#dark brown wood shutters

[blessedkeith]

Idea for a large, one-story, rustic stone gable roof in beige

[oreo-creampie]

‘‘𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐧’ 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: demon!choso, choso goes into rut, overstimulation, dacryphilia, pain kink, anal/wrong hole (Gojo’s), pussy drunk, mind broken/dumbification, cervix fuckin, light size kink, hair pulling, spanking/some face slapping (mostly toji’s), biting, exhaustion, praise/degradation, begging/teasing, squirting, some thigh fucking, vibrating dildo, light bondage, on the verge of passing out (Choso’s), daddy(toji)/lil mama, gojo and toji are wearing ghostface masks (separate blurbs), ghostface!toji (morally gray reader), squirting

Oreo: ok so this took forever thank y’all for being patient, rip sukuna he will have his own one shot to shine on where we can get the proper cum shower, it’s the treatment we deserve

𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨

“Please!” Choso digs his black painted nails into your hips. His eyes roll back as he tilts head back showing off his hickey cover neck. His broad shoulders curl in with a tremble as he sloppily rut his hips fucking his hot thick cum deeper.

Your sloppy cunt squelching and your thighs trembling. Digging your nails into his abs, you keep bouncing yourself on Choso’s fat dick. Feeling his thick veins pulse, his cock head lightly twitches and his moans are getting breathier.

Your cunt clenches his throbbing, sensitive cock when a guttural deep groan of “Fuuuuck lil mama!” slips past his lips.

He’s so damn hot with his flush pink cheeks and his messy dark hair. His smoldering dark brown eyes fixate on your beautiful cunt taking his cock.

Choso slides his large hands up your sides, flipping you over onto his dark bedsheets. Your head hits the pillow and he grabs the head board with one hand, hovering over you.

He fuckin’ smirks, it’s a little upturn of Choso’s soft lips that has you clenching his cock. “Just ‘cause I came doesn’t mean we have to stop right?” He grabs your thigh hooking your leg around his slim waist.

His thrusts are sloppy, slow and deep, a shutter runs down his spine making his hips falter. The wood in his hand creaks and his jaw drops with a low groan.

“Can’t think about anything other than how wet n’ warm you are.” Leaning in for a soft kiss, you wrap both legs around his waist and slip your fingers into his hair.

Your body feels so heavy from exhaustion but you don’t want him to stop. It feels too good to have his warm, heavy body pressing you into the mattress. Whilst his heavy cock fills up your sore, sensitive and soaking wet pussy.

Choso mummers, “You can handle a bit more can’t ya?” Picking up his pace, your body jolts, your cunt spams and your eyes water when his hard cock head hits your bruised cervix.

Seeing the tears Choso softens his thrusts, restraining himself. “I’ve been so rough on her haven’t I? You’ve been doing so well, please let me help you cum one more time, we can do this lil mama.” He begs as if you aren’t fucked too stupid to answer him back.

He pushes your leg by your side and leans back to admire how your soft cunt takes his thick, long cock. Your soft lips wrapping around him, so wet, soft, and slightly swollen. Your beautiful pussy is such a pretty color against the paleness of his cock.

There isn’t an aspect of your body, expression and voice Choso isn’t obsessed with.

Steadily stroking your soft clit with his large thumb. “You look so hot cumming on my cock, please cum one more time?” He lets the headboard go, sliding his large hand over your beautiful body, touching you gently whilst wrecking your pussy.

Grabbing his hard, thick bisceps and digging your nails in whilst crying his name. “Nnnn! Choooohh!” Soaking Choso’s thick cock, your warm thick cum soaks the bed.

Choso’s smoldering dark eyes widen, “Fuuck make a mess on my cock lil that. Fuck I wanna!” His body trembles as he fights not to fuck you harder.

It’s all you can muster to plea, “Harder!” Choso flips you over without sliding out, wrapping his arm around your waist whilst holding onto your hip. Choso lifts you off the bed, holding you to his chest and stroking your clit as he gets off the bed.

He gently reminds you, “Remember to use the safe word if it’s too much.” Holding you by your waist he slowly drags his cock out till his fat head is tugging on your soaking wet cunt.

Choso pulls you back to meet his hard thrusts. Your body jolts as you cry out reach back and grabbing his wrist. “I love how soft, beautiful, wet and warm you are. N’ I can't get enough of hearing you moan, seein’ my cock sink into your cunt, stretching her out.” Choso roughly bounces you on his thick, veiny cock.

He groans, “Your sloppy wet cunt is as loud as are, so messy n’ wet after squirting so hard on my cock. Nnn fuck I’ve missed you so much, not seeing you all day is torture.” He reaching so deep, you swear you’re feeling Choso’s long, thick cock underneath your belly button.

You’re fighting to string a full sentence together in between moans. “It was ooonn’nnn! On-ly seven girl’s houuures Nnn fuck you’re so deep! Fuck!” He presses your face and chest against the wall, keeping your back arches with a hand on your lower back.

Choso leans down groaning in your ear, “I love hearing your creamy cunt talk to me. I think she missed me just as much.” He bites your shoulder softly whilst roughly fucking your creamy cum stuffed cunt, Choso slides his large hand along your arched back grabbing a handful of your hair.

Squeezing your hip, “You look like doll, all fucked out and limp.” Clenching Choso’s cock when he most in your ear. “I know she so sore yet she grippin’ me like she wants me to cum in ya again even though you’ve cummed six times so far.” Your cheeks clap, your cunt squelches and your legs give out the wall and his grasp keeping you upright.

Lifting you off the wall, and turning you around with slipping his cock our. Laying you on your back on the soft bed, “One more time for the last grueling hour I spent alone, even then then I don't want to stop.” Choso folds you into a mating press to watch your sloppy wet cunt take his pale, thick, veiny cock.

Your soft lips look so beautiful covered in thick white cream, a mixture of his and your cum. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, hold on just a little more, I know you’re getting tired. I’ll hold you while you sleep after I cum in you.” Choso softly kisses your forehead.

“She’s getting so tight. I wonder could your sweet lil’ cunt can cum while you’re sleeping.” His eyes shift from violet to a glowing pink. “Fuck!” His body shutters with restraint as he fucks you faster but not harder. “I know you can only handle so much, I should stop soon but-“ your soft cunt spams squeezing Choso and wrecking his train of thought.

You slur together, “don’tstopwanna help-nnnn with yourrr rut.” Thick tears drip down your face as Choso whines, two teeth elongating into sharp fangs.

You tilt your head aside and he kisses your tears off your cheeks. “That’s it beautiful, let it out cry from cumming so hard on my cock.” teeth in. Sweet pain laces in with the intoxicating pleasure of his cock filling your sore, soaking wet cunt.

You can’t move on your own, your body is too heavy. Your eyes won’t say open. He quickly pulls away, licking the blood seeping from the bite. You shiver meekly as he slides his large warm hands down along your waist and hips, grabbing your thighs.

He lifts you off the bed without breaking his rough, quirk pace. You feel weightless in his grasp as he wraps his arm around your waist. Softly laying you in the center of the bed, with your head on a pillow.

Sweetly kissing your cheek, Choso groans, “I’m a nasty pervert, obsessed with your soft thighs, pretty tits and wet cunt. I wanna fuck more cum into you.”

The softness of the pillow beneath your head, the coziness of the bed and the exhaustion from taking Choso’s cock is too much. The last thing you feel is his warm cum as you pass out.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

“Nn! Wrong hole!” It’s too late Satoru is in your ass. It’s a strange but interesting feeling him slip out, tugging on your ass. It’s a mixture of pleasure and pain that you want to explore.

“Wait,” your body burns and you’re grateful you are facing the bed instead of him. “You can fuck my ass.” He roughly smacks your ass, squeezing your sore, jiggly cheek.

“Fuck that sounds so hot, say it again.” He crouches behind you and bites your ass. Slipping two slender fingers into your dripping wet cunt, slowly stroking your g-spot making your legs tremble.

Grabbing his sheets whilst pleading, “I wanna fuck my ass on your cock till I can’t move anymore! You can cum in my ass.” He pumps his fingers faster and groans letting your cheek go.

Satoru licks the imprint his teeth left. “Good lil’ slut.” Slipping his fingers out, you can hear him noisily sucking them clean. Pushing your hips back when he glides his tongue between your lips.

Satoru admits, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about cumming in you since I saw you. I’m not gonna wanna stop with your ass, your cunt is begging for it.” Roughly hitting your sore cheeks with his large palm.

Satoru digs his fingers into your juggling fat. “Hold you wrist behind your back for me to tie together.”

He walks off to get silk ribbon and a vibrator which he holds up to show you. “Something for your clit while I fuck your soft ass into a gapping cum filled mess.” Smirking at you, with his white hair slicked back, a few stands hanging in his blue eyes.

“Let’s get a little kinky.” He looks so beautiful standing there, slim yet muscular build is so well sculpted. You want you run your hands over all of him. But mostly you want his long, pretty cock that stands up eager for attention.

A smile creeps onto your face, “What about some knife play?” He walks over with the silk and toy, setting the latter on the bed. The silence is crushing, making you squirm slightly.

He leans over yo, talking low in your ear, “With the nasty warnings on the smut you read in public told me what type of pervert slut you are.” Tying your wrist behind your back.

“I always wondered if you touch yourself while reading, or if it’s like foreplay before you masturbate?” Biting your shoulderand pinning you still with some of his weight. It feels good to have Satoru’s massive body crushing you into the bed. With his soft warm skin and hard muscules against you.

Taking a moment before you can respond in a steady voice, “Depends on how much the fic makes my pussy throb.” Satoru pulls away to laugh, smacking your pussy, smirking when you jolt.

