#but it’s becoming more warped with every passing day

[freakyfreak01]

there is something tragic about how mac and dennis used to find comfort in the fact that they know everything about each other and now every morning they wake up and find that it’s leading to their demise

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Power Imbalance, Mind Control

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Yandere!Zhongli, despite his nature as the Archon of Geo, isn't as restrictive as one might think at first. Quite the opposite, actually. He'll say it himself, as he forces you to stay still in his strong arms, trapped inside his Adeptal Domain. He wishes he could give you more privileges, but he simply can't trust you.

Of course, you press him about this, you say he can trust you. With no other option but to fight for any scraps of freedom you can get, you're willing to grovel on your knees for anything, as much as you hate yourself for doing so.

At the sight of your desperation, Zhongli has to mask the way the corners of his lips twitch up, eyes predatory, draconic instinct seeping through a human facade. With the flick of a hand, a thick roll of paper pops into existence in front of your head. The very end of it unfurls, revealing what looks like a place where a signature is written.

For a contract.

Sign it, Zhongli says, and he will grant you multiple privileges listed in the contract: he'll allow you to leave his Adeptal Domain when possible, write to your family and friends, leave you alone for a set time if you so desire, and more listed in the contract.

Your hand itches for the crystalline, amber pen floating next to the contract, beckoning you to write your name, but you control the urge. You've already been played for a fool by a foe you once called a friend, and you won't fall for his foul ploys any longer.

So, you pull the contract to unfurl it. The paper flows like water, gushing across the floor like a wild stream down the bed to the floor, across the bedroom, through the door, into the kitchen, continuing on, and on, and on. It seems like days go by until finally, the contract is fully unscrolled.

Zhongli is less than pleased at your wariness, a disappointed sigh echoing through the still room. He had hoped you would be less uncooperative, but he will allow you a day to read the contents of the contract. After all, time is of the utmost importance, even for the immortal.

You glare at the god, but know that you cannot allow anger to cloud your mind. With only a day to read such a dense document, there's no time to spare.

When you look down to start reading the contract itself, though, your eyes widen in confusion.

The words on the paper are almost kaleidoscopic, warping and twisting and forming new phrases every second. One moment, you think you can read "the"; the next, those same letters have become "remain". Looking back up, Zhongli has a pitying smile on his face. "Dearest treasure, do you see now that this game is a fruitless endeavor?" He asks, a hand reaching to brush against your jaw, sliding tenderly across your skin. "I would not lie to you about these things. I have never lied to you," he says.

For a moment, you almost mistake his tone as kind, like you almost mistook everything about Zhongli—a polite, cultured gentleman who turned out to be a possessive, obsessed dragon—until you realize how patronizing his words are. You want to curse him to the Abyss and back, but hold back your hatred. "I'd prefer to read the contract." You look back down, and begin attempting to decipher the undulating paragraphs.

Hours pass by, and you've made no progress. Through it all, Zhongli has stayed by your side, whispering cloying words in an attempt at disarming your defenses. You've managed to stay strong in the face of his unending patience though.

But while you're smart, Zhongli is a god, with thousands of years of knowledge ingrained in his mind. And he knows eventually, one argument will break you down. So, he keeps trying.

"Time is running out, my sweet. But before this offer disappears, I will give you one last chance to sign," he says. "Besides, even if I am being dishonest about the contents of the contract, can things really get worse than this? At least by signing the contract, there's a chance your circumstances may improve."

His logic is sound, drowning out the dissonant thoughts scrambling your mind. You hate the idea of agreeing with Zhongli, but at this point, it's hard to see a reason not to sign it.

With trembling fingers, you pick up the pen. It's slightly warm in your hand, the way a rock in the afternoon sun would be. Smiling like he knew this would happen all along, Zhongli makes a motion with one hand, causing the contract to begin rolling up. After waiting several moments, all that's left unrolled is the space where you will sign your name.

The pen slashes against the paper, marring it with an ink-black scar that reads your name.

Then you feel it. The lightness in your chest, as though you're untethered to the world around you. Thoughts in your mind begin to pop like soap bubbles, fear dissipating into pure nothingness. You can hardly hear your spouse chuckling over the absolute blankness blanketing your mind.

Yes, Zhongli would allow you many more freedoms now. After all, you had sold your mind, body, and soul to him. Escape was impossible. You were clay in his hands, and he would mold you into a perfect, obedient lover.

[ceoofsammonroe]

Web of Lies - Stephen Glass Smut

Summary: You and Stephen are coworkers and he’s always harbored a secret crush on you. When he finally works up the courage to ask you to hang out with him, he’s elated that you agree. However, after an innocent night of company, you return to the office the next day to find your name as the hot topic of gossip. When you confront Stephen about the matter, he finds himself trapped in a web of his own lies.

Warnings: dacryphilia (he’s so pretty when he cries, i can’t help it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (Stephen receiving), dub-con (kind of? not really, but tagging it just in case), sub!Stephen, nipple play, manipulation, angst, lying, teasing, edging, denial, begging, humiliation, degradation, stephen whines and whimpers a lot because obviously.

Masterlist

The soft material of Stephen’s socks padded quietly across the floor as he made his way into the break room at The New Republic.

He stood by the door, watching with a small smile as you angrily hit the drink machine. He laughed to himself as you huffed, the frustration clear on your face.

This was something he did often. He observed you from a distance. The two of you had never spoken beyond the occasional greeting when your paths would cross in the office or a brief congratulations from you when a piece of his did exceptionally well.

Those were his favorite times. Watching you react to his stories. He’d ride the elation for hours when your lips would turn up in a smile during one of his pitches. He found himself tuning in to what made you laugh, what piqued your interest, warping his tales to accommodate.

He could do an entire write up on you by now if he was ever asked to. He’d studied you, down to every little detail. He knew what made you laugh and what pissed you off. He knew how you took your coffee and what pastries you’d swipe from the bakery you passed by every morning. He knew how you’d worry your bottom lip when you were deep in thought — that was a personal favorite of his. You’d become an obsession of sorts.

He had found his rhythm, watching your life from the outside. He was content that way. Which was why he was surprised to find himself walking up to you now.

“This machine never works,” he said, startling you as he appeared behind you. He grinned, sheepishly, ducking his head. “Sorry, it’s just that this machine gets stuck more than it doesn’t. Besides, the drinks inside of it are all flat anyways. There’s a better one on the third floor of the building. Works every time, honest.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” you laughed, embarrassed that you’d been caught fighting with an inanimate object.

“I was actually coming in here to put a note on the machine before leaving for lunch,” he lied, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s this little cafe a few blocks over that’s just to die for.”

“Are you talking about the one on 3rd Ave?” Stephen nodded, watching your face light up. “That’s one of my favorites!”

Stephen already knew that, of course. He’d watched you accumulate new takeout menus every time you’d go there for breakfast or lunch. He was willing to bet that you had upwards of twenty by now in your desk drawer. Still, he raised his eyebrows like this was the first he’d known of this information.

“Really?” Stephen asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugged. “Well, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You eyed the blond curiously. His glasses were perched high on his nose and his cheeks were illuminated with an ever present blush. He had an adorable, naive quality about him. Sure, it was clear to you that most of his stories were more fiction than fact, but who amongst you didn’t embellish every now and then?

You were intrigued by him, by the way his mind worked. He seemed to be nervously awaiting your answer, so you eased his fears with a gentle smile.

“I’d love to,” you told him, giggling at the way his eyes widened before he broke out into a breathtaking smile.

There was certainly a reason why he had the majority of the office wrapped around his finger. He was charming and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was observant, noticing things other people wouldn’t.

Maybe that was why, despite the controversy of his recent article, he didn’t seem to be catching too much heat.

“I’ll grab my things and we can walk there together,” Stephen told you, giving you a shy grin. “I’ll meet you by the front.”

You nodded, noticing the way some of your coworkers were observing your interaction. You brushed it off as typical office nosiness, waiting for Stephen to return.

As the two of you walked through the city, Stephen couldn't help but chat about mundane things: the weather, the noise of the city, your favorite books. He felt an unusual warmth in his chest, enjoying your conversation and company.

You couldn’t help but find his nervous rambling endearing, fascinated by the way he turned everything into a story.

Once you arrived at the quaint little cafe, he led you to a table by the window with a gentle smile.

“This is the best spot to sit,” you said, beaming as you looked out the large window. “You can watch all the people go by.”

He admired you, feeling his chest swell with pride that he had made a good choice.

You continued chatting about various topics, from your hobbies to your favorite TV shows. Stephen found himself opening up more than usual with you — something about you made him feel at ease and encouraged him to share pieces of himself.

By the end of the lunch hour, you had made your way back to the looming office building. You both stopped before returning inside, Stephen turning to look at you with a small smile.

“Thanks for the company,” he said, that familiar blush tinting his cheeks. “It meant more than you know.”

“Of course, Stephen,” you smiled. “Anytime.”

He watched you turn to walk back into the building, reaching out to stop you before he realized what he was doing. He felt a spike of anxiety shoot through his stomach as you turned around to look at him expectantly.

“Would you maybe wanna come over after work?” Stephen asked, breathing heavily. “I have Monopoly, if you like that sort of thing. I also have some left over danishes from that bakery down the street that I simply can’t finish all by myself.”

He watched your ears perk up at the mention of the pastries you’d stop to get before work some mornings. Hope brimmed in his chest as you contemplated his offer.

You couldn’t deny the intrigue. You’d enjoyed his company during lunch, and wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Can I play as the top hat?” you smirked, laughing as his face lit up.

Stephen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he responded, “Consider it yours.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, genuinely, before returning back to the office.

Stephen watched you walk off, his smile refusing to leave his face. As you parted ways, he couldn't shake off the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Each step felt lighter, as if he was walking on clouds.

The upcoming game night weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about it, he'd snap back to reality and focus on his work. Yet, the excitement lingered, making the hours drag by slowly.

When evening finally came, he rushed home to prepare everything for your meeting. He wanted everything to be perfect — from setting up the game board to arranging the pastries he’d stopped to pick up after work.

You followed the address Stephen had sent you, showing up to his apartment. You couldn’t deny that you were excited to spend more time with him. He fascinated you in more ways than one. There was the obvious about his stories, yes, but there was also the way he seemed to melt when he looked at you.

You knocked gently on his door, waiting for his response.

Stephen stood at the entrance of his apartment, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He had cleaned and prepared everything meticulously, ensuring every detail was just right. As he opened the door, he found his hands trembling.

"Hey," he greeted softly, gesturing for you to enter. The sight of you took his breath away, and he couldn't help but blush under your gaze.

He showed you to the living room, where the Monopoly board lay spread out on the table. Next to it was an array of pastries and a fresh pot of coffee.

"Please, sit wherever you'd like," he said shyly, already feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve got the whole spread, huh?” you asked with an impressed smile, sitting down on his couch.

Your cheeks warmed with a blush of their own when you noticed he’d laid out the exact amount of creamer and sugar that you usually used.

Stephen chuckled softly, glancing around his apartment nervously. "Just trying to make it special," he explained, sitting across from you with the Monopoly board between you.

He poured you both a cup of coffee, watching as you observed your surroundings.

As you began playing, Stephen found himself getting lost in the fun, enjoying the sound of your laughter and the occasional touch of your hand while passing money or property cards. Every interaction sent electric shocks through him, leaving him spellbound.

You had genuinely enjoyed the game night. Both of you winning your fair share of rounds. He knew how to reel people in, that was for sure.

Eventually, you’d consumed all of the coffee and sweets that you could handle and had just bought out the last property on the board.

“There,” you said, triumphantly, winning again. “That makes three for me.”

Stephen couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at losing once again, but instead of sulking, he smiled widely, clapping for you.

"Impressive! Congrats," he said, sincerely. He noticed the time on his wall clock, realizing how late it had become. "Want to order some pizza before calling it a night?" he proposed, hoping to extend your time together.

Despite the losses, he cherished every moment spent with you. Your presence brought him a comfort and joy that he hadn't experienced in years.

You also weren’t in any rush to end the night, enjoying the time you were spending with him.

“I like pizza,” you smiled.

Stephen grinned, elated that you’d agreed.

“Fantastic,” he said, grabbing his phone to order the pizza. “It’ll be the best pizza you’ve ever had, honest.”

While waiting for the food to arrive, he engaged you in conversation — asking about your interests and hobbies.

When the doorbell rang, he quickly answered, accepting the piping hot pizza box. As you both sat down to eat, he felt grateful for this rare glimpse of a normal evening.

You were both laughing, talking about 80s music when you finished the last of the pizza.

“Really, Stephen? Like a Virgin is your favorite 80s song?” you asked, trying to catch your breath from your fit of giggles.

Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, sheepishly. "What can I say? It reminds me of being a teenager."

“I don’t know whether that’s hilarious or extremely sad,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah, me either,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

He glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had become. "I suppose we should call it a night," he said reluctantly, standing up.

Your eyes widened as you saw the time. It was nearly midnight. You’d been so lost in the night that you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” you agreed, standing up as well. “We won’t be very useful at work if we’re walking around half asleep.”

He smiled at your comment as he walked you to the door. He found himself wanting to kiss you, willing his eyes to stay away from your lips. Instead, he extended a polite handshake.

“Thanks for coming over,” he murmured, nervously. “I had a great time.”

You liked this version of him. The sweet, shy Stephen who didn’t feel the need to rely on stories of grandeur to captivate his audience. This version, the real version, you felt yourself falling for.

“Thank you for having me, Stephen,” you said, taking his hand gently. “I had a lovely time.”

Stephen watched you leave, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. He waved until you disappeared from view, then returned inside his apartment.

The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he sat alone in silence, staring at the Monopoly board left scattered on the coffee table.

The next day, when you arrived at the office, you noticed some of your co-workers giving you odd looks. You ignored it at first, unlocking your office and going about your morning.

You had honestly expected Stephen to greet you, but he was strangely nowhere to be found. He’d been so eager to spend time together yesterday…

You tried to ignore the twist of disappointment in your stomach as you went about your morning.

Later, when you left your office to grab some papers, you noticed the strange looks again. This time, they were accompanied by hushed whispers and giggles. You looked around, skeptically, continuing on with your task.

It wasn’t until you were walking back to your office that you managed to hear a bit of what two women were saying.

“Can you believe it? He said she used handcuffs on him,” one of the women whispered, eyeing you up and down.

“She seems so reserved… I guess you never know when someone’s a freak in the sheets,” the other responded in hushed giggles.

You stopped dead in your tracks, trying to hear more of what they were saying.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to fucking Steve either, but I didn’t think she could be so…animalistic.”

Anger burned underneath your skin as you clutched the papers so tightly that they had all wrinkled. Your breathing was labored as you walked over to Stephen’s cubicle.

“Can I talk to you in my office, Stephen?” you asked, sharply.

Stephen looked up from his desk, startled by your sudden appearance. He swallowed hard, noting the anger simmering in your eyes. "Of course," he replied, following you to your office.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, waiting for you to speak. "Is everything okay?" he inquired cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

You leaned against your desk in front of a chair where Stephen moved to sit, crossing your arms.

“No, Stephen, everything is not okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

He was nervous. Fidgeting in his seat, refusing to make direct eye contact with you for longer than a second. All signs that he was feeling anxious about something — or guilty.

He shrunk in on himself, his tongue darting out to lick his lips that had gone dry the minute you walked into his office as he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?!” you questioned back, fuming as his eyes stayed glued to the floor. “Care to tell me why the entire office is gossiping about some story of the rough, passionate sex we supposedly had?”

"It was...a misunderstanding," he stuttered, his voice barely audible, panic etched into his features. "They thought we had an affair, which isn't true."

“Yeah, I know it’s not true Stephen,” you scoffed, “but why do they think that it is?”

“You know how office gossip spreads,” he shrugged, his right knee bouncing as he pushed up his glasses. “Someone starts a story and everyone latches onto it like a bunch of leaches until they’re so full of shit that they drop it and move on.”

Your jaw ticked as you asked, “How would they even know to start this kind of story?”

“I don’t know!” Stephen defended, furrowing his eyebrows as his nostrils flared. “People are animals. Believe me, I’m just as upset as you are by all of this.”

He was scrambling, trying to play off innocent like he always did. Normally, you’d write it off. Even finding it somewhat endearing on most occasions. This time, however, it only fueled your anger.

“Did someone make up the story as petty office gossip or did you make it up so that the office would talk about something other than you completely making up Hack Heaven?” you asked, matter-of-factly. You saw the shock in his features, the readiness to deny, so you added, “Yeah, I know you made up that article and god only knows how many more. There’s no point in lying to me.”

Stephen stared at you in disbelief, shaken by your revelation. "How...how did you…?" he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, Stephen, you’re a tremendous writer but a terrible liar. I saw through your stories the moment I met you,” you said, a certain bite to your words. “What I didn’t expect was to become the center of one of your fictitious escapades.”

He could feel his world crumbling. All of his lies had caught up to him, and worse, he had involved you in it. "I...I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he stammered, rubbing his temples.

Stephen winced, feeling his face heat up. He stared at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, genuinely remorseful. "I never meant to drag you into this mess."

He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak the truth. "I made up stories because I wanted to succeed. I craved recognition and believed that's what it took." His voice cracked as he continued. "Seeing how much it's hurt you...I wish I could take it all back."

The weight of his actions bore down on him, realizing the consequences. There were no more webs to spin, no more excuses to give. He’d been caught in the worst way possible.

You looked at him for a moment, studying the way he sunk in on himself and the water rising in his eyes. You didn’t know whether you could believe his regret or not, though a small piece of you wanted to.

“Tell me the story, then,” you said, uncrossing your arms. When you saw Stephen’s confusion, you continued. “You seemed to have such a riveting tale of our affair, so let me hear it. Tell me what you told them I supposedly did to you.”

“W-what?” Stephen sputtered, eyes wide as he glanced at you. “But…I…”

He waited, desperately hoping you’d back down, but he could see the fierce determination in your eyes. His face flamed as he took a shaky breath.

“I…I told them all kinds of details and descriptions,” he whispered, nervously. “I’m really sorry.”

“Tell me the details and descriptions, Stephen,” you said, sternly. “You didn’t have a problem telling them, so tell me.”

Stephen sighed, shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before recounting the fabricated encounter.

"I told them you were—”

“Look at me, Stephen,” you snapped, interrupting him.

