#do we tag this one besties?

[separatist-apologist]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a man who is used to feeling nothing.

All that is about to change.

For day 5 of romance week (but maybe we're not gonna tag this one): Feelings Realization

Read on AO3

CW: He is a murderer, I can NOT be more upfront about that.

The first time Eris Vanserra saw Arina Novak was with a broken nose. 

A bruised eye.

Ripped leggings.

Mascara ran down her cheeks, dried from tears long since shed. He didn’t know her name then—he’d been on his way home from a run when she appeared beneath an orange street lamp. The very first thing he noticed was her legs—long and toned. 

The next was her hair, tangled and blonde against the warm brown of her skin. She turned her head, green eyes nervous like a gazelle, as if she expected to be followed. Not by him, though she wasn’t wrong. Eris didn’t have his mask or his gloves with him, which meant he had to take more care not to be seen. 

But he did change course to see where this woman was going. He wanted to know who had beaten her which was a new feeling for Eris. He didn’t care about other people and never had. There had always been something broken in him—while his brothers felt deeply, fell in love and made friends, Eris had never felt anything at all. 

He had to seek it out, had to create a circumstance that might make him feel fear, feel excitement, feel passion. It was always fleeting, always faded. It was artificial but this? This was organic. There was something about the blood on her face or the shape of her body that kept Eris’s feet moving. 

His heart raced as they made their way into a denser part of the city—nicer, safer. Not for her, this pretty little mouse. He merely blended in far easier. She turned at a cross walk as if she realized he’d been behind her for blocks, though those jade eyes slid right over him.

Eris looked liked he belonged. Haughty, handsome, and dressed well even in his work out clothes, he was merely more of the same type of man she likely saw at her local coffee shop every morning. 

No one looked at her, and for some reason, that made Eris angry. Did no one see the violence on her? Or did it merely not register? He followed behind her through the busy intersection, unable to get the sight of that bloodied nose from his mind. He wanted to touch it. Wanted to set it for her and put a knife in her hand.

Eris wanted to show her exactly where to press to inflict the most amount of pain without killing someone. Wanted to show her how to exact her revenge, to take whatever it was she wanted so the next time someone put their hands on her, she could remove every finger from their body and shove it in their throat.

The thought excited him. Eris shook his head, drinking in the last dregs of the summer air. Autumn would be upon them soon. High rises gave way to one of the trendier neighbors filled with brownstones and cupcake shops, all of which were lined with breezy cherry blossom trees and patches of meticulously maintained grass. He had no reason to be here, though she did. She made her way up the three steps of one of those old, expensive homes toward a door painted a pretty hunter green. Eris hung back in the shadows, unseen when she looked over her shoulder and dug for keys. 

He memorized the street and the number before creeping closer. This woman, whoever she was, kept all her windows open. Foolish for her, lucky for him. Creeping around the side, wholly unseen by anyone on the street or the neighbors on the other side of her, Eris made his way to the back where he found her stripping off her clothes angrily.

She was crying.

Rage was an emotion he was more familiar with, though it was, like all the others, usually a flicker and little more. Fascinated, Eris crept closer to the window where the now naked woman stood. Inside, he could see a large bed, unmade from when she’d woken up that morning. Rosy sheets and a white duvet with patterned pink and blue flowers lay haphazardly, half draped against the floor. Her pillows were rumpled and on the floor was a week's worth of worn clothes. 

To the immaculate Eris, it was offensive to see how casual and messy she was. He itched to crawl inside her window and pick it all up and, again, put a knife in her hands. One thing at a time, he decided before turning back to the bare expanse of her body. She was stunning, all lush curves and lean muscle. The tangled blonde waves of her hair fell halfway down her back, the blood stained ends teasing over her spine. 

She turned, letting him see perky breasts and a strip of hair teasing her pussy. Eris wanted her—it was a revelation. He wanted to touch her, not because he needed release and, objectively, she was beautiful. There was some draw to her, as if he’d been waiting his entire life specifically for her.

She wiped her face, turning helplessly in a half circle. Her window was cracked and he could hear the stifled scream as she pressed her palm to her mouth. 

She’d looked at herself in the mirror and realized she needed to go to the hospital. That was lucky—for him. 

Don’t shower, sunshine. 

Eris pulled out his phone and shot a quick text into the emergency room—he was only on call one day a month these days, though they were always desperate for help. He’d come in to see her, though. And as she pulled on a clean pair of jeans and tied her hair up in a bun, Eris was already slipping off.

Waiting.

ARINA:

Arina sat in the exam room with shaking hands. She never knew if she was supposed to lay on the bed or sit in the nearby chair. Insead, she sat in that hard, plastic chair and listened to the sounds of the emergency room around her. Children wailed and someone in another room was shouting indiscernible nonsense. 

She wanted to go back home. Wanted to crawl up in bed and sleep until her face didn’t ache, until her heart wasn’t so bruised. Three dates. That’s what she’d given Jack and tonight, she’d intended to sleep with him. Had shaved every inch of her body, had scrubbed her skin and made her hair and face look nice.

And he’d decided to try and take it anyway. He and his roommates he’d let hold her down while Arina screamed and kicked and thrashed. She’d escaped thanks to a neighbor who’d heard the commotion and began banging on the front door, but not before Jack had fucked up her face, her ribs, her peace of mind. 

The nurses had looked at her with nothing but sympathetic pity when she walked in, like they knew exactly what she’d been through without needing her whispered confession. She just wanted someone to set her nose, to tell her if her ribs were broken, and maybe send her home with some extra strength tylenol.

The green curtain separating her room from the rest of the hall pulled open and a man stepped in. She wished it had been a woman, and certainly not a young man—he couldn’t have been older than early thirties, and was handsome. 

Beautiful.

“I’m Doctor Vanserra,” he said, offering her a half-smile. 

Amber eyes fixed on her for a moment, troubled by whatever he saw. He didn’t look like any of the people she’d seen so far, though he had a white coat over his navy button-up tucked into his charcoal slacks. His short, auburn hair was pushed casually off his elegant face, neatly styled. She might have appreciated who well groomed he was if she hadn’t wanted to never see another man ever again.

He held a clipboard in one his large, broad hands. She hated that she was noticing that about him—lean, tall, well muscled and when he came fully into the room, brought a crisp, spicy scent with him. 

“Arina Novak?” he asked, brows pulled together. “Mind telling me your date of  birth?”

She rattled it off numbly as he patted the paper covered bed she’d avoided. She wanted to ask him for another doctor, but when their eyes met, some of her fear settled and she couldn’t explain why. 

She hopped up and he took the swiveling stool in front of a computer, though he was looking wholly at her.

“Says you came in for a broken nose and possibly fractured ribs. Want to tell me what happened?”

She swallowed. “I, uh…”

A tear slipped down her cheek, wiped quickly on the back of her hand. “Bad date,” she finally managed. She couldn’t look at him, and so instead chose to look at her wrists, purpling from the force with which she’d been held down. 

“We have nurses who are trained to—”

“It—” she cut him off quickly, wiping the corner of her eye on her sleeve. “I um—what I mean is—they…I got away before…”

“Okay,” he said, his voice rough. “I understand what you’re saying. You don’t need to tell me what happened unless you want to. I’m going to touch your face.”

She looked up at him, blurry from the tears she was trying so hard not to shed. Not in front of this man, not over fucking Jack. 

“I said no,” she told the doctor, because it felt important. It hadn’t mattered, but still she’d said it. 

His fingers were gentle as they reached for the bridge of her nose. Pain lanced through her despite how careful he was, and with a soft crunch, Arina could breathe again. Her eyes watered, tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks, and yet it was done. 

“Can I wipe your face?” he asked. 

Arina appreciated how careful he was being—how he told her everything that was happening. “Yes,” she whispered. 

Doctor Vanserra, wiped the blood and mascara, and salt from her skin before bandaging the bridge of her nose. 

“You’ll be swollen for a couple days, but still just as pretty,” he said with what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. There was a tightness to his eyes that betrayed him. “Lift up your shirt for me.”

Arina’s fingers shook, and yet she did as he asked. Vanserra’s fingers were gentle, probing her bruised flesh against her ribs and her spine, looking for damage. He listened to her lungs and heart before pulling away. She noted his hand, flexed at his side and wondered what he would have done if he’d been jumped by three men.

“I’m going to send you for an x-ray before I let you leave,” he told her, turning toward his computer. His fingers flew across the keys, his mouth pulled in an unforgiving frown. He’d pulled out a laminated badge that told Arina his first name.

Eris Vanserra. 

He didn’t smile in his picture. 

Arina took a breath, ignoring the way it burned, as her phone chimed. She fished it out of her pocket, hoping it was Elain who was out of town with her boyfriend. Arina wanted to crash at Elain’s place for a couple days while she got herself together. She was afraid Jack might figure out where she lived and come back for her.

It was Jack.

Can we talk about tonight? 

Eris was standing over her, eyes on the phone cupped in her hands. 

“Hang tight, alright?” he told her, dragging his gaze back up to her face. “I’ll get you out of here in no time.”

He started to turn and Arina, unable to say why she did it, reached for his wrist. He turned, fingers brushing her own.