Satoru goes to get a ghost face mask and knife, “Speaking of fics, one gave me a new kink, I already wear a mask all day so why not switch out what I’m wearing.”

He wiggles the mask, “I remember this one was mentioned in a kinkobter fic. I like having a whole month dedicated to being the biggest whore you can be. That is what it is?” He slips the ghost face mask on.

You decide, “Close enough, please come play with my clit n ass! I wanna be a cock drunk whore, we’re talking too much.” He points the knife at you, wiggling it threateningly then he slips the ghostface mask on.

Grabbing a bottle of lube before walking up behind you. You can hear the bottle open and lube squirt out. Glance over your shoulder to watch Satoru touch himself. He softly ruts his his hips with a soft whine as he swirl his slender fingers over his gorgeous cock.

You didn’t think you could find a cock so damn sexy till you saw Satoru’s. With his soft pink cock head and intimidating length. You know his cock is going to be addicting the l way he could softly stretch and fill you up.

Spreading your legs apart he lines his cock up to give your asshole just the tip. Whilst carefully rubbing your clit with the cool flat of the blade. The scary thrill of the knife near somewhere so sensitive gets your cunt dripping.

He slowly drags the knife along your thigh, grabbing the toy. With a click it springs to life. Satoru glides another inch in as he holds the toy to your clit, swirling it slowly.

Softly rolling his hips giving your sensitive, tight ass more, crooning, “You can handle it, can’t you?” Your jaw drops and your brows furrow as your toes curl.

You unable to answer Satoru, “I-I nnnn! Innnahhh! Satoru!” the strange pleasure of having your ass fucked along with having your clit played with is too much to comprehend.

Crying, “My ass! You’re! Nnn!” Satoru really is fucking your ass! The first time with your long time crush and it’s there! He’s going to be able to cum in you. The second it crosses you’re mind it’s all you can whine.

You’re mindlessly confessing and begging, your eyes stinging. “Please cum in me! I wanna feel your warm cum! I touch myself thinking of what it would be like to feel your cock twitching inside me before you spill. Please!” You sloppy wet cunt is dripping thick creamy slick down to your cock stuffed ass.

Satoru’s low breathy groans are pornagraphic.“I jerked off this morning thinking about seein’ my cum drip out of your pretty cunt.” He swirls the knife around your soft nipple. “The way I want to slut you out, objectify you then treat you like a princess afterwards.”

Rubbing the toy on your clit faster as he goes balls deep. He slides the knife down your stomach, getting off on seeing you squirm. With your breasts pushed in the air by the soft arch in your back.

He groans at the sight of seeing his pale pink cockhead tugging on your asshole. So close to slipping out, rolling his hips, his abs flexing as he drives his cock in deep with a smooth, quick thrust.

Your ass is getting looser taking his cock easier as the tense leaves your body and you melt beneath him. With your eyes watering.

Satoru tosses the knife to the side to stuffs his two slender fingers in. “Keep looking at me like that beautiful n’ find out what happens. Shit, I’ll wash up come back and wreck your soft cunt, fill you up twice.” He curls his fingers, fucking your softly squelching cunt.

Clenching his fingers when he finds that spot that has a overwhelming wave of intense pleasure overcomes you. Making your thighs tremble and your hips jerk back.

Satoru leans down, taking up most of your vision with his ghost face mask and his wide shoulders. “Cum, you can do it, focus on my fingers in your cunt, my cock in your ass and your toy on your clit.” Tears trickle down your face as you squirt on his fingers. Your soft cunt spams, as Satoru keeps his pace and fucks your ass harder.

The way Satoru growls, “Fuck me!” Shouldn’t be so hot in how feral, possessive and needy he sounds. “That it lil mama cry cause I made you squirt too hard, make a fuckin mess and scream my name. Nnnn keep looking at me like that and see what happens.”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

“I thought no one was home, I only meant to crash on your sofa then dip before sunrise.” Leaning over you, with his large gloved hand splayed on the wall next to you. “You’re not my normal type.” Holding the knife to your cheek.

Your voice trembles, “I know your victim type, I’ve been following along. I-I don’t blame you, what came out about everyone’s whose houses and laptops they’ve searched, is horrific.” You’re tense with anticipation. “There is a guest room, and left over food in the fridge, you can use my shower I’ll stay in the living room.”

“Ha, so you see it my way, they deserved it.” He softly drags the knife along your neck, leaning down invading what little personal space you have left. He’s so close, smelling of thick cigarette smoke and copper.

Glancing from his blood splattered ghost mask, to his large chest, his worn black shirt clinging to his pecs and abs. “Is there anything else you need?” A dark happy trail peaking out the bottom of his shirt catches your attention along with what it leads too. He’s shamelessly hard, his black sweats hiding nothing.

He drags the knife up your neck to your chin, tilting your head up to look at his face. “Depends does that offer have anything to do with the way you’ve been looking at me? If it does ...” He steps back to lean against the back of your sofa. He gestures up and down your body with his knife.

Ordering you. “Take your shirt off, your sexy underwear stays on.�� Slipping your shirt and underwear off, he points down at the ground with the knife causing you to kneel at his feet.

Nudging your legs around with his boot, “Hands behind your back, use your hands and I’ll smack you across the face.” Softly dragging the knife along your bottom lip. “Such a pretty mouth, that little tremble in your bottom lip when you’re scared is hot.”

He holds the knife to your throat. “Do I scare you still?”He pushes his sweatpants down, letting his heavy cock hang out. He’s so thick, with two puffy veins and a fat cockhead wet with pre-cum.

“Yes, you could change your mind out of worry of getting caught but I’m too horny to think too logically.” His balls are big and look so damn suckable, looking up at his masked face. “I want you to fuck me like I’mma a slut.” He slips his boot in between your legs, and you cave instantly grinding your clothed cunt on his shoe.

Lifting his shoe adding some pressure to your cunt. “Like?! You’re nothing but a slut, grinding on me you’re no different than a bitch in heat. I’ll stuff your needy cunt n’ depending on how well ya take my cock, you might be mine be my new play thing.”

Setting the knife next to himself, and grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Please I’m so wet cause of you, fold me in two, I don’t care if I walk tomorrow.” He groans grabbing his cock with a gloved hand, lining it up with your parting lips. Gliding his cock in your warm with mouth with a husky groan.

“Fuck this is hot, seeing you hump my boot while I'm fuckin your throat.” His balls hit your chin with each quick, gagging thrust. Whilst his firm grasp on your hair keeps you from moving your head. “For being a honest whore for I’ll make sure you cum.”

Cupping his large balls he pulls his cock out and slaps you. Straightening your face out with your hair. “I warned you, but that did feel nice touch my balls again.” Holding his balls while grinding your hips, rubbing your clit along the smooth leather.

You quickly plead, “Slap me again please.” He softly rubs your sore cheek then lands another sharp, stinging hit. You wince and moan, squeezing his shoe with your thighs.

Mocking you, “Slap me again please! You’re killing me.” Tilting his head to the side, the simple action with his mask on shouldn't turn you on so much.

He roughly pulls your hair and orders, “Keep begging me to hurt and fuck you.”

Stroking his cock next to your face whilst you beg, “Smack my ass till it’s too sore for me to lay on. Please daddy fuck me however you need to.” Pulling you onto your feet by your hair, shoving you over the back of the sofa.

Demanding, “You’re thinking with your pussy aren't you? What am I?” He smacks your clothed cunt with the flat of the blade making you jolt. Hitting your cunt harder with his gloved hand. “Tell me before I stop and go jerk off in the shower.” Slowly dragging the knife along your soft lips. You have to fight every urge to move so the knife doesn't slip.

“Daddy!” Crying as he quickly cuts the back of your thighs, so close to your cunt. Smacking your both cheeks before cutting off your underwear.

Moaning out, “Please lemme have your cock daddy.” Wiggling as he drags the knife along your soft cheek, blood seeping from the shallow cut. His covk throbs with the way you cry and writhe, the sofa and his body trapping you.

Smacking your stinging cheek, you can hear the cocky smirk in his voice. “You need me that badly lil’ mama?” Gliding his wet cock in-between your soft thighs.

Yanking your head back by your hair and leaning over you. “Fucking hell you’re a dirty slut wanting to be fucked by a stranger. Am I that hot, or are you that big of a whore?” His cock rubs yours lips and clit taunting you.

You’re clenching nothing in desperate need to have his fat cock filling, stretching and rubbing your cunt till you cum on him. “I can feel her fluttering, squeezing nothin’ when you could be squeezing my cock.”

Your head is against his chest, his so big. You didn't know his name and haven’t see but it doesn't matter. You want him to bounce you on his cock.

Begging him, “Yes please daddy, I’ll call you whatever you want! You can stop by and use my cunt whenever you want. I need to cum on your big cock.” Squeezing your thighs together and whining in fustration

He lets your hair go to smack your cunt till your desperately twisting your hips away. Crying, your body shutters and your cunt is sharply stinging.

You whine, “You’re so mean!” Your eyes are stinging and his hands are so rough when he grasp your hips. He yanks you into place and lines his cock up, nudging his cock past your lips. Roughly slamming his hips forward whilst yanking your body back.

He rasps, “It’s making you wetter isn’t it?” Choking you with a gloved hand and squeezing your hip. Lifting your off your feet, he’s holding you in the air by your throat and hip, effectively ruining any attempts to run away.

Rhythmically bounce you on his cock, using your pussy like a flesh light. Whilst angrily rutting his hips. It’s like he’s mad at you even though he’s the one who broke into your house.