His breath hitched as his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His skin burned hot. It was already bad enough having to tell you all of this, but it was even worse having to look at you while he did it. He released a shaky breath, beginning again.

"I told them you were aggressive and dominant in bed," he started, his voice barely audible. He winced, ashamed of his imagination. “Please, forgive me.”

“Start from the beginning,” you told him with a glare. “How did you tell them it started?”

Stephen swallowed hard, feeling nauseous as he recalled his lies. "I said we started chatting about music, after playing Monopoly," he began hesitantly. "Then, I said that you suggested we continue the night doing…something else."

He paused, unsure if he should continue. "I said you initiated it, that you wanted me in ways I'd never imagined," he murmured. "I painted a picture of desire and lust, claiming you were the one taking charge."

Stephen felt sick, realizing how much damage he'd caused — not only to his relationship with you, but also to your reputation.

You didn’t miss the brief flash of desire in his eyes as he recounted the beginning of this tale he’d spun, even if it was quickly replaced by guilt and anxiousness.

You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back onto the desk more.

“So, in this story, you made it sound like I was all over you?” you clarified, your anger ticking. “What did you say happened next?”

"Yes, I...I made it seem like you pursued me," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I described your actions in explicit detail."

He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. "I mentioned the way you touched me, and your voice...” He took a breath, fidgeting. “I said that you led me into my bedroom a-and that you…undressed me. I told them that you had…uh…that you had handcuffs. I made it sound like you were very aggressive."

Seeing your anger, he felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry. Please, understand that I never meant to hurt you."

You noticed him shifting uncomfortably, covering his lap with his hands as he spoke. Why was he trying to cover his lap? Was he getting turned on by this? Did he want to hide his arousal? Without wavering your stoic face, you said, “Put your arms by your sides, Stephen.”

Stephen's eyes widened slightly at your command but he obeyed without question. He put his arms by his sides, his face flush. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible.

He could feel his heart racing, partly due to the embarrassment of his reaction and partly due to the regret of his actions.

As he held his arms at his sides, you noticed the unmistakable tent forming in his pants.

“Keep going,” you said, cocking your head. “How did you tell them I used the handcuffs?”

Stephen's face turned bright red, mortified by your observation. He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact. "I...I said you handcuffed me to the bedpost and...um…took control," he stammered, his voice breaking.

“Was this some sort of weird fantasy you’d had all along, or did it just fly off your tongue like all the other stories you tell?” you asked, harshly.

Stephen's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't deny it.

"I...I won't deny that it was partially a fantasy," he admitted, his voice a whisper, "but I never intended for it to become reality or cause you any harm."

He could feel the weight of his words, realizing the magnitude of his actions. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong, and I will do whatever it takes to make it right."

“Is that why you’re getting hard just talking about it?” you laughed, bitterly, glancing at the growing erection.

Stephen's face was crimson, his embarrassment palpable. He couldn't look at you, averting his eyes instead. "I don't...I don't know," he mumbled.

He knew he'd crossed a line, and he was desperate to fix it. "Please, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it right. Just give me a chance."

“Anything?” you asked, raising a brow at him. The sunlight from the open blinds lit up his scarlet cheeks, accentuating the blue in his eyes. “Unbutton your shirt.”

Stephen froze, his eyes wide with shock. He glanced at the open blinds, then back at you. Despite his reluctance, he slowly took off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale chest.

You didn’t move from your position as your eyes trailed down the exposed skin of his torso, stopping back at the growing erection in his pants.

“Now, undo your pants,” you instructed, crossing your arms.

Stephen gulped, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he slowly started to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He hesitated, his hands shaking, but he knew he had to follow your instructions.

As his zipper lowered, the erection became more apparent, straining against his boxers. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

The bright redness that burned his face had now also began flushing his chest. You stopped yourself from smirking at the sight.

“Well, go on…” you told him. “Push them the rest of the way down.”

Stephen hesitated, his hands trembling as he gripped his pants. He took a deep breath, knowing there was no turning back. With a shaky hand, he pushed his pants down to his ankles.

He sat there, utterly exposed and humiliated, waiting for your next command. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and shame coursing through him.

You stared at his sizable erection, straining against the boxers he wore.

“Boxers, too,” you said, cocking your head.

Stephen's face was beet red, but he complied, slowly pulling down his boxers. His erection sprang free, standing rigid and exposed.

He felt vulnerable and humiliated, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be aroused. He waited for your reaction, expecting your anger to be unbearable.

Your eyes widened slightly at the size of him, springing free from its confine. The sunlight caught him deliciously and you couldn’t deny the stir in your stomach.

“Look at you,” you laughed, “this worked up from your own imagination. You’re practically leaking everywhere.”

He felt his entire body flush at your attention, feeling the pre-cum dripping down his shaft. He felt like he was drowning in his own desire and lies.

“Yes, I'm...I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“It looks awfully painful,” you said, still studying him. “All red and aching…”

You stood up straighter, standing tall over where he was sat in the chair. If he wanted you to take control, then that’s what he was going to get.

“You’re going to finish telling me the story that you told them, recounting every twisted detail you dreamed up, and you’re going to fuck yourself in front of me while you do it.”

Stephen's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't argue. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The combination of his arousal and your command left him breathless.

He reached for his erection, feeling the heat and wetness pulsating in his veins. Hesitantly, he began to stroke himself, his mind flooded with the details of his fantasy.

He hoped this would show you his remorse, that this would be his way to beg you for forgiveness.

“What did you tell them happened after I handcuffed you, Stephen?” you asked, watching as he fisted his dick.

Stephen's grip tightened on his erection, his breathing becoming ragged. "I...I said you took control, touching me slowly...and teasing me." He groaned softly, his body responding to his thoughts. His actions mirrored his words as he absentmindedly teased himself, adding to the intensity of the current situation.

You locked eyes with him, seeing how his pupils dilated as you asked, “How did I tease you?”

Stephen's fingers danced faster, his breaths growing ragged. "I, uh, said you played with my nipples, tracing them with your fingers." He moaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed. "Then, I said you kissed me...all over." He gasped, his body arching slightly.

His mind was consumed by both your questions and his arousal, making it harder to separate fantasy from reality.

“Did I make you beg for it, Stephen?” you asked, your voice growing husky. You were relishing in the way he was falling apart, so submissive and eager.

Stephen's eyes snapped open at your question, his body trembling. "Yes," he gasped, his fist moving faster. "I said you made me beg for it, for relief and your touch."

His breathing became erratic, every thrust of his hand mirroring the intensity of his thoughts. "I begged for you, begged for everything you were doing to me."

He could barely focus on the task at hand, his arousal and fantasies clouding his mind.

“Tell me what you said I did to you after you begged for it,” you told him. You saw the way he was quickly losing himself and added, “and don’t you dare thinking about coming before I tell you to.”

Stephen's breath hitched, his grip tightening on his erection as a whimper escaped his lips. "I...I said you took me, forcefully and passionately," he panted, his body trembling.

He could feel the edge, the pleasure threatening to overtake him, but he forced himself to slow down, obeying your command.

His eyes locked on yours, desperation evident in his gaze. "Please, I need...I need to come."

“Is that what you dreamed of saying to me in this fantasy of yours?” you asked, leaning a bit closer. “Did you beg me to let you come while I was passionately taking you?”

Stephen's heart raced, his mind whirling. "Yes," he breathed. "I...I begged for release, for you to let me come."

He could feel the pressure building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. "Please,” he whined, “please let me finish this."

His eyes pleaded with you, hoping you would grant him the release he craved.

“Not yet,” you said, coldly.

His skin was flushed with arousal and embarrassment, sweat was beading on his brow, and his eyes were blown with lust. You enjoyed his desperation, deciding to push it further.

“What do you think would happen if someone looked through the window and saw you right now, Stephen?” you taunted, tilting your head towards the open blinds letting in the sunlight. “Or what if one of our coworkers walked right in to my office? What if they saw you, desperate and begging, just like your little stories?”

You glanced over at your closed office door and said, “Come to think of it, I don’t remember locking the door.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. "Oh god," he gasped, his grip tightening on his erection.

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation threatening to consume him. His eyes darted to the door, the possibility of exposure sending chills down his spine.

He knew he was at your mercy, desperate for release and terrified of what might happen. "Please, I can't...I can't take this anymore."

You walked over, placing your hands on each of the armrests and leaning over him — giving him a delectable view of your cleavage beneath your shirt.

“What’s stopping me from opening that door right now and letting them all see you, hm?” you taunted. “You were so keen to describe the details of this fantasy, why not let them witness it for themselves.”

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling. "No," he whimpered, his gaze locked on your cleavage. "Please, don't do that. I...I can't handle it."

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” you taunted. “You made up this story in the first place to take their eyes off of your fabricated articles. I think this would certainly do the trick. Nobody would be thinking about Hack Heaven if they saw you like this — exposed, desperate, needy, fucking yourself as you beg for my mercy. I think this is a front page picture.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. He glanced at the door again, the possibility of exposure weighing heavily on him.

"Please, I can't... I can't have them see me like this," he pleaded in that whiny voice of his, tears in his eyes.

His grip tightened, his body shaking as he fought against the impending orgasm. He needed you to decide, to put an end to his torment.

“Yet you’re gripping your dick that much harder,” you noted with a smirk. “Does the thought turn you on, Stevie? Being seen like this? Being exposed?”

Stephen's breath hitched, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded, slowly, tears streaming down his face. "Still…I don't want them to see me like this. I'm begging you."

His hand didn't stop, his body betraying him as the pleasure built. He felt trapped, his desires conflicting with his fear of exposure.

“You look so pretty like this, though,” you teased, grazing your nails lightly across his nipples. “I’m sure they’d love to see their favorite coworker so compromised.”

Stephen gasped, thrusting his hips up off of the chair. "Please," he whined, stroking himself faster.

You kept teasing his sensitive nipples with your nails, loving to see how wrecked he was. The anger you had felt had morphed into desire as you watched him falling apart in front of you.

“You’re just so close,” you cooed, taunting him, “aren’t you?”

"Yes," he whimpered, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm...I'm so close."

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, his body betraying him once again.

“Beg me to let you come, Stevie,” you told him, mercilessly circling the hardened buds on his chest.

"Please," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Let me come, please."

He could feel the climax approaching, his body tensing. He needed your permission, your approval.

You backed away from him, becoming his audience.

“Come for me, Stephen,” you commanded, watching him intently.

Stephen's eyes widened, relief washing over him. "Thank you," he whimpered, his grip tightening as he chased his peak.

When he finally let himself fall over the edge, his eyes rolled back, his body jerking as the orgasm hit him. He came hard, whimpering your name and arching off of the seat as he bit down on his bottom lip to muffle his whines.

He slumped forward, panting heavily, his emotions a chaotic mix of gratitude and humiliation.

He looked utterly disheveled. His clothes hanging off of him, his skin flushed, his hair a mess, his glasses fogged. He looked delectable.

You handed him a box of tissues and said, “Clean yourself up and put your clothes back on.”

Stephen's breaths were heavy, his body still trembling as the afterglow settled in. He took the tissues gratefully, cleaning himself up.

He quickly straightened his clothes, his movements shaky. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely liberated.

As he stood up, he met your gaze, a mix of gratitude, embarrassment, and desire in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of him after he’d somewhat composed himself.

“Never ever lie about me again,” you told him.

Stephen's heart raced, his eyes locked on yours. "I won't," he promised, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry for everything."

He knew he'd made a mistake, and he wasn't going to repeat it. He wanted your forgiveness, to start anew and make things right.

Despite the harshness in your tone, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

You nodded, sighing as you uncrossed your arms.

“Well, I didn’t have handcuffs on me, but at least now your story has some credibility,” you joked, letting up on the sternness.

Stephen managed a weak smile, the blush still tinting his cheeks. "That it does," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He could feel the tension easing, the weight of his lies lifting from his shoulders. He knew he still had a long way to go, but this was a step in the right direction.

He hoped you could move past this, build something stronger and more honest.

You didn’t think he was malicious, just insecure and unsure of how to create his true identity. It was somehow still endearing.

You grabbed his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

Stephen's breath hitched, his heart racing as he eagerly returned the kiss, melting into you with a soft whimper.

He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and desire. You had given him a chance, and he intended to prove himself worthy.

As you pulled away, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you," he whispered.

You glanced at the office door and then back at him, his adorable face flushed.

“If they ask what happened, for once in your life just keep your mouth shut,” you giggled, softly.

Stephen chuckled, his cheeks flushing even more. "I will," he promised, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He knew he had to learn from this experience, to be honest and true to himself. He wanted to earn your trust and respect.

As he looked at you, he realized that, despite the chaos, something had changed between you. You had shared something intimate, and he felt grateful.

[ddarker-dreams]

Can you please rate the current husband rotation (scara,blade and chrollo) based on highest sex drive to lowest?

Btw i love your work your amazingggg <333333

thank you very much!!!!!!!! i'll throw gojo in there for good measure. whether anyone wants him, that's up for debate, but he's slapped into the mix now.

warning for not SFW beneath the cut, obviously, and afab reader. dubcon if you squint.

alright, so, this'll be ranked from 10 as the highest and 1 as the lowest.

scaramouche — 9.

it's bad. it's real bad. you weren't expecting it either. from what little scaramouche has allowed you to know about himself, you considered him the type to look down at sex as debased and pointless. this assessment of yours would've been accurate had you not been in the picture. sadly, you are very much in the picture, and it's a picture he'd stare at until his eyes ceased functioning.

he is clingy, he is needy, he is relentless. it's embarrassing and he'll never admit it, but he views sex as the ultimate connection lovers can experience. two becoming one. he places far more sentimentality on it than you'll ever be privy to. or so he'd like to think, because the tears he sheds into your neck as he enters you for the first time give him away. he'll hold you in an uncomfortably tight grip, almost in a trance. he's inside you, the closest anyone can physically get. sure, there's pleasure to be found, but that isn't the main allure. he can move forward and you'll gasp. pull back and feel how you squeeze him, as if you couldn't bear to let him go, not even for a second.

deep down, does he know this is an involuntary muscle spasm and not some long-awaited reciprocation of his awful love? yes, he knows. he ignores that rational explanation, as he so often does when you're involved. from the second his tip began pushing in, he knew he'd become addicted. for you to encourage him, declare your undying love between moans and gasps, reassure him that he's all you can ever think about.

he'd deliver the seven nations to your feet if it meant experiencing that.

if anyone were to interrupt his time with you, even if it's a report that the sky itself is cracking open, he'd kill them for the infraction.

basically, every second that passes without him being inside you further sours his mood. his underlings dread long missions away for this very reason. one of them made the mistake of consoling his lord that it's just a few more days until he can see you again. scaramouche ordered that his tongue be cut out for daring to speak your name. he's the only one who deserves the privilege. anyone else is entirely unworthy of the right.

when he comes back, you won't be leaving the bedroom for hours. he cannot detach himself from you. he's insatiable, utterly insatiable.

gojo — 8.

satoru thinks you're hot. like really hot. call-to-wake-you-up-at-four-in-the-morning-for-phone-sex hot. he cannot behave and he doesn't want to. if he's driving you somewhere, his hand is on your thigh. when you're taking an important phone call, his fingers will rub circles into your clit through your panties, no matter how desperately you try and shoo him off. the type to send you those memes that if he died in between your thighs, it'd be a happy death. he loves your body, how his name sounds when you sigh it, the scent of sweat on your skin, the taste of your favorite cocktail on your lips.

for as long as he can remember, he's never been the type to resist doing what he wants. he'll be late to meetings with the higher-ups because you fell asleep in his arms and he refused to wake you up. he'll tell a special grade curse he's fighting to wait a second because you sent him a cute text he wants to reread. should he notice someone checking you out, he'll appear beside them, praising their excellent taste. throw in a comment that they can have your phone number if they just approach you. then, every time they try, he'll warp them back a little further at a time.

this isn't to say no one is allowed to admire you, though. that wouldn't be fair. he likens it to if leonardo da vinci kept the mona lisa hidden in some dark, dusty corner. others can appreciate your beauty, so long as it's on his terms. poor nanami gets texted to pick between what dresses he should buy you, with the unnecessary addendum that 'it'll get ripped off at a later time wwww.' the very first time nanami heard gojo speak your name, he knew the strongest sorcerer was going to become infinitely more grating.

satoru just finds every second he spends with you worthwhile. whether it be the two of you lazing around in pajamas and watching a b-movie, or if you've been teasing him relentlessly all day, earning you a sleepless night. you're like air to him. there's something about being around you that has him hooked. which is why he never wants to put out that lovely flame burning within you. no, he stokes it, savors the burn that only you can leave on his skin. if you're his world, he has to be yours.

chrollo — 6.

you can call this man all sorts of negative labels and each one will apply. immoral? depraved? a murderer? all are perfectly true, he won't claim otherwise. from all the potential insults to sling his way, however, impatient can't be found among them. he's anything but that. his patience is impeccable. otherworldly, at times. he will sit there with a soft smile as you get upset in any manner you wish. he doesn't rush you or interrupt, you're allowed to get it out of your system. it's then that you realize the threat you're dealing with can't be properly understood.

from the list of real winners here, chrollo is the closest to being 'classy.' he holds doors open for you. takes your jacket off when you walk inside. pulls your chair out on dates. for anyone else, these acts would be hollow performances, but for you? oh, he adores every second. he wants to make your heart flutter. feel how your breath hitches as he clasps a necklace around your neck, the chain cold against your clammy skin. observe how your pupils dilate when he rolls his sleeves up to help cook, revealing toned arms.

he takes his time with you. would he love to bend you over and rail you against the nearest surface? absolutely. what he absolutely loves, though, is foreplay. testing how long an indulgent man such as himself can deny his base urges. chrollo wants to see the exact moment you realize that despite everything, you want him. you want him bad enough to discard your pride and accept the affections of someone you once called the devil. the thought alone makes him shudder with anticipation. it's how he maintains control when your skirt rides up or when you brush against him in your sleep.

eye contact is a must when you abandon your inhibitions and let him bed you. the expressions you make when his fingers curl against your walls, as he sinks into you for the first time, when you clench and come undone around him; everything is a delight that gives him such a rush. then there's your visage after you're done. how you wince when he pulls out, his cum seeping down your legs. it's like he can hear each neuron of yours firing away to form a rationalization for why you just let him fuck you.

he's patient, but that just means when he does get what he wants, he'll be starved for everything you can give.

blade — ???

blade either wants to go at it like rabbits or has the self-restraint of an ascetic who committed themselves to celibacy for life. there is no in-between.

his mara suggests that he break your legs and fuck you until eternity itself comes to an end. he possesses enough lucidity to realize he shouldn't do that, regardless of the tiny part of himself that coos over the idea. due to the extreme fantasies that'd cause you irreparable harm should he ever carry them out, blade shoves down his desire that's become intertwined with his mara. this works for a time. sure, you might be unnerved by how he's always staring at you, but at least the integrity of your legs is ensured. how romantic.

because truthfully, no matter how curt his words are or sharp his glare is when you test his patience, he likes you. it's such a childish sentiment that it makes him want to groan with embarrassment. he tried suffocating the budding attachment, going as far away from you as he could, only to come crawling back each time. what if you fell in love? what if you opened your legs for someone else? these fears grow to such a degree that it influences his swordplay. he may or may not have allowed his opponent to skewer his heart, to see if that'd get the traitorous organ to stop pounding away at the thought of you.

this cycle of denying himself of you -> returning with an intensified obsession carries over to his sex drive. even blade doesn't know what will tip him over. it could be you saying his name in a particularly cute voice, how you bite your lip while thinking about something, or just him getting a whiff of your shampoo as he walks by. the next thing he knows, he's throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to the closest bed. or couch. even a countertop will do. the abundance's curse on his body extends to his refractory period as well. he gets hard again almost immediately after he cums. especially because you'll be underneath him, out of breath, looking like you're meant to be ravished.

he'll do all the work, you don't have to move a muscle if you're too exhausted. he gives you his release in every way possible. inside you, on your chest, face, mouth, and inside your stomach from all the times you've swallowed his spend.

