jesus, man,” I stumbled back, winded. “You’re gonna fucking blow.”

The boy before me clocked in at least several tons. The couch beneath him began to fold as juice pumped him ever fuller with each passing second. Despite having fattened into a nearly perfect sphere, his extremities only sunk deeper into the hyperventilating athlete’s zeppelin of a belly. The flapping of his hands and feet grew even more rapid until he was too plump to even be mistakable for a living being any further.

Ten feet, I guessed he must have grown to in both height and width. Folds formed where his arms and legs ballooned up around smothered hands and feet. His face pointed straight up at the ceiling yet his yellow eyes still darted from point to point as though searching for help. I could hear his periodic cries for help beneath the surging, bubbling, straining orchestra unleashed by his impossible growth. Juice gushed from every orifice on his body, dribbling on the furniture and floor messily beneath him.

Boom. Preemptively, I must have plugged my ears and forced my eyes shut, because the earth-shattering bang I was expecting sounded like a distant sound effect. A tsunami of warm liquid showered over me in an instant, forcing me to hold my breath in the heavy deluge for several seconds. But as the dripping of drops transitioned from intense rainfall into a gentle shower, I creaked one eye open toward the scraps of the man once known as--

Austin? My eye took some time to adjust to the brand new paint job the late athlete provided us with during his explosive end. At least, during what I assumed was an explosive end, prior to finally focusing on the camouflaged orange figure lackadaisically louging on a sofa stained the same color as him. Instead of anguish, his flushed face sported closed eyes and a hearty smile, alongside a militia of sweat drops. He, too, opened an eye and spent a moment getting his bearings on the situation; his belly rose and fell with heavy breaths and the arms and legs I watched rise like dough in an oven had reverted to their slender forms.

“Guh…” I guffawed eloquently at my slim friend, whose fate I feared was sealed by his own unending girth.

“G-gotcha.” Austin’s shit-eating grin grew wider.

[goodlittlecuntboy]

I've always loved fucking desperate little sluts like you. You're so damn easy to please and submissive, you'll let us do anything to you, won't you? Yes, I said us. My gf and I are both bi and whatever I get, she gets too.

I'd fuck your ass deep and fast while she rides your face. She may even take pity on you and suck your cute little boy clit for you. Or maybe she'll ride your pussy with her strapon while I'm under you thrusting up into your tight ass. I'd be choking you out hard while she sucks your nipples.

We'd just hotbox the room and rape your body until we're all too high to think straight. My girl would pull her strapon out and take a turn with your ass while I fuck your throat, grabbing onto your hair and forcing you down my length to take it all while she spanks you and scratches at your back.

My girl is a squirter, so when we're finished with you, we'll both stand above you and cum all over your face and chest. Barely able to breathe, shaking, sore, stoned and cockdrunk as fuck, we'll leave you in a mess like the rape meat you are. Maybe we won't lock your room door on the way out so anyone can see how easy it is to have you begging for more. Turning you into the street's cumdump whore seems like it'd be too damn easy. Just tie you to the bed and let anyone who wants a piece of you have you all to themselves until they cum. It wouldn't take long until it's all you know how to do and all you want to do.

We'd lock you up in our apartment and whore you out to anyone willing to pay what you're worth, and we'll even use you to film porn so you're always being fucking useful to us, even when we're not the ones fucking you. Everything about your sad new life is sex. The rape becomes so normal to you that you stop recognising it as rape at all. You're just a set of holes to be stuffed and cum in.

We'll have you walk around naked for easy free use. Whenever we want some stress relief we can just call for you to service us like the slave you're so good at being. I could bend you over any surface in our place and you'd thank me. My girl could force you to the ground and ride your face, and after you've woken back up from being passed out from lack of air, you'd happily ask her if she wants more.

We'd tattoo our initials onto you so we'd own you. Every time you look in the mirror, there it is, right above your collarbone. You'd be collard and leashed at all times when walking freely, and have your arms locked behind your back whenever we pimp you out. Blindfolded when we want to move you, so you never know where you're about to be fucked within an inch of your life. Leaking cum from an asshole that can barely close anymore and a pussy so tender and overestimated, that even wearing panties causes an intense mix of pleasure and pain.

You belong on your knees with cocks and pussies all around you, using you as the worthless toy you are.

fuck i've been staring at this for so long... rereading everytime i log on

i think i'd actually die if this happened to me. it would have been a life wel lived, being used and stuffed with cum and ejejdb like yeah fuck my throat like im a fleshlight?? that's what i'm here for

anyway i think this is a great first date idea also

[crystallizedkingdoms]

TAZ NC: Plant

Merle Highchurch’s soulwood arm reflects on its purpose. No one else seems to be willing to do so, anyway.

wc: 777

you can also read this on ao3 <3

hello!! second fic for the @taznovembercelebration! I got the prompt Plant, and of course it had to be Merle-centric. but! I wanted to actually explore Merle’s arm rather than the man himself! I love Merle a lot, I think I’ve come to accept him as my favourite of the THB, and I think viewing him from the pov of his Arm was really fun! so, enjoy :3

Hello there. You know me. No, really, I assure you that you know me. Although I have no name, I have no mouth, nor any eyes, you know me. I have no limbs, and I never will. I live to be one.

See, you know me. For I am the soulwood granted to a dwarf who trusted too much. I am the familiar, dark wood that twists and bends itself into the shape of a limb removed long ago. The hands of my owner’s loved ones have settled upon my wood more times than any creature will ever bother counting. Soft hands, rough hands, small, and large. I have felt them all, and in turn, my owner has felt it because of me.

It’s a service I have come to enjoy. Where I once was only prodded by gloved, studying hands, stuffed in a pot hardly tended to, I now explore. I explore unique fingerprints along my wood and weapons wielded with me. I explore adventuring children’s soft hair and legs of older adventurers too tall for my owner. I explore Bottlenose Cove, and I aid in building it.

Yes, I am scratched, I am weathered, I am used. So, so incredibly used. But who could possibly say that this grand adventure of life isn’t worth it? If this work isn’t better than sitting, unused, unloved, then I am unsure what is.

And yet, any awe I have once inspired has long fizzled out for those around me. My existence is a simple fact of life. A fact of my owner. The days of party tricks are coming to an end, though I will never stop fetching and stealing items across the room from unsuspecting loved ones. My owner never gets enough of that. But even those little moments have become commonplace. That is why you know me, but do not recognize me or my work. I am not recognized or appreciated. I do not shock. I only work.

Not that I have ever cared to shock. From the moment my soul intertwined with my owner’s, locked together in a way that transcends most mortal connections, I exist only to work. Who cares for shocking, who cares for party points, when the owner I adorn takes care of me, and I of him? For every day he moves me an inch on his armrest to bathe in soft sunbeams, every afternoon he gives me a drink I don’t always need, I am loved. Though he gives me no name, rarely thanks me outside of making some grand moves, I am loved.

In turn, I work for him.

The lifetimes I will live nestled under the remainder of my owner’s arm will be lifetimes of work. Lifetimes of children’s hair to rustle and lifetimes of people to steal from. I will dip inside of salty beach waves and be buried within soft sand until the grains become part of me. I will watch as loved ones disappear, off to another world, and my owner will use me to wipe his saltwater tears. I shall cling to him tighter, grow my leaves twice as green, and strengthen my bark tenfold. I will have lifetimes of work and love ahead, and I must help my owner bear the brunt of it less.

Do not see me as a burden. I was a gift to a dying man. I am now a tool for a proudly living man. I may not be as intricately dexterous as his old flesh must have been, and I may be a reminder for a terrible mistake, but I am a gift. I am a gift strengthened with each passing year, I am a gift that takes work. I am the Peacemaker’s Right Hand, and I lay on the wounded and I lay on the dying, and I am part of their healing.

Pan knows it is not easy work. My owner is no easy man. He is hard and he is stubborn, always working on so many things. I will, without a doubt, continue to work for lifetimes, even when my owner is retired. Who else will fetch him tea, or throw him baths, or tend to the other plants in his life? It’s no one-handed job. This is what I must do. However, just as much as I am no burden, neither is my owner. Merle Hitower Highchurch, the Peacemaker, Earl of Bottlenose Cove, is worth it all. There is no man on any plane of existence that I would rather be attached to, in mortal body and soul.

My owner, my Merle, works me down to the bark… but oh, what an honour.

[blogfullofemos]

Okay So I Promised a Carmy Fic 😅

I definitely wrote this when I was feeling low (which has been very frequent lately, hence the lack of posting), while listening to Britney Spears- Everytime. I'll share the tidbit I wrote at the time. If I can follow through on it, I'll continue it. Enjoy.

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x fem! reader

Summary: Carmy doesn't understand why you're giving him a cold shoulder but he really wants you to say something.

Trigger Warning: Reader is experiencing an intense anxiety attack alone from C-PTSD, stuck in a hard headspace. If it becomes hard to read PLEASE STOP. As a person who suffers from it, I just want to shed some light to it.

Also Warning: There's touching and a scratch.