You’re a dirty slut who folded at the first sight of his broad muscular chest and slutty waist in the clingiest black shirt you’ve ever see. Clenching his cock and biting your bottom lip. It feels good to be a mindless whore if this is what it gets you.

Digging your nails into the sofa when he croons, “What this? You were just begging for me to fuck you. Don’t tell me your lil’ sloppy cunt can’t handle my fat cock?” He relaxes his grasp but ruts into you hard, pouring his frustration into each thrust.

“I can! Fuck me however you want! I don’t care how angry it feels!” He lifts you off the sofa, grabbing your thighs, folding your legs and clasping his large hands behind the back of your neck.

“Angry? I suppose I am n’ it’s fun taking it out on your sloppy cunt. I’m reaching so fuckin deep, you can feel that can’t ya?” He rocks his hips harder bruising your cervix and making your pussy spasm from the intensity.

You can’t think with the way he’s fucking you like he hates you, bullying your sloppy cunt. All you can do is cream on his fat cock. He sneers “Really? You’re cumming that fuckin’ easily?” Your cheeks along with your throat burn.

Unclasping his hand from behind your neck, squeezing your thigh and stroking your clit. “Too stupid to answer already? N’ I just started.” Each stroke from his finger is too much, sending off a firework of intense overstimulating pleasure.

Fat tears roll down your cheek as you babble, “Too much! Toooooo much daddys’ cock ‘s too much! My clit I can’t! I wanna! Don’t stop!” It’s like you can’t come down from the incredible high of cumming.

He grunts, “There we fuckin’ go! Don’t want ya to get all shy n’ quiet on me now after you were humping my boot.” Stroking your clit faster, keeping the pressure the same. “Let’s see how many times I can make you cum in one night before you can’t anymore.”

Oreo m.list

[getbentfm]

Los Angeles Home Office Example of a mid-sized tuscan medium tone wood floor and brown floor home office library design with brown walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[hello-samo]

Houston Beach Style Pool Inspiration for a mid-sized coastal backyard concrete paver and rectangular lap hot tub remodel

[arnavjohnson]

Transitional Exterior Example of a large transitional beige two-story mixed siding exterior home design with a shingle roof

[yaguniversity]

Traditional Home Office - Freestanding

Mid-sized elegant freestanding desk dark wood floor and brown floor study room photo with gray walls and no fireplace

[clemeence]

Home Office - Library Example of a mid-sized tuscan medium tone wood floor and brown floor home office library design with brown walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[bactrimdmfg]

Wallpaper Bedroom in Los Angeles

[casdasgay]

Transitional Kitchen - Kitchen

[prekrasnoe-mngnovenie]

Transitional Kitchen

[protestooucopa]

Traditional Exterior - Fiberboard

[levi-seijuro]

Jackson Dining Room Kitchen Dining

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices

For @erisweekofficial Day 1: Bargains

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother.

Warnings: some mentions of death & injury, swearing, spitfire reader and a cunty eris. <3

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The storm had rolled in with frightening speed.

It was one of the rarer, powerful storms of Autumn. The type that caused the sky to turn to charcoal, produced lightning that illuminated the canopy of fall leaves and made them seem like flickering, live fires. 

You stumbled into the dimly lit cabin, drenched from the rain that had come pouring down in sheets. The cabin was one you had never seen before— a hidden refuge of Eris’s that you weren't aware existed. Despite its small size, it was surprisingly beautiful, furnished with deep, velvety fabrics. Eris had pulled you into the home without a word. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you turned to him, watching as he shed his outer layer and hung it on a hook near the door. He moved to the cold, empty fireplace next, and with a flick of his fingers, he summoned a flame from his hand.  The flame danced briefly in his palm before he extended it toward the blackened wood in the hearth. 

Seconds later, a crackling sound filled the room, bringing the fire to life and filling the space with a warm, golden glow. Eris watched the flames for a moment. Then he stood up, facing you once more. 

"You promised me I'd be in Spring by tonight," you said. 

Eris tsked, brushing past you as he sat himself on a velvet, red couch. His scent lingered in the air—a smoky, strong aroma. A shiver ran through your body. You attributed the reaction to the influence of the rain on your warm skin. 

He didn't bother to meet your eye as he responded. "I promised no such thing. I said I'd take you to Spring tonight."

"Then take me."

He raised a brow and for a moment, you almost expected him to make a childlike comment, a brutish joke about the sentiment those words could hold outside of the context. But he didn't. His eyes, however, told you that he was thinking about it. It was unnerving, how you could read him so well, how years at Lucien's side had come with an unexpected consequence: becoming familiar with his brothers, too.

"It's a storm. Winnowing is risky in this weather," he said smoothly, voice as cool as ever. "I’m not risking both our lives just because you're impatient."

The wind howled outside the cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as you took a deep breath— in through your nose, out through your mouth. The eldest Vanserra noticed the frustration immediately, and your efforts to calm yourself dissipated as a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m not staying here,” you snapped. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

At first glance, the couch appeared almost pristine, but as the firelight grew and you paid closer attention, you could make out traces of dark grey, black, and brown hairs—the hair of his hounds.  The detail settled somewhere inside you. You weren't sure where.

“If you do that, you’ll either die of exposure or run into my father’s men. Either way, not a great plan.”

You froze, your hands tightening around the fabric of your cloak as you grasped your arms, fingernails digging into the material. “So my options are to stay here with you or die?”

He shrugged lazily, but the motion still held a sense of regality to it, an eerily elegant form. It made you even angrier.

“Seems so," he said, a smile forming on his lips. It was as warm and genuine as a snake’s kiss, much like the disarming charm you had come to expect from Eris.

You'd never spent this long with him alone, never needed to manage his calculated gaze or purposely chosen words without the buffer of Lucien. You would've gladly gone your entire immortal life without doing so. But you missed Lucien— your heart ached without him, longed to be near him, to have his laugh echo in your ears. And this was the only way to be with him again, even for a few days.

And Eris knew that. He knew it all. You assumed it was why he bothered to take you in the first place. It gave him the pleasure of knowing he had power– control.

Your blood boiled.

“Are you enjoying this?” You stormed toward him, standing over the couch as he stretched, clearly unbothered by the storm—or your anger. “Trapping me here, knowing I have no choice.”

“Trapping you?” He laughed softly, sitting up slightly to meet your gaze. “You came to me, Vixen. If you want to go, the door’s right there.”

The sound of the wind howling through the trees outside made his offer ring hollow. You struggled to rummage through your thoughts, through the anger, frustration, and disgust that he managed to stir in you.

The stupid, stupid nickname was all you could focus on, now. Memories of a younger you flooded your senses, memories of a younger Eris, one much less rigid, much more open, almost. An Eris you crushed on. You'd never admit the truth to anyone— that the reason you and Lucien had become so close, despite your natural connection, was because once upon a time, he was glued to his older brothers hip. And so you'd glued yourself to Lucien's.

Eventually, the years evened things out, and your feelings flowed from the eldest Vanserra to the kindest one. To Lucien.

Lucien. Your mind reminded you. This was for Lucien. Don't piss Eris off, don't ruin your chances at seeing him again. Don't engage—

"Stop calling me that, you arrogant prick."

Your hands dropped to your sides, instinctively curling into fists as Eris peered at you with a burning, amused stare. His amber eyes gleamed like a predator toying with its prey.

"I see Lucien's absence has impacted your ability to maintain that temper. Those breathing exercises not working well for you?"

Something twisted deep in your gut.

"Now that I think about it, I think I'll take my chances with the storm."

Before you could make a move to leave, Eris was standing, his chest now inches away from you as he peered down at you. You didn't move, then, only straightened your shoulders and met his gaze.

Eris wasn’t the beefy, broad-shouldered type that other males in the court might have been. He didn’t have large, bulging muscles meant to intimidate. Instead, he was a lean kind of strong, with a pointed nose and sharp features that cut through the dim light of the cabin. He exuded a different kind of intimidation, one that stemmed from his inherent authority and the staunchness of his posture. He carried himself like a prince—elegant and commanding, every inch of him a testament to his future role.

Beron was merely keeping the throne warm until Eris was ready to claim it for himself.

"We both know you're not going to do that."

You tightened your fists further. "And why not?"

"Because you aren't stupid, Y/n."

Eris cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face with a cold, calculating gaze. His features were sharp and chiseled, the faintest freckles dotting his high cheekbones. 

"You're not going to risk losing your chance to see Lucien."

 He leaned down and his breath fanned your face, warm and mingling with the scent of cedar and smoke. His eyes danced across your face, moving from holding your gaze to traveling further down, lingering on your lips—on the scowl you wore on them—before he met your eyes again. The fire's flames grew larger, consuming the oxygen in the air that had already seemed to be thinning. 

You said nothing as he continued, "Uncurl those fists, take that soaked cloak off, and wait. "

You stayed quiet, taking a deep breath before you stepped to the side, purposefully brushing your shoulder against his broad chest as you moved. Despite your urge to resist him out of spite, you reluctantly removed your cloak and tossed it on the clean floor of the cabin.

Eris scoffed. "Really? Must you act like a child?"

The floorboards cracked as he walked and, faintly, he mumbled something about how his hounds were better mannered. Eris picked up your cloak, dusting it off with a gentle hand before hanging it up next to his own.

"I'm curious," he began, glancing over his shoulder as he walked towards the couch. "Does Lucien know?"

You glared at him. You were growing tired now, the exhaustion of the trip slowly growing deep in your bones.

"What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, his gaze lingering on you with a knowing glint as he settled back on the couch. "I'm talking about how you're in love with my sweet, sweet little brother."