[eternalsa2z]

Mural

Muriel passed by the mural every day. Stopping to stare and admire the strange swirling patterns. At first it was just a glimpse. Then a long stare. Eventually she'd lose track of time with how long she was paused in from of the painting.

Every time she passed by, something changed. Her hair a little longer. Makeup a little more gaudy. Clothes a little shorter. It didn't take long for her body to begin warping like the picture on the wall. Bigger tits, curvier hips, larger lips.

Finally Muriel didn't bother to walk away from the mirror. She liked to flaunt her perfect body in front of it, to soak up the stares of those who passed by the street corner. She had become living art - beautiful, blank, open to be bought by the highest bidder.

[simonsomeriley]

day five - heat stroke - arthur morgan ♡

word count: 959 warnings: mentions of fainting, reader is referred to as 'sugar', obv. heatstroke

The sun beat down relentlessly, turning the dusty road ahead into a shimmering mirage. The horizon seemed to stretch out endlessly, waves of heat warping the sight of the distant mountains. You swayed slightly in the saddle, your mouth dry and your head pounding as your breath burned with every inhale.

“Y’alright there?” Arthur’s gruff voice cut through the suffocating stillness, a hint of concern weaving through his usual tone.

You'd forced a weak smile, waving him off, “I’m fine. Just a little hot.”

He gave you a long, measured look from beneath the brim of his hat, clearly unconvinced, “We should stop soon. Ain’t no sense in pushin' ourselves too hard out in this heat.”

But you were stubborn. Always had been. You’d been riding for hours, determined to keep pace with Arthur, to prove that you could handle the harshness of the way just as well as he could. You didn’t want to slow him down. “I’m good. Let’s keep going.”

Arthur muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t press the issue, giving Boadicea a nudge to keep moving. You followed, though every step your horse took seemed to make the world around you blur just a little more. The pounding in your head had become a constant throb, and your limbs felt heavier with each passing minute.

The sun’s unforgiving rays were relentless, and not before long, your vision swam. Sweat clung to your skin, but it did nothing to dampen the fire raging inside of you. You blinked, trying to focus on the trail ahead, but the edges of your sight darkened.

“Arthur…” your voice cracked, weaker than you meant it to be.

He hadn't heard you at first, his horse trotting ahead as yours lagged behind. The ground beneath you swayed and tilted, the heat pressing down on you like a lead blanket. You tried to call out again, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, the world tilted violently, and the last thing you felt was the hard slam of the ground as you'd toppled from your horse.

Arthur’s heart sank the moment he heard the rough thud behind him.

“Shit.” He yanked the reins hard, spinning his horse to a halt to see you crumpled in the dirt, your horse standing nearby, confused but calm. His pulse quickened, and he was off his horse before he’d even come to a full stop, sprinting toward you.

“Damn it, I knew you were pushin’ too hard,” he muttered, dropping to his knees beside you. Your skin was hot to the touch, far too hot. Sweat beaded on your brow, but your face had gone pale, and your breathing was shallow and ragged.

“Hey, hey. C’mon, now,” he murmured, gently cupping your face with calloused hands. “Stay with me, sugar. Don’t go passin’ out on me.”

But you were barely conscious, your body limp and unresponsive to his touches in the scorching heat. Arthur cursed under his breath, wiping the sweat from his own brow as he looked around for any sign of water. The landscape offered no mercy— just dry brush and endless dust.

He didn’t waste another second. Without hesitation, he settled you up into his arms, your head resting against his chest as he carried you back to his horse. “We gotta find some shade, fast,” he muttered to himself, gently hoisting you into the saddle before mounting behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady as he urged his horse into a gallop.

Every hit of the hooves against the ground felt like a race against time. Arthur’s mind raced, torn between the need to move fast and the fear that the heat might already have done too much damage. “C’mon, girl,” he whispered to his horse, pushing her harder as he scanned out over the landscape.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could’ve been mere minutes, he spotted a small outcropping of rocks providing just enough shade. It wasn’t much, but it'd have to do. He pulled his horse to a stop, jumping down and carefully lowering you into the sparse shadow.

“Stay with me,” he urged again, his voice rough as he pulled out a water canteen. Gently, he lifted your head and poured some of the cool liquid against your dried lips. “You’re gonna be alright. I ain’t lettin’ you go down like this.”

You stirred faintly, your eyelids fluttering as the water hit your lips. “Arthur…” you croaked, barely conscious, your voice weak and distant.

“That’s it. You’re alright, just stay with me.” He poured more water onto a cloth, pressing it gently against your forehead, hoping to cool your feverish skin. The worry in his eyes was unmistakable, though he tried to hide it behind his usual calm facade.

“Why… didn’t I listen?” you mumbled, blinking up at him, your vision still swimming.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he said softly, his voice a rare gentle tone as he kept applying water to your skin. “Just rest. You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes again, feeling the world slowly come back into focus as the cool water soothed the heat from your body. Arthur stayed by your side, his hand resting on your shoulder as he kept a close watch on your breathing.

“We’ll rest here ‘till you’re feelin’ better,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Ain’t no reason to push yourself so hard, not when I’m here to look after ya.”

You'd smiled faintly, despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs. You knew Arthur would always be there— gruff, steady, and fiercely protective. And even though you had pushed yourself too far, you could feel the safety in his presence as the heat began to release its grip on you.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Workaholic

Viktor x GN! Reader

Summary: Pulling Viktor away from his work.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Viktor sleep deprived, Arguing with Jayce, Eepy Viktor, Cleaning Viktor's Place, Bit Sad

Walking into the messied lab holding Viktor's lunch tightly, not wanting to drop it, having brought some for Jayce had made the bag heavier.

Laying eyes upon the two boys hard at work, Viktor tinkering away at a machine and Jayce working on paperwork. Jayce is the first to look up, smiling at you, giving his lunch, receiving a "Thank you" in exchange before walking over to your boyfriend's workspace.

Placing the bag on the desk gaining his attention, leaned on the edge of the desk, meeting Viktor's tired eyes. Smiling weakly at you, struggling to keep his eyes open, sunken cheeks and red eyes that surrounded his amber ones stared back at you.

Not living together, you hadn't been aware of his sleeping patterns; the only reassurance of him getting rest was from staying over at his place and saying goodbye before going home telling him to rest.

“You look exhausted. How long have you been working?” You ask, worried, cupping his cheek. “I’m fine, I just need a nap.” Even with his calm dismissiveness, you persisted. Of course, this not being the first time.

“Let’s go, you need rest,” you stated, pushing away from the desk grabbing the bag of food. “Hold on, wait, we were close to a breakthrough,” Jayce's voice sounds from behind.

Turning to the man watching as he stepped back at the look on your face, “Look at him, Jayce,” responding in a low voice. Having had this conversation with Jayce before, Viktor never knew when to stop working. Jayce knew that; it was his job to make sure Viktor stepped away.

“We talked about this, no more long hours.” whispering with a voice filled with anger, "You can pick it up another day, I'm taking him home to rest," emphasizing the word rest. Not waiting for Jayce to respond, you turn to see Viktor standing, struggling to hold himself with his cane.

Moving to aid, supporting his body with a hand warped around his waist with an arm resting above your shoulder. Sounds from the cane hitting the ground filled the silence as neither of you spoke, arriving at Viktor’s.

Opening the door, having a spare, meeting the same clutteredness as the lab. Setting down the food as you walked through the apartment, passing by notes that covered every surface.

Entering the dim bedroom setting him down slowly on the blanket-covered bed, when staying over cuddled close to Viktor, the many blankets felt like heaven, but for him, it was a necessity, his body still not used to Piltover's cold nights.

Quickly undressing Viktor before tucking him in, taking only a second for sleep to take effect. Tracing the outline of his sleeping figure, thinking of the complaints of soreness that were to come in the morning.

Looking away, scanning the room, seeing what's changed since you've been there, little changed, only becoming more disorganized. Taking the opportunity to clean up his space before you join him in bed, starting by picking up clothes scattered about. Cleaning up tripping hazards and the small amount of dishes placed atop his desk.

Walking into the kitchen seeing the few dishes in the sink, noticing them to be the same ones from a week ago, when you had last visited. Realizing Viktor had been living off of the lunches and late dinner dates in the lab you brought him, thinking about it any further broke your heart even more.

Just as you started washing, Viktor's voice called out for you, setting the dishes back in the sink before washing off the soap from your hands. Making a mental note to finish in the morning, knowing how worked away his body from the lab, having no strength nor time to do it himself.

In the short distance to the bedroom, you undressed, making crawling into bed cuddling Viktor more comfortable, laying atop his chest wrapped warmly in his arms and blankets, having the rhythm of his heart and lungs taking in air to lull you to sleep.

Remember to eat and drink water today! <3

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @scrunkalicious @sophieissleepy

[stormhearty]

✨ pairings: eris x reader

🔮 preview: (Y/N) Vanserra was cunning, ambitious, and confident, all wrapped in a beauty that could rival Lady Autumn’s. For forty-nine years, she had been hidden away, in Autumn Court, much like a diamond, waiting for the day she could come out and shine. And so, when the threat of a Death-God loomed over Prythian and Beron slowly became a concern, (Y/N) uses her beauty and intelligence for a ploy bigger than herself — one that included sitting her husband down on the Autumn throne, Eris Vanserra.

📣 trigger warnings: Inner Circle bashing (I love the IC guys, but we’re in Autumn Court territory now)

🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 5.6k+

💜 masterlist | series masterlist + notes: I thank my lovely nonnie from here for suggesting a Roxana-inspired reader from the manwha, How to Protect the Heroine’s Older Brother! I loved Roxana as a character and I found it very difficult (as many of you know, whom I’ve talked to about this story) to write a character who is cunning and intelligent as my character reference. This series was a beast to write (and I am still writing the other parts of it, so please do be patient) — I wanted it to stay canon as much as possible, but also give a story that would reveal the mysterious nature of Autumn Court. Please do give feedback about the first part of this series! I would love to hear your opinions and thoughts for the next part!

And I thank both @prythianpages & @thesunloveschips for their amazing help with this first part (I apologize to them profusely at times for bothering them)

“Be my eyes, be my ears. Be the wallflower that lurks in the breeze. Be the viper that stings all my enemies. We shall become one, to conquer our shared destiny.”

The burn of the bargain tattoo seared onto your skin, a ring of fire that surrounded your left ring finger. It took you a moment to look at it, admiring the dark ink that stained your skin before much larger hands enveloped yours. Looking up, you stared at familiar amber hues as he slipped the golden band on that finger, hiding the tattoo. Lifting your hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss on your knuckles his smirk widening slightly.

“You will be my secret, (Y/N)… My weapon within the walls of Autumn Court…”

“Do you know who she is, Az?” his High Lord’s voice echoed in his head as hazel eyes focused on the female that seemed to have garnered many lingering gazes.

“I unfortunately do not, Rhys… My shadows do not whisper anything about her. I—-” there was hesitancy in his words, “I didn’t even know she existed.”

The Spymaster was stumped, to say the least.

In his centuries of being Night Court’s Spymaster, wielding shadows to his very will, Azriel had every confidence that he knew everything that happened in Prythian. Nothing was able to pass him nor his shadows — he knew all the intel, the gossip. He knew everything that might be deemed a threat to his court and used that knowledge to his advantage.

But it seemed like something slipped, because there was something… more like someone, that passed his shadows; and that was you who was on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir.

Azriel felt like he should have known you, should have heard the whisper of your existence at least. You were accompanying the Autumn Heir to Winter Solstice, for Mother’s sake! How could someone as vital as you slip passed his shadows.

He waited, waited for those slivers of darkness to whisper something… anything about you. Even just your name, the Spymaster would have been pleased to know.

But nothing.

His shadows lazily moved underneath him, not a care in the world about the female that seemed to have warped his mind in chaos.

You had become an enigma to the Spymaster.

And it was something he would go to the ends of the world to unravel.

He continued silently observing you from his position next to his High Lord on the dias, watching as you pressed yourself close to the Heir side, your hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, leading you through the throughs of people that packed themselves into the grand ballroom. He watched as your rouge dress, a stark contrast to the endless sea of black and blue, swayed around you — like a fire that danced in the darkness of the night. Even Eris stood out in his regality in a similar shade of rouge, Autumn Court colors seeping out from every inch of him.

The two of you maneuvered through the halls like flames blazing through the darkness — and Azriel was worried that you would burn his home down.

And when he watched you lean up to the Heir, whispering something into his ear before a boisterous laugh escaped the Autumn Heir, he sent his shadows across the floor, motioning them to listen in — and all the Spymaster hoped was to get a tidbit of anything relating to you; even just the sound of your voice would have been better than nothing.

However, hazel hues watched as his shadows retreated quickly as they had flocked. And it was only then did Azriel had seen it.

A barrier.

One that was so powerful and so thick that his shadows couldn’t even penetrate. He watched as the tendrils of darkness slithered away, retreating back to their master, hearing their cries of pain as they had attempted to break through the barrier.

That was the reason no one knew of your existence — why Azriel never heard of you, why his shadows never picked up your name.

You were a secret — Autumn Court’s well-kept secret.

The shimmer of the barrier caught the corner of your eye, watching it reflect different colors under the dim lighting. You raised a brow, eyes darting around before noticing the lonesome shadow retreating back to its master. You watched as that lonesome shadow slither through the crowd, slithering back to the Spymaster’s side.

“Did that bastard just —-”

You fought back a chuckle, gently squeezing Eris’ forearm — a silent confirmation about the attempted attack from the Night Court Spymaster. You felt him stiffen underneath your touch and you didn’t need to look to know that the Heir was pissed.

Beneath his mask of well-practiced composure, you felt his body thrum with rage and fire — it swirled and bubbled underneath his skin, radiating up to your palm that rested in the crook of his elbow.

Eris had always been quite overprotective over you, thus the millennial old barrier that had kept your existence a secret from all of Prythian — including from the nosy Spymaster of Night Court.

You were not surprised by the Shadowsinger’s actions — curiosity killed the cat, as many would say. And who wouldn’t be curious about you, the female that hung on the arm of the Autumn Court Heir? You had expected something similar to happen, but it seemed that the Spymaster sending his shadows to investigate you did not sit well with Eris.

No one dared to attack you while in his presence.

“Eris…”

The whisper of his name from your lips paused the rage that bubbled from the Heir — amber hues glancing your way. A delicate smile tugged onto your features, another melodic hum escaping your lips as you reached up and caressed his forearm — a gesture that showed you were perfectly unharmed — the barrier had done its job, keeping you safe. It was a gesture that always seemed to calm Eris down — especially when it came to your safety, a silent confirmation you were safe. You felt that bubble of rage and fire simmer, the Heir calming underneath your touch, and felt his hand slip on top of your own, his thumb gently caressing the gold band on your ring finger— a tall tell sign that he was holding himself back from confronting the Spymaster.

“Ah, Eris!”

Annoyance rolled off from the calm of Eris’ demeanor and you fought all urge to tease the male as you watched from the corner of your eye Keir making his way to the two of you, behind him his daughters in tow.

With a well-practiced smile, Eris gave a bow of his head towards the Steward, you mimicking his actions as surprise tugged on the Steward’s features, his steps paused to a halt at the sight of you at Eris’ side.

“Ah, Keir, pleasure to see you again. I thank you for inviting me to such festivities…” Eris greeted the male with a light smirk tugged onto his features — the normal look of arrogance from the Autumn Heir.

Keir had stiffened at the sound of his name, without any lordship from the Heir, as he bit back a reply with a strained smile, “Of course, Lord Eris. We are indeed partners… I had wanted to introduce you to my daughters—-” the male gestured to his side as his daughters gave a bow, their cheeks pink with a light rose color, evident even in the dim lighting.

You bit back a laugh, glancing up at Eris to watch that smile twitch at the corner of his lips — the annoyance very evident despite his mask of pleasantry.

“Unfortunately…” The Autumn Heir had cut off the Steward, giving the ladies a bow of his head. Eris, no matter what was taught to be a gentleman, especially to females. His mother taught him that. “I do not need a partner tonight for the dance… As you can see, I do have a lovely lady on my arm, and it would be such a shame to ignore her presence… don’t you think, Keir?”

A pleased smile tugged at the edge of your lips at the quip — not only did the Steward ignore greeting you, he had ignored the fact that you… without needing to be announced, would be the one accompanying the Heir for the evening’s festivities. And yet, there he was attempting to set up partnership with one of his daughters.

Keir’s eyes shifted from the Heir to you, his hues shaking as he looked at you.

“My apologizes… my lady, I was not informed that the Autumn Heir would be bringing a partner with him tonight—-”

“—-She has been with me the whole night, Keir… and she has not stepped away from my side. I would think, with your… keen eyesight, it would make it clear that I did not need a partner tonight.”