“Thank you,” she murmured, wanting to throw herself into the doctor and sob. 

Thank you for taking care of me.

It was his job, and the bar was in hell if a man just doing the requirements of his profession. He took a breath.

“Tell me their names.”

Arina blinked. She didn’t even know the roommates, let alone why he wanted to know. Unless he wanted to tell the police, which Arina was certain would only fall back on her. She dropped his hand like he’d burned her, settling them in her lap.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice dark and dripping with heat. He vanished behind the curtain. Arina curled her knees into her chest even though it made it harder to breathe, thinking she’d be alone for a while.

Eris returned a moment later with a blanket draped over his arm. He said nothing as he wrapped it around her shoulders. She was surprised to find it was heated.

“These things can take some time,” he murmured. “You should try and rest while you wait.”

“Doctors orders?” she asked, surprised she’d managed to make some semblance of a joke.

He rewarded her with a heart-stopping smile. “Exactly.”

Eris left again, though she half wished he wouldn’t. It was selfish and absurd—she wasn’t in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and Eris Vanserra had other people to see. Arina opened her phone again and sent Elain another text.

Silver lining? The doctor is hot.

Elain finally responded. 

I just saw your message. Are you okay? What happened?? You can crash at my place but my little sister is there too, so you might have to share space. 

That sounded like a nightmare. Arina settled on the bed, careful not to put too much weight on her ribs, and began texting Elain back. She was light on the details because she knew her best friend. Elain would absolutely blow up her romantic weekend with this boyfriend Arina knew very little about. 

Lucien. 

She assured her friend she was fine, that it was just a little scrape and a misunderstanding. She could explain it all later, when Elain was home and not focused on her own life, her own fun. Though, Arina wished Elain was there with her. That she wasn’t so alone.

She dozed, waking to a warm hand on her cheek and the amber eyes of Eris Vanserra peering down at her.

“We’re in,” he said casually, stuffing his hand in his pocket. “Only took me three hours, but we managed it. Come on, I’ll wheel you down and a nurse will bring you back.”

He helped her to the ground and to the wheelchair waiting at the edge of the small, sanitized room. Arina groaned when she sat, exhausted and aching in the aftermath of her night. Eris merely waited patiently before releasing the breaks. 

Touching her pocket, Arina twisted as Eris led her into a quiet triage hall. “I forgot my phone.”

“It’ll be waiting when you get back,” he said in a tone that told her he did not care about her phone at all. 

“What time is it?” 

“Two in the morning,” he offered without any cheer. She’d come in around eleven thirty.

“You weren’t lying about waiting,” she said as Eris used his badge to open a set of swinging double doors. 

“We had to wait a little, but it’ll be worth it,” he promised. “I don’t want to send you home suffering.”

God, she liked him. That thought slid through her unbidden and in an effort to keep herself from doing something embarrassing, Arina shut her mouth while Eris wheeled her through the hospital. 

“What do you do for a living?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. It was almost banter.

“I teach high school English,” she said with a faint smile. “And on the weekend, I teach ballet to toddlers.”

“Oh?”

“I’d do it full-time if it paid better,” she said, unsure why she was telling him this at all. Maybe it was the absence of Elain and her desperate need for connection. For proof the world was still good and there wasn’t anything fundamentally broken in her. 

“You like…kids?”

“You don’t?” 

“There’s a reason I work with adults,” he finally told her, turning a corner carefully. There was not around, just them, and for some reason it made their conversation feel heavier. “I don’t understand children very well.”

“At least you know that about yourself,” she said, hands still twisting in her lap. Why were they talking about children? “I don’t know if I ever want any of my own, but I like being around them.

They see such goodness in the world and I…” a lump was building in her throat. She didn’t want to cry in front of the hot doctor again.

“Makes sense,” he murmured. 

There was no more chat—about children or otherwise—as he took her into the dark room where her ribs and spine would be pictures. Eris helped her up before leaving, promising he’d see her just as soon as he had the results. 

And maybe it was wrong.

But she wanted to see him again.

ERIS:

“Long night for you, Vanserra,” came the flirty voice of a nurse whose name he didn’t remember—didn’t care about. He glanced up from his spot in front of the computer, borrowed in a cubicle that wasn’t really his. He was typing up his notes on Arina because that was a requirement to ensure her insurance covered her visit, though he needed to remember this shit, too. 

He intended to direct her straight to his office in the aftermath so he could do the follow-up. 

The nurse was objectively pretty, but Eris didn’t shit where he ate, and he certainly didn’t fuck people he worked with. His eyes flickered up, well aware he did not look pleasant. Her smile faded.

“Uh…Doctor Moreno said he’d take over if you wanted to head out.”

“I’ll finish this case,” he said crisply. 

“Tragic, huh,” she said sympathetically. Eris’s fingers ached and still he kept typing. He wasn’t going to gossip about Arina. “Was she raped?”

Eris looked back up at her. “Do you need something?”

Her cheeks flushed. 

Get the fuck out of here.

Eris didn’t hurt women or children. Never had, never would. He didn’t consider himself honorable because he didn’t—he merely had no appetite to harm creatures who held less power than him the way children did, and killing women felt too much like a cliche. His cock worked just fine, thank you very much. Eris was too busy killing men like his father. 

Cruel for cruelty's sake. Powerful and largely untouchable. After all, how often had his mother had that same bruised eye, that cut lip, those fractured ribs? How often had she packed him and his brother up for a shelter and called the police, filed a restraining order.

And how often was she dragged back home by the cops, denied that order of protection by judges, and threatened with him and his brother if she didn’t comply? Those sorts of men thought they were untouchable.

Eris very much liked cutting them apart piece by piece before disposing of them somewhere inconvenient. Somewhere embarrassing. 

And while his mother was so proud of her eldest son for becoming a doctor, Eris had done it out of practicality. He couldn’t get caught because he didn’t know how to sever an artery, for Christ’s sake. He was a good doctor. A great doctor, even. His patients liked him, his staff respected him.

But he was a better killer. The police didn’t even realize they had a killer. 

He drummed his fingers on the gray laminate of the desk before submitting his note and turning to the phone in his pocket. He’d swiped it from her before he’d woken her up. Eris didn’t know what was wrong with him, but when it came to her, he felt strangely tight—possessive. 

He opened it and, without an ounce of remorse, began downloading an app that would send him every text she sent, every call she made, and most importantly, her location. 

He couldn’t help himself as he pilfered through her texts. 

Silver lining? The doctor is hot. 

That made him smile. It excited him. He couldn’t read her at all, had no idea what she was thinking. And that wasn’t too unusual—he’d never been terribly good at that, though he’d also never cared what anyone else was thinking or feeling. All her stuttering stops, her fidgeting hands and inability to look him in the eye made sense. 

He’d work on that later, both in and out of the mask. Eris was going to fuck her hard, and raw, and stupid, and afterwards he was going to lock her up in his apartment where no one could touch her ever again.

But before all that, Eris needed names and to get that, all he needed was her phone. Setting his vanity aside, Eris found the name he was looking for. 

It was, perhaps, the most common name in the city. Jack Anderson.

Still, that name came with a dating profile picture of a generic man with brown hair—was that her type—and a phone number. Eris could work with that. He saved that for later, for when he was well-rested and clear. 

Eris found it odd, when he was giving those pictures of her bones, how relieved he felt. He’d been fairly certain it was just bruising, but seeing the swelling without the tell-tale fractures filled Eris with pulse-rattling relief. More emotions he was unaccustomed to, that she pulled from him simply by breathing.

He wrote her a script for the pain he knew she felt and then made his way back to her. Arina was curled up on her side, her blonde hair spilling over her beautiful face. He understood wanting her. Eris had never wanted anything in his life until he’d seen her earlier that evening.

He wanted her now. Wanted her enough that he brushed those strands of hair back, furious all over again. 

“Arina?”

She woke with a start, frightened at first before she realized where she was and who she was looking at. It was almost uncomfortable to realize she didn’t fear him. Why should she? He was nothing more than her physician and he’d done a good job.

“I’ve your x-rays,” he said, holding up his envelope. 

“Good news or bad news?” she asked, wincing as she tried to sit.

“Good,” he assured her. “Your ribs are just bruised. Nothing is broken. A nurse is working on your discharge paperwork—I’ve written you something for the pain and I’d like you to follow up with me in a week just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“I have a doctor,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning. She’d come, Eris knew it. It was what made him shrug his shoulders casually.

“Follow up with your personal physician, if you prefer. I can have everything sent over.”

Over his dead body. 

“I can follow up with you,” she murmured, shaking out her hands. Eris only then remembered he still had her phone. He pulled it from his coat pocket. 

“Nurse found this,” he added, his face betraying nothing. She offered him an exhausted smile and he wondered if she’d find it inappropriate if he offered to drive her home. “Do you need your parking validated?”

She hesitated. “I walked.”

Of fucking course she did. He intended to teach her there were predators roaming the streets—like himself, though she was safe from him. No one else could boast that, but Arina could. 

“I’m leaving after I wrap up. Let me drive you home.”

Those cheeks flushed again. “Yeah, uh…if you don’t mind, I think I’d feel safer.”