You stiffened, a wave of emotion crashing over you—cold and awakening, a nauseating mix of embarrassment and fury. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Eris's face remained insufferably composed, a cocky grin playing at his lips. His eyes gleamed with a self-satisfied spark.

"No need to lie. It's just us two here," he purred. "I've always enjoyed how honest we can be with one another. It's why I preferred you over Jesminda."

A sharp, uncontrollable heat seared through every nerve in your body, a wave of anger surging like a wildfire.

"Keep her name out of your mouth."

It felt like a disgrace to have him say it, to hear her name immortalized on the tongue of the brother that allowed her to die. The brother that had killed her, according to Lucien. His sobs still echoed in your mind, the image of a broken male etched into your memory. You'd had only five minutes with him before he fled, five minutes of frenzied packing, desperate promises, and anguished confessions of what his father—and his brothers—had done.

Eris's gaze lingered as he analyzed you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

You were beginning to feel naked, as if he had stripped you of every defense you'd managed to muster around him. You turned away, unable to bear the weight of his stare any longer.

"I didn't kill her. I didn’t help.”

Your face went slack, caught off guard and momentarily confused. You pulled yourself together quickly, straightening your back, hoping he hadn’t noticed your reaction.  As you turned a little, your face almost sad now, you could’ve sworn you saw something in his eyes—something akin to regret, maybe even compassion.

Your voice was low, not bothering to hide the sadness, mourning, the raw anger, as you responded.

“I don’t believe you.”

The trace of care in his gaze vanished as he shrugged, the same indifferent gesture he’d made earlier. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You stared at him, taking him in with the same analyzing gaze he'd offered you. 

It was strange how alike he and Lucien looked, how alike yet so different all the same. But the longer you stared, the more you began to feel stuck— hypnotized, tempted to walk closer to him, to ask him what it was that went on in his mind, what caused those flickers of emotions you couldn't name across his face. 

But another moment passed, and all you could see was a male who Lucien hated, a male who was selfish, who reveled in the pain caused by chaos.  Your mind drifted to other rumors and stories you’d heard about him. You settled on one in particular. 

"You left an innocent female to die in the woods because she didn't want to mary you. Butchering your brother's lover doesn't seem outside of your past-times."

A cold shift washed over Eris’s face. His disinterested expression hardened into a mask of disappointment, then flared into a simmering anger. It was a contained fury, like a finely tuned flame.

"Don't tell me you believe the lies of Night Court trash. Surely you're smarter than that. I know you are."

"Fuck you," you snarled. "You know nothing about me. I'm not going to let you play some twisted mind games with me. I'm not a doll."

He shook his head. "You are not."

A beat. Then a smirk grew on his lips. "But you are just as pretty as one, if we're still being honest. You're wasted in your one-sided love, Y/n."

You said nothing, turning to walk to the other side of the cabin. The corner held a bookshelf with carefully arranged volumes, a finely crafted wooden table, and a collection of artifacts on the windowsill.

Eris just laughed behind you, a sound so smooth and soothing that it felt sinful against your skin.

You resisted the temptation to snoop, to explore the cabin and bask in the rare vulnerability of the brother who had always captivated you in the most wretched of ways. It felt strange seeing him like this—relaxed, almost at ease— as if simply crossing the threshold of this modest cabin had stripped away the invisible chains and burdens only a prince could bear.

You stayed still and stared out the window, focusing on the sounds of the storm. You hoped that the rain would drown out the sounds of his breathing— sounds that rang too loud in your mind. You didn't want to know why he seemed to do that, why he lingered so deeply in your head. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The storm raged on for a few more hours.

The time was spent in tense silence—at least for you. Eris remained on the couch, reading through a novel about the history of the continent. You would've never thought him to enjoy such a thing, to want to know about those outside of his court, of mortals, humans, no less.

And when the rain finally stopped, he rose wordlessly. With a brief gesture toward your cloak, he led you out, winnowing you the rest of the way in silence.

When you finally reached the border of Spring, a wave of relief washed over you.

The vibrant greens of the new season were almost blinding after the gloom of the storm. You took a step forward, eager to escape the tension that had gripped you for hours. You'd be with Lucien soon, be able to hug him, to tell him of all the things he'd missed in your life since his exile. 

But before you could move any further, Eris's hand closed around your arm. You turned to him with a glare, meeting his glowing gaze and infuriatingly calm smile.

“Are we forgetting payment?”

You strengthened your glare, gritting your teeth before you pulled yourself out of his grasp, reaching for the small bag hidden within your layers. 

Eris stopped you with a casual wave. “I don’t want your money.”

You stiffened, straightening your posture. The sounds of Spring echoed behind you, their vibrant melodies almost taunting as you lingered on the border. Eris’s smile shifted into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that made you swallow instinctively. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

You thought back to how he had offered to take you to Lucien, how this entire arrangement had been his idea. You should've held back, should've been more wary of his motives. But you'd been too excited, been too blinded by the joy of being with Lucien once more. 

“What do you want, Eris?” 

He took a moment to take you in fully, eyes scanning you from head to toe, and then he took a small step back.

“A bargain,” he finally said.

 “A bargain?” 

He nodded. “You will not tell Lucien it was me who brought you here.”

You frowned, a crease forming between your brows as you blinked at the male before you. Perhaps you'd heard him wrong. “What?”

“If he asks, you’ll say you bought off a hunter in Autumn, a mercenary. Whatever you’d like,” Eris continued.

You drew your brows tighter. 

“I thought you'd want to revel in the fact that he might somehow owe you. Prove your power, even."

Eris shrugged nonchalantly. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you’d like to think.”

He extended his hand, his palm open and the gleam of his ring-clad fingers catching the light. You hesitated for a moment, body still stiff with unease, with confusion. 

You scanned his face. Eris loved played games. This was no different. There was no point in reading into it. So you rolled your eyes and prepared to shake on it, reaching for his hand.  He pulled it slightly out of reach.

“What now?” You groaned.

He hummed in amusement.

“And when I come to get you to return to Autumn, I want your help.”

You raised a brow. “My help?” you asked, incredulously. "How the hell would I ever be able to help you?"

Your family had no title, no powers beyond a tame ability to fight and heal. You survived in Autumn because you were ordinary—and ordinary meant no one looked for you. Noticed you. 

“I want to call in a favor,” he clarified.

“What favor?"

"We'll see," Eris said with a smile and a tilt of his head. “I think you could help me out dearly."

You let his words settle for a moment. His eyes, glistening with a dangerous glow, seemed to hold something predatory, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There must've been an underlying threat in his proposition, something sinister you had yet to notice. After all, he was a male known for his ruthlessness— 

You stiffened.

He was a male. There was one easy way for males to assert their dominance, to gain pleasure, to accept payment. 

You took a step back instinctively and Eris’s gaze tracked your movement before returning to meet your eyes. A shadow flickered in his eyes, reminiscent of the dark, unsettlingly soft gleam you’d seen in his cabin when he first glimpsed your saddened expression. Seconds later, his face shifted to one of mild amusement. He rolled his eyes with an empty chuckle.

“Settle yourself, Y/n. Not that kind of favor. I can bed females without resorting to bargaining for their affections,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

A flush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. You looked to the ground for a moment, taking a deep breath as you regained your composure. When you finally met his gaze again, he was already extending his hand towards you once more.

“A favor in the future in exchange for this time with Lucien,” he purred smoothly. “And your silence. Consider it our little secret.”

The smirk that grew on his lips was maddening and you could feel the heat of his gaze, the flickering fire of his amber eyes urging you to comply. Every instinct told you that binding yourself to him was a terrible idea.

You glanced back over your shoulder, looking to the green, sunny expanse behind you. Lucien was there, somewhere amongst the greenery, and with a simple bargain you'd be with him again. 

Without a second thought, you turned back to Eris and took his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

happy eris week yall!!! rising from the dead specifically to post this lol, i fear i love this pairing so lets see if i decide i wanna write anything else for them. thank you for reading!! (i miss writing so so so much)

i might make this into a miniseries, so lmk if you’d like

to be tagged <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

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@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXVII)

Disoriented dazed

Read part one // masterpost // continued from

*~*~*~*~*

Kit woke with a sharp cough, his lungs bouncing against his ribs. He turned over as the cough tickled the back of his throat, and he tried to sit up but the world swam dizzying around his head and he wanted to throw up instead as he hacked out whatever was stuck in his chest.

He managed to eventually, a glob of red hitting a pale hand as Kit groaned. Hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back against the bed and Kit blinked, groaning against the touch.

Who was touching him didn’t matter, he just wanted it to stop. “Kit, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re fine.”

Kit passed out again before he could wonder why that voice was, at once, so familiar and yet something was wrong with it. Something off. He couldn’t remember why or what as the darkness claimed him again.

The next time he woke up he was more alert. He didn’t wake up coughing, he woke easily and without fuss. He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling for a while, his mind moving too slowly to comprehend that he could be in danger. He had a bad headache, a dull aching throb, one that pulsed spikes of pain down his temple and into his cheeks with every beat of his heart.

His breath felt so loud in the silence of the room.

He couldn’t remember what was happening, where he was, but he was floating along, as if he were in a lazy river, just enjoying the flow of the water around him instead of focusing on why he was in the water in the first place.

A door opened in a far off place, indiscernible to him as he stared up at the arched ceiling of stone, tracing the wooden rafter beams that supported such a heavy roof with his eyes.

Then.

Black eyes.

Black concerned eyes, blinking fervidly down at him, and speaking but Kit couldn’t really make out the sounds at first.

Then, Kit?

And Kit grunted in pain. Don’t, he thought, but even that sent spikes of pain down his face and through his skull. Hurts.

