#how to push back against these casual cruelties

[historicalhiccups]

well.

[carnalcrows]

DETECTIVE - JUNHO

pairing: junho x top male reader

synopsis: Your boyfriend returns from work all stressed and pent up. You decide to relieve him of his troubles.

content warnings: 18+, bottom junho, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, junho gets a little cock drunk.

word count: 1.0k

A/N: had fun with this request!! tysm anon <3

Jun-ho stumbled into the apartment, the weight of his investigation etched deeply into his tired features. His tie was loose, his shirt half-untucked, and his hair looked like he’d run his hands through it at least a hundred times that day. You were sprawled on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine, but the moment you heard the door creak open, you shot up to greet him.

“Rough day, detective?” you teased lightly, offering him a grin as he kicked off his shoes with the enthusiasm of a man who had been on his feet for far too long.

“Rough doesn’t even cover it,” he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’m chasing ghosts, and every lead either disappears or ends up dead.”

You frowned sympathetically, stepping closer to slide your arms around his waist. “That’s why you’ve got me,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “To make you forget all about those pesky ghosts.”

Jun-ho gave a weary chuckle, his hands finding their place on your hips. “You always know how to make me feel better,” he murmured, though his shoulders remained tense.

“Well, that’s my job, isn’t it?” you quipped, gently pulling him toward the bedroom. “Come on, Mr. Detective. You need to relax, and I’ve got just the plan.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, a few candles casting a warm glow across the room. You pushed him gently onto the bed, your hands working at the buttons of his shirt before he could protest. “You need to stop overworking yourself,” you scolded playfully. “I can’t have my boyfriend turning into a stress zombie.”

Jun-ho sighed, letting you slide the shirt off his shoulders. “Easier said than done,” he mumbled. “This case… It's like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The scale of it, the cruelty—”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “No work talk. Just you, me, and forgetting all about whatever’s out there.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes softening as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” you replied smugly, leaning in to kiss him.

What started as a gentle kiss quickly deepened, the tension in his body melting away under your touch. Your hands roamed his back, coaxing him to relax as he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His lips moved against yours with increasing fervor, and you felt his earlier exhaustion being replaced by something far more passionate.

Your hands slid down his waist, settling at the hem of his pants, gently tugging them off.

“ ‘M gonna take care of you tonight,” you mumbled before pressing a kiss to his shoulder, before trailing them all the way to his happy trails.

You slightly nipped at his boxers, before pulling them down with your teeth, making him shudder.

“Fuck– just put it in already,” he mumbled, to which you merely smirked before picking up the packet of lube you had kept near the bedside and ripping it with your teeth.

The cool liquid slid down your fingers, and you took one and prodded at his home, before slowly sliding it in.

Jun-ho moaned at the intrusion, it had been a while since the two of you had done anything together.

You slid another digit in, followed by a third one. Three fingers were pumping in and out of the man, eliciting the most beautiful noises you had ever heard in a while.

Deeming him prepped enough, you removed you fingers, and replaced them with your hardened length, groaning as his hole clenched around the tip.

Jun-ho let out a loud moan, feeling filled to the brim. You slowly slid all the way in, stopping when your pelvis was reading against his ass.

“Gonna move now baby,” you uttered before pulling out all the way to the tip before slamming back in. His back arched, eyes going to the back of his head.

You showed no mercy with your thrusts, every single one hitting his prostate.

Jun-ho was clinging onto the bed sheets with a desperation, his legs tightening their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer into him.

His brain had gone haywire, you cock filling the empty space. It was all he could think about– if he could even think, given the situation.

Without warning, he came– painting both his and your torsos. You didn't stop however, merely speeding up your thrusts, making him whine from the overstimulation.

His hole clenched around you tightly, and you felt yourself release, coating his insides with your seed.

Jun-ho whined when you pulled out of him, feeling empty. You got up and grabbed a washcloth, wiping him down before cleaning yourself up. Throwing the cloth away, you tucked him into bed, laying down beside him and letting sleep take you over.

Hours later, Jun-ho was fast asleep beside you, his breathing steady and peaceful. You watched him for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips as you brushed a strand of hair from his face. He looked so serene, so trusting.

And then your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, grabbing the device and stepping into the other room. You glanced at the screen, your stomach flipping when you saw the name: Front Man.