Word Count: 1344

Again thank you for sticking with me, I don't post often. But when I do, I see the amazing support and greatly appreciate. 💓 Enjoy and remember, take it easy.

      You haven’t been you for a week now and Carmen knew once it started. The short responses, the quiet removal of yourself in group settings, and the fake laughter. Did he say something to trigger you? Was he pushing too much of his stresses onto you without realizing? You guys were having petty arguments lately, but he always apologized when he was wrong. You doing the same. Taking a final drag from his cig during his break, he pulls out his phone to text you.

Carmy: Hey love, do we need to talk…

Carmen looks at the message and tsk as he deletes it, that was a little too abrasive. Even if he was reading a little too deep into it. He looks around the space, trying to communicate his concerns about you in an easier light. 

Carmy: My love, is everything okay? I’m going to let everybody off early today and give you all my attention tonight. Would you mind? Just let me know ok ❤️

Carmen jumps as the back door of the restaurant slams open with a highly irritated Natalie. “CARMY can you tell RICHIE and FAK to stop messing with the FUCKING ice machine!! Hitting it with a fucking wet mop is not going to FIX the shit and don’t even get me started if a fucking health inspector THINKS of coming!!” she yells with a redden face. Is she close to crying? Carmen quickly pulled himself out of his own issues and patted Nat on her shoulder. “Take a breather Sugar.” he says gently before storming inside the building.

“CUZZO!! FAK!! YOU BETTER GIVE ME A GOOD FUCKING REASON!!” is all Nat could hear before the door slams closed behind her.

A FEW HOURS LATER *in SpongeBob narrator voice*

       Before opening the apartment door, Carmen checks his phone once more. You really left him on seen, and would he be wrong to want to confront you? No he wouldn’t, and with that he unlocks the door with all the jurisdiction in his hands. He enters and slams the door behind him, “(Y/N)!!” he yells. The apartment remains in a still silence, the living room remaining the same as it was when he left. Hastily taking off his coat and tossing it on the cluttered couch, he storms down the narrow hallway. Yelling your name once more and checking the kitchen, he stops. Hearing the dull hum of the showerhead within the closed bathroom door, he barges himself inside. Ripping the shower curtain open with your name flying out his mouth, his eyes shot open as he sees you.

       You were hugging your legs, your drenched curly hair clinging onto your curled body. Your eyes looked back at him with red, your under eyebags swollen and dark. God, how long have you been crying? You hiccupped as your face scrunched into more sadness, “I’m so sorry.” You sobbed weakly burying your face back onto your knees. Whatever anger he felt shattered in seconds, his heart dropping cold. Instantly he lowered himself to your level, placing a gentle hand on your back. You were shaking. “Hey, hey.” he says, trying to brush your wet hair from your faee. But you weren’t helping, turning your face away and letting your hair fall back into place. Carmen quickly takes his shirt off, and inches nearer to you. His arm wrapping around you, the side of the bathtub being the only barrier between you two. “Baby you gotta say something please.” his voice shakes within your hair. You sob some more as he rests his head on your shoulder, letting the cold water soak him as well.

     “I’m having a hard time.” You admit, hugging yourself tighter. Instinctually Carmen tries to pull you in tighter, his other hand resting on your thigh. “Is it about us?” he rushes as panic rises within him. You shake your head quickly, easing his inner worries in seconds. He kisses the side of your head, “Tell me what’s on your mind right now baby.” He says giving you another peck. You shake your head and sob. You were being so weak, and he didn’t deserve to deal with it. He has bigger things to be stressed about. Why be another on his list? A few minutes pass as you both listen to the water fall and your dry sobs eased up. He pets your head, “Hey look at me please.” he says. You turn your face to him and rest it on your knees, letting him brush away all your hair. His blue eyes were watery, his nose and cheeks rosy. “I’m here.” He consoles with a sniffle, resting his tatted hand on your cheek. He soothingly rubs his thumb, easing your tension headache and nerves. You close your eyes, finally relishing some form of sensation. 

      “You can trust me; I know we’ve been on bumpy grounds. But I’m not letting you go this easy.” He says, kissing your forehead. Instantly you loosen your grip on yourself and pull him in for a kiss. He grips the side of the bathtub for stability, but never letting his lips leave yours. You rest your hands in his soaked waves, pulling him in more. God, you needed him, your heart ached for his every touch. “I need you.” You plead, never wanting to break the distance. Your hands fall as you watch him stand up and undress before you. Your heavy eyes scan him slowly, his cock barely even hard and you couldn’t blame him. “Get up.” He says putting his hands out like anchors. You take a hold of them and stumble up, your body unbelievably heavy and tight. His eyes scanning your body and when you finally stood, he steps in.

    He corners you in and away from the cold water. He silently makes you look into his eyes as his fingers hold your chin gently. He takes your lips with his in a slow and soft hold. You place your hands onto his shoulders, pulling him closer. He puts his hand on the side of your neck, the other above your head. You open your mouth more and brush your tongue on his upper lip, granting him more access which he quickly followed. Every movement he made, even in the make out, subtle and slow. He’s letting you take the lead, unsure if you were doing this to use him as a distraction but fuck it if you were. It was better than any thing else. He breaks the make out for a breather before heading to your favorite spot on your neck, pecking it as his hands rests below your breasts. “Carmy.” You whisper as you arch your back to try and press your body against his. He only smiles against your skin as he licks your neck before giving it a nip.

      You moan as he starts suckling the area. Bringing your hand within his hair and gripping it, the other clawing his shoulder for more. He grips your ribs only slightly from the scratch you were giving him, “Easy babe.” he says.

“Sorry.” you apologize, moving the hand to his side. You rest your head back and close your eyes, letting your body take in the tantalizing sensations. His hands fondling your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples, and his mouth marking up your neck. Maybe you can trust him. Maybe he is strong enough to deal with your messy ass. Maybe you could love him deeper than this. You took a deep inhale as you told him everything. The way your cptsd is chewing you alive and your anxiety just adding the many cherries on top. Carmen stopped marking up your neck to hold you in an embrace. He listened as your body shook every sentence that spewed out, kissing your temple and rubbing your back. He asked questions on things he didn’t quite understand, and you answered.  “I’m sorry for throwing so much on you, I-I.” you try to finish while wiping your eyes, but Carmen shooshes you.

      “I’m just happy you told me.” he smiles, kissing your temple one more time. 

[scolbert22]

Slobby bear being controlled

Watch Fob Slob

Alek had meant well enough when it all started.

There was a sidewalk sale going on in the antique store below his apartment, and he was always looking for a new piece of furniture to brighten up his sad little studio, so he popped down. He had only just gotten to the bottom of the outdoor staircase connecting his door to the pavement below when he saw it glinting in a cardboard box marked "FREE". He reached into the box, curious.

When he withdrew his hand he saw he was holding a tiny medallion with a miniature painting of a lapdog on it. On the back, there was an inscription in a sturdy, archaic font:

OBEDIENCE

"That's a very unique piece," said a voice behind him.

Alek turned around to see Mrs. Lexington, the fiery little woman who ran the antique store.

"It is very beautiful, I love the little portrait!" Mrs. Lexington smiled, but there was a glint in her eyes he didn't recognize.

"Something tiny like that in a big old place like this is something special, only reveals itself to the person who ought to own it!"

"Do you know what it's purpose was?"

"It's a watch fob, kiddo! you attach it to a watch chain. And one like that is very unique indeed, the dog represents loyalty and obedience."

"Well, I don't own a watch with a chain, but..." Alek reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He plucked off a phone charm, some anime character his nephew had given him, and with some effort he attached the fob. "There!" He exclaimed cheerfully.

"You be careful with that, it's more responsibility than you know..." Mrs. Lexington said, her face deadly serious.

"Of course, Mrs. L. I would never lose something I got from your shop, how would I live it down?" Alek laughed. "Oh shoot, you know I forgot my wallet! Let me run back upstairs and I'll be right back down. You know I've had my eyes on that chaise lounge!" He was marching back up the wood stairs when he felt a sudden softness below his left foot and then a terrible snapping sound as his leg plunged through the rotten plank.

"AAAAHHH" Alek cried as he stumbled. Thankfully he was only on the third step, and pulled out his leg with a bit of effort. "This stupid staircase should have been repaired years ago, I could have been hurt!" he fumed. He took a photo with his phone and headed toward his landlord's house, a block away.

____________________________________________________________

Tony Marucci was sitting back in his easy chair watching March Madness when he heard the aggressive pounding on his door. He got up and waddled over to the door, pulling his basketball shorts up over the three inches of exposed, fur-lined ass crack. The giant man had been a college athlete himself once, 10 years ago. However, the multiple properties he inherited from his dad coupled with his natural laziness had slowly but surely the Italian Stallion into a lumbering bear. He opened the door and looked down at the angry little otter who lived in his property stood there with fire in his eyes.