“—- Ah, yes… I apologize…” the stutter was evident in his tone as he quietly shooed away his daughters, watching longing gazes at the Eris before moving through the crowd. Keir straightened up and gave you a formal smile, before clearing his throat, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady —- before the festivities start…” What a quick change of subject, “My High Lord would like to speak to you…. if you do not mind following me…”

And with that the Steward turned around, his cape bellowing behind him as he maneuvered his way through the crowd… towards the dias where the Inner Circle had perched themselves for the night.

You watched as Eris rolled his eyes, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips, while you let out an airy laugh, bracing yourself on his arm as you leaned up, your breath against his chin, “Tired of being the most eligible bachelor, Autumn Heir?” you teased him.

It had always amused you on how many marriage proposals Eris had throughout the time you were together, and how many he had thrown those letters into the hearth of your shared bedroom at Autumn Court. You had always teased him about it, much to his own dismay after being with you for several millennials — you always found something to tease him about.

Eris raised a brow, turning his head so that your breaths intermingled, “I had not been a bachelor for centuries, my butterfly… It pains me to pretend that I am every time I step outside Autumn Court.”

You gazed up at him, staring in those amber hues through your lush lashes, “Well… tonight we’ll make that clear, once and for all, won’t we?”

A wide smirk tugged onto his lips, as he let out a satisfied sound before straightening up and guiding you through the crowd, steps behind the Steward to the dias. The two of you were a perfect picture of Lord and Lady, graceful and regal in every way.

Pull… pull… pull…

Eyes snapped towards the dias, your body going ridged for a few moments as you felt the familiar magnetic tug — the call of the blade. Eris paused in mid-step, feeling you go still, his head snapping towards you as eyes betrayed his indifferent expression — worry pooling at its depths. No words needed to be communicated between the two of you, you had known each other for centuries… you were honed into each other’s emotions, habits, gestures… you two could read each other so easily, despite the mask you have learned to put on for centuries.

Your eyes shifted from each member of the Inner Circle, trying to find where the magic pull was coming from, landing on the velvet box that was in the lithe hands of a familiar fae — the eldest Made Archeron sister, Nesta. You felt your magic flicker underneath your skin, answering the pull from that velvet box. You knew that the blade was in that box — the whole reason why you had decided to accompany Eris to the Winter Solstice, stepping out of Autumn Court into the wider world of Prythian, risking your identity, and exposing your person to the Night Court. That box, that blade was your sole reason.

Regaining your composure, you pressed yourself against Eris’ arm, placing your hand on top of his own as you silently motioned him to continue moving forward. The Autumn Heir hesitated, but when he glanced into your eyes and saw the resolution in them, he couldn’t argue. He gently squeezed your hand and started to move forward again before leaning down, pressing a kiss on the side of your head to whisper, “Did you find it? The blade?”

You glanced up at him and just gave him a light smirk, gently squeezing his hand. Another laugh escaped him, drawing attention towards the two before he pressed another kiss on your cheek, “You are magnificent, my butterfly…”

The Autumn wind blew a chilled breeze through the large windows of the Forest House. The sky was still in orange, red, and yellow hues as the moon started to peak over the horizon — the seasonal courts never saw true nightfall, the skies still glittering with their court colors. It had just grown dark enough for sleep to fall on its inhabitants.

Slipping onto the large balcony of your shared bedroom, you pressed your hands against the cool marble railing as you watched a monarch butterfly flutter down from the skies. Magic wrapped its fragile wings as you allowed it to gently perch on your left eye, a sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes — allowing its magic to seep into you. Visions passed behind your eyes, your all-seeing gaze shifting from Autumn Court, zipping through the seasonal courts and into the depths of one particular solar court — Night Court.

A rusty hammer struck metal, sparks of light flying into the air as the loud ring echoed in your ears. You watched delicate, yet calloused fingers grip the hilt of a forged blade — a power from those very hands seeping into the metal, one that mimicked the ancient Cauldron, which was lost. The blade breathed fire, one so similar to your own that you felt it pulse, no… push against steel — calling out to you, as if it knew you were waiting, watching from afar.

Shifting your gaze from the mysterious Made blade, your eyes wandered to those fingers, traveling up their arm to their features — the eldest Made Archeron sister. You had heard of the eldest sister of the High Lady of Night, once a human, doused in Cauldron power that made her into fae. Her powers were unknown to all, and yet — here she was, creating a weapon from her unknown powers.

“It looks like she isn’t quite as lovely as the winds have whispered…” you murmured, mirth in your tone as you continued to watch the vision unfold before your eyes.

“Who isn’t as lovely?”

Arms wrapped around your middle, large sturdy hands pressing you against a much sturdier front. Another sigh escaped your lips, eyes fluttering open, breaking the connection of magic as you watched the butterfly disappear in a waft of red and orange mist. Your hand raised, swirling the colors in the air before it dissipated. Twisting your neck, you glanced up at the Autumn Heir, his features illuminated by the colorful autumn sky.

You had always thought he looked ethereal.

His complexion glowed something dark that always stirred something inside of you. How his auburn hair beautifully framed his chiseled features and how his amber hues glowed — his innate fire burning through those irises.

Those amber eyes caught your own, his brow raising as his question was left in the air. A chuckle was pulled out of you at his look, “The eldest Made Archeron…”

Eris’ brows scrunched in confusion, as your comment did little to answer his question. He knew that there was much more hidden behind your simple words about the Made fae, much more than you were willing to tell him without him prodding you more. You lifted a hand to gently smooth Eris’ brows, a feeble attempt at a distraction — for both you and him.

“What did your butterflies show you, (Y/N)?”

Eris was able to read you so easily, no matter how many walls you had put up, the Autumn Heir was able to see right through them. He had learned how to read you for centuries, ever since the two of you were children — ever since that fateful day.

You felt him grasp your hand, tugging it away from his face, giving your palm a caress, causing a sigh to escape your lips.

“She forged a blade that breathed fire, one similar to our own… I do not know the purpose of said blade, but I am quite sure it has to do with that bloody bargain you made with that High Lord…”

It was no secret to Eris that you had despised that bargain between the High Lord of Night — a bargain to help him claim the Autumn throne from his father. You understood that it was under stressful circumstances — the looming doom of war with Hybern, needing allies during the war. However, you had known that Eris didn’t need that bargain, not with anyone within the Forest House walls, especially not with pesky Night Court bats — not when he had you to help with the coup within Autumn wards.

You needed no help from overgrown bats with what you had promised Eris all those millennials ago.

“(Y/N)…” he called your name, pulling you from your thoughts. Eris held your waist and turned you in his arms, pushing you against that marble railing, forcing you to look up at him.

Raising a brow, you tilted your head up at him.

“If they made a blade for us… then we’ll use it — take advantage of it,” he asserted, “Let’s play into their little game for now. Make them think they’re on higher ground, that they have control — but when in reality, we’ve always known. And you never know…” A smirk tugged on his lips as he leaned down, his breath brushing against the apples of your cheeks, “That blade might be useful for our plan…”

A light, airy chuckle escaped your lips, “You’re asking me, Eris… out of all things… to act dumb in front of those bats?” amusement laced in your tone.

He chuckled as well, pressing his lips against your cheek, “I’m asking you, my butterfly… is to act dumb with me. We do better everything together, right?”

You hummed, eyes fluttering close, your lashes brushing against his cheeks. Your arms slid up his more muscular ones, hidden beneath his sleeping tunic, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him, “Then that means, Autumn Heir… you will have to bring me to that Winter Solstice ball if you want me to act with you.”

Eris froze underneath your touch at the mention of Winter Solstice. He had mentioned it a few times to you in the past several weeks — especially when Keir kept sending secret correspondence, begging him to join the festivities. The correspondences had annoyed Eris completely, any chance the Heir had was to verbalize his annoyance to you about it — and you had been very amused to hear it each time. You were to let him go on his own to the Court of Nightmares — it was something you didn’t need to be a part of. You could remain in Autumn, continue to secretly monitor his father and brothers, gain followers, and be the wallflower that you have always acted as.

But, with this newfound information and the idea of the Night Court using the bargain against Eris, you knew you couldn’t just be passive with the invitation.

Opening your eyes, you looked up at Eris who had a conflicting look — you knew why he had been so hesitant.

You had never stepped outside of Autumn Court — no one knew of your existence outside of the Court. Despite being in Autumn Court for millennials, Prythian didn't know, the other Courts didn’t know of you. And yet, you were willing to sacrifice your identity, your role in his bigger plan to gain something as simple as a blade that a Cauldron Made Fae made.

Eris didn’t like the idea, it didn’t sit well in his thoughts.

Reaching up, you pressed your thumb between his brows, smoothing the skin there, “You will get wrinkles at this point, Eris…” you mumbled, eyes focusing on the skin there before catching his gaze, “I have done everything I can here, Eris…” your words were cryptic, you knew Eris would understand — you couldn’t risk it, not when the walls, trees, the winds in Autumn would listen and give away your plan.

“… I have asked you to use me, Eris. All those millennials ago, on that day… so use me. Make me the weapon I made myself into. I can't help you now if I'm in Autumn —-”

Sure, you had been the one to limit your influence solely on Autumn Court, but if Prythian called, then you are willing to step into the larger world.

Your eyes showed your determination, your willingness to devote your entirety to him as you've done for years.

A reluctant sigh escaped his lips as he forcibly pressed his lips on your forehead, “Alright. I will bring you… but you must remain by my side the whole night. No one will rip you away from me..”

An amused chuckle escaped your chest, leaning up to press your lips against his pulse, “So overprotective, Autumn Heir. It sounds like you're too fond of me…”

You felt Eris shake his head at your teasing, tugging you closer before maneuvering you back into your shared room for the night.

The bellow of Keir’s introduction pulled you out of your thoughts, watching the older male give a sweeping bow — overdramatic and with flair — his words of congratulations echoing throughout the large ballroom, the citizens echoing the same sentiments. As the elder male stepped aside, you stepped up along with the Autumn Heir, giving an elegant curtsy, while Eris gave a regal bow at his waist.

“And allow me to extend our congratulations, High Lady of Night, on behalf of my father and the entirety of Autumn Court…” Eris bellowed, his voice of regality, “A Fae child being conceived, what a miraculous announcement to give during Winter Solstice…”

You drowned out the conversation between Eris and the High Lord, barely focusing on the pageantry between them. It was rare for you to be so out of focus on the situation. Normally, you were in tune with your surroundings, focused on the now; however, all you and your magic could focus on was the call of the blade that thrummed inside that velvet box. You watched as lithe fingers grip the box tighter, and your eyes shifted to the eldest Archeron sister

“—- Before you go, Eris…” your delicate ears perked up, eyes shifting back to the High Lord who waved his hand allowing a dark wind to carry that velvet box through the air, handing it into Eris’ awaiting hand, “I offer you a gift, a solstice gift. A friendly token… between a High Lord to a future High Lord…”

Eris’ gripped the box tight in his large hand as you felt the muscles underneath regal clothes grow taunt.

A quip, from the High Lord. A disguised reminder of the bargain between the two of them.

Gently squeezing Eris’ forearm, you urged him to open the box, to ignore the jab from the older male. You felt those muscles relax underneath your squeeze, his mask of indifference returning onto his features as he opened the velvet box.

Inside that box, laid on plush pillows, was an ornate dagger — it was roughly the size of the Heir’s forearm, its handle weaved from iron as if it was cloth, an intricate design of wood and fire etched onto the metal.

One that was similar to the vision that you had seen weeks ago.

Eris picked up the blade by its serpentine handle, raising it, and watched the silver and jewels shine in the dim lighting. It was a beautiful blade — much more than you had seen in that vision. From the corner of your eye, the two of you locked gazes a light smirk tugging on his lips before the air around him flickers.

Eris’ magic throbbed in the air, as you watched flames appear around the blade — surprised screams echoed around you, as all eyes were on the pair of you — the center of attention. Eyes glanced at the Inner Circle, watching the guard dogs step in front of their masters to protect them, your keen gaze watching how the Captain pulled the eldest sister in his arms. A curious brow raised before you gazed back at Eris as he poured his power into that blade, disappearing into the silver in a flash of bright light.

A groan escaped the Autumn Heir, his head tilting back, a long breath escaping grinning lips. It took a moment’s breath before he regained his composure, rolling his shoulders back before his gaze returned to the blade, turning the blade in his hand as the metal changed, the color from a simple silver to a dark black — an obsidian color that swallowed up the light. A mixture of auburn and saffron tinted the onyx-colored blade, changing the way the light hit it — a blade mimicked a dark fire, swirling underneath the dim light.

Eris flipped the blade, holding it by the blade as he turned his body, facing you and staring at you with those brightly colored hues — flame and light within those irises — handling the blade to you, a nudge of his chin, gesturing you to take the blade.

A light chuckle escaped your lips, fighting the urge for your knees to buckle at the look on the Heir’s features — it was an alluring look on him, the power that raged in his eyes, in his veins — as your gaze shifted down the column of his throat and followed the patterns of his auburn suit to the blade in his hand. With lithe fingers, you grasped the hilt and you felt a shiver run up your spine — the mix of Eris’ power along with the power that already surged through the metal, Nesta’s power — no… the Cauldron’s power — was intoxicating. The call and pull of the magic that pulsed in the blade was strong and you felt your own magic answer the call, causing you to tilt your head slightly as you stared down at the blade, your magic pulsing underneath your skin.

What a dangerous weapon… You thought as you shifted slightly out of Eris’ hold to move the slit on your skirt, where an empty sheath was strapped onto your leg, sliding the blade into its new home — a perfect fit.

“I had been meaning to ask…” The High Lord’s voice reached your delicate ears as you glanced up, fingers trailing up your thigh before pressing yourself close to the Autumn Heir again.

“Who are you?”

Eris gently squeezed your waist, as you stepped out of his hold and you gave a sweeping curtsy, one as dramatic as Kier’s earlier.

“Late introductions, I apologize, High Lord of Night…” your tone had mirth and sarcasm tied underneath a layer of elegance and regality, “My name is (Y/N)… (Y/N) Vanserra.”

You glanced up at the High Lord through your lashes, watching his façade of arrogance and boredom shift into surprise — his face showing his thoughts:

Vanserra? Beron does not have any daughters.

Nor did he take up a second wife.

Vanserra? On the arm of the Autumn Heir…

Bright violet hues glanced between you and the Autumn Heir that stood behind you, before locking onto your gaze — your colored hues staring into violet hues. In defiance, you tilted your head up, as you straightened from your curtsy.

And that’s when you felt it — those tendrils of his powers creep near your mind, you couldn’t help but frown, your body stiffening, your hand gripping your gown tighter.

In your entire lifespan, you have never encountered a Daemati — especially one as strong as the High Lord; you had thought that the barrier would protect you from such intrusion of your mind, but it seemed, even that was futile against the power of a High Lord Daemanti.

Not breaking your eye connection with the High Lord, your eyes glowed an eerie ruby hue as you focused on that tether, that connection that he forged between your minds, to those coils of darkness that invaded your mind.

How. Dare. He.

And with a flick of your wrist, your mind grew walls of flame, surrounded by fire hounds who growled and attacked those shadows — successfully pushing him out of your mind. You heard a faint yell from the High Lord, and you saw his hands sear with flames, his hands combusting as he frantically tried to pat it down on his leathers. However, the feeling of lightheadedness started to cloud your mind, and you teetered on your heels before you felt Eris’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing your back against his chest. Eyes pinched close, panting, fighting off the heaviness you felt throughout your body.

It had been simple enough, you had thought, to push the High Lord’s power from your mind — but it seemed you had used too much power, in such a quick second that your delicate stature was giving up. Your mind grew hazy, spots of darkness appeared in your vision and you fought every urge to just pass out right there that you barely noticed the commotion that surrounded you.

Feeling Eris’ grip on you tighten as you heard him growl, “Did you just try to get into my wife’s head, Rhysand?! How fucking dare you!”

That had fully ticked off the Autumn Heir. Not only did the Spymaster attempt to attack you from afar, but now the High Lord tried to invade your mind. Two attempts at your life were too much for one night for Eris — and he threw his well-practiced self-control out the window.

Shrieks from the onlookers reached your ears as you peeked an eye open, noticing a bright light that illuminated the dark room. Heat radiated onto your skin, feeling Eris bring you closer to him, protecting you from the ring of fire that surrounded the both of you, separating the two of you from the Inner Circle. Blinking the haziness from your mind, you watched through the flames as the General and Shadowsinger stood in front of the High Lord and Lady, weapons drawn against the two of you.

“Eris…” you breathed out, grasping his Autumn colored suit, “Calm down…”

His head whipped towards you, that fiery gaze staring down at you, “But he tried to invade your mind, (Y/N)…”

A confirmed hum escaped your throat, straightening yourself in his hold, “I know… But I got him out. That’s all that mattered… And don’t blame the barrier,” you panted, blinking away the spots at the corner of your eyes, “His power is immune to it I guess…”

You stared up at him, your scarlet hues dimming back to your normal colored ones. Amber hues stared into them, assessing your condition, hesitation marred his features.

“Bring down the flames, Eris….” you softly commanded him.

His eyes flickered between you and the Inner Circle before he followed that command, the ring of fire flickering until it had gone out. You did not bother to appear composed — you could appear fragile — play into the heartstrings of the citizens of Hewn City.

The High Lord of Night Court attempted to invade the mind of Autumn Court Heir’s wife.

Word would spread throughout all of Prythian — sympathy and pity would be whispered your way while scrutinizing words would be thrown towards the High Lord.

Even if you despise showing such vulnerability to anyone let alone the Inner Circle, you can use it to your advantage.

You pressed yourself closer to Eris, playing the soft wife that just got attacked by a High Lord. Eris’ arms wrapped around you, as he bared his teeth against the Inner Circle.

“You attempt to attack my wife in your Court, Rhysand, and yet you have your dogs try to protect you? We have not laid a finger against you nor your Court, and you have weapons drawn against us,” anger vibrated in Eris’ tone. He knew how to play your games, he knew exactly how to play them with you — and yet the anger, the fury that lurked in his features were genuine, “You have no damn right to try to lurk in our heads, even if you are a High Lord.”

The General and the Spymaster shifted in their stance, their eyes foggy before stepping aside to reveal Rhysand, cradling his now scarred hands — that was what he got for trying to attack you in front of his people.