He offered her a nod before heading out to get his things. Eris cracked his neck as he walked, thinking it was absurd she felt safer around him. That she should have felt horrified, given the things he intended to do in order to have her. The way he’d lie, cheat, and utterly manipulate her until she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. 

And still, it pleased him greatly that she trusted him all the same.

Foolish, and still, Eris was a man reborn when he returned for Arina, tucked tight in another wheelchair. Eris rather enjoyed pushing her around—taking care of her, he realized as they walked. Arina was too tired for polite conversation and the bruises on her pretty, golden skin were far more pronounced. 

“On your feet,” he murmured when they reached the garage. He hadn’t parked close enough—and thought carrying her was a little too much for one day. Eris, too, needed some distance to get his shit together. 

Still, Arina took his hand and Eris just…didn’t let go. He kept it in his hand as he led her to his car, dropping it only when he pulled open her door. He didn’t think she noticed at all. Arina pressed her head against the glass, which would leave a smudge—something that ordinarily would have bothered him. 

“Tell me your address,” he murmured, only because he wasn’t supposed to know. Arina whispered it, the only words she said until he pulled up, back at her door. Eris was panicking at the thought of sending her alone inside, and had no excuse to go in with her.

“Make sure you eat something,” he urged, reaching for her thigh. Arina looked over at him and he thought she looked sad. 

Vulnerable. 

“Water, too,” he said before digging in his back pocket for his car. “Call me if you need something, okay?”

He knew she wouldn’t. Still, she took the car and said, “Thank you. For everything, I mean. This was…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he replied.”

He wasn’t done with her.

ARINA: 

She must have slept the whole day. Arina woke confused–it was night again. Her phone was dead, and her head throbbed. She sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes before looking around her bedroom. Something was…off. Arina couldn’t place what, exactly, was out of place, only that it looked different than before. 

Maybe that was just the aftermath of her night talking. She reached for a glass of water on the nightstand—one she didn’t remember pouring—and gulped until it was empty before she slid the charging cable into her phone.

What did she remember?

She remembered Jack, and his friends. The punishing throb in her face wouldn’t let her forget what he’d tried to do to her, how he’d planned it with his friends.

How stupid she’d been. Arina shook her head. She didn’t have it in her to cry again. Instead, she stood and made her way to the bathroom, trying to think of anything else.

Like Eris Vanserra, the doctor who had driven her home. Who’d given her his card with those burning eyes—who looked so angry on her behalf. The doctor was proof the world wasn’t so bad, that she’d get over this. And when she saw him again, Arina hoped she was less bruised, less sad. 

More charming. 

Though, maybe it was fucked up to want the first man who’d been nice to her in the wake of trauma. Arina shook that thought from her mind and stepped into the shower. Her sleep schedule was going to be wrecked for the next week if she couldn’t make herself sleep through the night. 

Feeling slightly more human in the wake of floral scented soap and scalding water, Arina wrapped a towel around her body and padded back into her bedroom. 

She slid on a pair of plaid sleep shorts and a tank top before wringing out her hair and reaching for her phone. A cheerful message from Elain and two from Jack populated a lock screen she’d never seen before.

Before it had been a picture of her and Elain grinning. Arina was sure she hadn’t changed it—and certainly not to the ghost mask from Scream. She stared for a minute, trying to make sense of this new image which she was sure hadn’t been there when she’d gotten out of Eris’s car. She remembered looking at the time.

She would have seen it. 

It was angled like a selfie…like someone had taken it with her phone and then set it as her background. Arina opened her phone, going to pictures first where, sure enough, the image sat among her usual memes and selfies as though it belonged. 

Arina exhaled.

Her phone chimed. 

Come to the kitchen

Arina’s heart pounded. The number was saved to her phone with that same picture of the mask—named Ghost. Self-aware.

Still terrifying. 

Arina should have called 911. She knew she was every stupid protagonist in a horror movie, the opposite of a final girl as she stepped out of her bedroom with nothing but her phone in her hand. Whoever this person was had been in her house, was still there. 

It only occurred to Arina that it was very possible that this Jack or one of his friends, come to seek their vengeance when she reached the end of the hall. It was too late—whoever was behind that mask was standing in her kitchen holding a large, curved knife.

Arina dropped her phone to the floor. 

It was a man, dressed in well tailored, black slacks and a matching black shirt with a vest over his chest. His large hands were clad in gloves and his face hidden behind that white ghost mask. Muscular, tall, built well enough he could easily over power her.

Arina couldn’t breathe as he cocked her head.

She was going to die. 

He crooked a finger, beckoning her forward. On her kitchen table, he’d spread three pictures.

“Put down the knife,” she whispered, stunned when he not only set it to the table, but it slid it across the wood in her direction. She was certain his eyes were on her as she lunged for it, gripping the cool, steel hilt in her hand. 

A dark chuckle filled the room, as if she’d done exactly what he wanted. 

“A gift, little mouse,” he murmured before crooking that finger again. Nostrils flaring in an attempt to suck down more oxygen, Arina crept closer despite every instinct that demanded she run.

Dragging her eyes from the mask, Arina looked at the trio of pictures on her table. Her stomach lurched—it was Jack and his roommates, headshots taken from their linked in, if she had to guess. Gloved fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face to the man who was far too close.

Dangerous!

He ran that leather thumb over her bruised eye socket.

“Which. One?” came that dark, cold voice. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked him. He merely ran his finger over the ache before nodding his face at the pictures. He’d brought her a massive knife—he’d broken into her apartment.

“Who are you?”

There was a beat of silence. “Your salvation,” he finally said. She tried to pick out that voice, sure she must have met him somewhere, must recognize it deep in the caverns of her mind.

He was modulating it, she realized. It was too deep, slightly mechanical. 

“Which one, little mouse?” he all but whispered. 

Arina turned back to her pictures before pointing at the sandy blonde grinning cheerfully. He’d hit her with the back of his hand, taking her by surprise. 

“What are you going to do?”

His fingers left her face, trailing down the side of her neck to grip her throat ever so slightly. “You know what I’m going to do,” he said, head cocked again. 

Arina swallowed. “Don’t—just let it go.”

Another dark chuckle. “I can’t do that.”

“This is…this is—”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “You belong to me,” he said, his voice low and rough. Arina was going to be sick. She was shaking so hard she wasn’t sure how she stood before this man, who’d so casually declared he felt he had some sort of ownership on her.

“I’ll call the police.”

He laughed again. “You won’t. If you want to stop me, take my gift and plunge it in my heart.”

She looked at the knife in her hands before looking back up at him. He took the opportunity to run the hand holding her throat back up her face, pushing his thumb between her lips. The weight of him settled rough against her tongue, not gagging her but close. 

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Arina pulled back only to have that same hand fisting in her hair. “How badly did he scare you?” She closed her eyes, trying so hard not to remember. 

Think of the doctor—think of how nice he was, how he cared—

“Tell. Me.”

“He put his knee on my throat,” she said, because he had—it was how she’d managed to twist away. His most sensitive parts had been within grabbing range. She’d reached and twisted until he fell backward and then rushed up while Jack’s pants were around his waist. His friend ripped her by the hair and Arina had begun screaming, which drew the neighbor, even if she’d earned that brutal kick to the ribs.

Ghost loosened his hold on her hair. “I’ll bring you his head.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered, setting the knife on the table between them. “Whatever you think you need to avenge I…”

“You’re scared.”

It wasn’t a question, but an observation. As if he didn’t understand her emotions, couldn’t figure out why she’d wrapped her arms around her body to keep herself from falling apart. 

Fingers grazed her bruises. “They would not have been so forgiving of you.”

“I got out.”

“But you’re still scared.”

Arina felt like she was talking to an alien. She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Yes—because you broke into my house. And my phone.”

“So I could give you this,” he said, gesturing at the knife. “And so I could talk to you.”

As if it were utterly reasonable to just walk into her locked home in the first place. When Arina just stared him down, forcing him to hear himself admit that yes, he’d broken into her place so he could talk to her, he tried again. “You’re alone—unprotected. And you’re scared.”

He kept repeating it, waiting for her to acknowledge it specifically.

“Yes,” she finally agreed. “I’m scared.”

There was a pause before he snatched up those pictures. “I’m not.”

“Wait!” she called, grabbing his bicep as he turned for the door. He looked over those broad shoulders, leaner than she’d first thought, but still well-muscled. 

Powerful.

“The police will think—”

“They’ll think what I want them to think, little mouse,” he replied. Arina dropped him even as the scent of him slammed into her senses. Achingly familiar. Crisp and spicy. She’d smelled that cologne before, though she couldn’t place where.

“I’m not your little mouse,” she told him, resentful of the nickname.

The mask hid his face, but Arina swore she heard him smile. “No, I think not. You’re more like sunshine, aren’t you?”

“I’m not asking you to do this. I’m not going to thank you if you do.”

“Sure you will,” he disagreed. “When this is all over, I think you’ll be standing right beside me. Knife in hand. Dripping in blood.”

“Sounds like a nice little fantasy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Arina was terrified of this man, of what he was telling her, because some small part of her wanted it to be true. She wanted to know who he was. 