"What can I do you for, Alex?" Tony asked easily leaning against the doorway on one arm. He flashed a hairy, unwashed pit and his wifebeater rode up. He scratched his fuzzy midriff and watched the poor little guy's resolve falter. Tony wasn't queer or nothin', but he always loved attention, especially if he could use it to shut up whiny tenants.

The yappy little dude ran a hand down his bearded face quickly and his anger had returned. "I just stepped through one of the rotten planks on my staircase, which I told you needed to be replaced! You need to get someone to fix those immediately or-"

"Listen Adam," The giant man bowled over the irritating little tirade. "All complaints must be put in writing and submitted via email, we've talked about this."

"I did that! Two months ago! And you ignored me! Now I have come in person to tell you if you don't get someone on it immediately I will withhold my rent, which I think you will find is within my rights in this city!" Tony didn't know if he wanted to punch the little dork or give him a noogie like he was an annoying little brother. He took in a deep breath and sighed.

"Do you have photographic evidence of the damage?"

The little dweeb practically jumped out of his skin getting his phone. "Yes indeed I do, I'd like you to take a look at these! I could have been killed! And Mrs. Lexington is my witness, these stairs need to..."

The yapping continued incessantly as tony looked down at the photo of the hole in the step. He rolled his eyes at the minor damage when something glinted just outside of his vision. What is that? He thought absently, his eyes following the dangling charm on his tenant's phone. So prettyyyy.... The charm twirled around and a word flashed across his eyes and burned deep into his brain:

OBEDIENCE

The slob's scruffy jaw went slack, falling open. A string of drool slowly spooled as the little man in front of him continued to emphatically prattle in his direction.

_____________________________________________________

"I bet I could get some of your other tenants together and start a strike, I'm sure you treat them just as neglectfully as you treat me, is that what you want Mr. Maru- ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME MISTER MARUCCI?" Alek was red in the face from his one-sided argument. when he finally looked at up at the landlord, the man was staring at nothing with his face and arms slack.

"listeninggggg" groaned the entranced bear.

"Wha- what are you doing?" Alek said, suddenly worried the handsome slob was having a stroke.

"Obeeedieeent" he crooned in reply, giggling dumbly.

Alek was confused for a second, and then remembered the word on the watch fob. "Are you...no, that's insane..." He regarded his landlord suspiciously. "Stand up straight."

The entranced goon in front of him immediately complied, his arms at his sides and his feet together. His jaw snapped shut, and he looked like a chubby toy soldier. Alek didn't know how to react, and he laughed frantically. He ushered his unwitting victim into his own house. I wonder what I can get away with, he thought to himself.

"Take off your shirt" He commanded imperiously. The bear complied, peeling off his sweaty wifebeater and revealing his hair peppered belly, chest, shoulders, and back. Alek reached out gingerly. He was scared of breaking the spell, but as he felt the warm, pliant flesh of his landlord's belly, the man simply leaned into his touch and hummed a single, needy note in the back of his throat.

"Do fifteen jumping jacks." The man instantly followed instructions, bouncing in time in a way that waws nearly hypnotic to Alek. His silky basketball shorts slowly migrated down his hips as he jumped, revealing that he was going commando, and that he had never heard of manscaping. Finally, with most of his pubes and half his ass hanging out, he stopped and stood up straight. "Behave normally."

Tony seemed to snap out of it with a snort, but he was still clearly fully absorbed by Alek. "Hey Alek! Don't worry about that staircase, I'll someone out there as soon as possible, I promise."

"In the meantime, I can stay here with you." Alek suggested.

"In the meantime, you can stay here with me!" Tony smiled, as if he'd come up with it.

"It could take a month for someone to get out there so I'll make myself at home." Alek smirked

"It could take a month for someone to get out there so please make yourself at home." Tony parroted hanging off his tenant's every word so much that they felt more like his true thoughts than his actual internal monologue.

"I can take your bed obviously, rent-free, and I can use your body however I see fit. You'll love whatever I do to you."

"You can take my bed obviously, rent-free, and you can use my body however you see fit. I'll love whatever you do to me" The mindfucked landlord grinned stupidly back.

"I'm so glad to hear it, Mr. Marucci, or should I say Tony" Alek grinned. Now why don't you show me to the bedroom, and you can show me just how sorry you are for breaching our contract?" In a flash, the giant bear was leading his new owner to his bed to start the beginning of his new life.

A life of Obedience

[adam--bomb]

(( No clue if this is any good or not, but the scene has been bouncing around in my head for a while lmao ))

“I’m going to fucking run him over.”

”No you’re not-“

”Yes, I am.”

”You can’t, he’s-“

”He fucking HIT you-“

Hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make her knuckles white, Cass glared at the man standing in the middle of the road in front of her, Gemma’s asshole of an ex-boyfriend. Cass never liked him. Gemma sure knew how to pick them.

In the passenger seat, Gemma reached up to touch the bruise on her face, a black eye, before lowering her hand to scratch at her arm.

”He didn’t mean to-“

”Didn’t mean to?? Are you out of your fucking mind?? Have you LOOKED at yourself?”

If looks could kill the man in the road would have dropped dead in a heartbeat.

“Please calm down, let me talk to him, I swear I can-“

Cass shifted the car from park into drive, as far as she was concerned he didn’t deserve the courtesy of talking to Gemma. Didn’t dereserve to courtesy to breathe if she was quite honest with herself. The fight the couple had had before was insignificant, something so stupid and small that she couldn’t even remember what Gemma had said it was about.

Gemma grabbed the gear shift and quickly changed it back to park, Cass looking back at her with an incredulous look.

”You seriously want to stop me? Are you fucking joking right now-?”

”I’m not stopping you for his sake, its for yours!”

There was a moment of silence, Cass staring, dumbfounded, as muffled yells came from the road. The asshole was making a big show of shouting out his apologies, but neither of the girls paid him any mind.

”The fuck are you talking about?”

”I’m talking about- Didn’t you say you wanted to be a hero?? Do heroes run people over at two o’clock in the morning in the middle of a dark road??”

Silence. Cass looked away awkwardly.

”I mean… they might? If the other person deserved it-“

”You’re full of shit, you know better than that.”

Another pause, Gemma scratched at her arm.

”…Gemma, would you stop that? If you scratch yourself again I’ll have to take you back to the hospital-“

More yelling from the road.

Baby I’m sorry!

Baby I didn’t mean it!

Gemma, please! Once more chance-!

Cass rolled down the window and stuck her head out to yell at him.

”If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll come out there and beat your ass you deadbeat fuck!!”

Once she pulled her head back in she glanced back at Gemma.

“…Maybe I could just…. Beat him within an inch of his life?” Silence, “Ok fine, two inches?”

Despite the situation Gemma laughed, shaking her head.

”No Cass, you can’t do that. You can’t get into any more trouble. You can’t be a proper hero if-”

”Three inches?”

”Cass.”

With a groan of frustration Cass shifted into reverse, slowly backing away from the man in the road. He didn’t seem to notice, still shouting about forgiveness, his volume probably amplified by the alcohol in his system.

Fuckin idiot.

“Fine. You win. The dickhead gets to live another day.” The urge to get out of the car was still there, and with her quirk it was easy enough to anticipate who would win that fight. He wasn’t quirkless, but he was so intoxicated it probably wouldn’t matter in the end. After reversing a good distance she stopped, turning the wheel in preparation to pull away and down the road, but paused for a moment.

She often felt things like this. It had gotten better, the more she learned how to control her abilities, but it was still there. Too much energy, that’s what they said. Not being able to properly regulate her energy levels resulted in anger, fights, mood swings. Gemma helped in her own way, she always knew to talk some a sense into her eventually. Over the years Cass had learned how to hold it back, she was getting better but-

”Cass?”

”Huh?”

“Your grandma’s going to kill you once she realized you took the car.”

[loialte-blog]

sorry for not being around yesterday, apparently my household started a game of jimanji and we’ve been reaping the consequences ever since.

[havecourage-darling]

Firsts: Meeting the Family

AO3 || Part 9 of 12 (each chapter is a standalone)

<< The First Conversation || Masterlist || First Apartment >>

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Henderson!Reader

wc: ~6.4K

warnings: some light smut + cursing

A/N: Season 4 who? Living my best gaslit life, byeee.

edit: also this is for everyone who asked about Dustin finding out, hope you like!

When you and Eddie had decided to be exclusive, you had both agreed that the first person to know should be Dustin. You also agreed that it would probably not be easy. While you were the eldest, and naturally overprotective of him, he also returned the sentiment. You’re also pretty sure he wasn’t going to take the fact that you were dating his Dungeon Master well.

You wanted to give him time to adjust to the idea – to be able to process. If you knew one thing, it was that Dustin Henderson was one dramatic little shit. But he was your dramatic little shit and you wanted him to be happy for you – eventually.

You’d planned it all out. He’d be the very first person to know.

So, of course, the plan went entirely to shit.