“…I…”

“I do not accept your apology if you ever were to have one, High Lord…” surprise tugging onto his features at your declaration, “Myself and my husband arrived on Night Court soil as guests, and yet we are treated as enemies. I have done nothing to you to cause you to try to invade my mind.”

Whispers surrounded you, words of ill-intent for their High Lord reaching your sensitive ears.

She’s right. They have done nothing to them, and yet he tried to hurt her.

The Autumn Heir had every right to act the way he did. It was to protect his wife from Rhysand.

I never did like him… He has trapped us here in the Mountain while he and his people live in Valeris.

He’s nothing but a hypocrite. He says that he welcomes all, but he hurts others as he sees fit.

You fought back a smirk, staring at the High Lord as his features flickered — his mind racing on trying how to turn the situation back to his favor. But you knew, both of you knew, it was too late for him to do anything.

Things have turned in your favor, much like you had hoped.

“I have no need to stay for the festivities any longer, Rhysand. You have attacked my wife twice in one night, your Shadowsinger earlier tonight and now you. I do not feel safe within the walls of your Court and I do not feel safe for my wife’s safety either…”

With a growl escaping his throat, he gently maneuvered you into his arms, lifting you bridal style, turning on his heels as he stepped out of the Court of Nightmares, the crowd parting to make way for him as flames surrounded the both of you. You felt him pause mid-step, and you glanced up at him with a raise of your brow. Eris looked down at you, his face contemplating for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, back at Rhysand.

“—-And the bargain between us is over High Lord… Especially after tonight. No one dares to hurt my wife in my presence.”

The Autumn Heir winnowed the both of you out of Night Court in a flash of fire and light.

And back into the depths of Autumn Court.

👑 General Tag List: @prythianpages @strangelygreat

🕯️Series Tag List: @imma-too-many-fandoms @assriels @kiarathace

[mamayan]

Dear Yanny,

I am desperately humbly requesting a yandere Giyuu being yandere, very very yandere, with a relatively willing darling AFAB/fem reader and a side dish of bedroom spice.

I am in tears.

Sincerely, Desi <3

Let’s do a yandere profile then for Giyuu! I’ve been wanting to try out this format for a minute now.

☆Giyuu Tomioka★

YANDERE PROFILE || OPEN TEMPLATE!

cw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Implied kidnapping/imprisonment • Yandere • AFAB! Darling

Type

Overprotective!

This yandere type is obsessive and possessive of their darling, but they believe that their actions are justified in the name of protecting their darling. This yandere type may infantilize or cross boundaries their darling lays down. They intentionally or unintentionally take away their darling’s independence.

Giyuu is constantly in a state of worry for you, he’s thinking of you at nearly every second of the day and when you don’t consume his every waking moment, you appear in his dreams. Did you sleep well? Have you eaten? Did you eat enough? Have you gotten sick? Was someone rude to you? What if you’re hurt?

This type of obsession leads to tailing/stalking/monitoring. He watches you at any and every moment he can, and when he can’t then someone he trusts is. Giyuu learns all your habits, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, and will insert himself into your life. He doesn’t need to be loud or boisterous, in fact his calm demeanor and presence allow him to seamlessly blend into your world without raising any alarms.

This leads to possessiveness forming. His attachment deepens over time and a sort of ownership forms. It stems from his detailed knowledge of you and even your private life which you’ve never shared with him personally. He sees himself as someone who knows you completely, thus making him the most important character in your life.

He doesn’t understand why you’d spend time with anyone else but him. Those “friends” don’t know you hate that food, but they ignore your indirect ways of steering away from eating it. He knows you dislike it, and he’s happy to eat your favorite food with you, even if he doesn’t love it personally. He’s unafraid of stealing you away too, pretending nonchalantly to have been just passing through with a bag full of your most adored goodies, inviting you away from whatever situation you find yourself uncomfortable in.

Giyuu is a gentleman, even in his most unhinged state of watching you sleep at night in your home you were sure you locked up tightly before bed. He’s not going to be mean or hurtful, his yandere tendencies stem from lack of control in life and deep loss.

Breaking Point

Once “danger” threatens their darling.

Giyuu’s instability would worsen over time, not immediately. It would coincide with his feelings for you. The more he falls in love, the more he begins to stress about that love being taken away in some tragic accident. He’s lost his best friend and sister, how can he lose you too? He’s always being protected by those he cared about, shouldn’t he be the one to protect you then?

Giyuu would ponder and even be consumed by guilt once he realized how powerless he truly is to keep you completely safe. You had a life to live, how could he be so selfish as to tie you to him by a short chain and never let you go?

He won’t take action until a threat is posed… even if that threat is only within his own mind.

It could be a demon nearly harming you, a person that is mean towards you, or even you being clumsy and hurting yourself which could set this trigger off. The longer he waits, the more the line of danger becomes skewed. In the end, he’s giving in to his own paranoia. There’s no way to truly escape this break.

Lucidity

7

Giyuu is actually fairly aware of how wrong his feelings for you have become. What was once innocent and pure has become warped and twisted into something entirely off. He shouldn’t think of you 24/7 nor should he be keeping such a detailed account of your life. It’s completely wrong of him, illegal, invasive towards you, and he feels immense guilt for it.

At first.

At first, he’s consumed with anger and disgust towards himself. He’s one hundred percent lucid at this point and fighting back against his urges and desires. He loves you, how can he be thinking and doing these things?

As time goes on however, his fight with himself becomes a losing battle. He wants you, needs you, has to keep you close. It’s more than he can take really, and in the end, isn’t he pitiful? Won’t you stop struggling? He adores you, he truly only desires your happiness and safety…

In his arms, of course.

Perception of Darling

Complete adoration!

Giyuu is not the sort of man to worship his darling in a religious sense, because humans are flawed and he wouldn’t truly love you if he ignored your flaws right? He loves those too, so Giyuu falls under the category of adoration.

With complete adoration is how Giyuu views you, his beloved darling.

He struggles not to constantly pamper and even mildly infantilize you, though he doesn’t view you as incapable. It’s the opposite in fact, shouldn’t someone as capable and smart as you be spoiled more? He thinks so at least. He wants to take away all your worries and struggles, all of them, because he wants to keep you safe from more than just outside threats.

He wants to protect you from the ones inside too. He knows what depression and anxiety feel like, how they can destroy you from the inside out, and he doesn’t want you suffering from the same thing.

These feelings are pure but his actions can reflect something different.

In his quest to rid you of all troubles, he can unintentionally make himself a trouble, one which he can sadly not rid you of. His simple solutions may even complicate things, like telling you to quit your job and rely on him financially when you complain of a co-worker. He struggles to listen at times, in his desperation to keep you happy at all points in time, and this can be frustrating.

Whether you are screaming at him in rage, crying in fear, or trembling with anxiety… he still thinks there’s no one more adorable and lovely than you. It’s difficult for him to feel anything but love and patience for you, even if he’s the cause of your outbursts.

It’s not that he believes you can do no wrong, it’s just that he could simply care less. As long as you don’t harm yourself, or try harming him (though he understands that much more), then there’s really not much that would cause his perception to waver.

Love Language

Words of affirmation

Giyuu enjoys words of affirmation the most from you. He enjoys all other love languages too, but in a way he somewhat forces quality time (stalking or kidnapping), acts of service (you breathing), receiving gifts (your presence). Physical touch would be a close second, but Giyuu can actually go without it should you not like it.

It’s your words though he cannot receive without you willingly giving it to him.

What he wouldn’t pay or do to hear you tell him “I love you” or “I forgive you” because he does feel guilty taking you. The guilt just doesn’t outweigh his overprotective instincts which drove him to take you in the first place.

Tell him he’s wonderful, compliment his hair or eyes, or tell him you’re grateful for his presence in your life. All will make him melt, his heart softening into silken tofu by your sweet words.

He also loves your voice, so you speaking at all makes his heart flutter. When you decide to utter kind words with that voice?

He’s gone.

Ability/Danger Level

10

Giyuu is as dangerous as he is pretty. Not to you of course, but to any and all who may or may not pose a threat to you. This includes family and friends too. He’s not above harming or even killing for the sake of protecting you, though he’d never reveal his actions out of his own volition.

He likely will get blood on his hands, especially since it becomes easier to take people out without you noticing once he’s kidnapped you. How can he allow someone who has harmed you to continue living and breathing? Even if the damage was only psychological, he views it as a trespass against his own and it will be met with violence or some similar horror.

He really doesn’t feel any guilt either, though he does have a strong moral code, especially for children. But that weird man who tried sexually harassing you?

The world can go without that sort of scum.

Punishment

Light/Non-scarring

Giyuu is likely one of the most patient yanderes out there, but he’s not without some temper. The quickest way to find yourself over his lap with your ass in the air is to try escaping or harming yourself.

His punishments, even when he’s in the worst of moods, will never be anything terrible. The worst you can expect is isolation.

This will seem fine at first, even enjoyable if you truly wish to get away from him, but over time it will wear you down to a sort of fragility you wouldn’t expect. It’s horrible being alone, maddening to a point you may break down and beg. He’s not able to bear hearing it, so he’d either lift the punishment as you having learnt your lesson or hide away.

A lesser punishment he might use is spanking or privilege revoking. He might ban you from the garden or walks you enjoy or put you over his knee and make your poor bum burn for a little. He’d never hit you anywhere else though, and of course, never use anywhere near his full strength in spanking you. It’s honestly little taps to him, but you might disagree when it hurts to sit later.

Giyuu may even be inclined to deny you sexually/or an orgasm if you are sexually intimate.

Reward

Constantly

How can he not? He wants to spoil you rotten, so much you can’t even fathom living without him and all he provides.

Giyuu absolutely rewards you with freedoms as his darling too, and you’ll learn to truly appreciate them as time goes on in captivity. The more accepting and loving you are towards him, the more freely he takes you out and allows you to do things. He doesn’t think you incapable as a human, which means he doesn’t mind TV, books, or entertainment as long as you aren’t using them to escape.

He’s not stupid and proves rather difficult to manipulate. He may let you play your game to let his guard down, but know once you make a move he’s showing you how futile the act is.

He’s happy to spend money on you though, whatever you like too. He’s a simple man and doesn’t really spend much on himself besides the basics and necessity, so he’s actually happy he gets to use his money for something besides collecting interest. Let him decorate you, or get all the fancy tools for your hobby you’ve always wanted. It’s not hard to get him to “reward” you. In fact, it’s harder to make him stop.

Style

Kidnap!

Try as he might to resist it, he wants nothing more to chain you to his side. That’s not possible though, he’s got obligations to attend to, but he can lock you in a gilded cage.

Treatment

A delicate flower~♡

He’s actually a bit hard to read when you first meet him, but he melts like ice on a hot summer day in your presence. Others may complain about his personality, or lack thereof, but you wonder if they’re talking about the same Giyuu that you know.

He never shuts up? He’s always bringing you fresh bouquets, sweets and snacks, any and all items that catch his eye which he thinks you’ll like. He’s detailed and incredibly considerate, and this doesn’t change when you’re taken captive either.

Though he won’t allow you to leave him, he can still give you… space. Your own room if you request it, a little garden, your space, as long as it doesn’t involve straying too far from him.

He’s not controlling in a sense of depriving you of basic human abilities, like cooking or using tools. He knows you are capable of taking care of yourself, and he’s careful not to make you feel otherwise.

He really tries. It’s not always perfect though. When you’re cooperative and willing, he has an easier time letting go of the reigns, but when you aren’t? He’ll lock doors and drawers like one might with a small toddler, his mistrust will show through his actions.

Intimacy

Sexually attracted~

Giyuu’s feelings for you are pure in a sense, but he’s a man with wants and desires…that just happen to all be directed at you.

He craves to hold and caress you, and he’s a bit embarrassed to admit he’s done so while you’ve slept. Your defenseless sleeping expression invokes both envy and adoration. He wishes he slept like that and also wishes you’d never sleep any other way. It’s intimate to him, cradling your slumbering form in his arms, pliant and sweet for him to gaze at until the sun rises. His anxiety for you is quenched when he holds you like so, and he enjoys the peace it brings him emotionally.

If you reject his physical affection, Giyuu is surprisingly one of the few yandere types to respect that boundary.

Don’t be mistaken though, he’s not above manipulating your feelings if there is a chance you’re only rejecting him due to the circumstances you’re in. It’s understandable to be frightened in the beginning, he’s not pushy in asking for anything from you that you aren’t willing to give to him.

But he knows he’s an attractive man, and feels nothing walking shirtless before you, or training while you can see. He’s seductive in how he’ll speak to you, lowering his tone and softening it, making you lean in closer to hear him. That’s when you’ll smell him, a clean and masculine scent that will confuse your mind and body because how can someone evil smell so good?

It won’t be hard to succumb to his advances if you’ve been intimate before you’d been taken. He’s detailed, remember? Confident he knows you inside and out, and that includes your weak points. Where to whisper or breathe to make you melt, where to touch to have you gasping, and how to deep he needs to thrust to make you scream. He’s well aware of how much pressure and time he needs to spend between your legs, how to lick your drooling cunt to have you shake and spasm, where to curl his fingers to make you tear at his locks.

No, Giyuu would never force any sort of intimacy on you. He makes it terribly difficult not crave it in fact.

Freedom

Minimal to none—

While in his presence, feel free to ask for walks, dates, or shopping sprees. He’s fine with taking you out so long as you act normally too.

Otherwise expect nothing. No freedom. Your cage may be luxurious and beautiful but you will never leave it, not without his supervision. He won’t budge either, there’s no convincing him something is safe or acceptable. It’s one of the few times you will see him stern and unbending with you, nothing you do will make him cave.

Begging and pleading may even irritate him enough to punish you as well. Why do you want to leave so badly? Is he so terrible to you?

Habits

Sleep watching

Giyuu spends an abnormal amount of time watching you sleep, even at the expense of his own rest. This won’t ever actually affect you, as he never outright tells you he does this, but if you figure it out or wake up unexpectedly to catch him… it may make you nervous to fall asleep.

Sexual Kinks (for non-platonic yandere)

Marking/Praise/Edging&Overstimulation

Giyuu felt these urges mildly before he met you. He’s aware he likes being told how well he’s performing, holding off an orgasm for him or his partner, or making both himself and his partner a mess with overstimulation.

It’s so much worse now though. He can’t help how desperate he becomes with you, how needy and near feral it makes him to just think of filling your pretty pussy up with his cum. It’s sad almost how you turn him into such a pathetic man. He wants to brand himself on you, it wars with his need to never hurt you too, so he settles by sucking bruises into your skin and occasionally biting you. He’s vocal when you’re both intimate, he tells you how much he adores you, what he adores about you (everything), and how good you are for him. His precious pearl, his ocean and entire heart, he’s not the least bit ashamed as he grits his teeth and cries your name as he comes apart. Giyuu loves teasing you and himself too, working you both so close to the edge before stopping, leaving you both whiny and desperate for one another. He needs you to cling to him, to beg for more, to take it too.

His kinks aren’t one sided. He wants you to mark him up, in the way he wishes he could bring himself to do to you. So drag your nails across his skin, make him wear a collar of your bites and kisses around his neck, pull his hair and bruise him. Anyway you show ownership of him is welcomed, though the amount of dominance he’ll accept from you is dependent on your acceptance of your new life with him. He’s less inclined to release the reigns of control when you’re still adapting, cautious and fearful it may be a ruse to trick him and escape. He’ll relax eventually, and even begin to crave the times you tie him up and torment him like he does to you. Deny his poor aching cock again and again, make him beg for you and worship your sweet cunt as you ride his face, and then deny him again just because. He’d even accept if you just stopped there, leaving him painted red and panting, exhausted but not finished. He’d be entirely grateful if you took mercy too, rode his pretty thick cock until he became delirious and keep going even after he’s cum, moving your hips like a goddess on his lap while he pleads for rest and mercy. He can cum multiple times, but it borders on painful after the third, he won’t complain much though if you test his limits.

He’s happy to return the favor, but Giyuu’s favorite way to overstimulate you both is deep hard sex, holding your gaze as he fills you over and over, your pussy oozing his white hot load each time he pulls out to put you in a new position, before he plugs you right back up. Giyuu likes to cum pressed as firmly against your womb as he can, and he likes when you cum around his cock. It feels to most complete to him, and he cherishes the pleasured look on your face.

If it ever becomes too much, a quick way to make him finish is to praise him too. Tell him how good he makes you feel, how beautiful he is, how you like what he’s doing. His hips will always stutter in surprise, blue eyes widening as he gasps and tenses, cock twitching and threatening to spill just from your lovely voice complimenting him.

Boundaries

The front door—

How can he protect you if you run away? He draws a solid line at the doorway. You will not be crossing it without him or else.

Leniency

Strict

Unsurprisingly for an overprotective yandere, Giyuu is incredibly strict.

You’re health and safety are top priority for him, so from when you wake up to when you fall asleep, he’s got all of it tracked.

Your daily needs are monitored like your exact location in his home. He likes having eyes on you at all times. He won’t enforce specific meal plans, but he makes sure you are eating enough, you’re getting enough vitamins and nutrients, and doctor visits are regular. He even knows your menstrual cycle.

You will be asking him for any and all things, he keeps that under tight control. If you want to bake bread or grow a garden, it will all be done through his means.

Overall Rating

89/100

Giyuu Tomioka is an incredibly dangerous yandere!

While he poses minimal threat to you as his darling, he’s a risk to the outside world and your surroundings. He’s sure in his carnage in the name of protecting you, and he’s lucid about it too, which makes him quite threatening.

You’re chance of escape is little to none, and the punishment following it will surely make your teeth ache.

Snippet

“You’re trying to leave?” His tone is soft, no true indication of his mood to those unfamiliar with him.

You were familiar with him though, and his words made your blood run cold. You weren’t trying to leave, you had only wanted fresh air in fact, but the position you were in now made that difficult to believe even to your own eyes. Balanced on the flat surface of the kitchen counter, you were struggling to open the window due to the cold having frozen it outside. Once you had gotten it open, like an animal you’d stuck your head out immediately. It was an instinctive reaction in all honestly, you just wanted the cool air on your skin.

You should’ve gotten him to do it though, he would’ve, you knew, but you’d wanted to do it yourself. To have the little moment all to your own. A foolish goal in the end, as this was where it took you now. He’s not looking at you, just leaned against the entryway with his arms crossed and a cool expression painting his features, head tilted slightly down.