You hesitated for only a moment before answering. “It’s done,” you whispered, your voice calm and controlled. “He’s completely distracted.”

A deep, distorted voice replied, “Good. Keep him that way. We can’t afford any interference.”

Your lips curved into a smirk, your eyes flicking back toward the bedroom where Jun-ho slept soundly. “He won’t suspect a thing. I’ll make sure of it.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then the voice said, “You’ve done well. Don’t forget where your loyalties lie.”

“Of course not,” you replied smoothly, ending the call and placing the phone back on the counter.

As you returned to bed, sliding under the covers beside Jun-ho, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—was it guilt? Regret? It didn’t matter. You’d made your choice long ago, and there was no turning back.

You wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close as he unconsciously leaned into your touch. “Goodnight, detective,” you murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

And as the night stretched on, you lay there with him, your mind already calculating your next move.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[muletia]

you've mentioned pegging optimus until he's rambling about getting pregnant, but I NEED u to go more into detail about it. literally foaming at the mouth at the idea of almost taunting him "hmm, any deeper and I'll get you pregnant". him just losing it and begging to be sparked, so u fuck him until he's drooling and borderline incoherent, but still moaning about getting knocked up 😊

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦 ✧˖°

pegging tfp optimus would fix me actually

cw: valveplug, dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!optimus, pegging, l-bomb, breeding kink, reader uses a strap

word count: 750

He feels too much. Too intensely. Processor has long dismissed logic, replacing coherent thoughts with mindless, shapeless ones resembling tangled threads. Now, there is no responsibility; the stress of gnawing problems has been replaced by pure ecstasy. Feels it everywhere, even at the tips of his digits, which scrape at the berth in search of a nonexistent anchor. His pedes behave similarly. Thighs tremble from the overwhelming pleasure you so generously bestow upon him. He knows he is not making your task easier, but he cannot stop the quivering — proof of how thoroughly you have ruined him.

“You’re doing great, darling,” you praise him, even though Optimus is just laying beneath you looking pretty. This time, the pleasure is all his. “Keep it up, and perhaps we’ll truly end up with a child.”

At the mere mention of having offspring with you, his back arches, and his helm tilts back. Once again, he makes your work harder; feels it in the sudden change in rhythm deep within his valve. But he cannot help it. Besides, you quickly prove how perfectly harmonized you are by adapting to him. You move closer, pressing your hips more firmly against his. Your thighs meet his, smearing themselves with transfluid — a testament to the length of your shared indulgence.

“[Name], ah…” he tries to speak, but it does not come easily. Processor fails to align with his voice box. “Please…”

He cannot finish the sentence when you suddenly pick up speed, thrusting with full force into his poor, battered valve. It looks swollen and is utterly filled with blue fluid, which drips off your fake cock, but this poses no obstacle for Optimus. Despite the sweet torment, he does not want it to end. Not until he is certain that new life will be created within him, ignoring the absurdity and impossibility of it all.

“What’s the matter, darling?” you ask. Is it cruelty, or are you teasing innocently? He cannot tell, but he does not hold it against you. As long as you are inside him, you can do anything you want.

“[Name]…” he tries again. “Nhnn, I beg you… ah! Please, give me a sparkling! Hah, please! I want… I-I want to be sparked…”

Tears pool in the corners of his optics. You are also certain that the glistening substance around his mouth is his equivalent of saliva.

Holy shit. The great Optimus Prime reduced to a begging, drooling, mindless wreck. Thanks to you. The sight before you is entirely your doing. All it took was once mentioning the topic of children and pregnancy, casually letting it slip during the climax that you would love to have a child with him. As a fantasy, a byproduct of diving too deep into domspace. And he took the bait, completely enchanted by the idea of you knocking him up, even though he knows it is impossible.

Well, for such a sight, it was worth feeding his delusions.

“Since you are asking so nicely…” you murmur.

Your eyes meet, and at that moment, you grab the blue armor plates on his hips and push the silicone cock deeper until you are pressed tightly together. Optimus roars, overwhelmed by you, but he still seems to draw closer, craving more. He wants to become one, to unite in the most intimate way.

“I… I love you,” he mumbles. Your gazes cross again.

“Oh yes, I’m getting you pregnant, big boy.”

You move your hips again. This time faster, leaving no room for doubt about your intentions. You will break the laws of biology if you must.

He feels you relentlessly pumping his own transfluid back into him, as if to assure him you will fulfill his illusory wish.