That dark chuckle made her shiver. “My fantasies of you are a different sort. You’ll find out soon enough. After I’ve earned it.” And as he slipped back out into the waiting night, Arina wasn’t sure she wanted to know what rituals he imagined he needed to complete in order to have her. 

ERIS:

Eris needed a drink. 

He needed a gallon of liquor, to be precise, though he’d settle for caffeine. His night had been a mess—two since he’d stood in Arina’s living room and watched her shake before him, unable to figure out what it was about him that frightened her so much. 

One since he’d tracked down Dylan Grady and slowly suffocated him. Arina had said he’d put his knee on her neck and Eris had been all too happy to replicate that experience, edging Dylan for hours, holding him between life and death before he finally ended it. 

Disposing of him hadn’t been terribly hard given Eris had done it in Dylan’s very bedroom. The other two were out doing God knew what, and Eris would have paid good money for the other two losers to step inside and realize death was waiting for them.

Assuming they even realized what was waiting for them. Eris rolled his shoulders, thinking he only had to work half a day before he could go home and sleep. Arina would be at her school, which meant there was no chance of running into her before the evening. He was tempted to walk straight to her place and sleep in her sheets.

He refrained. He was too tired, which meant she might catch him before he’d built the same obsession with her that he felt. She’d tell someone, and Eris go to jail because he’d finally caught feelings and became careless and stupid.

He kept waiting for his interest in her to fade. He waited as he saw his usual patients and as he wrote up his paperwork. He waited on the drive home and again when he made it home where he showed, jerked himself off to the thought of her, and fell face first into satin pillows so he could dream about her. 

He woke to the sound of pounding on his door. Eris sighed, throwing on a pair of black sweatpants before padding to the door.

Lucien was on the other end, tanner than Eris remembered. Lucien looked like a fucking hippie with his hair half braided off his face and the golden brown skin of his face lightly burned from his time in the sun.

“Yes?”

“You busy tonight?”

Eris had fully intended to go see Arina. He didn’t respond, though it didn’t matter. What Eris lacked in being friendly, Lucien made up for it in spades. It had always been that way between them, and Eris supposed, begrudgingly, he did have some affection for Lucien. Love, even—if someone had hurt his little brother, he would have wiped them off the map.

Lucien pushed into the house, too casual in his khaki shorts and that salmon-colored shirt. “Elain wants to know if you’ll double with one of her friends tonight.”

“No.” The idea was abhorrent.

“It’s not like that. She’s had a rough couple day and she’s scared to be home by herself,” Lucien cajoled as Eris made his way into the open kitchen for a drink.

“The last time you tried this, I couldn’t shake her for a month,” Eris reminded Lucien with irritation.

“She’s not going to want you. I swear. It’s…it’s just so she’s not a third wheel.”

“Why don’t you stay home?” Eris suggested, pouring himself a glass of water. “Let them go out without you.”

“Eris,” Lucien said, bracing his hands against the marble countertop. “All you do is work.”

“I like working.”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling like he always did when he was trying not to wrap his hands around Eris’s neck and squeeze. Eris knew he was going to give in, even if it meant putting off seeing Arina another night.

“Fine, I’ll go. What’s she scared of?”

“She went on a real bad date. Don’t look too hard at her face, alright?”

Eris’s heart sped up. “What’s her name?”

“Arina. She’s very nice,” Lucien added, as if Eris needed to be reminded. Eris felt stupid—he’d seen her lockscreen, had read the messages between Elain and Arina. He’d been too distracted by his rage over what had happened to her and his own planning to realize Arina’s Elain and Lucien’s Elain were the same. 

“Let me get dressed.”

Lucien rewarded Eris with a smile that wasn’t entirely deserved. Still, Eris relished this chance to run into Arina outside of her apartment or the emergency room. A chance to be the hot doctor in real life—where he could be charming and witty when he wanted to be. 

Eris dressed himself as casually as he could, picking a marigold shirt he rolled the sleeves to the elbows of, and tucked into navy pants. He was careful with his hair before spritzing cologne to his neck and following Lucien out. They were going to his brother's place, conveniently located three floors down, which Eris appreciated. He’d been Lucien’s reference with the co-op board, afterall. Everyone liked Dr. Vanserra.

Even when they shouldn’t. 

Still, visiting his younger brother made their mother happy and Eris cared if his mother was happy. He cared, he supposed, if Lucien was, too. And he was happy Lucien had Elain, who Eris could admit wasn’t awful. Was cheerful and funny and someone he might also care if she was harmed.

Eris was uncomfortable by the time he stepped out of the elevator and into the sanitized hall that smelled faintly like vanilla. Elain was baking and the scent carried. Lucien’s shoulders straightened as he reached for the door, allowing them both in.

And there she was. Glee burned in his chest at the sight of her. She was wearing yellow, too which only convinced Eris on some level, she was thinking about him, too. He’d certainly been envisioning her gold hair when he’d dressed, which now cascaded in glossy waves down her bare back. Her sundress was dotted with little white daisies, capped sleeved and just low cut enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath. Her long legs—the legs he’d first seen out on the street—gleamed bronze in the waning sunlight filtering into Lucien’s living room.

But it was her face that Eris couldn’t drag his eyes away from. She’d worked some kind of magic with the bruise, hiding the worst of her attack from Elain and Lucien. Eris could see her as she ought to be—glowing, beautiful, bright. Only her lip was still cut, still a little swollen beneath whatever shade of pink gloss she’d coated them in. 

Arina was studying him, too. Lucien and Elain were speaking, but Eris didn’t hear them. He wanted to hold her face so he could see how she was healing—wanted to ask her if she was still scared. 

If she’d seen the video he’d sent her that morning. 

“...my brother,” Lucien finished with a smile, pulling Eris back to reality. 

“Hello,” Eris said. He wasn’t about to break HIPPA or embarrass her by telling his brother that he’d been the doctor she’d see the night of her attack. 

Arina’s eyes were wide. “Eris,” she said, rising from the chair she’d been sitting in. Eris could have died at the sight of her, was breathing hard, and fuck what was he supposed to do with his hands— “We’ve met.”

“Oh, good!” Elain said, clearly apprehensive. She remembered how he’d treated her last friend, then. “It went…well?”

“Very well,” Arina agreed, offering him a smile of straight, white teeth. Did she know she had him on his knees? That he would have done anything for her? Eris merely inclined his head. He wasn’t in a mask and couldn’t just tell her what he wanted. 

Both Lucien and Elain exhaled a breath. Lucien was eyeing Eris, a silent question hanging between them.

What happened between you two?

Eris offered Lucien nothing that might betray him.

Mind your own business. 

Elain handed Eris a beer and he went to a black two-seater and plopped himself among the cushions. Arina hesitated for a moment, looking at the chair she’d been perched in.

“I don’t bite,” he lied. He very much did, and intended to just as soon as he had her beneath him. She might like it, then. 

She might bite him back, even.

Eris had to cross his leg in order to keep anyone from seeing what his line of thought was doing to his cock. 

Arina sat beside him, stiffening for a moment before relaxing into the softness. There was still an ocean of distance between them, too far for him to even press his thigh to her own. It was better than nothing, though. Here, he could drink in the scent of her, warm like vanilla and salted lime. He could see the thrum of her pulse in her throat, the flush on her cheeks. 

Across the room, Elain and Lucien exchange a covert look, though said nothing. Elain wanted to play a board game and Eris wanted to be within touching distance of Arina. She wrapped her own bottle around her lips and Eris was momentarily wrecked, so unfocused he wasn’t sure he was even breathing. 

Lucien pulled out Cards Against Humanity and a bottle of tequila. Eris wondered if he could get Arina up the elevator and into his bed before the night ended. Not for sex—though he wanted that, too. 

He wanted Arina not to be afraid. Not of him.

Not of anything. 

The game quickly devolved, and Eris was happy to be there so long as Arina loosened up. The more time passed, she seemed to relax, the once tense muscles in her body loosening with each passing laugh. And Arina did laugh. Her laugh was like nothing he’d ever heard, settling in his chest like his very heart. Eris knew he was well out of his depth and suspected Elain was aware, given how she kept looking at Eris with those knowing eyes of hers. 

Arina had her head on the back of the couch, so close he could have scooted and propped her cheek on his shoulder. With the night winding down, Eris needed a reason to get her alone. He found it in the kitchen, when Elain and Lucien conveniently vanished down the hall. Arina was separating bottles into the recycling when Eris finally made his way toward her.

“How are your ribs?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

She looked over at him with those big, mossy eyes. “Still hurt, but I’m drinking water and resting like you said.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, hooking a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face toward him. “And your face?”

Her breath was warm against his skin. He could still feel her tongue pressed to his gloved finger and the heat of her mouth. Her lashes fluttered. “Better.”

“I heard you’re not sleeping,” he added, his mind racing. “Do you ne—”

“I don’t need anything,” Arina said firmly, misunderstanding what he’d been offering. Maybe that was for the best. He nodded and took a step away from her.

“How about a ride home?”

She hesitated before glancing down the hall. The apartment was suspiciously quiet. “Probably, actually. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Eris agreed with relief. He’d have this little time with her before he returned. His things were already in the trunk, easily changed into if he was careful in his backseat.