“I’m not!” It’s too quick a denial to absolve you of suspicion, especially as you scramble down with a face appearing impossibly guilty. “I just wanted to open the window,” you explain, but the nervous rise of your voice and the way you look frightened only make his eyes narrow a fraction. He doesn’t believe you. You need him to believe you, because your punishment for escape is always his silence. It’s damning to your senses that crave company and interaction, his patience greater than your own.

“My love, I swear, I really, truly wasn’t,” you stepped closer, heart rate picking up as anxiety tickled your senses. “I would never leave you,” you whisper, coming up to him even as he gazes down at you with eyes pooling with disbelief and suspicion.

He’s unable to resist pulling you into his arms though, wrapping you up close to him and appreciating your softness in his grasp. It helps as you wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself impossibly closer, and whimper in his ear. His grip increases a fraction, a shiver going down his spine while one hand slips further down to cup your ass and lift you.

His strength amazed you at times, and terrified you at others.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, whispering promises of never leaving his side and loving him forever against his lips before he silences you with a kiss. His soft lips warm and coaxing as he takes you out of the kitchen and towards your shared room in the house. His hold becomes a bit too harsh as you’re laid on the bed, his weight blanketing you. His eyes are darker than usual, deeper pools of blue you worry might drown you as he slips his hands beneath your skirt, calloused fingers running along the soft flesh of your thigh as he spreads them. A burning need deep in his gut to remind you where you belong.

“Who do you belong to?” It’s so light against your lips you nearly miss it.

Until he tears your underwear off, a yelp elicited from you at the sting on your flesh from where he tugged and tore them.

“You!”

He easily slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your folds, finding your puffy nub and applying pressure until you’re moaning.

“G-Giyuu…”

“That’s right. You belong to me, don’t you pearl? All mine,” he’s pressing into you, two fingers opening you up despite your entrance weeping for all of him. Still mostly clothed you grip his sleeves, whining because it’s not enough, his lips hushing you again. He swallows all the little noises you make, tongue invading and stealing your ability to think as he fucks you with his fingers. Each shlick of your pussy has you heating further, the lewd wet noises he elicits making your legs tremble around his waist.

He breaks the kiss, rubbing and stretching your gummy walls before curling his fingers and vigorously attacking your poor g-spot, his lips tugging into a smile as you shatter for him.

You’re left limp beneath him, the orgasm he tore from you too quickly made you dizzy as you pant and gather your mind again. Giyuu is already sliding the tip of his cock through your slick before you can recover, pressing forward once he’s lubricated enough to slip past the tight first ring of muscle into your warmth. His cock spreads you perfectly, opening you up and leaving you gasping for air due to the sensitive inner walls being stimulated further.

It’s desperate and messy how he fucks you, intertwining your fingers and pressing them beside your head, kissing and marking your neck up while repeating under his breath how you’re his.

“Mine too—!” Your airy cry has him sinking even deeper, a groan coming out at your own claiming of him.

“Giyuu—,” he wants nothing more than to brand your soul with himself.

“Yours,” he nods, looking into your eyes as he bullies his cock against your poor cervix, using his thighs to press you up further, almost in half while he fucks you.

“All yours,” he moans, burying his face in your neck while he stuffs you full, the room heating as you did, your core tightening around him while your body edges on the beginning of another orgasm.

He stops just before you can cum. His weight and warmth immediately leaving you as you cry out in denial. Your wide gaze on his cooling expression, his jaw taunt with tension.

“Giyuu…?”

“Not till you learn.” Your confusion must show on your face.

“That you’ll never be safe unless you’re by side.”

He didn’t believe you.

“But I—,”

“Shh… I know, my sweet pearl.” He’s blanketing you again, warmth returning to your body but his eyes remain cool.

“You’ll learn eventually.”

Something dark swirls in those depths, your gut telling you to run but…

There’s no where to go.

Dividers hand drawn by @benkeibear !

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Body Electric

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader x Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) Warnings: Angst, mentions of PTSD and familial death, (consensual) infidelity, voyeurism, smut. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: Tom's been sullen since returning from the Navy, and when his sister, Lois, moves from Longsight to London it heralds the end of the honeymoon period of his and his wife's marriage. Deciding a trip to the capital is just what they need to reignite the flame, Tom's wife gets much more than she bargains for when they check into The Halcyon, and she flirts with the handsome young bell boy to make her husband jealous.

Author's note: This is not a crack fic. I have warped canon (I mean, I had to get these two to exist in the same AU anyway), so Billy didn't die when he was drafted, and has gone back to his old job at The Halcyon. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Dappled sunlight plays upon Tom’s sharp features, the occasional shadow of a tree or building passing across his face as the train speeds through the British countryside. He’d look beautiful, bathed in golden hues, were it not for the pensive expression he wears, and the faintest of dark circles that linger beneath his eyes.

She can’t remember the last time he looked genuinely happy - perhaps it was their wedding day?

Her and Tom had met in secondary school, and she’d thought he was an idiot to begin with; handsome, but always mucking around in lessons, never able to take anything seriously. It wasn’t until they’d both left that they’d become an item. She’d go to the weekly dances at the Pavillion, and every week he would ask her out. The first three times she had said no, not wanting to get mixed up with a known troublemaker. On the fourth occasion she’d relented, simply in the hopes that if she said yes he’d leave her alone. But she’d found she enjoyed his company, he made her laugh effortlessly, and when his blue eyes gazed into hers it made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. When he had kissed her it had stolen all the air from her lungs, and from that point on she was smitten with Tom Bennett.

The night before he shipped out for the first time, she had thought he meant to slam the bed’s headboard through the brickwork of the wall with the force with which he took her. However, she had smiled to herself when she’d felt the pleasant ache between her thighs the next day.

“Something to remember me by,” he’d told her with a wink and that trademark smirk of his.

Something to remember indeed.

She’d barely recognised him when he’d returned. He was thin, tired, didn’t laugh as freely, and learning that his father had passed when the Bennett family home was shelled had darkened his mood further. He hadn’t stayed long, enough to argue with his sister, Lois, and enough to find his way between her thighs once more and make her swear to him that she’d marry him when he came back.

Of course she had said yes, there was no one in the world she could imagine wanting to marry more than Tom. But with how things are between them these days she is left wondering if he’d married her because he loved her, or because she was the one thing left in Longsight that he could anchor himself to.

They’d married quickly when Tom was discharged for the final time, the war at its end. It had been an intimate affair, and despite the toll his service to his country had taken on him, Tom still gazed into her eyes on their wedding night and made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered.

But then Lois had announced she was taking Vera and moving to London - her and Connie had found a place they could share. A fresh start. She had hinted at wanting to move away from Longsight before, and Tom had dismissed it, insisting that the family must stay together. 

He was furious when she’d chosen to go anyway, refusing to be part of the send off party for her at the train station.

“This is where mum and dad are buried, how can she do this?!” He’d raged.

“They’re just headstones, Tommy,” she had tried to reassure him, “memories go everywhere with you.”

“You wouldn’t fucking understand,” he’d seethed back at her, “you’ve still got both your parents, what have I got?!”

“You’ve got me, you’ll always have me,” she’d said quietly.

He’d fallen silent at that, bowing his head and averting his gaze. It made her chest ache to see him that way.

It’s been close to a month since they were last intimate, and she has done her best to be patient and understanding. His time in the Navy has put him through a horrendous ordeal, coupled with losing Douglas, and his sister moving away, so she doesn’t pressure him.

However, she misses her husband. She feels that he is abandoning her each time he retreats into himself, going somewhere she can’t follow. Like two ships in the night, they pass each other by, laying in the same bed physically but emotionally never further apart.

When a letter arrives from Lois, letting them know she’s settled and would love for them to visit, she jumps at the opportunity. She has some money put aside from her job at the factory, and her and Tom never got to have a honeymoon, this would be the perfect way for them to rekindle the romance in their marriage.

She is shocked, yet thrilled, when Tom actually agrees to it, and the pair of them arrange a week’s worth of leave from their respective jobs, arranging to stay in a hotel rather than impose themselves upon Lois’ hospitality. There’d be plenty for them to do while they’re there, and she can’t wait to see the sights of Piccadilly Circus and Carnaby Street, she’s never been to London before.

Tom has stared silently out of the window the entire train ride from Manchester, though she knows better than to believe he’s taking in the scenery. It’s merely so he doesn’t have to make conversation. She can live with that, she is certain that once they’ve had their romantic week away that he’ll be much more talkative on the journey back.

Everything will be fine once we’re checked into The Halcyon.

It is early evening by the time they arrive, and Euston station is a crowded rush of people when they step onto the platform. She is fearful of it for a moment, never having seen so many people all in one place at once, until Tom takes her by the hand, guiding her through the crowds towards the taxi rank. Her heart soars at the gesture, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips over his protectiveness. Perhaps he is not lost to her after all.

She stares in wide eyed wonder out of the window of the black cab as it drives through the streets of London. It is similar to Manchester in its greyness and vastness, they both have all the trappings of big city living, however, the heart of London beats to an entirely different rhythm than that of Manchester’s. The capital seems harsher, more relentless than the northern locale that she calls home. She wonders if perhaps this is the right place to try to rekindle the spark in hers and Tom’s marriage after all.

That is until they step into the foyer of The Halcyon. Her heels click against the black and white tiles of the foyer, her mouth agape as she takes in the opulence of the huge pillars, the palm trees that flank either side of the entrance, and the yellow and orange hues of the stained glass panel in the ceiling. How could they not reignite their passion when they were going to live like royalty for a week?

“Billy!” The dark haired woman manning reception calls around the corner, once they’ve checked in. “Come and help Mr and Mrs. Bennett with their bags.”

A tall, lean young man, who can’t be any older than twenty, rounds the corner. He’s handsome, with bright blue eyes, and mousy hair that’s slicked back beneath the cap of his black and grey bellboy uniform.

He gives her a tight lipped smile, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looks at her and she can’t help the way she preens at his flustered state.

Still got it.

“Second floor, Billy,” the receptionist tells him as he leans down to grab their suitcases, “room twenty six.”

Billy nods. “Right this way, please, Mr and Mrs. Bennett,” he says, directing them towards the lifts.

She can feel the bellboy’s gaze upon her in the tight confines of the elevator and smiles to herself. At least someone was appreciative of her.

He takes his leave, bidding them both a good evening once their luggage is deposited outside of their room door, and her and Tom are left alone once more.

Tom whistles low as they enter, flicking on the lights, and she feels pride swell in her chest that he’s impressed by the lavish surroundings. A shiver of excitement runs through her as her eyes move over the crisp white pillows and crimson duvet that adorn the bed, thinking that this might be where they’ll finally make love for the first time in a month.

It’s a beautiful room; lace curtains hang in the windows, ornate floral wallpaper decorates the walls, there’s a writing desk by the window, and a yellow velvet armchair is placed off to one side by the bed.

Turning back towards Tom, she steps towards him, sliding her hands up his chest, over his jacket. She smiles demurely up at him, her voice a soft purr. “So, Mr. Bennett, what shall we do now?”

“It’s been a long journey, love,” he tells her, taking one of her hands and brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Let’s just get some rest, yeah?”

“Oh…okay,” she nods, stepping back and looking away. She feels like she might cry, as disappointment weighs heavily upon her chest. This is not how she imagined their first night here would go at all.

As she lays in the darkness, listening to the strange sounds of the city, motor cars and loud voices, all seeping in through the closed window, she can’t seem to fall asleep. She turns her face towards Tom, who lays facing away from her, wondering if he’s awake too.

“Tommy?” She whispers.

“Yeah?” He whispers back.

She pauses a moment, and when she speaks again she’s unable to disguise the tremble of emotion in her voice. “Do…do you still love me?”

He rolls to face her then, and the devastation of what she’s implying is evident in the arch of his eyebrows and parting of his lips, illuminated by the light of the streetlamp that pours in through the lace curtains. She feels a lump in her throat, regretting having asked.

“Course I do,” he says earnestly, tugging her towards him, and she buries her face in his chest. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’ve been letting you down.”

They stay like that for the rest of the night.

The next morning they sit in the hotel’s dining room for breakfast. Tom idly smokes a cigarette, a full English in front of him, while she butters her toast.

“Gonna go and see Lois today,” he tells her, taking a swig from his tea cup.

“I thought we’d arranged to visit her on Sunday?” She asks, frowning in confusion as she sets her knife down on her plate.

“We are,” Tom says, blowing smoke out through his nostrils - a gesture she has long since learned is a sign of irritation on his part. “But I’m gonna go see her today - alone.”

You’re going to start an argument, and then come back in a bad mood.

She sighs, folding her hands in her lap. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Tom shrugs. “Go to Carnaby Street, or whatever it was you were saying you wanted to do while we’re here.”

“Tommy, we’re supposed to do those things together, and I don’t wanna walk around London on my own!”

He nods, stubbing his cigarette out on the yolk of his fried egg, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. He had barely touched his food, he never does anymore.

“Alright, look, I’m only gonna be gone a couple of hours, then we can do whatever you want. Why don’t you order some drinks for when I get back, and we can start our holiday properly?”

“You promise?” She asks with a small smile.

“Cross my heart,” he says, taking a final swig of his tea. He stands from the table and presses a kiss to her temple.

“And promise you won’t be horrible to Lois?”

“I’m not promising anything for that mardy cow,” he says, giving her a wink, before walking off.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

Fuck’s sake, Tommy.

She goes back up to the room once she’s finished her breakfast, and takes a long, hot soak in the bath. Almost two hours have passed by the time she has her make-up finished and her hair curled. Dressed in lingerie and a satin robe, she is still deciding on an outfit when she realises Tom will be back soon and she hasn’t ordered their drinks.

Calling down to the hotel’s switchboard from the phone on the desk, she asks for a glass of white wine and a whisky to be sent up to the room. Ordinarily, Tom is a lager drinker, but she decides he deserves a treat as they’re on holiday.

Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and the bellboy from yesterday stands on the other side, holding a tray with the drinks they’d ordered.

She smiles warmly, watching him blush as he bows his head and enters the room, setting the tray down on a nearby table.

“Thank you…Billy, wasn’t it?” She asks, cocking her head.

He presses his lips together in a tight smile, glancing at her before looking shyly away again. It’s clear her state of undress is having an effect on him. “Yes, Mrs. Bennett,” he says, clearing his throat and straightening, clasping his hands behind his back. “Will that be all?”

Excitement flutters in her lower belly. It’s been a long time since a man has reacted to her so bashfully, and she’s enjoying it. She isn’t ready to let Billy slip away just yet.

“No need to be so formal, sweetheart,” she coos, “you can call me by my first name.”

He shuffles from foot to foot, huffing a nervous laugh. “Sorry, Mrs…sorry…”

“How old are you, Billy?” She asks, stepping towards him.

“I’m twenty-one.”

Seven years my junior. Not as bad as I’d thought.

“Did you serve, Billy?”

“Yes,” he says with a proud smile. “I manned the anti aircraft guns at the barracks for three years.”

The sound of a key in the lock draws both their attention towards the door, as Tom walks through it. Just as she’d anticipated, his expression is sour. He’s argued with Lois. 

“I’ll leave you both to it,” Billy says, with a polite nod of his head.

She knows how this will play out. Billy will leave, and Tom will allow his bad mood to ruin their day, either by refusing to leave their hotel room, or simply sulking his way around London when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Opting to use the current situation to her advantage, she decides to be tactical, and give her husband a reminder of what he’s missing out on. If he sees another man flirting with his wife, perhaps it will snap him out of this.

“No need to be in such a hurry, Billy, we were just getting to know each other. Or do you have somewhere you need to be?”

Billy eyes Tom carefully as he walks past the both of them, taking the whisky from the tray on the desk and sipping from it.

“Well, my shift finishes in ten minutes,” he says distractedly, “so I s’pose I could–”

“Perfect,” she cuts him off, taking his arm and guiding him to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

Tom remains silent, taking a seat in the armchair and placing his glass on the table next to it. His jaw is set, gaze dark. He only ever looks like this when he’s sparring for a fight, but if this is what it takes, then so be it.

“Do you have a sweetheart, Billy?” She asks softly, fingernails grazing his thigh, causing him to flush bright red.

“Er…well…” he removes his cap, keeping his gaze fixed on it as he turns it round in his hands. “There was a maid that worked here…Kate, her name was. I fancied her…really fancied her, but she moved back to Ireland to be with her family when the worst of the bombing hit.”

“Oh, you poor love,” she soothes, giving his hand a squeeze. “I expect a handsome lad like you has girls queuing up.”

The click of Tom’s lighter pulls their focus back to him, and he exhales a plume of smoke, staring intently at them both. “Do you fancy my wife?” He asks Billy, with a steely gaze.

Billy swallows thickly, eyes widening in panic as he opens and closes his mouth.

“It’s okay, Billy,” she says gently, “you don’t need to be shy.”

“Well…I hope you don’t mind me saying, Mrs…sorry…but I think you’re beautiful.”

This time it’s her turn to feel embarrassed, and she averts her gaze as she feels her skin grow warm.

“Yeah, she is beautiful isn’t she? Would you like to kiss her?” Tom asks, lifting his glass and taking a deep drink from it, his eyes never leaving Billy.

Her head snaps up, looking at her husband with wide eyed shock.

Why is he asking that?!

“Tommy…” she says hesitantly, an edge of warning in her tone.

“It’s fine, love,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, settling further into the armchair, observing the both of them. “Go on, kiss her.”

Returning her attention to Billy, he’s shuffled closer, looking at her questioningly.

“Is…is this okay?” He whispers, leaning in.

She nods, closing the gap and her lips meet his. He is hesitant at first. His kisses are not as forceful as Tom’s, his lips are softer. As she reaches up to cup his cheek, he seems to grow more confident, applying more pressure, a quiet hum of approval rumbling in his throat. It makes her core throb to be desired like this.

When they finally part for air, she is breathless and flustered. She looks straight to Tom. He sits, watching them casually, fingers wrapped around his glass in one hand, propped on the arm of the chair, his cigarette burning low between his forefingers in the other.

“Do you wanna touch her?” He asks Billy, a low, darkened edge to his voice.

“Yeah…yeah, I do,” Billy answers, sounding more poised than he had just moments before.

“Go on then,” Tom instructs, “brush your thumb over her nipple, she likes that.”

She gasps softly as Billy leans in again, capturing her lips with his own once more. A quiet moan escapes her as she feels his hand tentatively slip into the opening of her robe, his thumb swiping gently over the lace of her brassiere.