“Ah, yes! T-thank you, thank you…” he whines. His back arches again, digits claw ferociously at the berth.

He does not know how much longer he can hold out before his body gives up entirely and he won't be able to move even his optics. But he wants to savor this. The fleeting moment, because he does not know when the next one will come. And your kindness, your willingness to tend to him and satisfy his warped, corporeal needs.

“I want… I want a sparkling, ah! with you,” he moans, lost in the subspace. “Give me one, nhnn [Name], I beg you!”

“I love you too,” you pant.

More transfluid spills from his valve, but Optimus gives you no sign to stop, still focused on his mission. Babbling nonsense about pregnancy and having offspring. Preferably several.

[devilmademewriteit]

thinking about jealous reader and jealous javi

Jealous Girl

gif via @javier-pena

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

warnings: roughy sex/smut (fem penetration) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dirty talk; jealous!reader; jealous!javi; sort of dom!javi; allusions to reader having long-ish hair; pet names (baby, babygirl, hermosa, cariño); slut-shaming (reader uses the word ‘whore’); dubcon (no explicit consent, Javi is… forceful).

no use of y/n in this fic

thx 4 the drabble / short fic request!! once again this is FERAL !!! feel free to keep sending me lil drabble requests. they’re so fun to write while I work on my longer fics.

reminder that I am not using the taglist for these, but you can turn on notifs & join the list in my pinned post for my longer works !

-em <3

—

“You broke it off with me, baby, remember?”

What does it matter? What does it matter when you lock eyes with him getting head in his car, parked in some barely-hidden side-street, one block away from your dad’s salsamentaria?

What does it matter when, ten minutes later, he finds you, alone in the back room of the store, forcing back tears of frustration as your shaking hands busy themselves with fresh inventory?

You spin around, prepared to bark curses at him for trespassing into sacred, employee-only territory. He’s leaning against the door, beige suit-jacket a little roughed-up, hair slightly out of place.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying your freedom,” you reply coolly, mirroring his pose against the far wall.

He smiles. You’d known him long enough to recognize that condescending expression — the wolfish twitch of his mustache.

Toying with you for sport.

“And you’re not?” Javi asks, the casual raise of his eyebrows deceptive compared to the darkness overtaking his gaze. “Everybody’s seen you, y’know, leaving bars half-naked with guys twice your age.”

Always an opportunist, the agent pushes on, taking advantage of your stunned silence. “N’ you used to be so shy, babygirl.” A chuckle. “The fuck did I do to you, huh?”

You stammer, wanting to tear into him for his crudeness (though he was right — mixing the breakup with tequila hadn’t failed to strip you of your inhibitions), but the man denies you the chance, gliding forward in a slow, wide step.

Softly. “You wear my gifts for them? Let ‘em fuck you in all those lil’ lace sets I got for you?”

He’s close now, and you’re beginning to see red. This was part of the reason behind the break-up in the first place — neither of you knew how to manage overwhelming care without dousing it in cruelty.

Those long-awaited fighting words finally manage to breach the threshold of your lips. “Yeah, actually, I do,” you drawl, arousal levelled by a red-hot rage coiling tighter and tighter within you, “Ruined a couple pairs.”

“Bullshit.” His consonants slice through his vowels, accusatory and harsh. “Bet that pussy doesn’t even get wet after bein’ trained by me, does it?”

Try not to choke on your snarl, girl. “‘Least I don’t have to get head a block down from my ex’s shop — z’that the only way you can still get hard, Peña?” You muster up a daring smirk, shouldering his challenge head-on. “Hoping you’ll see me walk by so you can finish inside your whore?”

Bull’s eye.

“Don’t act like you give a single fuck where I’m gettin’ my dick wet, cariño.” Every inch of him bristles something fierce, but with skill and practice, he keeps his anger in check — maintains the upper hand — looming over you to consecrate the threat.

“Just pissed that I’m fuckin’ another bitch’s throat when we both know that’s what yours’s made for, right?”

The coil snaps.

Before you can stop it, your hand is in the air, gunning straight for the tan skin over his cheekbone.

In a blink, he’s strangling your wrist, holding back your palm from making punishing contact. The following pause is thick and heavy, quickly overflowing with Javi’s rage-soaked hunger. Dark and dangerous, the man hones in on your glare—

And speaks, voice low.