“My keys are upstairs,” he old her, nodding toward the door. 

“You live in the same building as your brother?”

He couldn’t help his smile. It was so easy around her. “Who do you think got that degenerate through the door? Lucien could have been a doctor if he’d wanted.”

“Isn’t he a lawyer?” Arina asked, slipping into the hall beside him.

“Exactly,” Eris agreed. 

“If that’s your definition of disappointment, I’d hate to see how I rank,” she said lightly, though her eyes were tight. Eris didn’t know how to navigate this—did he tell her he liked her, or did he agree her career was worth very little? He couldn’t remember anything from high school other than he’d liked cutting up animals and he was terrified someone would see the bruises on Lucien’s body and separate them. 

“Tell me about your dance studio,” he said instead. Her cheeks flushed, telling Eris he’d said the right thing. 

“It’s not my studio. I work for the studio,” she clarified. “I want my own, though. Maybe someday, if…” she bit her bottom lip. 

If you’re married to a doctor with an obscene trust fund? 

That also seemed like the wrong thing to say, though it was the truth. Eris did fuck all with that money. It would be nice, he thought, to see his father’s hard earned wealth spent on teaching children to dance. Or making his wife, who Beron Vanserra would have found entirely unsuitable, happy. 

The elevator doors opened and Eris ushered her up, his mind racing. She wanted to go home, and he wanted to be with her. These weren’t opposing ideas, at least to him. Probably to her. 

“Someday,” Eris agreed, stuffing his hand in his pocket to keep from touching her. “How did you meet Elain?”

“College. We were roommates.”

Eris stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse he owned, only slightly pleased by her wide, impressed eyes. 

“I can’t imagine rooming with Elain. She’s so…well behaved,” he finally managed, snatching his keys from the side table right outside the elevator. Arina was peeking around the corner, which prompted him to add, “Would you like a tour? You can stay, if you like.” In his bed. With his cock buried in her body, preferably. He wondered if fucking her would be enough to cure him of his fascination, or if knowing what it felt like to have her beneath him would only make things worse. Eris was starting  to suspect the latter and even hoping for it. Not that life was meaningless before her, but he’d had to chase down the feelings now roiling through him constantly. He had to create them for himself, had to manufacture the perfect conditions in order to feel the anxiety, the excitement, the lust that he was always feeling just by thinking of her. 

Arina’s cheeks burned. “Oh…no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.”

Eris let her see a fraction of his disappointment. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“I just…” Because she was attracted to him. Eris could work with that. He rounded on her, hands at his sides.

“A date, then? Would you do that?”

He’d forgotten the right order of things. It was date, sex, and then the knife. He was all backwards. Take her on a date, let her see how charming and interesting he was before he put his face between her legs and his cock in her throat. 

She could keep the knife. Eris had plenty more, could turn her house in a small armory if she wanted. 

“A date?” Arina pulled him from his thoughts of stripping her naked.

“Yes,” he agreed, flashing her a smile. “This weekend? After I see you and you’re no longer my patient?”

She bit her bottom lip and for a terrible moment he thought she might tell him no. He kept forgetting how they’d met—a date gone terribly wrong. And though she was in his apartment, not attacking her was an incredibly low bar.

“Where?”

“I’ll plan it,” he swore, trying not to seem too desperate. “Somewhere public—open. Dinner and something else?” he offered. 

She relaxed and Eris could have kissed her. “Saturday?”

“Eight o’clock,” he agreed with another easy smile. “I’ll handle everything and I’ll pick you up.”

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

“Perfect. And you already have my number,” he reminded her, forgetting that he was technically Ghost in her phone. He would need to get another or she was going to piece things together too quickly before she had a reason to care about him.

“On your card,” she agreed with a smile. 

“That’s for work,” he said with a frown. “Why don’t you give me yours and I’ll text you.”

And with that, Eris was given Arina’s phone number with a smile. He already had it, to be fair, but it was nice to get things from her he didn’t have to steal. Eris took her to his car where the light scent of her filled his nose, and managed to drive her home without sliding his hand beneath her dress.

She thanked him, though, with a kiss on his cheek. Leaning over just outside her dark apartment, Arina pressed her mouth just above his jaw.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes bright and hopeful. He couldn’t help himself. He just needed to know—was she forbidden and therefore exciting, or was this something real? Sliding his fingers under her chin, Eris turned his own face toward hers slowly. He gave her enough time to pull back, to tell him to stop because the lord knew there was no way he was going to.

He closed the distance between them, restrained by his seat belt. Lips pressed to hers, eyes closed. 

His whole body ignited like nothing he’d ever felt before. She was soft, her mouth inviting, and she kissed exactly the way Eris liked. Not too wet, not too breathy. Just the right amount of pressure and somehow she placed her own lips against his own in exactly the right way. Eris knew he was fussy and overly particular and maybe some of his attraction was how well Arina navigated around his own issues without any awareness. 

Eris was burning. Blood racing, body taut. Every inch of him was wholly aware of her. Her fingertips grazing his cheek, the way she still tasted sweet despite the beer she’d been drinking. Eris wanted to drag her into his lap. Instead, he let himself deepen the kiss, his fingers tightening on her face. 

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, drawing the softest gasp from her. Arina sank her teeth against his bottom lip, nipping ever so slightly and Eris was wrecked. Utterly ruined, unable to stop himself from grasping her face and really kissing her like he wanted. Like the man he was and not the man he was trying to be. Messy and rough, like he wanted to devour her.

Because he did. Eris pushed his tongue into her mouth, groaning when her own met him, looking for the taste of him. He didn’t mean to take it too far in his car, given how badly he wanted to keep kissing her. Eris wanted to push the seat back, to let her straddle his lap, and kiss until they were both exhausted.

He bit her bottom lip harder than he’d meant to, reopening the cut on her delicate skin. Blood flooded their mouths and Arina yanked back, fingers rushing to the wound.

“Sorry,” he panted, though he wasn’t sorry at all. Her lips were glossy and red and he could taste the metallic salt on his tongue. “I—fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she panted, her eyes big and dilated. “I should go, I think. Before…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, well aware of what she’d been about to say.

“Saturday, still?” she asked timidly, as if she’d given him too much and now he might change his mind. Eris still meant to wine and dine her. He was starting to think he could have his cake and eat it, too. That he could have her without a mask at all, that she could see him as he was and like him just as much as he liked her.

That he could make her obsessed with him.

“Saturday,” he agreed. Arina offered him a smile and slipped out into the night.

He wasn’t going far. 

ARINA:

Arina was having a horrible nightmare. She knew it was a nightmare and yet she couldn’t get out of it. Arina was tied up, forced to wait on Jack and his horribly dead blue eyes as he made his way toward her. How had she never noticed how utterly soulless he seemed? How had she not realized there was no light in his face?

Kissing Eris in her car had made her realize there was a difference. Where Jack had always been cold, even in his pleasure and delight, Eris radiated heat. His eyes were full of passion.

He was alive.

He was there, too, in this nightmare. Crumpled on the ground as blood seeped from a wound in his head. He’d come to help her, the valiant doctor who inexplicably liked her. And Jack had bashed him over he head while Arina was forced to watch, screaming and begging him to stop. 

I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything.

He’d turned, then, holding a curved knife in his hand.

What will you do for me, little mouse?

Arina jerked awake in the dark, gasping for air. She was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and yet cold. She’d kicked off the blanket sometime in the night. Arina pressed a hand to her forehead, blinking as sleep threatened to claim her again. She was so tired and knew if she flopped back to the bed, she’d fall right back into the nightmare.

Beside her, something—someone—shifted. She turned her head, certain she was going to see Jack there.

“Oh,” she whispered when she found the outline of that familiar white and black mask. “You.”

“You were having a nightmare,” he said, as if that explained his presence.

 Arina tried to force her heart to slow, to remind herself whoever this man was, he was trying in some fucked up way to help her. 

“Why are you back?”

He leaned his lean, masculine body against her headboard. “You’re scared.”

He said it like he didn’t understand why. “Yes.”

“You didn’t respond to my video.”

Arina had only watched a few seconds of the video he’d sent her. His muscular knee pressed to the throat of one of her assailants had given her far too much satisfaction and she’d quickly closed out, afraid of what that said about her. 

She meant to say something rude to him, but the only thing that came out was a whispered, “Thank you.”

He went still. “Thank you? I thought you weren't going to thank me?" They’d both expected fear or fire. Not gratitude. But she was. Arina felt better knowing that, regardless of what it would mean for her once he was finished doling out retribution, none of those men would ever hurt someone again. She would be the last. 

Arina forced herself to ask, instead, “When you’re finished, are you going to kill me, too?”

“No,” he said with what she swore was a soft laugh. “Not you. Never you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he murmured.

“Spell it out for me,” Arina replied. She needed to hear this man say it.

“You, little mouse. I want you.”

“I suppose this is the part where you say I owe you?” she asked, waiting for him to agree. Surely a man who could so easily kill another person had no qualms about taking anything else he wanted. He was stretched out in her bed, dressed in all black with his ankles crossed, boots dangling just off the edge as though he couldn’t stand the thought of messing up her bed sheets. 