He is not as self assured as Tom, Billy’s touch is featherlight by comparison, but it’s been so long since someone has paid this kind of attention to her that she responds to it just the same. She arches against Billy, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she hears his cap drop to the carpet with a soft thud.

“You can fuck her, if you want to,” Tom rasps, and she glances over at him, as Billy’s desperate kisses move down her neck. His blue eyes are still dark, she’s no longer able to tell if it’s from anger or arousal, the two states look much the same when he wears them.

There’s a part of her mind that’s screaming at her that this is wrong, that they should stop. However, if this is what it takes to get Tom to notice her again, then she’ll do it, and selfishly she’s enjoying how it feels.

Billy pushes her back, and she goes willingly. “Are you sure this is okay?” He whispers, his voice betraying his nerves.

She nods, untying and opening her robe, to reveal the lacy lingerie set she wears beneath.

Billy draws in a sharp inhale, before hurriedly unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers with shaky hands.

He freezes, looking at Tom. “I…I don’t have a sheath.”

“Don’t need one,” Tom replies nonchalantly, crushing his cigarette butt out in the ashtray. “Best not keep her waiting.”

She pulls the gusset of her knickers to one side as Billy hovers over her. She can feel she’s soaked already. Billy is not quite as girthy as Tom, but still an impressive size that causes her breath to catch in her throat as he starts to press inside.

Tom chuckles quietly from where he sits. “She’s tight, isn’t she? Tightest little pussy I’ve ever had. Go careful.”

His words cause her to ache with want, and she moans wantonly as Billy bottoms out with a grunt. He’s gentle, much more so than Tom would be, slowly withdrawing before pushing back in, a dusting of pink prominent across his cheekbones.

“You won’t break her,” Tom tells him, “can just imagine how wet and warm she feels. Fuck her harder, and wrap one of her legs around you. She goes mad for that.”

She cries out, white hot sparks of pleasure swirling in her gut as Billy does as he’s told, the shallow pants of his breath puffing hotly against the side of her face.

Turning her head, she looks at her husband and he smirks, eyes raking over the scene before him as Billy continues to rut into her.

“T–Tommy…” she moans.

With each push of Billy’s hips into hers, she can feel her climax building, she’s right on the precipice, but it seems Billy is too. He tenses, a groan escaping him.

“Don’t you dare come inside her,” snaps Tom.

As if on cue, Billy pulls out, making her whine at the loss, coating her thighs in his hot spend as his jaw slackens and his brow furrows.

Before she’s had a chance to recover, Tom is rising from his seat towards the bed. “You can go now,” he tells Billy.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Billy nods, clambering off of her and fastening his trousers and belt back up. He stoops to pick up his cap, before hurrying towards the door, followed by Tom.

She lays there, dumbfounded and breathless, through glassy eyes she watches Tom hand Billy a bank note. “You’ll not tell anyone about this, d’you understand?”

“Y–yes, sir.”

She hears the door click closed, and Tom walks back over to the bed. His pupils are blown wide with lust and it sends a shiver through her.

“Enjoy yourself, love?” He asks, grabbing her thighs and tugging her towards the edge of the mattress, making her squeal.

“Are you angry with me?” She asks quietly, feeling shame bloom heavily within her chest.

“No,” he says distractedly, attention focused on her core. His thumb swipes through the stickiness that’s been left on her thigh, spreading it slowly over her skin. “No, I’m not angry.”

“You’ve been so absent lately,” she says sadly, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just wanted your attention.”

He straightens, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve been neglecting you, and that’s my fault. But don’t worry, I won’t anymore. Now–”

She clenches around nothing as his hands move to his belt, and she hears the metallic clink of it opening. “Now you have my full attention, and I’m gonna make sure you get all of it.”

Read on AO3

More Billy Taylor fics

More Tom Bennett fics

[cupcakeslushie]

Hello,

HOLLY SH*T (about the last update)

When Leo gets his memories back does he also remember those (f*cking)400 days?

How would Leo have grown up to be like, if his memories weren't taken from him? (would he have become kind of like Donnie?)

will he ever open up to someone about this?

Does he have some kind of triggers left from the experience, even though his memories wee taken from it?

I adore your work and Have a great week 😁

1. 🤗

2. So, Leo’s issues are like a leak in a dam constantly trying to be held back. Kitsune’s magic can suppress or manipulate his memories, but a lot still manage to get through. Hence the need for the repeated sessions, and then later the Empyrean, to act as a booster to her magic—as Leo has built up a tolerance over the years, making it less and less effective. Leo does remember some things. Unfortunately, every time he starts to ask questions, he’s been so conditioned to seek out Kitsune to ‘fix’ his mind and suppress his emotions. But some of his memories were impossible to erase completely. They followed him around like little shadows, haunting him, and his choices. Leo is not stupid. He more discerning than he let’s on, and like Saki said, fear can be a powerful motivator. By the time Leo’s managed to claw his way up to a better position, he’s been fed so many lies that he doesn’t even trust his own reasoning. It’s just easier, and less painful to follow orders, no matter what his brain is constantly trying to tell him.

3. Tbh Leo probably wouldn’t have been very different from how he is. Shredder is a lot more…calculating in his abuse of Leo, than Draxum was for Donnie. Draxum was so unpredictable and volatile in his abuse. Everything that Donnie tried to do better, never seemed to help lessen his torture. It was just pain for the sake of pain. Shredder may be a monster, but his abuse had a goal—to make a warrior he could puppet into killing Yoshi. Saki didn’t just provide constant trauma, he gave positive reinforcement when Leo did something right, and used careful manipulation to bend Leo over to his side. All Kitsune’s spell did was make it easier and faster. If Shredder hadn’t had magic at his disposal, then it would’ve just taken more time and effort to break Leo and remold him, or Shredder might’ve just cut his losses and killed him.

4. Leo doesn’t want to burden his brothers with things that have already passed, and that feeling only gets stronger after he’s been saved from the Dark Armor. He’s constantly insisting that he doesn’t feel one way or the other from those days. It happened, but he says he feels so disconnected from it all. Leo’s earlier return to his family had already been filled with so much fighting, thanks to his withdrawals when he was first brought home causing him to act so erratic. Leo thinks as long as he’s not shouting at his brothers, or trying to attack Splinter, that he’s dealing with everything pretty well. Obviously that’s bullshit. But he’s gonna do a lot of healing during his trip with Usagi.

5. Leo’s worst triggers are when his family is in danger. Those times are when he falls back into either total bloodlust, or a more ruthless mentality, in order to protect them. Leo getting recaptured and thrown back into a cell will be like a wave of memories and trauma hitting him at full force. Like I’ve mention in point 1. He never totally forgot certain things, but the months spent free of Kitsune’s influence makes his second capture so much worse. He’ll be feeling all that fear and panic unfiltered, for the first time in years, and he’ll be able to recall the true horror of it—not the watered down, warped simulacrum Shredder wanted him to remember. Which loops back to point 4 about Leo’s lack of admitting his feelings being a coping mechanism. Once he gets rescued, unconsciously, he’s trying to mimic the dampening effect of Kitsune’s spell, by insisting through sheer force of will, that everything is fine. He can only convince himself that he’s unaffected by everything he’s experienced for so long.

6. Thank you!!! I hope you have an amazing week as well!

I’m sorry if this is kinda rambling, all these ideas be more clearly implemented in the comic, (at least I hope lol).

I also can’t remember how long ago I’ve even talked about Leo’s memory problems in one of these replies. I might be totally backtracking cause I think I’ve said before his memory was wiped completely, but I’ve been thinking it would give more complexity to his choices, if it was revealed his memory was actually more intact than Mikey’s this whole time. Mikey brain just needed a little boost from Raph, because his issue came more from him being so young that things faded over time. With Leo, it’s like a battle where his brain is trying to latch on to what it can to fight the effects of Kitsune’s spell. So his memory may be full of holes and beaten with a stick over and over, but it’s still knocking around in Leo’s head.

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E

Chapter Rating: M

AO3

ONE TWO THREE FOUR

FIVE

Today—is exceptional.

Just like every day has been since you tossed your old job aside and traded it in, becoming an apothecary’s assistant. You don’t glance at the window as your feet pad against the floor. Clothes hastily thrown on, you step out of your hovel and relish in the drizzle that showers your skin. The air is cooler now, a season’s shifted, and even though there’s an argument in the street and someone bumps into you, nearly knocking you into a puddle without so much as a glance (let alone an apology), you practically skip to the apothecary. To Qimir.

You’re not what you’d consider completely free, but you’re certain this is as close as you’re going to get.

Running errands isn’t glorious but it’s far more rewarding than your last job. The clients are often pleased, though you wonder on occasion, exactly what you’ve handed off to them. Sure, this job is by no means a glamorous one but at least you’re helping people, right? If not, well that’s a potential moral dilemma you can ruminate on another day. After all, Qimir praises you for meeting his expectations and that’s enough. You’re not willing to give up what you have with Qimir. The tasks are simple enough and enjoyable even, often accompanied by his skillful cooking that he always shares, as well as his sense of humor. He’s eccentric and maybe even a little unhinged but who isn’t? Besides, he’s the first person who’s made you feel anything in years.

And you are grateful.

You are thankful.

You are.

Now, as you sweep the floors, the occasional rustling of the bristles interrupting your thoughts, you steal a glance at him. There’s a cloaked customer speaking with him but his eyes flick to you, holding your gaze for a few unnecessary beats, brows lifting and eyes wide. You’re used to this shared communication and try not to laugh at his silent longing for the interaction to be over. You mouth an encouragement before he’s back to his effortless and awkward charming behind the counter.

At some point, you realize, months into your arrangement and long after your self-exacted debt is paid, your affection’s warped into something more than thankful gratitude. Loyalty? Maybe. Or—dare you say it—trust? Somehow he’s smoothed out some of your rougher edges and you’ve grown fond of wrapping yourself up in his reminiscent laugh as you lie down at night, succumbing to sleep with a smile on your face. Somehow, you’ve grown to consider him a friend through many conversations, critiques and shared philosophies. But beyond that, simmering beneath the surface of friendship, is desire.

He’s not just boss or friend.

No. No

You want him. All of him.

Yes.

Simply put—you want to fuck him.

Here in the apothecary and outside of it.

But you also want all the little intimacies that come with it too. Holding his hand for extended lengths of time while shopping in the market or anywhere really. Combing your fingers through his hair when that dappled light of morning graces your eyelids. To be the one prompting the first smile of his day; the kind that crinkles around his eyes. Share a shower and watch the suds slink off his wet skin. Embrace him. Hold him. Be intertwined in his inner life that you don’t yet fully know.

All. Of. Him.

A smile and his hand squeezes the departing customer’s shoulder in a good-bye and the cloaked figure doesn’t even notice you as they pass, slipping through the door.

His eyes drift to you again. Lingering just the way yours does on him. Or maybe you just imagine it that way. He throws you a smirk—is it knowing? There’s no telling. As he returns to his work and you to yours, you can’t help but steal more glances here and there. He bites his bottom lip when he concentrates and no matter how many times he pushes his hair back, it always comes undone. It’s more endearing now than the first time you saw it happen. The cut of his jawline juts out with the tilt of his head and your mind wanders off into inappropriate territory.

You wonder if his stray locks would stay tucked behind his ears if he were lying flat on his back, your palm pressed against his chest.

Your hand grips the broom handle tighter.

Envisioning what that half smile he gives would look like beneath you spread out on that counter, his hand curling around the cusp of your shoulder, you forget that you should be working. Sweeping. Instead you imagine. Imagine what his moan would sound like in your ear as you demand that he wait for your commanded release, while you sink down on him. Imagine the expression he’d wear when he obeyed and you praised him for once, for being so utterly good for you. What it would be like to strip away that kindly apothecary persona and see what kind of man you could coax out of him with the stroke of your hands. The bite of your teeth. Clawing of your nails. The touch of your lips and toying of your tongue. Would he become a beggar? A worshiper? An undone, complete, mess of a man? Or would you finally bring out a different side of him? Less soft, silly, gentle, tender, sweet, but more—

“Uh, are you okay?”

His voice pulls you from your fantasies with a flurry of blinks and you flush, embarrassed to be thinking of him like that and so blatantly too. Especially as he stands in front of you, mixing another concoction so innocently. If you keep up the daydreaming, he’s certain to appear in your nightly ones again. Which would be inconvenient when you’ve been purposely avoiding dreams with an effective sleeping draught. Avoiding them ever since you let your desires get the best of you. It can’t happen like before, even if that helmeted figure is an unforgettable visage inked into your memory.

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave a hand, attempting to dissipate the cloying tension. “Just daydreaming.”

“Oh?” His lips pull into a smirk. “About me I hope?” A brow quirks and he’s teasing.

If he only knew.

You offer a half-hearted chuckle and turn away, your cheeks on fire. “You wish,” you reply, as flippant and casual as you can manage.

He chuckles as you sweep the same spot on the floor for the fourth time in a row. Stepping past you, he flips the shop sign closed as the sky grows darker. It’s that time to head home but you wouldn’t mind sweeping the same spot one hundred more times if it meant you had the whole evening with him. Brushing against your hip on his way back, he rounds the counter.

“Mm,” he hums. “I need a drink.” Your fingers still, curling around the thick broom handle as you glance at him. He’s disappeared below the counter, rattling glasses together as he pulls two out from the lower cabinet and sets them on a tray. “Join me?”

“I never say no to a drink.”

“Good. Drinks always taste better when shared with another. Wouldn’t you agree?”

No. You don’t agree. Others tend to complicate things. Even things as simple as drinks. But a drink shared with Qimir specifically, is an opportunity you’re not willing to turn down.

“Yes,” you say, and return the broom to its dusty corner of the room.

—

More than one drink in and Qimir’s fiddling with the radio. First there’s static and then a steady beat pulses out of the speaker and he’s bobbing his head while his third drink sloshes over the side of his glass.

“Oops,” he says with a grin he throws your way. “Come here.” A crook of his finger beckons you.

Peeling yourself off the wall, his summon and smile is irresistible so you take a few steps over to him and throw back the smidge of amber liquid at the bottom of your glass and set it on the counter. “Now what.”

“Now—” He combs a hand through his sweaty locks then takes your hand. “We dance.”

“I haven’t had enough drinks for that.”

Hand clasping around your wrist tenderly, he tugs you toward himself, bangs instantly swooping right back down in front of his eyes as his fingers skim along your forearm. Your eyes fall where his fingers linger, dusting along your skin before he lifts them and snakes them around your waist. They press firmly into your back and you’re not sober enough to handle the touch casually. You’re positive you’re flushed but maybe it can be blamed on the liquor.

With his other hand, he raises his glass to your lips. “I’ll share.” He tips the rim, glass brushing against your bottom lip and liquid dribbles into your mouth. There’s a hint of cinnamon and a slight burn as you swallow the liquor and he watches you, with raised brow. “Better?”

“You tell me,” you reply with a grin as your hip bumps into his, throwing you both off beat. You also step on his feet.

“I can’t tell if the drink is hurting or helping.”

“What do you mean? Clearly my dancing is now exceptional.”

“Oh that’s what it’s called when you crush my toes? Exceptional?”

“Except-toe-nal.”

“Time to cut you off. The bad jokes are coming out.”

You snort. “So that’s where you draw the line? You can’t handle a few bad jokes?”

“Everybody has a weakness.”

You shake your head with a laugh as his hips sway back and forth, thighs brushing against yours.

“Noted.”

Between the jokes and jibes, and all around silly dance moves, laughter pours out of you freely as he spins you in his arms, twirling you all around the small space of the apothecary. You’re dizzy and you’ve been dizzy a thousand times before. But it’s been so long since you’ve allowed yourself to feel this way. Allowed yourself to have fun.

At some point he drops his glass off at the counter and entangles his hand with yours as you continue to dance through two more songs. And between the buzz of your liquor laden veins and the awful lip-syncing you both partake in, your mind drifts, relishing in the way his hand fits perfectly with yours. There’s something about the way he holds you. Close but not too close. Intimate yet slightly aloft. You can’t trust your reactions to him, unable to differentiate what’s real and what’s your own projection.

Midway through the third song, he stumbles and you go with him, landing in a heap on the floor. Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, heart thudding from dancing, or your wayward thoughts (you can’t tell which—maybe both?), the laughter dies down. You’re enraptured by him. He’s beneath you, bottom lip tucked behind his top teeth and he reaches up, fingers hesitating just before they brush your cheek. Tentatively, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pulse beating through every part of your being, you slant your head, lips parting instinctively as he thumbs your temple. His eyes are searching yours and you inch closer to his lips, gaze flicking to that bottom one, aching to release it from behind his teeth with your tongue. Breath matching his, you're seized in stilled time and you want him. Need him. A hum whispers in the back of your throat as your eyes close with the thought.

That need tugs at you, fraying your resolve at the seams—

“I should go,” you say, eyes wide and yanking yourself off him, scrambling away and back to your feet.

You offer your hand to help him up too. His thumb circles your skin as he accepts your assistance and he holds your hand longer than he needs to.

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he slowly releases your hand, wiping at something invisible on his cloak.

You gather up your belongings and make your way to the door. Turning back you say, “thank you. For the drinks. And the dance.”

“Of course. We should do this again sometime.”

You give a small nod before slipping outside, into the night. Briefly you back up against the side of the apothecary, catching your breath and attempting to cool off. The drizzle doesn’t dissipate the desire devouring you from the inside though. You were successful at avoiding blurred lines with Qimir, but you know when you return home, you’ll be foregoing your sleeping draught. And you’ll be dreaming of him.

[tainted-liquor]

'Make it Awkward...⋆｡°✩

E1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, n a lil bit of smiles! TWs: Awkward teen love like rlly rlly awkward W/C: 1.8k A/N: SZA Inspired fic ❤︎!! another cute lil req from my 100 special!

You and Miles had developed a sturdy friendship in middle school, with you always being hyped up as the "art kid" in each of your classes. Initially, he was a little bit bitter because he didn't really understand what the hype was all about. He could draw, and he could do it just as good as you. Which, granted was indeed true, but your work felt like something out of a Van Gogh discography. Each and every one of your paintings and drawings almost looked like there was a filter over them, like something out of a flurry dream that evoked nostalgia and warmth in whoever seemed to view them. To say he was inspired by you was an understatement, he wanted to drown himself in everything that was your talent.