You made an embarrassingly high-pitched noise as Eddie mouthed at your neck, his teeth stinging deliciously with every nip. Instinctively, you buckled your hips against his.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, biting back a smile at his stupidly endearing look. Wanting to get even, you let your hand trail down his side towards his hip. With precision, you palmed him through his denim. You were immediately rewarded with a harsh exhale and his buckling hips. “Not so smug, are you?” You asked, teeth grazing his earlobe.

“Now, now,” he grunted, leaning into your touch, “play fair sorceress. I’m already under your spell.” With a soft smile that pierced your heart, you let him flip you both over. His added weight and small, involuntary, thrust made your blood simmer.

“Who’s not playing fair now?” You asked, breathless.

Eddie’s answering grin pressed against your skin and you laughed lightly. Wrapping your arms around him, you briefly wondered if you were both taking this too far. A scorching hand unbuttoned your jeans and inched its way into your underwear, rendering your mind quiet.

The late afternoon sun bounced off the walls, casting a warm glow around the room. The trailer park was quiet, most of its residents still at work. A breathy moan fell from your lips, unable to hold it back, and Eddie’s day-old scruff scratched deliciously against your skin.

“I want to brand your expressions into my memory,” he said, panting into your neck, groaning when you tightened your legs around his hand, “the way you look when I touch you, I never want to forget it.”

“Trust me, I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon,” you said, carding a hand through his hair and smiling when he leaned into it instinctively. “Since you’re so agreeable at the moment…”

Eddie froze, his endearingly wide eyes coming up to yours. “Is this where you cast another spell?”

“Maybe,” you said, wiggling against his still hand and deciding it was time to bring out the big guns. With a little maneuvering, you pulled your shirt over your head and tried not to smile as Eddie’s eyes immediately went down to your chest.

“This feels like a set up,” he whispered, licking the swell of your breast, “hello girls, I’ve missed you.”

Rolling your eyes and trying not to look too fondly at him, you pulled his chin up to face you.

“I think we should go to the movies this weekend,” you said, tugging his hair the way you knew he liked. He groaned, eyes lighting up, and expertly moved the fingers within you.

“Sweetheart, you could’ve asked that this morning and I’d have said yes-”

“-with Robin and Steve.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, hands stilling.

“….and the boys. Gareth and Robin already get along!” You continued quickly. “Please? I know you and Steve do this whole stupid male staring thing but I promise you’ll like him.”

At his silence, you continued to ramble.

“Don’t you think it’s time? It’s been months and our friends need to meet eventually,” you said quietly, “Eddie, they’re my best friends. I don’t want to alternate between you, them, your friends. There’s only so many days in the week!”

Groaning, he pulled his hand out your pants and dropped his forehead onto your chest. “Princess, I fear the day you learn that you could ask me for anything, at any time, whenever you want.”

“Why do you think I took off my shirt?” You smirked when he softly glared at you.

“Bringing out the big guns,” he said, reanimating and pressing open mouthed kisses down your torso, “I bow to your unmatched battle strategy your highness.”

You let out a loud laugh at that, shaking your head. Only Eddie. “As you should.”

“A movie then?” He asked, voice cracking as your hand tugged at his hair little harder. “Sounds like fun.”

“Don’t sound too excited there,” you said, grinning when he shot you a look.

“You can’t expect too much from me right now, sweetheart, not when you’re under me.”

At that, you reanimated, clutching his skin and bringing him down to your lips. His hand grasped at your hip while the other inched closer to your loosening waistband. “Now, where were we?”

Squirming as his hand made its way back between your thighs, your fingers dug deeper into his shoulder. “Eddie,” you gasped, voice high. His lips crashed into yours, swallowing your noises, and that was when you heard it.

Leaning back, you tried to listen past your heavy breathing. A muffled thump caught your attention and you stilled. Eddie’s dazed expression lowered to yours and before he could ask you what was wrong, you heard the trailer’s door slam closed.

“Eddie, is that-”

“Eddie?” A deep voice called out gruffly.

Your entire body froze. Eddie’s eyes cleared and you both blinked. “Oh my God, is that your uncle? Eddie get off of me!”

Both of you scrambled for your clothes, your shirt sitting askew on his lamp. You ran to the mirror above his dresser and felt your heart drop into your stomach. The skin around your neck and chest was clearly irritated. You frantically tried to fix your hair as you searched for something to hide the evidence of the last few minutes.

“Give me,” you said, lunging for a black, torn hoodie. Zippering it up to your neck, you sighed. “Fuck.”

“Princess, it’s just Wayne, he won’t say anything,” Eddie assured you, pulling his hellfire shirt on over his head. “I’ll be right out!”

“This is not a great first impression!” You whispered harshly, panic rising in your chest. Oh God, he was going to hate you.

Eddie’s palms cupped your face and you stilled your fidgeting. “He will love you. You’re in school, you have a job, you’re a Henderson, and you’ve been keeping me out of trouble. There is literally nothing else he could ask for. Besides, I’ve already told him about you.”

“You did?” You said, calming a little. The sun warmed Eddie’s skin, making him look like he was glowing and you couldn’t help but reach out and trail a finger down his face.

He nodded, teeth nipping at your thumb, and his hand came down to your own. “Now come on, it’ll be fine,” he reassured you.

Opening his bedroom door, Eddie led you towards the kitchen and leaned against the wall. “Hey Wayne,” Eddie said calmly, “I thought you had a double today.”

“I did but Rob asked for it – said he needed the extra cash,” Wayne said, his back to you both. His attention was on the pie you’d brought over that afternoon. “Did you buy this? It’s great.”

Eddie nudged you and you cleared your throat. “Uh, no sir, I made that.” Surprised, Wayne turned around – his expression a little amused. “Hello, I’m-”

“-she’s the girl I’ve told you about, Wayne,” Eddie said, straightening when Wayne’s eyes darted to his nephew’s. You chewed on your lower lip, anxious, and tried not to look it. “She’s on a full ride to Indie State, graduated second in our year, and she’s Dustin’s older sister.”

Fighting the urge to beam up at Eddie’s proud tone, you couldn’t help but soften at his nervous rambling.

“Henderson, right?” Wayne said, a small smile growing on his face. “I’m guessing you’re the one that’s been coming over the past few months?”

You froze, not sure what to answer. Eyes skirting away, you focused on the plates you’d helped wash by the sink. The faucet dripped, the droplets echoing softly after every fall.

“This place has been looking cleaner and cleaner, I’m assuming that’s for you,” Wayne said, brow rising and breaking the tension.

Eddie’s face flushed red and you laughed lightly. “I think so,” you said, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Munson.”

Wayne’s calloused hand shook yours. “Call me Wayne, Mr. Munson makes me feel old.”

Eddie snorted and Wayne narrowed his eyes. You hid a smile behind your hand and watched them tease each other. Eddie must’ve gotten his ability for a quick comeback from his uncle because seeing them go back and forth was like watching a tennis match.

“She’s really smart,” Eddie said, his glance at you bringing you back into the moment, “she’s great with a camera too. I’m trying to convince her to join the school paper.”

“Your parents should be proud, Eddie sounds like he is,” Wayne said, chuckling when Eddie shrugged sheepishly. “And you like Eddie enough to stick around this long?”

Eddie gasped; mock-outrage evident. Your fingers reached for his, palms meeting instinctively, like two puzzle pieces clicking together. “Yeah, a lot,” you said, eyes on Eddie’s.

He quieted, joking demeaner giving way to a flash of vulnerable surprise. You smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek and turning back to Wayne. Surprised, you saw him watching you both intently, a knowing look on his face. It was something that looked awfully like approval. Trying not to let yourself get to ahead of yourself, you just smiled.

“How about some coffee?” Wayne asked, hands already reaching for the coffee pot.

“Actually, I need to get her home- ouch!” Eddie hissed as you pinched his forearm. Wayne’s eyes crinkled, amused, as you stepped forward.

“Coffee sounds great, thank you. Milk and sugar please,” you said.

Wayne motioned to the kitchen table and asked how you’d met – you told the story, skipping over the non-important details, and furiously ignored Eddie’s knowing look. You talked about your job at Family Video and how you’d been wanting to apply to the bookstore downtown. He’d complimented your baking and talked about meeting Dustin at the beginning of the school year.

“He’s a riot, that one,” Wayne said.

“I apologize for anything inappropriate he may have said,” you said, wincing.

Wayne shook his head, laughing. “He’s a good egg that one. Too smart for his own good.”

“You’re telling me.” You snorted, taking a sip of your now cold coffee.

Eddie’s warm hand on your wrist had you looking away from Wayne and blinking up at him. “It’s getting dark, I should drive you home princess,” he said. You glanced at the window and winced; you’d promised your mom you’d be home for dinner.

Standing, you wiped your hands on your thighs before reaching for Wayne’s hand. “I’m happy we finally met,” he said, nodding when you smiled. “You’re good for him.”

“He’s good for me too,” you said, arm coming around Eddie’s waist. You looked up at him and smiled when he scrunched his nose at you. “Sometimes.”

Wayne chuckled and pointed to the pie. “I wouldn’t be too mad if you brought one the next time you came along.”

“Wayne,” Eddie said, sighing.