“Y’know, I let her swallow my load—”

“Let go of me.”

“—but you can take the next one.”

And then he flips you over, brushing off your indignant whine, flattening your back against his chest. Javi is strong (he always has been) and there’s no point in resisting (there never was). He’s unzipped himself, hiked your skirt up, wrenched your panties to the side and forced himself inside you in a matter of seconds.

Dear God, forgive me for getting my fix.

A big hand wraps around your throat while unforgiving arms form a prison around your body. He tilts your head back to face him, savouring your tightness, your suffering, and the strangled moan of pleasure dripping from your lips with his hips’ every rough throw.

“Always gonna belong to me, huh?”

His whisper settles over your skin, heightening that already-unbearable bliss. Your muddled mind and slackened mouth scramble to form words beyond full full full, yes yes yes.

“F-fuck you, Peña—” you spit through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in concentration. You fingertips grow sore, pressed to bruise along his forearms. “You’re worse than me—you-you know it.”

Javi responds with a tightened grasp and diligent, skilled digits falling to manhandle your clothed breasts. “Yeah, fuck you, too—” and it’s strained, etched with long-awaited relief, “—fuckin’ spoiled—jealous brat.”

An all-encompassing jolt to your system — he’s found that aching bundle. He carves words into your sensitive clit: you were never going to be anything but mine, mine, mine. The arch in your spine deepens; the back of your head falls helplessly against his collarbone. And despite yourself — despite his venom — you grin, catching the broken hallelujah underpinning every vowel, every touch of his desperate, repressed desire.

It’s a symphony you both sing, a thought hanging so heavy in the room it almost becomes a tangible part of your filthy entanglement.

“If I can’t have you, baby, no one else in this world can.”

—

[arting-block]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 11th Doctor x F!Reader

❝𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦.❞

Summary: The Doctor doesn't need sex, just you

Warnings: Grinding, P in V sex, hints of sub!Doctor

Words: 1K

A/N: HAHAHA I'm back!! I had this scenario rotting in my brain and I needed to get it out. This does take place in Stranger in a Strange Land, but this fic can be read as a stand-alone!

The Doctor has no need for romance. Eons spent traveling the cosmos trying to save everyone from destruction leaves little room for trivial things. His need for sex is even lower. 

“Please,” a breathy whine, a slight gasp. The Doctor’s hands gripped the cloth of the bedsheets in hopes he could gain control of his erratic heaving. Everything’s too hot, too much. Despite the tops of his shirt being undone and his jacket laying on the floor, his bodily temperature keeps rising, “There’s people in the other room—”

His voice ended with a pitched cry as your fingers went to the zipper of his pants. Light pressure from your fingers sent his mind into a frenzy. A mix of cold dread and pure excitement pools in his chest all the way down. The Doctor could easily stop your hands. One word and you would step back. 

Sex isn’t important, he doesn’t crave it. Plenty of beautiful men and women have thrown themselves at his feet and he spared them no glance. From powerful queens to cheeky immortals. Hell, even his own companions have tried and ultimately failed to garner any carnal desire from him. 

The Doctor tightened his hold on the bed when you moved to hover above his lap. Your perfume invades his nose and your hand cups his burning face. He couldn’t help but stare helplessly at your face. Your beautiful, terrifying face. 

“Yet you don’t want me to stop,” it was a casual statement. No tremors or wavers in your voice; it was the truth. You place the palm of your hand on his flushed chest, sliding up and around the back of his neck, “I can taste your desire.”

He curses your ability to understand his body. How your hands ignite a path of fire wherever they caress. How your searing kiss to the tender spot on his neck makes him emit pathetic noise at the back of throat. How you press your clothed core on his lap and he jumps. His hands find the curve of your waist, pushing downwards for any relief to your cruel torture. He hates how your breathy laugh makes his pants tighter. 

“Please,” another whine.

Your smile shows no mercy, “Please what, Doctor?”

The way his name slips out of your mouth with a hint of cruelty, a dash of need, sends him in a spiral. You hands busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making sure to trail your hands down his chest to his pelvis. The palms of your hands are cool against his flushed skin. He feels everything from the drumming of his two hearts to the slick accumulating on top of his pants. 

The Doctor doesn't need sex.

“I need you, love. Please—” your hips ground on him once more, nearly jumbling his speech “ —fuck me.”