But as time passed and spiders bit, you two grew apart from each other on account of him semi-blowing you off for Gwen. You stopped hanging out slowly, he began to drop art and pick up a sudden interest in physics and inter-dimensional travel, and even got...meaner? The kind and innocent kid that once was Miles suddenly became jumpy and antsy. You thought that you two had something worth way more than any other friendship you had, but one day shit just shifted into complete, and total, awkward silence. But as time heals all wounds, you slowly began talking again at the top of this month, right before your summer came to its close.

Miles quietly hummed along to the steady bump of the music in his headphones, nodding to the rhythm as he began illustrating a head in his sketchbook. As 'Les' By Childish Gambino slowly fizzed out and the electronic chords of 'Awkward' By SZA became known, his sketch started to warp a little. He didn't necessarily remember how or when, but he noticed his sketch become a lot less androgynous and more familiar, with twinkling brown eyes and thick curly hair becoming more detailed with each pencil stroke. It took him a while to realize, but eventually, he had drawn...you. Down to the finest details as well, your smile lines and your perfectly sculpted Nubian nose.

What he hadn't anticipated was filling up the next 2 pages of his sketchbook with both your face and the signature crochet fingerless gloves you wore during the winter. What initially was just a warmup while waiting for you to arrive at his house turned into a full-blown drawing session with you as the muse. You weren't even there and he still had drawn you 100% accurately from memory. He sighed as his playlist continued to play out a steady stream of nothing but SZA, leaning back in his chair as he stared up at the ceiling before he heard a knock on his room door. "Ah-Come in!" he yelped as he quickly put away his sketchbook, swapping out the pencils and paint markers for paintbrushes and canvases.

You gently pushed open the door, showing Miles your painted tote bag full of art supplies, such as watercolors, charcoal, oil paints, three palettes, and various paintbrushes. "Hey, Miles! Sorry, it took me a lil bit...that fuckin' line in the art store was INSANE" you chirped as you slowly entered Miles's room and set down your bag. You placed your shoes in the corner of his room before walking over to sit on his bed. He pulled off his headphones, gently placing them on their stand before spinning around in his indigo desk chair. "That's fine! Don't even worry about it I know how full them stores get" he shrugs as he grabs his Bluetooth speaker from off his shelf, motioning for you to follow him as he stacks the canvases and art supplies in his hands.

"C'mon, there's not enough space in my room for two people to paint," he explains as he climbs the stairs up to his apartment roof. You followed closely behind him, setting up the art supplies as he fidgeted with his speaker. You lean back against the wall as you sit on the concrete roof, taking in the pretty sky as you sketch out some buildings and a landscape on your canvas. "So how's summer for you, huh? What's her name...Gwen was it? How'd things go over with her?" You ask as you begin to add minor details to your sketch. Truth be told it ate you up every single time he would mention her in your past conversations, with you having a small...thing for him that grew over time.

"Oh! Uh, Gwen...yeah. Things went south, we don't really talk anymore..." He shrugs as he rips the plastic off of a rather large canvas. You nodded slowly, indicating that you were hanging on to his every word as you cracked open a fresh bottle of paint thinner, pouring it into a small glass cup before coating your brush in the clear mineral spirit. You slather a couple of shades of deep blue, rusty orange, bright magenta, and off-white on your paint palette as you work to form that beautiful 'sunset gradient' on your canvas. He connects his phone to the small black speaker, his playlist resuming quietly in the background. "But how's your summer been?" he asks as he mirrors the process of sitting beside you and leaning against the wall.

"My summer's been fine actually. Nothing too eventful, no trips or nothing, just taking a couple...ahem...adventures!" You explain as you recall how you nearly got in trouble with the police for trespassing in various abandoned locations for funsies. Miles gives you a playful side-eye, looking you up and down. "You sound a lil sketchy...what did YOU do this summer?" he chuckled as he began sketching out some scenery and what looked like the early stages of a body on his canvas. "Shhhh, your dad's a cop" you giggled as you picked up a smaller brush, filling in the buildings and scenery in your painting. You both chuckled at the slight confession, looking ahead of you so you could get an accurate view of what you were currently painting.

You took a small glance at what Miles was currently sketching, getting a good look at the faceless humanoid figure sitting cross-legged, with an unidentified object that vaguely resembled a pencil in her hand as she drew on her...face? Eyeliner maybe? You hummed along to 'Supermodel' By SZA. You held up your canvas closer to Miles's canvas, analyzing the difference in art styles. Yours was much more realistic, and heavily influenced by the world around you with your unique play on your color palette. whereas Miles was more stylized and thought out, the colors remaining true to their actual hue.

"What do you think this needs more of?" you ask as you tilt your canvas towards Miles. He thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly so he could thoroughly analyze the painting. "More shine to the light sources maybe? Like a soft glow!" he beamed as he pointed towards the canvas with the opposite end of his paintbrush. You nod with your signature full smile, smile leans indicating your raw and unfiltered joy. Miles's eyes lingered on you for a couple of seconds before he madly swiped away at his canvas, seemingly blocking out more details with darker shades of watercolor.

You spent the next four hours, yes, four hours giggling like children as Miles sang along terribly to some of the songs on his playlist, starting a mini karaoke session on his roof with the both of you. It began to get cold and dark, so you decided you would pick up the canvases again after going inside to get something to eat. He grabbed his speaker and supplies, leaving his large canvas on the roof of his building before disappearing through the door to his apartment complex. You stuffed most of what you wanted to bring back down into your bag, before deciding to look over at Miles's painting. It looked exactly like you, but you were younger.

You remembered that damn scrunchie you had locked on your wrist, your favorite dark red satin scrunchie that went perfectly with your uniform. You shifted slightly to get a better angle of the canvas, watching as 8th grade you sprung to life in the form of doing your eyeliner on the bathroom sink. Miles had been there with you, watching as you painfully kneeled on the edge of the sink and leaned hazardously close to the mirror. You smiled softly to yourself as you noticed each beauty mark you had perfectly positioned on your face, from each scar to every minor indent in your smile. You chuckled quietly before swinging open the door and bolting down the stairs, straight to Miles's room.

And there he was, viciously fucking up a cup of noodles like someone would take it from him at any moment. "Damn, is it good? it ain't goin' nowhere now..." you joked with wide eyes as he gestured to an identical cup cooling off by his mini desk fan. You ate alongside him in silence, not really knowing what to say to each other. "I see you're still painting like in middle school...?" he states, referring to your distinct blurred style of painting. "Huh...Oh! Yeah, haha. I miss middle school kinda." You shrug as you sit the cup down on the side of his desk.

"Really? I always thought you thought I was a lil annoying back in middle school. I think you were my quietest friend ever" he joked as he finished his cup, dunking it in his trash can. "Huh? I literally thought you were the cutest thing ever! If I thought you were annoying I would've told you!" you stated with a small chuckle. Miles seemed to think for a moment, pausing as he processed the first half of your sentence. "Wait, you thought I was cute this whole time?" He asked with wide eyes. "Yeah! I was quiet cuz I didn't wanna fuck anything up! I think I had the fattest crush on you!" you laughed as you realized he thought that YOU thought he was annoying this whole time.

He gawked for a minute, his jaw slacked and eyes even wider than before. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?" he semi-shouted as he began pacing around his room. You could only laugh, saying "We were like 10 and I didn't know if you would've liked me back." He looked at you as if you had 2 heads, going on some long rant about how he always thought you just weren't interested or thought he was annoying. You silently got up from his bed, walking over to him and stopping him entirely.

Miles looked at you with a rather confused and amused expression, probably still processing the fact that you openly admitted to liking him in middle school. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the delicate kiss that you placed on his lips. He eagerly closed the space between the two of you, wrapping one arm around your waist almost by instinct. You pulled away from him after what felt like years, muttering a small "Who taught you that?"

[korok-system]

Influenced .

Warnings: Alcoholic influence. Discussions of death, guilt, and heavy mourning. Plot related death. Standard SAW stuff.

Fandom: SAW.

Character/s: Mark Hoffman, Angelina Acomb.

Content: 3rd person perspective, SAW plot.

Synopsis: A poetic approach to Mark's dark days following the death of his aister, Angelina.

He remembered receiving the call on a random Tuesday.

As he draped his charcoal jacket over his shoulders and grabbed his badge, he distinctly remembered undergoing the same process he always did when responding to a homicide. Willing the world to be in his favour, allowing his soul to accrue a debt unpayable as the screech of his tires kept him from spiraling down the rabbit-hole of “what if?” scenarios.

It was something he never failed to do. A routine that would gnawe at his mind like an impulse that couldn't be silenced until he had visual confirmation that he wasn’t responding to the homicide of the one person he had.

Being confronted with brutality and violence so consistantly had dulled his empathy and compassion over time. It was something that his work friends would poke at him for, constantly questioning his humanity, concealing their genuine concern behind awkward laughter and forced smiles.

It had always made him uncomfortable how often his vision would haze these days.

Had he been a bad person in his past?

Sure, he had always felt some sense of relief when the victims being obscured by a body bag weren’t familiar… But did that make him a bad person, or human?

He had followed first responders into the small home, the sweet caramel aroma of previously lit candles greeted him, corrupted by the harsh scent of blood and the chaos of an active crime scene.

He’d navigated through the small home as though the layout was familiar, his feet carrying him along the beige coloured walls that once inhabited life and joy, every muscle suddenly taught and weak.

Because he knew.

Every step echoed the unpaid debt that the Universe was finally seeking compensation for.

And for a man who never devoted time to religion, a complete Atheist who had long accepted that death was an utter nothingness with no semblance of an afterlife… He found himself praying.

Her hand had been cold, her soul fleeing from the trauma long before he’d arrived.

She hadn’t returned the gesture when he squeezed her hand, hadn’t embraced him and spoke in the soft voice that now only lives within nightmares.

Why had those “what if?” scenarios become a reality? Was it because he was a bad person?

Had he been a bad person?

His vision was fuzzy again. Fuck.

The days following had been a dissociated blur, a haze of emotions he wasn’t used to feeling all clashing at once and making her death much harder to process.

Officers paid their condolences, all in passing, all without the genuine care they’d once shown during a period where he was already doubting himself.

Now, he was doubting everything.

Whiskey no longer tasted bitter.

His sorrow drowned out the joy of liqour.

Had he been a bad person?

The justice system had proved futile when handling the case with care and sympathy; denying him the closure he so desperately needed and treating his sister’s murder as a simple paper weight.

It was a meaningless scrap of paper, another statistic, another name to be spoken when it suited the world.

He’d lost hope in his own field that day.

He’d been selfish to assume he could make a difference… And all it took was a harsh slap of reality to enlighten him.

Rage and despair had consumed him, and he’d slowly become more detached, more sadistic, more sociopathic.

That once clear line between right and wrong blurred into obscurity.

He was a bad person.

Desperation had driven him to take matters into his own hands, and through a punctured hole in the steel wall, he paid witness to his warped sense of justice.

Justice had failed him… So he would become the arbiter of his own twisted retribution.

He is a bad person.

And he slowly came to enjoy it.

His vision wasn’t blurry anymore.

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

The Wolf and The Witch

Part 1/?

Steve knows better than to enter the Witchwood. He’d been warned from the time he was a child, back before the wolf, that it was home to its namesake. And not just any witch, a dangerous one. One that had killed an entire hunting party, unprompted, with the flick of a finger. None who have entered those woods since have ever returned.

Steve knows better than to enter the Witchwood, but he doesn’t have a choice. Robin is slumped over his back, hands clenched tightly in his fur, clinging desperately to consciousness. He can feel her blood, warm and sticky, matting the fur of his back. His own gait is slowed, every step jolting the silver teeth digging into his right hind leg and sending sharp pain shooting through him. He’s not sure how much longer he can run, and he can hear them - the bloodthirsty cries of the townsfolk dead set on his murder.

They had been found out. So many cycles of living in this town, living among its residents as a friend and neighbour, and still they’ve all turned on him. Of all the times for it to happen, too. It was the moon he had agreed to make Robin a wolf. She had already been weakened from the wolf taking hold when they had been attacked, the silver already a weakness but her body not yet given over to the strength of the wolf.

Steve wishes he could take her to Nancy, knows Nancy would help despite everything, but the townspeople have blocked them off, funneled him in his blind panic. His only hope is to lose them is the wood, but even then he might lose Robin to his own fumbling medical knowledge.

But first, he has to get away from their pursuers. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Steve enters the Witchwood.

————————————————————————

Eddie is no stranger to people trying to do him harm. It’s been a constant in his life from the time he was a child, long before his gifts had awakened. And one that had- well. It’s been a constant of his life, sure as the cycle of the moon and sun. So he notices the prickle of someone entering the woods, but he gives it no regard. It happens a few times a year, that someone gets it into their heads that they will be the one to kill “The Witch of the Woods”. None ever even make it to him, losing themselves in the enchanted trees.

These trees are older than him, and their magic is their own. They like him and welcome him among them, but otherwise are hostile to outsiders. In the beginning, he had tried to help those who became lost in the woods, but those days have long since passed. Despite what his uncle says about his soft heart, Eddie’s become bitter and jaded and he no longer pays any mind to those who venture into the woods.

But this time, something is different. Eddie feels the disturbance of someone crossing into the forest, feels the shift of magic as the forest warps around them, and it’s… different. The ways and paths of the trees are second nature to him, he can tell by the shimmer of magic against his skin which paths have been revealed and which hidden away and this…

The forest is being lenient, gentle. The interlopers are shown the ways to peaceful places, soft and danger-free. Eddie can recall only a few times that the forest has been kind to intruders, and it has almost exclusively been to children.

So he’s more than curious already when he feels the buzz of more people crossing the boundary into the woods. A lot more. And Eddie realizes that this hunt is not for him.

The trees are not so kind this time, opening its twists and turns like a maze, a trap for anyone foolish enough not to turn back immediately. They don’t, of course. They never do. Eddie pays them no mind, drawn instead by curiosity to the two that are being pursued.

He steps between the trees, slipping into a space that’s folded away between reality, picking his way with ease through paths that are there and paths that are not until he emerges at the edge of a small clearing, moonlit and mossy. Theres a tiny spring-fed pond and there, limping toward it, is a wolf. It’s huge, the size of a small bear, with a strong frame and thick russet fur.

It notices him at the same time as he notices it, and it’s massive head swings to face him, teeth already bared in a snarl. It’s hackles raise, and it turns fully, squaring up, a threatening growl rumbling across the little clearing to him.

Eddie steps back, already gathering his power until it glows around him with dark energy, because this is no normal wolf. Even without the size and the silver trap clamped around its leg giving it away, he can see it in its eyes, feel in its presence that this is something more.

He recalls his childhood, the warning tales at his mother’s knee. He remebers later, freshly chased out of town and taken in by his uncle, watching as the old man leafed through his ancient book and warned Eddie that he wasn’t the only dangerous thing in the wilds. Eddie has no doubt that he’s come across one of those dangerous things now. He looks at the wolf and knows exactly what he’s seeing.

A werewolf.

[toxintouch]

I heard it was angst time. CW: MC Death. About the level of graphic (gore/violence) description that is in the source material imo. Be cautious and prioritize taking care of yourself if you are unsure, please. ♡

Mhin can’t find you.

When you don't appear at the scheduled time to discuss the headway you’ve each made individually regarding your mutual goal, they walk away from your agreed-upon rendezvous point with an annoyed huff.

When the next night passes and you still don’t show, they become even more incensed.

It’s not until they head to the Wet Wick and Leander asks them if they’ve seen you that they become concerned.

They look everywhere.

Leander places posters on the corner streets alongside his usual advertisements and soon your likeness is plastered across Lowtown.  Large letters reading: “REWARD” peer down at Mhin reproachfully at every turn as they fruitlessly go about their own search when they can spare the time during their day to day fight for survival.  

Something nags at the back of their mind.  

Guilt, they think.  Self-loathing.  They should have tried to find you that night.

As the days turn into weeks, they give up on Leander’s methods and start asking their own questions. 

They do it under the guise of collecting another bounty, but the genuine, thankful relief they get from Leander, the sorrowful look they receive from Kuras–they're know they're wearing a shallow facade at best.

It leaves a raw taste in their mouth to do so, but they even ask Vere, knowing the fleabag has keen senses which they do not.

Their stomach drops when Vere laughs.  A harsh, cruel thing that has them brandishing their dagger, keen to gut him like a fish where he stands.  He reads their rage easily, assuring them that he’s innocent, that he had nothing to do with your disappearance.

Which is what a Monster would say–but then–

Vere would be at his most honest while gloating, wouldn’t he?  If the truth is a twist of the knife.

He tells them to check their own closet for skeletons.  Tells them to check for Monsters underneath their own bed.

The adrenaline hits them immediately.  They start to sweat and shake and feel nauseous.  For their body, the realization is instantaneous.  In their mind, it comes more slowly.  Like walking through a dream.

They try to reach back in their memory. Try to tug at that nagging thing.

Unspool it until they can determine where the emptiness begins, ends, anything in between.

And then they find it.  They don’t remember it, but they find it.  

In one of their many hidden shelters. The one closest to your rendezvous point–a small lacuna in the side of a crumbling building, a nest built into the flesh.

Spooling trails of entrails and ruined bandages.  Viscera and bones and gore.  Scavengers have gotten to you and contaminated the scene but–

The wounds are unmistakable.  Familiar to them, by now.

The soft parts of you that have been picked at and eaten.

The sinking feeling in their gut expands.  This type of scene doesn’t make Mhin sick anymore but they wish it would.  Wish they could retch and rid themself of this emptiness.  Wish they could expel the vision of you–

The remains of you, laid out before them. 

There’s something almost graceful about your corpse.  As if you’ve been drawn out of a fairy tale, your gruesome demise told as a parable for children.

They try to remember transforming.  Killing you.  

Your last words, if you could make any around the blood gurgling from between your lips like a fountain.

Maybe in the future your fairy tale will have a moral to it.  A reason.  Your death will be more than senseless, another body added to the pile.  

For now Mhin will have to live without that closure.

The grief drips off of them like blood off of black feathers. It can't permeate their defenses, advantages granted to them by an evolution that was not of their own volition. They can already feel their mind warping around their memories of you, dulling them lest they tear themself apart, fall down while climbing up the tower to meet you and dash themselves upon the rocks, sink into the water below and drown beneath the torrent. A younger version of them would chase after the memories, cling to the waning thought of you.

The person they are now lets it happen.

They turn their back, leaving the empty echos behind.

Bad Ending : "Reward"