You laughed and nodded. “I can do that sir – Wayne.”

“Come on,” Eddie said, tugging you towards the door. He spun the keys in his fingers and stopped short when Wayne called for him.

“Eddie? Before you go?”

Taking the hint, you took the keys from him and nodded to the van. “I’ll warm up the car,” you said, kissing his jaw. He nodded, turning back to his uncle.

You had barely taken a step when a gust of wind cut through the hoodie you were still wearing. Hands coming up to your arms, you realized you’d left your coat in Eddie’s room. Turning back around, you hesitated long enough to hear Wayne’s voice.

“She’s a good kid, got a good head on her shoulders.”

“She does,” Eddie said, sounding cautious.

“I like her, she might be a good influence on you.”

You watched Eddie’s head duck through the crack in the door, a pleased smile on his face.

“I trust you kiddo, you know that right?”

“Yes…”

“You being safe?”

Your face immediately felt like it’d caught fire. Oh no…

“Wayne!”

A deep rumbling chuckle echoed through the doorway. “I’m not blind kid. I see how you look at her – how she looks at you. I know I haven’t always been here for you-”

“-you’ve always been there for me-”

“-but whatever you’re doing together, take an old man’s word for it, hold onto that one. She’s rare in a town like this.” Wayne’s hand came up to Eddie’s neck and you watched him flinch as Wayne grinned, his thumb grazing the bruises on Eddie’s neck. “I’ve also seen these on your neck for the past few weeks.”

“Wayne.”

“You don’t need to tell me. Just – if she’s going to be around-”

“She is,” the certainty in Eddie’s voice made your heart soar. “I, she’s…I-”

Wayne’s face softened at his stumbling. “Be careful with her, you hear? You’re both too young and she’s probably got a family who wants her to graduate. You’ve both got good futures ahead of you. They’ll be time for babies later.”

“Oh my God. Yes, Wayne we will be.”

“Will?”

“We haven’t – I – Jesus H. Christ. I gotta go,” Eddie said, neck splotchy.

Wayne’s laughter was deep and loud. As Eddie turned, you almost slipped as you scrambled towards the car.

Barely making it, you tried to calm your breathing as you watched Eddie stomp down the steps, face bright red. He took a second and you watched him inhale deeply before getting into the car. He brought his hands up to the wheel and dropped his forehead against it.

Slowly putting the keys in, you turned the engine and felt the car rumble to life.

Eddie groaned. “You heard all that didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

It only took two seconds and one knowing glance to have you both break down in laughter.

You could do this. It was fine. You could absolutely do this.

“I just don’t understand why I can’t know who’s coming over honey,” your mother said, puttering around the kitchen. She nervously checked over the simmering food and you smiled. It was dark out, early evening, and all the lights in your home were on. You’d cleaned the entire house from top to bottom in preparation, helping your mom cook Dustin’s favorite meal.

“It’s a surprise!” You said, voice betraying your own anxiety. Checking your watch for the tenth time that night, you frowned. “Isn’t Dustin running late?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” your mom said, tasting the sauce, “he called when you were in the shower. He’s staying over Mike’s.”

Son of a bitch.

After another week of both you and Eddie chickening out – you’d agreed to invite him over for dinner. You’d tell Dustin before Eddie got there and hopefully having your mom around would keep his reaction from getting too over the top. You were also going to lie your absolute pants off at the fact that Wayne had accidentally found out before him.

“But he told me he’d be here,” you said, hands itching to reach for the phone to call him.

“I know honey, but they’ve got that game soon and they’re preparing I think,” your mom said, distracted by the pie she was removing from the oven.

“But this is important!” That little shit. Now what were you going to do? You’d told him you needed him home tonight.

At that, your mother finally turned to look at you. “Oh,” she said, blinking at you. Awareness creeped in and she smiled. “Oh, this is about the boy you told me of.”

You immediately couldn’t meet her knowing gaze. Sheepishly, you picked at the hem of your new shirt and watched your mother’s eyes grow wide. “Honey! You should’ve told me – oh my, I’ve got to change!” She fussed, disappearing into her bedroom to no doubt pull out her fancier dress.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Dustin was going to burst a vein – the angry one that pops up in his forehead when he yells – when he found out that he was the last to know. Groaning, you let your head drop to the wall.

The doorbell rang and you huffed. Swinging the door open, you opened your mouth to let Eddie know that Dustin wasn’t here when you were stunned into silence.

“Eddie?” You squinted.

“Yeah,” he said, arms filled with a large bouquet of sunflowers.

His hair looked like it had been calmed into submission, his curls a little damp still. The signature leather jacket, summer or winter, was gone and replaced with a darker denim that looked a bit too wide at the shoulders. His jeans were stiff and his shirt was a plain green. You didn’t even know Eddie owned anything but band t-shirts. You didn’t even know Eddie wore colors. The green complimented his skin in a way that had you fighting the urge to drag him down to your room.

Making a show of rising to your toes, you glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Wayne’s Ford truck in the driveway.

“What?” Eddie asked, hand coming to the back of his neck in what you knew was nerves.

“I’m sorry, I’m just looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” You asked, laughing when he shot you a withering look. “What are you wearing?”

Eddie blanched. “Why? Does it look bad? Wayne said some of his old stuff would probably fit me.”

“I always like how you look,” you said, truthfully. Eddie’s nervous expression morphed into a smug one and you had to laugh. “Next time, just be yourself Munson. I like you for you, not for what people think good boyfriends look like.”

His eyes softened as you leaned forward and kissed him.

“Are those for me?” You asked, nodding towards the flowers.

“Of course not, they’re for your mother,” he said, grinning when you rolled your eyes fondly. His smile dropped when he glanced around your living room. “How’d Dustin take it?”

You sighed, dropping your head to his shoulder. Eddie’s hand immediately came up to the back of your head, cradling you softly. “He’s skipping dinner. Eddie, he’s going to smother me in my sleep if he finds out he was the last to know.” The denim was rough against your skin but Eddie’s hand rubbed soothingly across your nape.

“Well, at least tonight won’t be so bad,” he said, squeezing your arm. “It’ll be fine. We’ll tell him together.”

Snorting, you stepped back so he could come into the foyer. “You’ll leave me high and dry, Munson.”

Before he could come up with a comeback, your mother peeked her head out from the kitchen. “Oh, he’s here! Hello, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

You watched Eddie nervously shake your mother’s hand. Her smile seemed genuine when she welcomed him in, eyes assessing. The endearing look was definitely sincere as Eddie handed her the large bouquet of sunflowers.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” She said, holding them to her torso. “They’re beautiful. I’m going to go put these in water. Honey, get him settled and I’ll bring out the food.”

Leading Eddie to the dining table that you’d set with four plates, you looked at the chair across from yours and sighed.

“I’m telling him it’s your fault,” you said, slumping into your chair. Eddie took the seat next to yours and dropped his hand onto your knee.

“Whatever helps,” he said, laughing at your glare.

With the speed and efficiency that only your mother could muster, she’d filled your plates and kept conversation flowing easily.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie grimaced and you watched your mom notice his sheepish expression, “I’m not very good at school. I’m doing better recently, thanks to your daughter, but it hasn’t been a…easy process.”

Smiling fondly, your mom nodded. “Their father wasn’t the best at school either.”

Whipping your head around to your mom you saw her get lost in a memory. You hadn’t thought she’d share that.

“That’s how we met you know. I was assigned as his tutor. He repeated his freshman year and was so embarrassed about it. I’d help him study for the whole year – the little rascal hadn’t told me he’d passed with flying colors two months into the semester!” Her eyes looked misty and she dabbed at the corners with her napkin. “We were married the second we’d both graduated.”

“He sounds like a great guy,” Eddie said, hand intertwining with yours under the table.

“Oh, he was, he would’ve loved you,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “he played bass for a while but was too shy to audition for the local band.”

Eddie’s surprise was evident and you grinned. “I told her about Corroded Coffin,” you explained, “she’s heard the tape you gave me!”

“And you liked it?” Eddie sputtered, immediately looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Your mom laughed; her amusement visible. “I was born and raised in this town. I know how cruel it can be to people who look like they don’t belong,” she said, hand coming up to yours and you knew she was thinking about Dustin’s bullies. “I’ve always told these two, there’s nothing more important than being yourself. My kids have always marched to the beat of their own drums. I mean, I never thought you’d outgrow your magic phase.”

Freezing, you widened your eyes and Eddie choked on his mouthful of food. “Her what phase?”

Well, shit.

“She wanted to be a magician for the longest time. Up until that horrible Collins girl ripped up her little kit – oh, she came home sobbing. Inconsolable. Her father was ready to go down to their house and swing at Jenny’s father. Hotheads the two of them,” your mother shook her head and straightened. “Oh! I still have the photos!”

“Mom, please, no-” it was too late, she’d disappeared into the living room.

Groaning, you glanced at Eddie to find a shit-eating grin on his face. “Shut up.”

“Oh my God, you were a freak too,” he whispered, hand on your thigh. “I knew there was a reason we liked each other.”