Who were you to deny your beloved Doctor?

Grabbing his flushed face, you preoccupied his senses with the taste of your lips. The Doctor melted into you, eagerly meeting your kiss with equal vigor. His mind was close to blanking, something he never thought possible. It seemed the longer you indulged him the more dopamine seemed to numb his consciousness. 

You tangle into him until there’s no distinction from your body to his. Every gasp he emits makes you shiver. Every moan you slip makes The Doctor want to flip you over and show you how cruel you’ve been.

Pulling back, you take a look at The Doctor’s disheveled appearance. Pride swells in your chest seeing the almighty Doctor submit to your whims with just a kiss. The air tastes of his need and your spine tingles from The Doctor’s unspoken trust in you. A silent prayer; trust that you will alleviate the ache in his chest and underneath your lap. 

Sex was never something he needed. He can live without the intimacy of another. He’s done it for centuries so why not a century longer?

“Doctor,” your eyes close and brows furrow. The sound of your whine permeates the fog of his mind and zero in on the bliss on your face. 

The tension in your face relaxes and you allow yourself to give into the pleasure. The Doctor can't help but marvel at your expression. 

He can’t go a century longer. Not after meeting you—fucking you until neither of you can choke a sentence. The moment you allowed him to bury himself between your thighs, he knew sex wasn't something he craved. Sex in itself wasn't what he wanted.

No, what he wanted—needed—was you. How could he not? His body craves the love you pour into each drag of your finger. Your lingering kiss on his jaw that tingles for seconds after. A cheeky grin and a promise sealed with a wink. 

The sight of your undoing, all because of him is what he wants. Tossing your head back, screaming his name until you finally stop trembling. How you cling onto him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. 

Selfishly, he only wants your pleasure and nothing else. 

“I love this,” a hushed confession; a bright smile on your face, “I love you.”

Your words send fire into his blood. No matter how many times that phrase has been uttered, it still makes his two hearts stop. 

Air hits The Doctor’s length and you are delighted in the hiss he lets out. You move your soaked underwear to the side and allow The Doctor to buck his hips up. The head of his cock nudges your entrance and you have to bite down a groan.

“How do you want it, hm?” you dip close to his ear to ensure he never misses a word. Lining up his length towards your center, you delight in his stuttered breathing, “Slow and gentle?”

You dropped your hips downward and watched as The Doctor’s head tilted back, baring his throat to you. Your cunt stretches to accommodate the intrusion, but the pleasure it brings lights the fire in your stomach. Reaching for the back of The Doctor’s head, you force his head up.

Wild green eyes stare back at you. You imagined your expression is no different. 

“Or do you prefer I fuck you instead?” 

[maretinelli]

I AM HERE

Daniel Ricciardo X Detective!fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n goes through a traumatic moment at work, Daniel is the one who is there to make her feel good again.

Words: 1.7K+

Warnings: Mentions of guns, workplace trauma, police, mentions of blood, angst, but Danny being a caring and sweet husband.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes I may make in writing. And this idea is very random hahaha, but I like it. ☝🏽🤓

MASTERLIST

They knew, both Daniel's job and Y/n's job had their dangers. In different ways, of course.

Y/n had been going through traumas at the police station, but last week, something bigger happened while she and the team were on a mission. She had been held hostage by one of the gangs that the police station had been chasing for decades.

At first, she insisted that she was fine. But of course, both Daniel and the police station where she worked knew that she was bottling up all the feelings she went through while she had a gun pointed at her head.

Reluctantly, she took a few days off to attend therapy sessions. But do you think she did? No, she was at home, acting as if nothing had happened, while the flashes in her head haunted her more and more each day.

The house was spacious but cozy. The walls painted in light beige tones were decorated with frames of photographs from Daniel and Y/n's wedding - a few years ago, and trophies and pilot's helmets were on a shelf near the stairs that led to the upper floor.

Mike, the couple's Golden, was sprawled out on the living room's plush carpet, sleeping peacefully while his owners had a seemingly serious conversation.

"I'm fine, Dan. I already said that." Y/n tried to convince, crossing her arms as he looked at her with the patience of a saint. He was dressed casually, but the air of authority still surrounded him.

Whether she was a police officer or his wife, Daniel Ricciardo knew how to make someone give in.

Y/n was sitting on the couch, her body tense, her arms crossed as if that were a barrier against what he was trying to say.