“Kit?” Ambrose tried again. Kit moaned. What did Ambrose do to him this time? Everything hurt but was also, somehow, numb? Did he overuse his charm speak on Kit again? No… this feeling was similar but different somehow. “Thank god you’re conscious.”

Kit blinked tiredly up at the black eyes, studying Ambrose’s marble like skin. The shadows of his cheeks and eye sockets, his lips that were slightly crooked to the left, not centred properly. Something imperfect on his face. He never noticed these details about Ambrose before. He felt he should remember them, like they might be something he could use against Ambrose later, but the thought melted into the swirl of the lazy river in his mind and bobbed along out of reach of Kit’s grip.

Kit blinked and his eyes shuttered closed, watching black eyes grow wide with worry before the darkness took hold of him again.

The next time he woke, he lurched straight up, gasping as his entire body burned and he screamed and writhed, twisting away from the hand clamped down tightly on his chest.

In the distance he could hear Ambrose say: “Kit! Kit! It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re fine, you’re safe!”

Kit thrashed in the bed, trying to dislodge the source of the unnatural heat and then as suddenly as it began, the burning stopped and Kit gasped, falling back against the mattress, bleary eyes only seeing the grey stones and brown wood of the ceiling.

A hand pinched his cheeks and turned his head to face two slithering, silver eyes like gleaming molten metal, swirling like mercury. Kit recoiled away, trying to dislodge the hand from his face. He pulled his hands, trying to get them to get this guy’s hand off of him, but he heard two clicks of metal.

As if he had just been slammed down from space into his body, Kit went cold as he realised that he was cuffed to a bed, his hands above his head. Memories flashed back to him, snippets of the last thing he was conscious for and Kit remembered Ambrose and he remembered those silver eyes and his stomach churned.

“Ah, look at that. You do remember.”

Kit didn’t answer but he didn’t dare move his eyes from Supervillain’s face. His maskless face. Ambrose had come in with him, Kit couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered the helpless fear he had around him and—

“Where’s Sawyer and Tides?” Kit asked, his voice hollow even to his own ears. Why did he ask that? What if they were dead? What if Kit was next? Was this Ambrose’s plan all along? To kill him?

Black eyes appeared over Nathan, who was sitting in a chair next to Kit’s bed. “They’re safe, Kit.”

“Where are they?” Ambrose opened his mouth to reply, but Supervillain hummed, his silver eyes forming half moons, gleaming, and Ambrose shut his mouth again. Kit looked at Ambrose. “You— you, Ambrose, let us out, please. Let us go. Tides and Sawyer didn’t do anything!”

“I’m afraid Oskar doesn’t get to decide whether you’re freed or not, Kit.” Silver eyes said. Kit glared at him. “Was it you who smashed all my windows?”

“Yeah, and I’ll do the same to your face if you don’t—” Kit cut himself off screaming, a sudden burning in his chest until he heard Ambrose say Nathan, enough and the pain stopped and Kit fell back against the bed.

Silver eyed Nathan smirked down at Kit. “The youth of today, huh? Breaks a man’s windows and has the gall to threaten him in his own house.”

“You’re a piece of shit!” Kit hissed, scrambling back on the bed, rotating his arms so he could sit up and keep his arms awkwardly cuffed, his right arm stretched over waist but at least he was sitting up, facing the two bastards. At least he could kick at Nathan if he tried anything.

What a stupid name. What kind of Supervillain is called Nathan? Why isn’t he called something better? Grander? And why was Ambrose staring at him like he was trying to tell him something?

Shut up, Kit thought loud enough for Ambrose to hear. I’m mad at you too.

How interesting.

Kit’s wide eyes snapped to Nathan, his heart pounding against his chest. Then his gaze shot back to Ambrose, questioningly.

“What… how does he have your power?”

Nathan answered, leaning forward and grabbing Kit’s wrist. Kit was about to pull back when a burst of blinding white shot behind his eyes and he gasped.

Just as quickly as it began, when Nathan lifted his hand the strange wash of sensation left him and he was left a little drained.

“Bitch…” Kit muttered, suddenly breathless.

Nathan smirked, lifting his fingers in front of his face, humming as he rubbed the pads of his thumb and forefinger together almost thoughtfully. A spark of blue and Kit flinched back.

His eyes went to Ambrose’s black as he scrambled back away from Nathan, fear gripping him in the same way it would a gazelle at seeing a lion crouching in the grass.

“Kit, it’s okay—” Ambrose began but Kit cut him off, his voice wavering in pitch, in strength, in breath.

“No it’s fucking not! What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t— don’t fucking touch me!”

“Kit,” Ambrose said again, but Nathan was staring at him with his cold, dead eyes and Kit just wanted to flee. Kit’s desperate eyes turned back to Ambrose, his chest heaving but getting no oxygen into his ribs, into his lungs because Nathan was—

“Please,” he whispered, tears coming to his eyes as he stared into black. “Please, Ambrose. Help me. Please. Let me go, please, I can’t—”

He couldn’t explain the raw, primal fear that was coursing through, racking his body with cold shivers as the cuffs jangled off the headboard violently.

“P-please,” Kit whimpered. Ambrose swallowed, his eyes darting between Kit and Nathan and he did the one thing he knew would stop Nathan. He stepped in front of him, blocking Nathan’s sight of Kit and before Nathan could berate him for it, he wrapped his hands around his neck and straddled Nate.

Nathan smirked up at Ambrose, silver irises swirling darker with interest as Ambrose leaned down and kissed him to stop him from saying something.

Kit stared, jaw dropped as he heard the wet sounds of kissing coming from his two tormentors. Jesus, fucking—

Don’t say a word, Ambrose warned, low and quiet. Let me handle this. Don’t even think anything back because he’ll hear you.

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away, closing his eyes to the sight and tried to calm his fucking nerves that spiked hard around Nathan’s exposure of his power. He must be able to absorb other people’s powers which would explain why he had Mentor’s… and Ambrose’s and now, Kit’s.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Shit! He really needed to get out of here, or else Nathan would fucking kill him and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop him. What if he— what if he made Kit do things, like Ambrose did in the beginning. Kit glanced down at his arms and prayed.

Nathan pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. He smiled up at Ambrose. “You’re so transparent, Oskar,” he hummed fondly.

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t—

“Fine. We’ll leave him be. For now.”

Ambrose hesitated. “Can I—”

“No,” Nathan interjected with a smile and leaned up to kiss Ambrose again. Short, possessive, and then he lightly pushed Ambrose off him. Kit swallowed, watching the exchange with wary eyes darting between the pair.

Nathan walked closer to him and Kit shrunk back, his heart thumping against his chest as Nathan leaned down and grabbed Kit’s chin, pinching it between his thumb and index finger and tilted his head up to look into the emotionless silver eyes.

“Kit,” he said, and Kit could feel the coldness of Ambrose’s power in his voice. He tried to wrench his head back, but Nathan’s grip was too strong. “If Oskar tries to speak to you, I want you to scream pineapple at the top for your voice and I don’t want you to stop until you see me. That includes if he tries to speak through your minds, do you understand?”

Kit felt the command take root in his body, wiring his nerves and muscles to Nathan’s order. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth.

“Good,” Nathan said, patting his cheek before pulling away. He walked towards the door of the room. “Come on, Oskar. We have other matters to attend to.”

Ambrose took one last look at Kit, an apology and a stiffness winding him tightly, but he didn’t dare speak to Kit. Kit jerked forward when Ambrose turned away. “Wait!”

Ambrose stopped. Nathan let out a huff of a sigh at the door, glancing at Kit as if he were a fly that was buzzing around his food.

“Please, just… tell me where Sawyer and Tides are, please.” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so broken. Ambrose looked at Nate, and Nate looked at Oskar. Silver eyes rolled to the ceiling and back again before he turned his body to Kit.

“I wiped their memories and sent them home packing. They’re safe, save some minor injuries, and well, Sawyer’s face,” Nathan said with a laugh. Kit glared, but it didn’t do anything to stifle Nathan’s cruelty. “But they don’t know you’re here, so don’t think you have a rescue party coming, Kit. They don’t even remember meeting Supervillain.”

He would have preferred if Nathan had just ripped his heart out and stomped on it rather than tell him that. He just wanted to know they were safe, and they were safe and Kit… Kit was probably going to die here and that was— he flinched when a hot tear splashed down on his cheeks.

Nathan smiled. “Come on, Oskar. Or I’ll have some fun with Kit while you watch.”

Ambrose’s little finger twitched, his body tight as he turned and followed Nathan out the door. His black eyes said I’m sorry, but Kit didn’t want an apology. Especially from someone who seemed to be just as much a prisoner here as Kit.

What was— how did Ambrose know Nathan? Not just know him but kiss him in the most un-Ambrose display of affection Kit has ever seen? And he was just going along with whatever Supervillain was saying?! Ambrose didn’t— there has to be something that Nathan was holding over him, something he cared about that Supervillain was threatening.

If Kit could talk to him one on one maybe he could find out what, and try and help him and they could get out of here together? Kit adjusted himself on the bed, not bothering to try and break free from the cuffs. He needed to sleep, he needed to keep his energy for later. Right now, right now he just needed to sleep. He settled himself and closed his eyes, getting into as comfortable position as possible. Sleep came like a warm blanket, comforting and warm.

He didn’t stir when the bed dipped around him. He barely realised there was a pressure on his chest until a large hand wad covering his mouth to silence his screams of panic. Kit’s eyes shot open, bleary from sleep to see wild green staring down at him. He shook, remembering those eyes from the basement with Supervillain, the one he knocked out to get Tides and Sawyer free.

Jude. Oh fuck. He forgot about him. Shit!

“Oh, so you remember me, you little shit?”