“Magic tricks aren’t freaky!” You insisted, sighing. “I hate those pictures.”

So of course, your mother spent half the night showing Eddie most of them. You’d eventually migrated to the sofa, Eddie’s eager fingers flipping through the albums. From the fleeting look you’d given the it -- he was up to your second-grade photos.

“Look at you,” Eddie said, for the hundredth time, his finger tracing your wide smile. You had a black cape around your shoulders, a wand in one hand and your other tightly wrapped around Dustin’s. His gummy grin was wide, his curls wild and he was dressed in a bright blue jumpsuit.

Glancing at the kitchen where your mother had stubbornly insisted that she clean up on her own, you saw her puttering around – mumbling to herself. Smiling, you turned back to Eddie and pinched his arm. He groaned, rubbing the reddening skin and frowned. “It’s not nice to make fun of your girlfriend, Munson.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Look at your face, holy shit, you’re fucking cute,” he insisted, turning the page to another photo of you with a large top hat.

“You don’t need to look through all of them,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “She’ll show them to anyone. Shit, she’s got a scrapbook with all our elementary school awards. Dustin’s science ones really need their own binder.”

Eddie smiled, his eyes darting between you and the pile of photos. “It’s nice,” he said, “having someone who loves you so much that they want to keep it all.”

Glancing at him, you saw a trace of sadness that he was trying his best to hide. “After dad, we – became her whole world. You know? I think it kept her busy while she adjusted to not having him around.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, “they looked like they really loved each other.”

“They did,” you said, straightening and motioning for him to stay. “I’ll be right back.”

Darting down to your room and grabbing the shoebox at the back of your closet, you rushed back to Eddie. He’d swapped the album for your baby photos – you swore he was close to asking your mom if he could have one.

“What’s that?” He asked, placing the photos onto the coffee table gently.

“You said it’s nice to have someone who cares enough to keep it all,” you said, starting to feel a little embarrassed. This thing – your relationship – it was still pretty new. You really liked him, more than you’d liked anyone before. There was something about Eddie that just felt like he’d drawn you in and tethered you together. It was fragile still, but had so much potential you were a little frightened of it.

“Why are you making that face?” Eddie asked nudging you. “If you’re showing me a box full of old magic tricks, I’ll drop to my knees right here.”

“Eddie!” You hissed, flustered. Glancing behind him, your mom was still washing the dishes. “It’s – it’s, oh just look at it.”

Shoving the box into his lap, you leaned back and crossed your arms. Childishly, he stuck his tongue out at you before carefully lifting the lid. His hands froze and you felt your heart stop beating.

“It’s not a lot, I know, but we’re only a few months in….” you tried to explain. When he still didn’t move, you had a moment of true panic. What if he thought it was creepy? “I mean! It’s not like I’m obsessively saving anything. I just thought – um, its memories, you know?”

Eddie’s hand disappeared into the box, reappearing with a pair of ticket stubs.

“That’s the first movie we went to – the one after we’d agreed to be exclusive. Those are a pair of napkins from the diner, the night of our first non-date,” you explained. You pointed to the Dragons magazine, “That’s the one you bought for me when I asked you to help me understand the game better. Oh! If you look inside-”

Taking the magazine in your hands you delicately opened it up to the middle. A few, mostly dry, poppies slid down.

“Are those-”

“The flowers you got me later that night? Yeah. You tucked one behind my ear, remember? I sneezed at first and then joked that the town metal head was going soft on me.”

Eddie laughed, his eyes still stuck on the box, “I said for you, maybe.” His smile turned into something small, delicate, and entirely beautiful. “You’re keeping this stuff?”

“Yeah,” you said, gently putting the magazine back in its place – under a few of Eddie’s tapes. “These are our memories, you know? All of this is part of who we are, who we were, who we’ll become. If in a year we’re not together, regardless of why, I want these memories. I want to remember you, us, in this moment.”

Eddie’s hand came up to your neck and he pulled you to him. Your fingers went up to his hair, as if they had any other choice, and your other hand went up to his arm. After a few minutes too many, you pulled back for air.

“What was that for?” You asked, dazed, when he leaned back.

“For you being you, princess,” he muttered, shooting you a fond look.

“Hey Dustin,” you said nonchalantly, leaning against his doorframe.

“Hey,” he said from his bed, “what do you want?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

He shot you look and you pointedly ignored it. “Do you remember that time that I selflessly let myself get captured by Russians so that you could escape to safety?” You asked, examining your nails.

Dustin groaned. “You can’t use that every time-”

“Or that time where you brought home a baby demogorgon and I helped you trap it in the cellar? The way I threw myself in front of you to keep you unharmed?”

“Oh my God, please, just tell me what you want!”

“I don’t want anything,” you said, hand on your chest trying your best to look insulted. “I simply wanted to remind you of the fact that I’ve been a good sister-”

“For the love of – tell me.”

“I need you to cover for me,” you said, grinning.

“Again?”

“That sounded really judgmental.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry.

“I’m going to a college party with Steve and Robin. I’m going to suddenly not feel well and sneak out. Can you keep mom out from my room?”

“What’s in it for me?”

You narrowed your eyes and he stiffened. “I won’t tell mom about the times I’ve covered for you.”

“Fair, fair,” he said, lifting his hands. “It shouldn’t be too hard, it’s her weekly call with Lucas’ mom. They talk for hours.”

“Thank you!” You said, grinning. “I owe you one.”

“Technically you owe me two – alright, alright, I was just saying!”

“Eddie, help me out here sweetheart,” you grunted, shoving him through your open window. You’d never been more grateful for your one-story home than this moment.

“I can help you out alright,” he slurred, words mushing together. Fighting a laugh, you gave him one last push and snorted when he slumped to the floor. The two drinks you’d had wore off with the walk back to your house. Steve had promised to drop off your car later in the morning since you were busy trying to not get either of you killed on the walk.

Changing into your pajamas, you went in search of a pair of sweatpants you’d stolen earlier that month from Eddie’s closet. Triumphantly, you chucked them in his direction. Kneeling beside him, you tugged his dirty shirt off and wrinkled your nose at the smell. Unbuckling his pants, Eddie reanimated.

“Where’s the condoms?” Eddie mumbled.

You pinched your brows, confused. “Eddie, we’re not having sex – you’re drunk.” Never mind the fact that you hadn’t had sex yet.

“Why are you taking my pants off then? Where’s my shirt?”

Fighting your laughter at his drunken confusion, you continued to tug at his pants. “Because Robin puked on them, remember? We talked about this on the way home. I’m going to go throw them in the washing machine. You don’t want to sleep in puke, right?”

“Ohhhh,” he said, a touch too loud. “You’re so right princess, how did I get so lucky with such a smartypants? God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re being smart, you know?”

“Shh,” you whispered, laughing.

Eddie’s head popped up as you tossed his pants next to the shirt. “Are you staring at my body? Are you sexualizing me?”

You shot him a look before trying to tug the shirt over his head. “I’ve seen you naked before Eddie, literally this morning.” After struggling for a minute, he frowned when you finally got the shirt around his neck.

“You did?”

Rolling your eyes, you kissed his temple. “Yes, I did.”

“Oh,” he said, realization bleeding into his confusion. “You did that thing with your tongue that drives me crazy.”

This time, you laughed a little too loudly. “Yeah, Eddie. I believe your exact words were, ‘Jesus Christ you succubus.’”

“You’re really good at that, like criminally,” Eddie said, struggling again to put his arm through the hole. He stopped suddenly, turned to you, and wiggled his brows. “How about I do the thing you like? I like the sounds you make.”

Shaking your head, you flicked his nose. Of course drunk Eddie was more handsy than his regular self.

“Because, doofus, you can barely walk by yourself.”

“How dare you,” Eddie said, gasping. He threw his hand dramatically to his chest and ended up toppling over.

“Shh!”

“You’re going to wake up mom,” a soft, drowsy voice called to you through your door. Frantically, you slapped a hand over Eddie’s mouth and winced.

“Sorry Dustin, go back to sleep! I’m okay.”

As usual, your little brother ignored you and opened your door.

“What time – oh my God, Eddie?” Dustin’s shrieked, his voice reaching a decibel you hadn’t heard in a few years.

“Shut up! Jesus, fuck,” you pulled Dustin into your room and closed your door quickly. “Do you want mom to kill us both?”

“Both? You’re the one that snuck out!”

“Hey! If I’m going down, you’re going down with me,” you threatened.

“Don’t try to distract me!” He shrieked again. You slapped your hand over his mouth and immediately yanked it back when he licked at your palm.

“You’re gross,” you said, wiping your hands frantically on your pants.

Dustin whirled around to point at Eddie, only half-clothed and sprawled on the floor. “I’m gross? I’m gross!? WHY IS EDDIE NOT WEARING ANY PANTS?”

“Will you calm the fuck down!” You hissed.

The words went right in one ear and out the other. “Why is Eddie Munson on our house, in your room, mostly naked on the floor?” Dustin asked again, his voice desperate.