“I’ll wait,” he replied with a shrug of broad shoulders. 

“That stalker will wait?” she scoffed.

She could feel his eyes boring holes in her skin, could practically hear the smile that cracked his face. “I have rope and a blindfold in my bag. If you find it so offensive, I could show you exactly what I want from you right now.”

Arina had a date with Eris in a week. Eris, the hot doctor who’d kissed her in her car, who smelled otherworldly and looked at her like—

Like he’d burn the whole world down to have her. Like he fucking cared. Arina took a breath of air, eyes fluttering shut. That scent—she hadn’t recognized it the first night Ghost had stepped into her apartment, too wild with terror. 

What were the odds the stalker and the doctor had the same cologne? 

“If I let you tie me up, do you promise to stop if I tell you to?” she whispered, pretty sure this was a monumentally bad idea. She could be wrong. It could be a coincidence, or just her desire to project her own interest in one man onto another. Ghost could be little more than a truly deranged man that she should try harder to dissuade. 

“I’ll do you one better,” he murmured, reaching across the bed to slide his gloved hand up her bare leg. “Everything we do tonight will be just for you.”

“And…and I can’t see your face?” she asked, wondering what she’d do if it was Eris beneath. She barely knew him.

All of this was wrong. 

“Not yet.”

“But you will?”

“When you’re ready,” he agreed. “When you aren’t so scared of me…when you’re ready to use that knife under your pillow.”

“I’ll never—”

“You will,” he interrupted firmly. “Now. Lay back for me.”

Arina swallowed hard. This was her moment to say no, to start screaming or call nine one one, even.

Not lay against the pillows. 

“Good girl,” he whispered, brushing those gloved knuckles over her cheek. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

And then the bastard swung his legs off her bed and instead of going out through the door, went to the window, opened it and slipped into the night. She’d wondered how he’d managed to get in and she supposed know she knew.

It was fixable with a block of wood. Arina suspected he’d find another way in, but how amusing for him to roll up one night thinking he’d slip in her window only to find it locked.

Maybe even alarmed. 

Still, Arina didn’t move. She stayed among the pillows, her heart racing when he very easily slid back in through the window. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had rope and a blindfold, the purpose of which ought to have frightened her. She did sit up when she saw him circle it around his hands.

“Relax, little—”

“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped. 

“Ah, yes, sunshine. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Arina believed that. “Not too tight,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t tie you up at all if I thought you wouldn’t try and see me,” he murmured. 

He came toward her, slipping the surprisingly soft blindfold over her eyes. Wholly lost to the dark, Arina didn’t feel as scared. Not when fingers clad in leather carefully reached for her wrists and bound her in rope—not so tight it hurt, but enough that once he had her secured to the headboard, she wasn’t going to get out unless he wanted her too.

She swallowed.

“How much do you value your clothes?” he murmured, sliding something cool over her skin. Arina shivered. Was that a knife?

“I don’t care,” she whispered. The knife dragged over her collarbone, just sharp enough to make her heart race without actually hurting her. The sound of fabric ripping filled the silence. He cut the straps of her top first before moving clean down the center. A little tug and then Arina was wholly topless. 

There was silence, and then the brush of bare fingers against the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, baby,” he murmured, still in that fucking mask. She just needed him to take off the mask so she could hear his voice. Arina swore she had Eris’s committed to memory. 

He slid those same fingers into the waistband of her shorts, allowing Arina to lift her hips so he could slowly pull them off her body. 

There was another moment of silence where she assumed he was appraising her. Arina would have given anything to know that he thought of her. 

“I’m regretting my promise,” he finally managed, his voice half strangled. “Look at you…”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight, fingers trailing up and down her inner thigh. “I want to devour you.”

“You’ll have to take off the mask,” she whispered, jerking when she heard something thud to the floor. He’d stay silent now if he was Eris, and he’d keep talking if he wasn’t. Arina curled her fingers to fists, tugging every so slightly. 

“What are you—” she choked on her words when his tongue slid over one of her nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Arina could only exhale, well aware one of his hands was still lazily making passes up and down her leg. 

It was the car all over again. He’d started unhurried, like he’d had all the time in the world. At first, Arina had thought he was trying not to scare her. When he’d tilted her face toward him, she’d had the same feeling she had right now.

Eris Vanserra wanted to devour her. 

He wasn’t rushed, switching between breasts while licking the valley of skin between like a man with nothing but time, but there was an urgency to him that she’d felt before. How long, she wondered, before her mouth was filled with blood.

She’d thought that was an accident.

Now she thought he’d done it because he liked it. Assuming, of course, Arina’s gamble was right. That the man currently touching her was the doctor and not someone else. She exhaled a breath, yelping when the finger on her leg slid up the middle of her pussy.

He groaned against her skin, too soft to truly know for certain. Arina arched, delighted when teeth snagged on the sensitive flesh, tugging just hard enough to edge pleasure with pain. Arina wasn’t so proud to admit that this was how she liked it.

She could forget what this man was as he licked down her body, fingers teasing her flesh. He spread her wide open, bending her knees so he could really get a look at her. It was strange, given Arina’s experience with pussy eating was usually over enthusiastic men who didn’t have the skill but dove right in, or men who had no interest at all and tried their hardest not to even look.

She suspected he had the skill and the interest. Anticipation skittered along Arina’s spine, her arousal heightened by the loss of her vision. She couldn’t see what he was doing or if he even liked what he saw.

Cool metal replaced his finger and Arina jerked.

“Shhh,” he murmured, teasing her clit with the smooth handle. Over and over, until Arina relaxed, her fear slipping away. While he toyed with her, he kissed and licked up her thigh, let his breath fan over her aching flesh, and then switched to her other leg. Arina was wound up, wiggling her hips to try and convince him to put his mouth on her. 

The blade of his knife left her clit and Arina was rewarded for her patience with his tongue. She’d forgotten he even had it, moaning softly as pleasured washed gently over her. This was what she needed, she told herself. It didn’t matter who was giving it to her. He’d chased away the nightmare that Arina had all but forgotten it right until the handle of the knife pushed into her body.

She clenched around it, crying out at the cool intrusion.

“Take it,” he whispered roughly. Was that Eris? Or did she just want it to be him? “Look at how fucking wet you are.”

And she was. She could feel the easy glide of the handle, of her want coating over her skin to make each pass of his tongue smoother, softer. The minute he realized she wasn’t going to fight her, Ghost unleashed himself.

Arina felt bad for the people she shared walls with. She couldn’t help herself. His mouth was something else and combined with the pump of the blade, she was lost. Rolling her hips against his face, body clenched tight around the handle, Arina was begging.

“Please,” she heard herself pant, unsure what she even wanted. Maybe for this to go on forever. His tongue was everything, licking broad strokes before pulling back to tease and suck and nip.

Every time Arina came just a little too close, he’d pull back, fucking her slower while offering languid, unhurried swipes of his tongue. She knew what he was doing. Each time she was denied, Arina built harder, edged hotter. When he finally let her go, Arina was going to scream.

She was going to beg him for his cock, was what she was going to do. 

Arina needed to come. When he pulled back again she all but sobbed in frustration. He chuckled and she didn’t even care who he was. Maybe he wasn’t Eris. Maybe he was some dark avenger who had his sights set on her. She didn’t care. 

“Please,” she begged again, rolling her hips into his face. He groaned, back to licking and fucking with single minded focus. Heat danced along her skin, her nerves electrified. She chased that rolling pleasure up, up, up, and this time, when she hung over the precipice, he let her fall. She’d been right about screaming—Arina was almost embarrassed by the noise that escaped her throat. She tried to clamp her thighs around his face but he shoved her back open, using his body to keep her from pushing him away.

He didn’t stop. Not when she begged or thrashed or pulled at her restraints. Now that he’d made her come, he was bound and determined to do it again.

And again.

And again.

Arina begged, her body shaking around him. She was exhausted, and maybe that was the point. By the time he pulled up and slammed his mouth against her own, Arina didn’t want to ask him to fuck her anymore. She wanted to go to sleep. She wondered if he’d guessed her intentions—or if he was merely greedy.

She knew one thing, though.

The moment his teeth sank vicious against her bottom lip, splitting open the wound from before so her mouth filled with blood, she knew exactly who was pressed against her. 

He groaned at the taste of copper and salt, mingled with the musky sweetness of her own body.

Eris Vanserra had come to finish what he’d started.

[buttdumplin]

Of course you want to show off the food of your hometown to the boys, but this really should have been a solo date with Kyle. Still, you manage to sneak some time together.

cw: Gaz x reader, fat latine reader, gn!reader, implied poly 141, established relationship, mexican slang word count: 1845

You throw the car into park and glance up at your rearview mirror. The three white boys smushed into the backseat push at each other to try to take a look through the window, grunts and mumbles escaping them. Kyle chuckles from the passenger seat, watching the commotion unfold.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” you turn to Kyle, “We could have brought it back to the house for them.”

“No saben igual después de tanto tiempo, y tu bien lo sabes, tesoro,” Kyle responds, an impish smile on his face.