A black burn split Jude’s face like a tattoo, from his left temple down across his nose, splintering out down over his lip, his jaw and disappeared under the collar of his jumper.

Did… Did Kit do that?

Jude leaned in, sneering. “Supervillain got rid of your friends so you’re the only plaything I have left.”

Kit bucked against Jude, screaming against Jude’s hand, but his thumb was locked under Kit’s jaw, preventing him from getting any real volume into it. Jude laughed as Kit squirmed, another hand going to his throat. Kit bucked and yanked his hands down, trying to stop Jude before he knocked him unconscious.

“MMPH!” Kit cried, jerking his head left and right, trying to dislodge the psycho from him.

“Don’t worry, Kit. Supervillain said I can’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, hmm?”

Kit’s struggles lessened, his throat burning as he screamed and Jude squeezed, as if he was swallowing glass.

Ambrose! PLEASE! AMBROSE?!

Kit?

Kit’s mouth tried to force pineapple out of his lips but Jude’s grip was so tight it was shadowing his vision, his eyes growing heavy. Kit yanked at his cuffs one last time before the fight died in him and he went limp his world going dark.

And he sprung up gasping, screaming pineapple as loud as he could between coughs, and there was a flurry of movement and fists flying and then Nathan and Kit sat back, coughing, shuddering, gasping in air.

“Enough!” Nathan said, his voice low, but it still cut through Kit’s gasps and struggles, and even he quieted as much as he could. He grabbed Ambrose’s shoulders and dragged him off Jude, standing between them, silver eyes stern as he stared Ambrose down. “I said enough, Oskar.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Ambrose spat, glaring up at Nathan. Nathan looked over his shoulder at Kit before looking back at Ambrose.

“You’re right. I said I wouldn’t hurt him. That was before I knew he did that to Jude’s face!”

“And what about what you did to Sawyer’s face!” Kit yelled. Nathan straightened, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tipped his head back and sighed theatrically.

“I forgot by agreeing to your terms I’d have to babysit an infant,” Nathan grumbled. Kit balked at the insult, about to retort when he paused, the rest of his words sinking in and he looked at Ambrose.

Ambrose’s expression was tight on his face. His hair uncharacteristically messy, he wasn’t even wearing business casual or any semblance of clothing that could be considered a suit. He was wearing an oversized crew neck and a pair of joggers and Kit blinked at him, barely recognising the man in front of him as Ambrose.

As Omen? He was even further from that, but… he looked like a man, and Kit knew he was more than that.

“What’re you talking about?” Kit demanded, yanking at the cuffs. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!”

Nathan turned his cold, metal eyes on Kit, but this time Kit didn’t wither. He refused. He didn’t understand what was going on right now, but he knew something was wrong! Very wrong.

“You could always let him go,” Ambrose said, his voice soft, gentle, tentative, his hand reaching for Nathan’s wrist. Nathan shook his head. “I’ll stay. You can wipe his memory—”

“No, I can’t, Osk. You ensured that.”

“What’re you talking about?” Ambrose asked. Kit could tell he was fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice as he spoke.

Nathan gestured at Jude. “We compelled them, the three of them that they couldn’t use their powers. The other two were docile, and powerless, you know, like good little obedient puppies.”

“And the moment I released him,” Jude said, glaring at Kit. “He could use his lightning again.”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you weren’t such a sadistic fuc—” Kit’s head slammed back against the wall and he cried out from the pain that blossomed from the blow.

“Nate!” Ambrose gasped, black eyes on Kit’s, and he stepped forward, but Nathan put his hand out keeping Ambrose back behind. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“I said I wouldn’t kill him, Oskar. Maybe you should listen better, but right now, Jude has to get in line because I want to kill the fucking child.”

“Call me a child again, see—”

“KIT!” Ambrose boomed and Kit blinked, startled, staring at Ambrose with wide eyes like a puppy that was caught disobeying it’s master.

“Pineap—” Kit began but when he looked at Nathan the urge died in his throat. Nathan waved him away and said: “you don’t have to do that anymore.” And the command washed over Kit.

Kit looked at Ambrose with his wide, kicked puppy eyes. Questioning.

Nathan turned to Ambrose and said quietly: “you calm him down, or else I’ll let Jude do what he wants and make you watch.” Nathan looked at Kit. “This doesn’t mean you get away with hurting Jude. You’ll still be punished.”

“Oh bite me, arsehole!”

Ambrose jumped between Nathan and Jude, and Kit, spreading his arms wide. “I’ll talk to him! Okay? I’ll talk to him. Please.”

Nathan smiled, his hand going to Ambrose’s cheek. He leaned down and kissed Ambrose. Kit and Jude both looking away in disgust.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he said, kissing Ambrose again before he followed Jude out the door. Ambrose didn’t lower his arms until they heard footsteps on the stairs. Only then did his shoulders droop. He walked over and closed the door before sighing, resting his forehead against it.

Before Kit could demand answers, Ambrose’s shoulders shook, palms flat against the door. “I’m sorry, Kit,” he said, and Kit couldn’t do anything except gawk and stare, mouth open. Ambrose…

Ambrose was crying?

Oh shit. What did he say? Should he say something?

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, and the sound pulled at something in Kit’s gut.

“Hey, Ambrose… it’s—” the words died on his throat when Ambrose turned to face him and yep, he was crying. Tears streaming down his statue like cheeks, like crystal droplets that hung like icicles from his jaw.

“It’s not okay. None of this is okay. This is all my fault and you’re involved because of me.”

“No, I’m involved cause I’m a hero—”

“He let Sawyer and Tides go. He was telling the truth,” Ambrose said coming over to the bed and half falling into it. “He’s keeping you here to make sure I listen to him.”

Kit laughed nervously. Ambrose raised his black eyes, that looked a softer brown when he cried, and frowned. “Did you tell him you don’t give a shit about me? That you were torturing me to begin with? You could probably bond over that.”

Despite himself, Ambrose laughed. He sniffed, wiping his cheeks. “He’d probably bond too much over it, and it would become a couples activity.”

“Oh,” Kit said. “Maybe not then.”

“No,” and a silence fell over them. Kit stared at Ambrose as the man tried to compose himself. He looked so… normal. So regular. Kit wouldn’t remember him if Ambrose walked by him on the street like this.

Kit swallowed. “What did he do to you?”

Ambrose let out a humourless chuckle, running his hands through his midnight hair. He shrugged, eyes red rimmed and puffy. “What he’s always done.”

Kit didn’t know how to reply to that, but he didn’t have to because Ambrose continued, “we met in college. He was… he, well, I thought at the time that his ability was magic negation because he wasn’t affected by my friend’s fire, and I couldn’t command him to do anything or read his thoughts. It was so… he was so…” Ambrose said, gesturing, reaching for the word evading him.

“Magnetic.” He settled on eventually, his voice taking on a wistful quality to it. “I didn’t know what he was thinking. I couldn’t be repulsed or bored of his thoughts because I didn’t know… and it’s like, well, it sounds ridiculous but I felt normal around him.”

Kit scoffed, resting his head back against the wall. “You’re so humble, Rosey,” Kit said, sarcasm dripping from every word. Ambrose laughed, more tears jerking down his face.

“Yeah… I kind of got addicted to him, trying to figure out what he thought of me, and what he thought of everything full stop. My friend tried to tell me I was obsessed with him, but it didn’t feel like that. He— I—”

“Loved him?” Kit supplied. Ambrose’s head hung, lifeless.

“Yes.” He said. “I loved him.” He turned his body to face Kit, putting his sock-clad feet up on the bed. His expression earnest. “But I didn’t know anything about this, Kit. I didn’t know any of it, I swear to you—”

“I believe you.”

“This was as much of a shock to me as it—” Ambrose paused, tilting his head. “You believe me?”

“Yeah,” Kit said with a shrug. “You haven’t really lied to me before. So I believe you. It’s just—” Kit could see Ambrose brace himself for the but, “you look so unlike yourself. Like you’re not even Ambrose right now, but someone else. Is he forcing you to do this?” Kit asked, gesturing to Ambrose’s clothes and hair.

Ambrose swallowed his pride and looked away. “Yes,” he replied hollowly. “He wants me to be the same lost puppy who was following him around when we were together. He wants me to be… Oskar.”

A weighted silence fell over them after the confession. Ambrose had never told Kit his name, Kit learned from Mentor what his name was, but to hear him say it with such contempt, Kit finally knew why he abandoned it. It was because of Mentor, because of Nathan, he abandoned Oskar long ago, and Ambrose replaced him.

Kit didn’t know this other side of Ambrose. The side that Nathan knew, and he didn’t want to, he realised. Ambrose seemed a bit more human like this, flawed, lost, out of control. He didn’t want to know that part of Ambrose. A sudden, sharp anger jolted in him.

“You can’t just be Oskar, you’re not him anymore. If Nathan really loved you, he’d understand that.”

“Kit—”

“No, I am not letting you do that. Not for me, Heroes sacrifice themselves for others, not villains, Ambrose. You’re a villain!”

“I can’t compel him,” Ambrose said, dejected.

“Just let me out of these and I can electrocute the bastard and finish Jude off too.”

Ambrose shook his head. “You can’t.”

“I can—”

“No, he absorbs your ability, Kit. All of your ability. Which means he absorbed your resistances too.”

Kit stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh shit.”

Ambrose sighed. “Yeah.”

“But…” Kit began, leaning forward until the cuffs pulled him taut. “You were inventive with me. You still hurt me! With my own electricity, despite the resistances I had to it. We can do that with him too!”

“We still have to deal with Jude.”

Kit’s expression darkened. “Let me deal with Jude.”