“He’s not mostly naked, get a grip,” you said, going back to helping Eddie into his shirt. He roused from his sleep and grinned when he saw Dustin.

“Other Henderson!” He cried out, happy. You shushed him and turned back to Dustin. Trying to think through an explanation that wasn’t totally a lie, you stumbled over your words.

“He was at the party, was drunk and Robin puked all over him. Did you want me to leave him there so he could choke to death on his puke?”

Dustin’s hysteria broke and a bit of guilt bled into it and you had to bite your lip from smiling. “Well…no…”

“Right, because that would’ve been a dick move,” you said, “besides, he was in my year – I’ve known him since like fifth grade dude.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Dustin said, wary. “You almost chewed my head off when you heard I was hanging out with him a few months ago!”

“Wow, so you think I’m that big of an asshole?” You widened your eyes and tried to look insulted. “So, saving your ass from the Russians meant nothing to you?”

“You can’t keep using that!”

“Please, continue slandering my character,” you continued, ignoring him. Thankfully Eddie pulled his pants on himself and sat up.

“That’s not what I meant – come on, don’t look at me like that.”

“Is it not, Dustin? Is it not?” You asked, putting a hand to your chest. You knew you were packing it on thick but you weren’t technically lying and you really didn’t have the emotional energy to try and admit it to Dustin now.

“I’m glad you’re okay man,” Dustin said to Eddie after a beat.

Reanimated, Eddie blinked and grinned unsteadily. His eyes were completely glazed over and his grin widened when he saw you. “Princess!”

Dustin’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. “Princess?”

Fuck. “He’s been calling me that since the Halloween dance – I told you this when I picked you up that time afterschool,” you explained.

His suspicion cooled and he nodded, as if remembering. “Princess Peach?”

“Yes!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said after you glared. You both stared at each other in silence, arms crossed. As you went to stand and grab Eddie’s dirty clothes, he reanimated.

“Did you find the condoms?” Eddie grumbled, half asleep. “I’m not drunk I only had like five shots. I’m ready.” His words slurred and you closed your eyes.

“Did he just say – did he – I knew it!”

Shit. You glared at the semi-conscious idiot on your floor and fought the urge to kick his leg.

“Dustin you’re going to wake up mom!” You hissed after he kept shrieking.

“Are you boinking Eddie!?”

Gagging, you smacked a hand over your ears. “Oh my God Dustin, never say those words to me again! Jesus Christ!”

“Are you sleeping with him?” He demanded again, unphased.

“No! We’re not sleeping together,” you said, holding up three fingers, “I swear. He’s drunk.”

Dustin’s shoulders dropped and you instantly felt guilty.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, “we are, uh, dating though. Full disclosure.”

“What?”

“Okay don’t freak out!” You said, holding up your hands.

“You’re dating Eddie Munson?” He said, eyes widening. “Since when!”

Wincing, you wrung your hands. “Like, for three months now?”

Dustin fell quiet, stunned. “Mom’s going to kill you.”

“Uh, well, you see-”

“Mom knows!?” Hurt flashed across his face.

Annoyed, you flailed an accusing hand in his direction. “If you would’ve fucking showed up for dinner yesterday, I would’ve told you then! You’re the one that stayed over Mike’s house!”

“I didn’t know he was coming!”

“It was a surprise!”

“Well considered me fucking surprised!”

You both frowned, tensely regarding each other. “I can’t believe you told Mom before me.”

“I didn’t mean to! You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you said, scuffing your foot on the carpet. “I always tell you everything first. That’s our thing – I mean, you did neglect to tell me that you found a little girl in the woods a few years ago-”

“You’re not turning this around on me!” He said, hands going to his hips.

“Dusty – we – I was just nervous. I thought you’d react like this!”

“Couldn’t you date someone who wasn’t my friend?” Dustin groaned, slumping.

“In my defense, we technically hooked up before you started high school,” you said, smiling when he gagged.

“I don’t ever want to hear anything about you two kissing, ever,” he said, finger pointing at you.

Mock-outraged, you put a hand over your heart. “But Dustin! I’ve listened to you talk about Suzie for months-”

“Suzie wasn’t your friend first!”

“-but I guess I’ll make the sacrifice.”

Dustin huffed, the fight going out of him. “Just – don’t be weird around me, okay?”

Running over to him, you squished him against you, kissing the top of his head. “Thank you, Dusty,” you mumbled, “I’m sorry for keeping it from you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, suspiciously not resisting the hug. “I get to tell Steve – the look on his face is going to be-”

Dustin’s voice trailed off as you grimaced. You took a few hurried steps back as his metaphorical feathers ruffled.

“Am I the last to know!?” Dustin’s screams echoed.

A/N: If you want to mourn with me, or need a shoulder to cry on, my inbox is open! I’ll probably still be writing a canon-divergent season 4 timeline because yolo, if they won’t fix it, I will.

[elysianightsss]

Hello there, I really love your work and I was wondering if I could request a c!Technoblade x Witch Reader in which the reader is the SMP’s local witch who lives in the swamp lands. Members of the SMP tend to seek her out for her potions, enchantments, tipped arrows, etc. Feel free to make them SFW and NSFW headcannons if you want

Hope you have a pleasant day/evening/night ^^

Thankyou so much, I’m glad you like my writing! I’ve done both sfw and nsfw. Thankyou for this request, it’s given me a lot of idea for future posts.

Techno x witch!reader

HC

SFW

Techno could listen to you talk for hours. Usually you did, sitting there babbling about making a new potion or a new spell you were working on, but gosh the piglin beast can’t take his eyes off you for even a second, can’t stop listening to you even if someone else had entered the room and tried to start a conversation with him. No, he won’t even turn his head.

He loved to watched you, the look on your face when you found something new. It was beautiful, as were you.

Techno got a little jealous sometimes of the amount of attention you got from all the guys from the mainland, even though he knew they were just there for enchantments and potions, he couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about it.

He trekked everyday from his house to the swamplands just so he could see you. He’d find you making new mixtures in your big cauldron, dipping the tips of arrows in it. “Here. Just don’t shoot anyone you like with that.” You warned handing him a dark red tipped arrow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled.

When Techno finally got the courage to ask you to be his, you of course, said yes and he was overjoyed. From then on when the guys turned up for anything his arms would be around your waist from behind or you’d be sat on his lap, a smirk on his face.

He loved the lazy days with you, when you’d both lay in bed cuddled up while you read about new enchantements. They truly were the best type of days. Even the blood thirsty voices inside his head agreed with that.

NSFW

This is where potions became even more fun. You had been on a journey a while ago seeking new ingredients to make potions with and dip arrows in when you came across a temple. Inside was a dark chest, it held a grimoire filled to the brim of inappropriate potion recipes. Such as;

Voluptatem - potion of pleasure

Amare - potion of love

Ossessione - potion of obsession

Sottomissione - potion of submission

Calor - potion of heat

And more. There was too many of them. Each one relating to something sexual. It made you shudder at the thought of drinking any one of them. You took the book with you and hid it within your shelves of books at your home. Disguising it from prying eyes. But unfortunately someone found it...

“What’s this?” Techno frowned pulling out the book you had kept hidden for a few weeks now. With flushed cheeks you explained the grimoire to him not missing the smirk that grew on his face with each word you spoke.

“Have you practiced making any of them?” He asked to which you shook your head ‘no’.

“Well let’s try.” He grinned, ushering you towards your brewing area.

Voluptatem - potion of pleasure

Gosh it was amazing, such intense, heightened pleasure. Your nails scratched down your beast’s back, he thrusted harder and header each time never wanting the pleasure to go away. Your back pressed against the wall, while he made you feel weak with the overwhelming sensations flowing through you. Not once that night did either of you regret splitting that bottle of black liquid between the two of you.

Amare - potion of love

Sighs and moans filled the air as soft love making took place. Techno’s hands on either side of your face, holding it gently while staring into your eyes. No bursts of intense pleasure hit you but continuous waves washed over you. It felt like one constant, unbroken climax. You felt so complete and loved in that moment as did he. Both of your heads clouded by the soft pink potion you had shared.

Ossessione - potion of obsession

“Perfect! So fucking perfect!” Techno growled his hands smoothing over every inch of your body that was splayed out on the bed for him. His eyes holding that deep obsession that had taken over the moment he drank that deep purple potion. “Mine.” He growled biting down on your shoulder, humming at the blood that spilled into his mouth at the same time he spilled into you. Filling you up with his seed. He kept you there on his cock, keeping his cum inside of you for the next hour until he began thrusting into you again. Taking what was ‘his’.

Sottomissione - potion of submission

You tugged at golden chains holding you in place as Techno sucked another orgasm out of you. He hadn’t moved from the spot between your thighs for hours now. He was just as much a mess as you were, cum dripping from his cock that he had rutted against the bed, letting your moans guide him into his high. You had both drank the potion, however it seemed he just wanted nothing more than to please you, than submit to you. He kept you bound in that position until the early hours of the morning, by then his dose of green liquid was waring off enough for him to finally fuck you into oblivion, for not only your pleasure but for his relief too.