"You should stay at my mom's while I work, at least for a few days. She loves your company and-"

"Daniel," she interrupted him, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm already quite big. I think I can stand on my own and take care of myself, thank you."

He didn't mind her harsh tone. Instead, he walked over, sitting next to her on the couch.

"I know you're strong, Y/n. I've always known. But I'm scared... scared of what might happen if you're left alone, after everything you've been through."

She looked away, staring at their dog, Mike, who was now snoring lightly on the carpet.

"I'll be fine, Dan. If anything happens, I'll call your mom, I promise."

Daniel was silent for a moment, watching her as if trying to decipher what was going on behind that tired gaze. Finally, he sighed, caressing her face carefully.

"Okay. But call me if you need anything, okay? I'll be back in a few hours."

Y/n nodded and walked him to the door, where he kissed her forehead before leaving. As soon as the door closed, silence took over the house again, except for the sounds of Mike breathing and the light hiss of the Australian wind against the windows.

She tried to keep her mind occupied for a while. Cooking, playing with Mike in the backyard, organizing the living room. But it wasn't long before flashes of that day came flooding back.

Sitting on the couch, Y/n pressed her hands against her temples, trying to push away the thoughts that came without permission. But it was as if the memory had a will of its own, dragging her back to that dark moment, like an inevitable storm.

She was on her knees, the concrete floor hard against her skin. The air smelled of rust and dirt, mixed with the sweat of everyone in the room. The light from the lamp flickered, casting grotesque shadows across the damp walls of the warehouse.

His voice was deep, full of mockery and cruelty. "You think you're smart, Detective? That a badge protects you?" He held her arm tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh.

She could hear the sound of her own heavy breathing, the muffled screams of her classmates trying to negotiate her freedom.

Y/n closed her eyes, but the gesture only intensified the experience. His laughter cut through the silence, a sound that seemed to mock her vulnerability.

"One wrong move, and you're history."

Sweat beaded on her temples. She heard distant voices— her partner shouting orders into the radio, other officers trying to negotiate. But the words wouldn’t reach her; the panic was like a heavy blanket, muffling everything around her.

In that moment, time seemed to slow down. His finger brushed the trigger, and she caught her breath. Her thoughts fragmented: flashes of her life, Daniel, the quiet afternoons at home with Mike, the memory of their wedding, the late-night conversations about children, how Daniel made her feel unique. How she loved this man with every part of her being.

Mike's bark brought Y/n back to reality, her breathing quickened and her eyes wide and scared. She walked to the living room and sat on the couch, trying to regulate her breathing, but it only got worse.

The dog realized that something was wrong with his owner, and climbed onto the couch next to her, starting to lick her arm and bark.

Every sound she heard was a triggering sound, putting her on alert, making her heart race.

She collapsed onto the couch, holding her head in her hands as hot tears streamed down her face. Her body was shaking desperately, her mind was a mess, and tears were now falling violently down her face.

Mike stops barking, and then lies down on Y/n's lap. And that calms the detective down a little.

Every second that passed was marked by an internal battle that she still didn't know how to win.

Tears streamed down her face, burning her skin as she fought to control her breathing, which came in short, painful sobs. Her chest ached, tight, as if an invisible weight were crushing her ribs. Her head lolled forward, her hands covering her face in a futile effort to contain the chaos that was building inside her.

The familiar sound of tires on the gravel of the driveway brought a flash of reality. Daniel's car engine turned off, and for a moment Y/n tried to compose herself, but her body wouldn't obey. She heard the car door close and then hurried footsteps in the driveway.

"Love, I'm home!" Daniel's voice echoed through the hallway. He had a few bags in his hands and a smile on his face as he walked through the house. "I have good news about the races and the team!"

He looked cheerful, as always, and the sound of the key turning in his hand should have brought comfort, but it only made Y/n's tears fall even faster.

Daniel walked in and stopped in the living room, freezing when he saw the scene before him. Y/n was curled up on the couch, her hands shaking as they covered part of her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her breathing was labored and uncontrolled, as if she was about to suffocate.

Mike, who had his head on her lap, gets up and looks at Daniel, barking, as if asking for help.

"Y/n," Daniel said urgently, his voice lower now. He set the bags down and strode across the room. "Hey, babe, look at me. It's okay, I'm here."