“You don’t understand,” Ambrose said, shaking his head and getting to his feet. He began pacing up and down the small room. Kit yanked against his cuffs, longing to stretch his legs too. “They can hurt you, Kit. They can— they could—”

“What do you care?” Kit asked, bewildered. “You’ve hurt me!”

“I know, but—”

“No, no, no. No buts, ands or ifs, Rosey, you hurt me. You psychologically destroyed me for months!” Kit said, blinking at Ambrose owlishly. “You expect me to believe you actually care about me now?”

Ambrose stiffened, turning on his heels and walked over to Kit, grabbing him by the wrists. His black eyes met Kit’s wide blue. “Yes. I do. And I care what happens to you. And Jude and Nathan? Nate will only hold Jude back for as long as I play this role of his puppy ex-boyfriend. Do you understand? If you weren’t here I would be gone, but he has you. And as long as he has you, he has me.”

Kit swallowed, his eyes flicking between Ambrose’s, his mouth suddenly dry. “I know him, and I am not leaving here without you. Do you understand me?”

Kit nodded stiffly. Ambrose nodded and let go of Kit’s arms, standing straight again. “I will try to get you out of here, Kit, but we have to play it smart, okay?”

Kit nodded again. Ambrose nodded again. He fixed his hair, making it more fluffy and unruly. Kit never noticed it was wavy because he just slicked it back all the time. It softened his edges. Kit didn’t like it.

“Okay. Just— don’t provoke them, okay? I’ll work something out.”

“Okay.”

Ambrose took a deep breath. “Right. Good. Stay put.”

“Dick,” Kit said. It slipped out before he could help it and he froze, but Ambrose looked over his shoulder at Kit and laughed. A warm laugh, shaking his head.

*~*~*~*~*

Very unedited but c’est la vie!!

@beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter tter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[steddie-there]

It Sure Felt Nice When He Was Holding My Hand

Steve had finally managed to escape.

His mom was holding one of her parties again, a "summer soiree" as she called it, so she'd dressed him in pressed khakis and a butter yellow button-down shirt and "Oh the cutest little blue bow tie, Steven, don't you just look darling? Now come say hi to mommy's friends."

He hated bow ties. He always felt like he was suffocating with one around his neck.

He hated his mom's parties. They made him feel like he was suffocating, too.

So the second he saw a chance to leave, he took it. One of their neighbors had walked in with her new baby and his mother made a big production of cooing over the little girl; Steve rolled his eyes - she hated babies, Steve knew, because she always told him how messy babies were and how much she'd hated cleaning the messes he made as a baby. But, not one to waste an opportunity, the moment she looked the other way, he had raced out the back door into the woods, running as fast as his little eight year old legs could go. He ripped the bow tie off and dropped it in the yard behind him as he crossed into the line of trees.

Which brought him to now. Wandering in the woods, farther than he ever had before. He could hear the burble of a creek ahead, and it drew him on like a moth to a flame. He wanted to splash around in the water and mud, splatter it all over his pristine clothes, even though he would get in trouble for it later. He would already be in trouble for running off, what was a few more minutes added to the lecture?

But at the edge of the trees, he stopped short. Someone was already there, kneeling next to a little rowboat bobbing in the water.

Steve couldn't see their face, just that they were wearing faded jeans and big boots with the laces undone and an old two-sizes too big blue flannel shirt and they had dark brown curls just grazing the edges of their shoulders. He watched for a moment as they seemed to lay something into the boat. Tilted his head, trying to see what it was.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, breaking the quiet murmur of the woods.

The person whirled around, hands coming up defensively, flowers scattering over the ground, and now Steve could see it was a boy, probably about his age. He had the biggest brown eyes Steve had ever seen. Right now, they were opened wide, startled at Steve's sudden appearance.

"Sorry!" he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

The other boy's shoulders dropped as he relaxed. "It's okay, just didn't think anyone else was out here," he told Steve, sending him a quick smile. Something about it made Steve want to smile back.

For a moment they just looked at each other.

"So, what are you doing?" Steve asked again, trying to peer around the other boy to the boat.

The boy glanced behind him, then turned back to Steve and his grin turned mischievous. "I'm having my funeral," he announced.

Steve just blinked at him. "Your... your funeral?" he asked, baffled. "But you're -"

"Dead," the boy assured him with a solemn nod.

Steve giggled and the other boy looked pleased at his reaction.

"Wanna help me pick more flowers?" he asked and Steve nodded, dropping to his knees, not caring about the grass stains he would surely now have on his pants, and gathering the little yellow blooms into his hands.

They worked in silence for awhile, until Steve asked, "So why are you having your funeral in a boat instead of being buried?" He was pretty sure most funerals involved graves and dirt, not boats and flowers.

"For the symbolism!" the boy declared, throwing his arms wide. Steve scrunched his nose, not sure what he meant by that. The boy peered at him from the corner of his eye, then whispered, "I don't really know what that means, but it sounded important."

Steve giggled again. "You're weird," he said.

Despite the fondness in his tone, those big brown eyes seemed to shutter and grow dim, the other boy shrinking into himself at Steve's words. Hastily, he assured him, "Not, like, bad weird. Good weird. Like, cool weird. Fun weird."

That earned him a wide grin and a shoulder bump.

"So how did you die?" Steve asked, leaning back on his hands and watching as the boy artfully placed both their bunches of flowers around the pillow already inside the boat.

"Carrots," the boy said seriously.

"Carrots???"

"Carrots," he nodded. "They're evil. And my wicked uncle made me eat them for lunch. So I died." He shrugged, as if dying from carrot ingestion was just a casual, every day experience.

Steve bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing again, mimicking the other boy's solemnity. "Ah, I see."

They both glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, bursting into snickers when their eyes met.

"Okay," the boy said, standing and dusting off his knees, not that it did much for the grass and mud clinging to the denim. "Hold the boat while I get in."

Steve moved to kneel on the muddy creek bank, grabbing the side of the rowboat and keeping it steady while his new friend stepped in and settled down with his head on the pillow. The boat rocked a little as he did, water splashing up onto Steve's shirt, but he ignored it, not letting go until the other boy had stopped moving. He sat back and brushed his hands off.

"Now what?" he whispered after a moment of silence.

"Now... I guess we sit and be sad?" the boy answered, sounding unsure and giggling quietly. He flung a hand up to his forehead dramatically, declaring, "Alas, poor me, we knew me well!" Then he wrapped his hands around a flower and laid them on his chest with his eyes closed.

Steve laughed at the dramatics, then pulled his knees up to his chest and, also closing his eyes, sat quietly for a while. He listened to the wind in the trees, to the birds chirping around them, to the bubble and splash of the water flowing around the boat.

Steve opened his eyes and stared down at the boy in the boat. His curls were spread over the flowers, eyes closed, hands clasped on his chest, and Steve sighed faux-mournfully. "I wish you weren't dead. You're funny."

The boy pursed his lips, considering. "I could, maybe, be brought back to life. If I got a kiss from a handsome prince." He cracked an eyelid open, peering at Steve. "That's you, by the way," he whispered loudly.

Steve giggled yet again. "Me? A handsome prince?"

The boy nodded, some of the flowers tangling in his curls as he jostled them. "The handsomest," he said, before closing his eyes again.

Steve considered him for a moment. He looked at the creek at his feet, then down at his not-so-clean-anymore clothes, then shrugged and stepped into the water to stand next to the boat, feeling it rise to about his waist. Resting his hands on the side of the boat, he leaned over, bringing his face very close to the other boy's. For a second, he just stopped there, feeling the other boy's breath hit his cheek.

Then he kissed him on the nose.

The other boy laughed aloud, a ringing, joyful sound that Steve thought might just be the best thing he'd ever heard. His eyes popped open and he stared at Steve, eyes sparkling, dimples framing his grin.

Steve grinned back. "So. Did it work? Are you alive again?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," his friend answered, "Definitely." He bit his lip and seemed to be thinking about something.

Steve waited.

"You wanna get in the boat, too?" the boy finally asked and Steve was clambering inside before he even finished his question. His movements rocked the boat from side to side and they both laughed as they held on and settled next to each other, staring up at the clouds.

Steve tried to concentrate on the cloudy pictures the boy next to him was pointing out in the sky. But he could feel a hand brushing against his own and he wondered what it would feel like to hold it. He had only ever held his mom's hand to cross the street and Carol's while they ran away from Tommy when they played tag at school. Maybe it would be different, holding a boy's hand. There was only one way to find out.

He wrapped his fingers around the other boy's.

The boy paused his detailed description of a dragon he could see in the clouds, turning his head to look at Steve. Then he smiled, a small, secret smile that felt like it was just for Steve. Steve smiled back. Tangling their fingers more tightly together, they both looked back up at the sky.

Steve wasn't sure how long they lay there, talking about the clouds and the trees and their favorite places in Hawkins, but when the sun started to set, he sighed.

"I have to go home now."

The other boy nodded. "Yeah, I should go, too. My uncle is probably worried about me."

Steve grinned at him. "Not such a wicked uncle, after all?"

The boy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Nah, he's pretty great, actually. Aside from making me eat carrots."

He said the last word so viciously that Steve couldn't help his laughter.

"He even said he'd start teaching me to play guitar tonight!"

"That's so cool!" Steve said. Decided not to say that all he'd get when he got home was a lecture.

The boy climbed out of the boat first, then turned to help Steve. For a moment, they just stood silently, smiling at each other. "Well, I'll see you around!" the boy says brightly, starting to walk down the creek, pulling the boat along with a rope.