With a groan, you close your eyes and throw your head against the headrest. It’s the first time yall are back in your hometown for more than a week, and with all the extra time to yourselves, the plan was to eat as much good food as possible. One of your tías told you about this place, where they serve al pastor straight from the trompo, each slice almost caramelized to a delicious crunch. They’ve got the pineapple sitting on top, too. She said it was the best quality she’s seen in town to date. Even her husband won’t stop talking about it. And now here you all are, parked against the curb with the air on full blast.

Every time you’ve gone to a mom and pop shop like this, it’s been you and Kyle stepping in first. You go in with kindness and chatter, and the older ladies always helplessly swoon over Kyle. Laughter bubbles and you both eat happily, and sometimes the ladies sneak extras onto your plates. It’s a sacred time full of loud smooches, the staff going “UUUUU’ all around you, a deep blush on Kyle’s face as you wipe at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his radiant smile set to make your heart burst. It’s perfect. It’s home.

Once you’ve scoped out a place with your own private date, then you bring your white boys over. At that point, you’ve already tried the place, showered Kyle in kisses, and built rapport with the staff. So by the time they step in, the sun drawing eyes to their paleness, the staff won’t try to upcharge you. It’s a genius pull, honestly, one you’ve done yourself with tremendous success. The white folks always have more than enough money to spare, and since they usually don’t know the prices, well that’s on them. But as you sit here in the car, listening to them point out all the little details of the shop to each other, you can’t help but wish you’d left them at home.

Kyle notices the disappointment on your face as you pick at your fingers. Try as you might to keep your face neutral, your expressions are always so easy for him to read. This is the first time your private outings have been interrupted, all because the shop is just a bit too far from the house for the tacos to travel well and your cousin had to fucking say so. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss, waiting for you to make eye contact with him. There’s a distinct sadness in his eyes, a bittersweetness that’s never appeared on these outings before.

“Next time?” a little bit of hope cracks through his voice.

“Next time,” you swear, noticeably glum.

A thought freezes you before you can undo your belt. You reach for Kyle’s hand again, silly grin on your face, and turn around towards the other boys.

“How do you ask for the price of something?’ you ask them.

Kyle holds back his laughter at the question, squeezing your fingers with excitement. There’s joy on his face again and that’s all it takes for you to know you made the right call.

¿Cuánto cuesta?” they all say as one.

“No,” you say, your splitting with a grin, and Kyle can’t hold in his laugh. “Sorry boys, you’re staying here. Kyle and I will be right back.”

They don’t have the chance to protest or question before you’re bolting out of the car, coming around to open Kyle’s door and pull him from his seat. He lets out another loud laugh, the crinkles around his eyes sending warmth blooming in your chest. You’re both still giggling, if a little out of breath from sprinting inside, when one of the staff steps up to greet you, an older woman who's clearly enjoying the life you’re bringing into the place.

“Hola, mis niños. ¿Es su primera vez aquí? No me acuerdo haberlos visto antes, y a esas caritas las recordaría.”

“Primera vez. Un primo nos dijo de este lugar. Y nomas al verlo, se ve rebueno,” Kyle says, bringing you in closer as you wrap your arm around his waist.

“Una cita con el novio,” you tell her. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face with your sudden success, and it seems to catch in the staff member as well.

As she goes off to put in your order, Kyle helps you pack up some salsa, holding the small containers for you to scoop the goods into. You’re trying to figure out just how many containers you can fit into your hands, Kyle reminding you that you’ll need more guacamole than any salsa, when she returns with a big bag full of much smaller plastic bags of guacamole for you. Before you can even thank her, she’s handing each of you a plate with two smaller tacos, winking at you.

“Si quieren, pueden esperar ahí,” she points towards the door with her eyebrows, where there’s a couple of swings.

Walking over, you eye them a little nervously, worried about the structural integrity. The last thing you need is for it to give out on you, regardless of how nice it might be to reminisce in the seat.

“They’re welded,” Kyle whispers in your ear, “They’re solid.”

Sweet tears brim your lashes as you pull him down to cover his cheek in quick kisses. You can feel his shoulders shake with quiet mirth as he stays in place, accepting as much love as you’re willing to give him. If it were up to him, he’d never move from the spot, not even if his back starts aching or if hunger pangs strike. He’d stay pressed to you until something or someone forced him away. So for now he takes what he can.

“We should eat these before they get cold,” the false concern in your voice clear as you gently rock in the swing.

“Definitely. Wasting them would be disrespectful,” his voice low, pulling at the chain of your swing to bring you close together.

The first bite has you turning to look at each other with wide eyes, a pleasant shock bouncing between you. Words can’t do it justice. Your tía’s husband hyped these tacos up so much that you were a little worried about being disappointed. Turns out he didn’t talk about them enough. All either of you can do is let out groans as you chow down silently, Kyle’s strong arm keeping your swings connected.

“Hijo de su pinche putisima madre,” you say, gulping for breath around the sheer ecstasy of the food.

“Que chingandos fue eso?” he says, soft eyes searching yours as if you have the answer. They say food is sex, but the closest he’s ever come to feeling like this has been with you. What the fuck did they put in this. He leans back to face the woman behind the counter, “Seño, nos puede dar otras dos órdenes más porfa?”

“Ya te las puse, precioso,” she says, stepping towards him with a bulging bag in her hand, “Sabía que iban a necesitar más. El amor hace que te dé más hambre.” Before either of you can get up, she’s shoving another two little tacos into your hands, pressing a finger to her smiling lips.

You take slower bites this time, smiling at each other with cheeks bulging full of food. Now that you know what you’re in for, you’re going to savor every piece. Swings still connected, you nudge Kyle’s foot with the toe of your shoe, pressing your knee more firmly against his. He looks so at peace, his shoulders slightly scrunched as he carefully brings the food to his mouth, his nose crinkled up with delight at each bite he takes. You have the brief thought that maybe you should take a picture of this moment, but you can’t bear to tear your eyes from him. And when he turns, those big brown eyes locked on you, you’re sure you’ll never blink again.

“¿Que piensas, mi vida?” he caught your stare.

“Que te adoro,” you speak the words into his skin, kissing the arm holding your swings together.

“En aceite?”

“Clarín.”

Kyle quickly scans the room, just enough to make sure no one is looking your way, before bending and planting a tender kiss on your lips. His lips taste faintly of salt and fat, just as yours surely do, and you wish you could deepen the kiss, wanting more of the delectable combination. But he pulls away before you can, hunger for you burning in his eyes.

His voice is rough when he speaks again, tongue peeking out in search of the lingering taste of you, “We should get back to them.”

“When we get home?” your voice so breathless you barely recognize it as your own.

Kyle nods and stands, holding the bag of food in front of him, trying to discreetly adjust his pants. You’re both giggling again as he reaches for you, gently helping you up from the swing. Smiles are still stuck in place when you reach the car, slipping into your seats without saying another word.

You pause for a moment, waiting for some kind of commentary from the backseat. Now that you’re back in the car, you can look over and see that the swings are in clear sight of the car. A glance up at the rearview mirror shows you three grinning faces, each one more knowing than the next. They could dog you, tease you, joke about the scene they surely saw. But they don’t. Instead, Simon’s tummy breaks the silence, a loud rumble echoing through the car.

The entire car bursts into peals of laughter, the racket interrupted only long enough to deal out plates and servings. Kyle was right about the guacamole, as the boys pour entire little baggies of it on their tacos. Can’t blame them, honestly. That shit is creamy. And then a corus of moans breaks out in the backseat, first bites hitting hard enough to make the most stoic of them break into delight. You look over at Klye, find him already looking at you, and you both nod enthusiastically, biting into your food.

“We’re coming back,” he says, and then lower, “Just us next time.”

“Fuck yeah we are, that was set in stone the moment the woman greeted us. Gotta show off my boyfriend again,” you wink at him.

[hayaku14]

gymnast kaito x sharpshooter shinichi meet-cute in the olympics au

[cerealmonster15]

[vibrating a little too fast] Do You Understand My Vision Yet

[lynne-monstr]

"Lord Atsumi, please don't say such ridiculous things."

[saturfied]

kudos to all kimchay writers!!! y'all are doing a great job🫡👏❤️

[djarinova]

"no one cares but-" "no one needed to know this but-" "no one is interested in this but-" I care. i needed to know. im interested. and even if I wasn't, you shouldnt let that stop you from sharing your happiness and thoughts and interests on a blog that is entirely for sharing your happiness and thoughts and interests. ily

[sevikagf]

SEWER RATS; sneaking and hiding and clawing through the streets of Dunwall in search of something better; a purpose, opportunities, a new life. To once be looked upon as royalty, now in the gutters only to be viewed as a disease. (x.)

[discjude]

whatever afterlife exists in SGE must be the funniest shit ever imagine being some Jaunt Jolie peasant who gets a little too in the way of the Snake and dying only to see The Literal School Master cheering the Snake on. Imagine dying of like cholera or something and taking a little Ghost Vacation to Camelot and seeing the King of Camelot - who's dead, apparently - beating the shit out of some random other boy with weird eyes. imagine how flesh and blood went down. Do you think they all had popcorn for that

[crossbackpoke-check]

Looks like that video is about a month & a half after The Trade and trevors broken ankle 😣

re: this video… anon 😭 i had suspicions but it is so much worse to have them confirmed that really was like. trevor’s first Public Appearance without jamie AND post-broken ankle which is traumatic in and of itself no wonder every beat reporter was like ‘oh yeah trevor’s just devastated’

wouldn’t you be miserable too if your best friend just got traded and your body betrayed you and what if it was maybe all your fault!!!