Calor - potion of heat

“Too hot. Techie please!” You whimpered. The piglin beast chuckled, picking up an ice cube and running it along your body. It melted too quickly. Another piece, this one he circled around your nipples. Melted. Next one he trailed down to your thighs. Melted. The final piece of ice he used that night, he circled your clit with. Watching as the frozen water melted against your body while your writhed finally getting some kind of relaxation since drinking that fiery orange potion.

From that week onwards, Technoblade’s basement was stocked full of those potions.

Tags:

@victory-is-here

[frostedfaves]

Naive (3)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You pick up on the lies in Wanda’s life and she decides to show you the truth.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, more hints at dom/sub because I’m a whore for demon!Wanda

A/N: I can’t believe that it’s been a month since I posted the last one 😭 I have some things planned for the next part and so on but I also kinda wanna take requests again??? idk we all know how I get overwhelmed easily with that so we’ll see what happens there. anyway tell me your thoughts on this please!

Previous part

Waking up feels like gasping for air after being trapped underwater. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but the mid afternoon traffic quickly alerts you of how much of the day has passed. 

Despite your head feeling like it’s made of cement, you manage to stand up, slipping off thin pajamas as you walk into the bathroom and stop at the mirror. Your skin seems tender in places and you’re a little bit startled when there isn’t a single indication of the bite marks and scratches you feel, even after rubbing your eyes a few times and turning in every direction possible. Deciding to let it go for now, you reach for the shower stall to turn on the water, detouring to the bedroom instead when you hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t save my number, did you?”

“Wanda?” You pull the phone away long enough to quickly clear your throat. “I mean hey, Wanda! What makes you think I didn’t save your number?”

“You answered like you didn’t know who was going to be on the other end.”

“Okay, you caught me,” you admit after a moment of silence. “I promise I’ll save it as soon as we hang up. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Remember that pet adoption center you pointed out to me?” You acknowledge her with a hum. “I was thinking about getting a cat…Wanna tag along?”

“Absolutely! I was just about to shower though so I can be ready in an hour or so.”

“Perfect! I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and you keep your promise of saving her number, typing in her name and hesitating on the emoji keyboard. Realizing you’d spent far too much time contemplating this, you simply save what you have and hurry back to the bathroom, something in your brain urging you to not keep her waiting.

-

Within an hour, she sends you a text in all caps and a smiley face that tells you she’s arrived, and you can’t hide the fact that you’re surprised when you come outside and she’s waiting on the passenger side of the car.

“Hey! How are you?” she greets cheerily as she approaches you with a hug, and you shiver when her hand touches your lower back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m okay.” You smile and thank her when she opens the door for you, attempting to collect yourself as she crosses to the driver’s side again. “I’m really happy to see you again.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly as she pulls away from the curb. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, I just didn’t want to assume you were enjoying our time together as much as I was.”

She places her hand over yours while she glances at you, smiling as she squeezes your fingers and thigh lightly. You feel a rush of something traveling from the places she touched to your brain, only slightly aware of the fog settling in your mind.

“Well I didn’t want to be too enthusiastic about it and scare you away if all you wanted was friendship,” you clarify, meeting her eyes when she reaches a red light.

“I suppose you’re looking for more too, then.”

“I am now.”

The light turns green and she breaks eye contact, but the little smirk that follows tells you everything you need to know. At least, you hope it does.

-

“I think he’s the cutest one we’ve seen yet,” you comment about the kitten that hasn’t looked away from Wanda since you approached his area. “He seems really drawn to you, too.”

“How did he get the name ‘Baby Satan’?” Wanda inquires with an employee, who approaches you with a chuckle.

“It’s actually Baby Stan, because we used to have an adult cat named Stan as well and needed to tell the two apart. We were going to give him a new name but decided to leave that up to his new family.”

“It says ‘Baby Satan’ though,” you cosign with Wanda, gesturing to the extra A mixed in with the magnetic letters that spell the kitten’s name.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know how that got there,” the employee apologizes as she reaches over to fix the sign, and you watch her freeze as Wanda touches her arm.

“Don’t be sorry. Keep it; I want to adopt him.”

“Okay, right this way,” the employee mumbles as she turns awkwardly and stumbles over to a desk, and as the two of you follow her, you look back to see Baby Satan still staring at the woman beside you.

“What was that about?” you speak up finally once you’re in the car with her new furry friend, and Wanda frowns at you while fastening her seatbelt.

“What?”

“Why did that employee react to you like that? You touched her and she started acting really weird after.”

“Oh, Kim’s fine!” she assures you as she fixes her mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. “I actually asked her about that while you were looking at scratching posts and she said I’d overstepped her boundaries and made her uncomfortable. Don’t worry, I apologized and everything’s good again.”

“She told you her name?”

“She was wearing a name tag, babe.”

Babe...that’s new. Still, the sudden nickname doesn’t completely distract you from the fact that you’re certain there was no name tag on Kim’s uniform. You’re debating with yourself about bringing this up when you notice her heading toward Lane County.

“Are you taking me to your house?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She glances at you and over her shoulder toward Baby Satan before turning back to the road. “I figured I could introduce both of my kittens to the place they’ll be spending a lot of time in.”

Her fingers brush over your knee as “my kittens” leaves her lips, and you’re almost embarrassed when your hips involuntarily buck slightly. Noticing the small change in your behavior, she takes advantage of your head turned toward your own window and allows her instincts to continue driving while she stares at you, placing her palm on your thigh and rubbing circles on the fabric covering it that brings her closer and closer to your core.

“Home, sweet home,” Wanda announces as she pulls her wandering hand away to park the car, jumping out a second later and grabbing her furry son from the backseat. “Hey there, Baby S.”

You step out of the car in a similar fashion of pulling yourself out of a swimming pool, taking in the fresh air and trying to relax yourself as you follow her into the apartment building. The hallways reflect the quiet and clean neighborhood as you make your way into the elevator and up to the 6th floor, suddenly entering the most empty apartment you’ve ever seen.

Of course there’s furniture: a couch with a TV mounted on the nearest wall, a dining table with a set of matching chairs, a few stools placed at the island and kitchen appliances that are shiny and new. But there isn’t any personal artwork, posters, books or even just a lamp that you could tell Wanda purchased herself with one glance.

“Are you staying in an AirBNB or something?” you ask as she carefully places Baby Satan’s carrier next to the couch, and she chuckles.

“I guess technically it was one before I moved in, but I’ve been here for two years.”

“Okay...so where are your pictures?”

“What?”

“Where are your pictures?” you repeat, maintaining a steady voice despite the expression she gives you as she faces you again. “Pictures of your family, friends, you as a child?”

“If you knew my family, you’d understand why you don’t see them here.” She startles you by practically growling her words but you press further.

“Okay but you also said you love plants and we’re the only living things in here.” You step back to put more space between you while quiet shuffling noises are heard inside the carrier. “What’s really going on here?”

You can easily spot the shift in Wanda’s emotions: going from defensive, arms crossed and eyes glaring to resigned with slightly sagging shoulders and a defeated sigh.

“Fine, you got me.” She bends over to pick up the carrier again and passes you on her way to the door, stopping a few feet away. “If you’re serious about pursuing a relationship with me, then I should probably show you my real home.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on, love.” She comes just close enough to bring your hand into hers and a tingle spreads through your body, causing you to pull away but her grip only tightens. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, and this is the only time I’ve lied.”

You find yourself being drawn closer to her, and an almost familiar feeling washes over you when her thumb begins rubbing gentle circles into your jaw. The metal on her ring is so cold it almost burns upon contact, yet you nuzzle into her more with each pass along your skin.

“Don’t you want to be good for me without being forced to your knees first?”

If the fog surrounding your consciousness wasn’t so thick, you might’ve been shocked by this side of her, so calm yet demanding you serve her. But the hand on your jaw seemed to cover every inch of your body and sink into your nervous system, forcing you to fall into her and let her lead you back to the car with a simple arm around your waist. You’re buckled into the passenger seat again and a slightly blurry grin greets you from behind the wheel seconds later.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

Your head falls against the car window as she drives to the edge of Lane County, and your altered vision picks up on businesses turning into isolated suburbs into grassy fields into forests. You travel along narrow, winding roads past the tallest of trees with very few spaces in between, and your hazy state of mind prevents you from panicking when Wanda turns onto a dirt path that doesn’t even seem to be safe for bicycles. The wheels bump along the forest floor until she comes to a stop just outside of a two foot dwelling, similar to a cave.

Once the two of you are out of the car again, she holds your hand with her free one until you reach the cave, instructing you to sit in front of it while she does the same. She places her palm on the door, and her rings seem to come alive as they interact with it for a few moments before it swings open and the three of you are sent flying through a tunnel. You land with a groan on the hard floor and dust yourself off as you carefully stand, any questions dying in your throat as you face Wanda again, now standing before you in her true form.

“Welcome home.”