"Yeah, see you," Steve answered, turning to his path home. He got a few steps away before he realized something and ran back to the clearing by the creek. "Hey, wait, what's your na - " he started to ask, but the boy had already disappeared into the trees. Steve sighed and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.

That night, Steve lay in bed, ears still ringing from the very loud thirty minute lecture his dad had given him when he showed up, muddy and grass stained and an hour late for dinner. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if that afternoon had maybe been a dream. But in his mind's eye, he could see the clouds drifting past and he swore he could still feel the other boy's fingers tangled with his own. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew he'd spend the rest of the summer locked indoors, his dad had promised that; knew if he even so much as glanced at the woods, he'd get another lecture. But it was all worth it, he decided, as he carefully tucked the memory of that afternoon and the boy with the big brown eyes and curly hair away into a safe corner of his mind.

In the fall, he looked for his friend at school, but only succeeded in meeting a girl a year younger than him, Nancy, when he mistook her brown curls for the ones he was looking for.

By the time middle school rolled around, that afternoon at the creek had been shoved so far to the back of his memory that he didn't even look twice at the strange new kid with the buzz cut, no matter how familiar his brown eyes looked from across the cafeteria.

And then high school and the Upside Down and new friends and new terrors and a morning at work interrupted by two of his munchkins desperate to prove a friend's innocence.

Which is how he found himself staring into the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen for the first time in over a decade.

"Carrots!" Steve all but shouted as the shock of recognition began to wear off, heedless of the sharp glass at his throat. Eddie flinched back as the others stared in confused silence.

"What?" Eddie asked, baffled.

"You died because your uncle made you eat carrots. You had a funeral in a rowboat and - "

Eddie's wide brown eyes went impossibly wider at Steve's words. He cut Steve off, lowering the bottle as a shy grin crept over his face, warring with the terror still present in his stance. "And a handsome prince brought me back to life."

"It is you!" Steve beamed. Eddie beamed back, his shoulders relaxing, and Steve felt the insane urge to kiss the tip of his nose just as he had all those years ago.

The moment was interrupted by Dustin clearing his throat. "Um... what the fuck, Steve?"

Steve and Eddie laughed. "It's a long story," Steve said. Then he sobered. "And we have more pressing problems." He looked at Eddie, saw the way he curled back in on himself. Put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to sit down. "Eddie, what's going on?"

Eddie looked up at him with a gaze so haunted Steve just wanted to pull him into his arms. Settled for soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

"You won't believe me," Eddie said brokenly.

"Try us," Max told him. Steve squeezed his shoulder, and Eddie took a deep breath and started talking.

--..--..--..--..--

Later, after bats and battle, blood and bandages, after mouth-to-mouth and "I swear to God, Munson, if you die on me I will resurrect you and kill you again myself, don't think I won't," they're in a hospital room. It's just them, the others having gone home to sleep an hour ago. But Steve can't bring himself to leave. Can't quite bring himself to tangle his fingers with Eddie's where they rest on the hospital bed, either, although he desperately wants to.

"You know, that's the second time you've kissed me back to life, Stevie. Gonna make a habit of it?" Eddie jokes.

Steve looks up at him, breath catching when their eyes meet. Despite the lighthearted tone, Eddie's gaze is serious. Warm. Those wide, wide eyes locked on Steve intently.

It makes Steve feel brave. He laughs a little. "Actually," he says, "I was kinda hoping I could kiss you sometime when you're not dead."

Eddie's eyes widen even further before he ducks his head shyly, looks up at Steve from under his lashes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve says, finally tangling their fingers together.

And there's that secret smile Eddie has, the one that seems like it's only for Steve. "I think I'd like that," he says.

"Good," Steve whispers and leans in.

--..--..--..--..--

also on ao3!

[1st-recon-lylith-blog]

Potter Wasp Megalomorpha

I lay on the floor, paralyzed. How long has it been? Days? Hours? Mere hellish minutes? It’s too dark now to tell. I hear my ragged breath in my ears. White hot pain shoots down my spine as I feel whatever is now attached to my back begin to wriggle and writhe.

–?? Months? earlier.

Grandma Maggie needed help after her fall. I was the closest family member to her, so I was the one to make the several hours’ drive to her home in rural north Georgia. The further north I go, the more hilly the roads become. This shouldn’t be an issue, but July’s hurricane season, and the rain, makes the roads slippery and difficult to climb. I should’ve just gotten a motel room when I had the chance, but by now, civilization was too far behind me to stop. I was closer to grandma Maggie than I was to the Best Value Motel I’d seen hours before.

My beater of a Toyota chugs along a steep road when lightning flashes above and thunder reverberates through my car. My foot slips off the gas pedal, causing my car to slide down the road. I pump the brakes, but it was no use as my car hydroplanes into the guardrail. My head lurches forward as my car comes to a sudden halt. The seatbelt keeps my body safe, but the sudden pressure against my sternum as it holds me in place knocks the wind out of me. 

My airbags didn’t deploy, and that perturbs me. Grabbing my umbrella from the backseat, I step out into the rain and inspect the damage. The rear right wheel sticks out at a funny angle. My car is wrecked. I sit back down in the driver’s seat and grab my phone from the glove box. There’s no signal. In vain, I try calling 911, but my phone can’t connect. I’m well and truly stranded. 

Resting my head against the steering wheel, I look out the passenger window. I sit back up as I strain to look farther. Faint light from a structure in the woods fills my hopeful eyes. I grab my umbrella to brave the rain once more. Hopefully, whoever owns this house has a landline, or at the very least, a place to sleep that isn’t the backseat of my car.

My boots squish through soft red mud as I trudge towards the house, walking for what feels like hours. My socks are soaked through. I look behind me towards my car. The house was visible from the road, so I should be able to see the road behind me even if I haven’t made it to the house. 

But when I turn around, all I see is a thick forest. “It must be the rain obscuring my vision,” I try to assure myself, in vain. I whip my head back towards the house, afraid it might disappear if I look away for too long. Thankfully, it’s still there, its warm yellow lights greeting me with cheer.

It doesn’t seem any closer and I worry the car crash knocked a screw loose in my head. I pray I’m not hallucinating as I continue my slog through the downpour. But finally the house appears to get closer as I walk towards it. Dark brown wood siding and white shutters make the house look quaint, or it would if not for the fact that the house is half buried in a hill. 

Was there a landslide? The weather is wet enough, and the area is hilly enough for it, but the house seems undamaged. The hill is red clay with no grass on it or nothing. I try not to look at it. Its strange unnatural lumps make me feel uneasy. 

Ignoring my discomfort, I approach the house. But when I knock on the door and the lights from inside the house vanish. I guess they weren’t expecting guests. Desperate to get out of the rain, I pound on the door. My clothes are soaked and I’m shivering with cold despite the muggy July air. There is no answer. I pound the door harder. Someone’s in there or they wouldn’t’ve turned the lights off when I first knocked. 

I almost think about shouting through the door and begging when the door creaks open. I expected the door to swing open with someone on the other side. Instead, it pushes open as if it had been stuck and my banging dislodged it. 

The inside of the house is dusty and disused. It’s clear no one has inhabited this house for years. I step forward, dripping water onto creaking floorboards. Mud squishes into the faded welcome mat beneath my feet. I turn my phone’s flashlight on.

“Hello?” I call out. Silence greets me back. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as a feeling of wrongness overcomes me. I shouldn’t be here, but as if in a trance, I walk deeper into the house. As my ears adjust from the loud rain to the silent house, I realize it’s not silent. Faint dripping noises from a roof leak above me and a strange gurgling noise ahead of me fill the space. I keep walking forward. 

In the living room I walk past moth-eaten couches and a dusty overturned bookshelf. Mildewed books strewn across the floor, filling the house with the heady scent of rotting paper. I keep walking forward. I approach the kitchen, unable to see much of it beyond a toppled fridge from my angle of approach. The gurgling sound grows louder. 

“Is anyone there?” I whisper, fearful that someone might answer. When I reach the kitchen, I look for where the gurgling sound might be coming from. Did the landslide damage the house after all? Is muddy water bubbling through the siding? I step around the fallen fridge. I aim my camera light ahead of me and see strange lumpy masses on the floor. The light is too weak for me to see more than the vague shape of things, but the lumps don’t look like kitchen furniture. 

I look closer and my heart and breathing stop. The lumps are people, but their bodies are wrong. Twisted and bumpy. Strange long pods seem to grow from their backs. Are those mushrooms? What is growing out of them? The growths seem too organized to be natural, going straight down their twisted spines. With horror I realize these… people are the sources of the gurgling sound. Their eyes are rolled back and they do not seem aware of my presence. Their chests rise and fall, showing they are still barely alive somehow.

I take a step back, but my foot catches onto the fridge behind me and I fall. Above me, I hear a menacing buzz. I look up and the fear washes out of me. Everything is okay. Everything is beautiful. 

Warmth embraces me, and pleasure tingles down my spine. When did I end up on the floor? Not that it matters. At some point my camera’s light dies, but that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is this beautiful, pleasurable warmth. I try to smile, but I can’t feel my face.

FANNIN COUNTY, Ga. — Detectives in Fannin County are hosting an event in hopes of getting closer to identifying the remains of 7 people found in an abandoned house that was destroyed in a landslide, according to a release from the district attorney and medical examiner’s office.

People are invited to the Fannin County Public Library on West Main Street to attend a missing persons event and DNA drive. It’s free to the public and being held on May 20 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Families of missing persons are asked to come together at the event to share any information about their loved ones, as well as to open or add to any missing persons’ reports. Officials encourage attendees to consider donating DNA samples, which can assist with identification efforts.

Criticisms of the Fannin County Police Department are mounting as the FCPD deny allegations of covering up a serial killer.