[penguin-in-the-mist]

The Flock letting all their dads know they all made it to the meet up point

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

I would like to share with you a story from my time at Yonsei University in South Korea:

The Americans arrived about 4-5 days early, giving everyone a few schedule-free days to deal with jetlag and get acclimated before our Korean roommates arrived.

First semester, I had issues with my roommates keeping the room insanely hot (like, they kept the room so hot that laptops would overheat), mainly via the floor heater. My roommates had more flaws than good points and were actually banned from the program for academic reasons.

All I was told about second semester was that they actually put special focus on who my roommates would be, as a sort of apology for how bad mine were.

So, second semester, my first roommate arrives, a small and adorably doll-like girl whose English name was Sophia. Sweet, cute, almost cartoonishly high-pitched voice. She comes in and in the most angelic tone goes "Do you like it hot or cold?" I answered cold, and she grinned and said "Me too!" and walked over to the coil where the floor heater connected to power, slammed her designer stiletto heel into it so hard the whole thing dented at a right angle, and destroyed that thing, never to work again.

Then very sweetly and just as cheerfully said "Oops! It was like that when we both arrived :)"

And like, yeah, sure, whatever you say, psychopath who is now sleeping 3 feet from my skull.

Sophia had arrived early, the other 2 roommates were coming the next morning, and so we go to bed about an hour after meeting.

At 2 in the morning, I wake up to feel someone touching me. Sophia was pulling my blankets up to my chin (they'd apparently fallen when I rolled over). In a white nightgown with long black hair obscuring her face, illuminated only by a sliver of light through the curtains like a demon from a horror movie.

And in her sweet, high-pitched Poppy Playtime kind of doll-like voice she sing-songs "Sssh~ Go to sleep~~~"

I have never gone

from 97% asleep

to so very wide awake

so quickly

in my entire life.

[coriander-candlesticks]

I'm sick so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, but I've been thinking about the nature of myths recently as I've been exploring hellenic polytheism.

For context: I'm ex-Mormon. I was raised in the church and, because of that, was taught biblical literalism but in, like, a more subtle way than most? I was raised believing that Adam & Eve and Noah's Ark, etc., were literally true, but that the story of Job specifically was not; I also always knew evolution and the Big Bang to be correct, despite there being a verse in the Doctrine & Covenants (a Mormon-specific religious book) where God apparently told Joseph Smith that the world is 6,000 years old- a passage I didn't know existed until my senior year of high school. I didn't realize I had believed in biblical literalism until I'd left the church, actually.

Now that I'm aware of it, it's a mindset I'm actively trying to combat while I explore Hellenic polytheism. It's definitely been a task to separate the nature of the Gods from their myths, as brutal as they often are. And it's something I've noticed within the community, too, which I think is interesting. It makes sense: Christianity, at least, has had a chokehold on much of the world for a long time, and so many of us have experienced literalism as our first interaction with any sort of holy text (though, of course, Greek myths as a whole aren't that) alongside our first experience with divinity as a wrathful God whose flaws are waved away, or ignored, or twisted into positive attributes. This also means that I'm trying to re-approach several deities with an open mind (Zeus, Hera, and Ares in particular, but many of them to some extent) while also trying to un-condition myself. I was already in the process of doing this, of course, but trying to figure out how to interact with a completely different pantheon has made that especially clear.

It extends to things like prayer and offerings, too. Prayers were very formulaic growing up, even though most of the time there wasn't a strict script to follow. There was always something you ask as part of the prayer, even if it's just 'please help me do better tomorrow' (alongside giving thanks, of course), so trying to craft a prayer without adding *everything* I'm used to including in makes it feel incomplete and, therefore, disrespectful. And daily prayer is something I'm resistant to because of prior experiences with it. I don't want to offend any of the gods by asking for something or asking for too much, especially so early on, and there's always a promised offering the few times I *have* asked. Add worries about exact obedience on top of that and it's proving to be a difficult thing to untangle. And I know that the gods are difficult to offend, figuring out how to do this takes trial & error and that's okay, it'll get better the more I do it, etc., etc.; this is more an issue with my own overthinking than anything else (hooray for ✨ mental health issues ✨). I'm not really asking for advice here, necessarily, just thinking out loud because I'm not comfortable talking to people in meat space about it yet.

[holysheithyall]

i am plagued with thoughts about wlw k/allura… theyre so…

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[ratatatastic]

there is nothing more delightful than hearing forsy talk about fishing absolutely nothing more delightful than that so behold. forsy talking about fishing.

"More than just hockey, you're also a big fisherman. Why fishing?" "I don't know, it's something that I did growing up with my grandpa, my dad and my two brothers. It's a good way to relax and get your mind off hockey—Everything really in life. You're focusing on fishing and that's it." "So, when are you buying your boat here in South Florida?" "Well...we'll see. It's mostly a summer thing but I wouldn't mind a boat. I'm pretty simple like that! It's hockey, fishing and family-life. Yeah, that is pretty much it for me." "You're a simple man!" "Yep!" "It's good! It's probably why you're a good player 'cuz you got your focuses. You're locked in!" "Yeah, yeah."

WSFL Inside South Florida | 4.11.24 (x)

"When you disconnect—When you step away from the rink, what are some of the things you like to do over the course of the summer?" "I'm a big fishing guy, so that's pretty much all I do when I'm working out back home." "Where do you go to fish? Where are the big spots in Sweden?" "Can't tell you the best spots. Just around—We actually—Me and my fiancée just bought a house back home. We haven't seen it yet so it's gonna be fun to see the house by the lake...I'm gonna fish that way." "It is furnished? Or are you walking into an empty house?" "No, it's gonna be empty!" "Oh, that's a summer project!" "Yeah, so we got a lot of things to do." "What do you go for? What's the most exciting thing you've pulled in?" "I enjoy pike fishing. I love big pikes. That's probably my favourite." "Is that part of the off-season workout? I mean, the upperbody gets a good workout fishing." "Oh, yeah. I think it's a lot of mental, too! Like, a mental game. So, you know, you gotta stay patient. It's a lot of fun."

Territory Talk | 6.15.22 (x)

"First question, I gotta ask you. What's something recently—off the ice, outside of hockey—that's brought you joy?" "Ooh! When I'm home during summer usually I fish a lot. So, that's something I really enjoy. I've been doing a lot this summer...Yeah, fishing, I would say." "Fishing. That's something you do with friends, with family, by yourself?" "Yeah. Actually both. I fish with my brothers and my dad, and a lot of buddies." "That sounds great! That sounds like a nice way to unwind!" "It is!" "—And the total opposite sort-of mentality of hockey which is so 'go-go-go-go!' physical in-your-face." "Yeah, it's still very competitive. Fishing it's—but it's fun!" "When you're dealing with a professional athlete I can't imagine theres anything that's not at least a little competitive." "Exactly!"

Miami Mic'd Up | 10.12.23 (x)

"We're seeing you're a big outdoorsman... ya like fishing?" "Yeah. I love—I'm a big fisherman." "Yeah? Do you have any—Have you been on a big fishing trip? Or you've just been fishing in Sweden? Down there in Florida? Where you at and what do you like to fish?" "In Florida it's mostly deep sea fishing. I'm more a lake guy. I mean, I'm starting to get into it more here in Florida. Ekblad is fishing a lot, so, he took me out a couple times. It's pretty cool to get a big Tuna and stuff like that...but I'm more of a lake guy, I would say." "Does Ekky make you pull in the big fish? 'Cuz he already said how big and strong you are, 'throwing a 250'... He's like—he gives it over to you or what?" "Yeah, but he's got the whole electric stuff so he's—" "Oh, he's cheating! With the big rod riggers!" "Yeah! He rigs—" "He got into that a few years ago when I was down there with him. He's still into it, he's still on that deep sea stuff. I can never do it, it made me sick." "Yeah. Yeah, he is."

NHL Network | 3.14.24 (x)

man who absolutely wanted to be asked to reel in a big one by his partner but absolutely did not get the privilege because ekkys gone electric mourn for him hes want to be a big strongman and useful but now he cant because of technology.

but also the lakeguy vs seaguy fishing fued we got here is utterly delightful im not surprised if ekky took him out fishing just to try and convince him that its better can you imagine the amount of squabbles theyve got in over fishing. but also ekky took him out fishing. several times. like that happened. okay im gonna normal about that 👍

also not them damsel in distressing ekky like ohhhhh does he make you do the heavy stuff he talks soooooo much about how big and strong you are does he put you to work *bats eyelashes*

forsy, who really desperately wants to be put to work: no no he doesnt 😔😔

and here are just the multitude of photos of forsy fishing (redfin perches and northern pikes) over the years and posting it to ig and the captions are all filled with the weight and length of the fish like oh hes a real fishin boi give me those numbers (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)