"Danny...I...I can't...breathe!" Her hands gripped his arms tightly, as if he were her anchor. Daniel held her hands tightly, his worried eyes examining every detail of her.

"Breathe, my love," he said softly, placing one hand on her face while the other held her shaking hands. "I'm here. You're safe. Just breathe with me, okay?"

He starts doing breathing exercises for Y/n to imitate. Learned from his own wife previously.

"That's it, love, follow my rhythm. Breathe in, hold it... release it slowly. You're doing well, I'm here." Daniel repeated calmly, keeping his eyes on hers as he guided her breathing.

Y/n tried to imitate his rhythm. At first, it was difficult, sobs interrupting her attempts to take in air, but Daniel's warm hand on her face and the calm tone of his voice helped her focus.

Gradually, her shoulders began to relax, and her breathing returned to a slower, though still irregular, pattern.

"That's it, my girl. See? You did it. I'm so proud of you," he murmured, his hand coming down to gently cup her chin, encouraging her to look up at him.

The pilot gently ran his thumb over her tear-stained face, brushing away the strands of hair stuck to her skin.

"Tell me, love," Daniel asked softly, concern evident in his voice. "What happened?"

She took a deep breath, her chest still feeling tight, but found the strength to respond between sobs.

"I... had a... a flash of that night. I couldn't stop. It was like I was there again... with him... the gun..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears again.

"Shh, it's okay now, I'm here to take care of you" he said immediately, pulling her closer.

Y/n rested her head on her husband's shoulder, her sobs getting quieter as tears streamed down her face.

"You're so strong, my love. No one should have to go through this, but you did, and I'm here to help you get through it. You're never alone, you hear? I'm always here, we'll get through this together." Daniel wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Y/n sank deeper into his embrace, feeling the security he gave her. She didn't need to say anything; the way she held his shirt tightly said it all.

Daniel kissed the top of her head, letting his hand stroke her hair comfortingly. As she stood up from the hug.

"I...I want to go to therapy..." She confesses with her head down, tears still falling.

"Sure, let's do it." Ricciardo wipes away the tears that are falling again. "We can schedule it for this week. We'll go to the office tomorrow and talk about everything. Okay? I'll be with you."

Y/n nods in agreement, feeling small, helpless and fragile.

"I love you, Y/n. And I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe again."

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Hide Your Heart pt. 5

Part Five of my Steve has bad parents au, this is going to be the second to last chapter sadly

CW: physical abuse, use of the f-slur once and use of the word queer as a slur

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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“Oh don’t let me interrupt you and whatever girlfriend is on the other line.” His father sneered, “must be pretty special to throw around words like that.”

He hated when his father was drunk, all formality was swept from his demeanor, leaving nothing but casual cruelty. All bared teeth and dangerously swaying steps, unstable. Steve didn’t know which of his carefully crafted responses would set him off. 

Steve knew what happened next couldn’t be more than four or five seconds but time slowed down around him. He heard Eddie’s worried, very distinctly male, ‘Stevie?’ from the phone distantly, like it was coming from another room—another world. Both his and his father’s eyes dropped to the hanging phone. Steve had half a second to think up frantic excuses before his stool was tipping over, dragging him with it to the ground with a resounding crack. His father reached for the phone only to slam it against the wall with enough force to crack the plastic.

“Who was that?” He practically screamed, “Didn’t sound like no girl to me!”

Maybe you’d know if you didn’t smash the phone, Steve wanted to retort but he was being dragged up and into the cold metal of the fridge by his shirt before he could open his mouth.

“I asked you a question, boy!” A jab to his jaw, it didn’t hold much power but it would leave a bruise.

“No one!” One of the only people who cares about me, one of the only people who can stand to be around me. “He was—he wasn’t—”

His father flicked a hand across his face, knocking his head back into the fridge. The bridge of his nose burned and he knew his fathers seldom worn wedding ring had split the skin. 

“You have no business speaking that way to a boy! That is not how a Harrington bahaves!” His father spat.

“I’m sorry—! I didn’t—” Steve never got to finish his sentence, a fist slamming into his face, catching his nose and lip, stopping him before he could get another word out. He choked on the gush of blood that ran down his upper lip and filled his mouth.

His mother chose that moment to rush into the kitchen, right as his head started spinning, “RICHARD!” She gasped, “What—?!”

Steve’s father released his shirt with a shove, throwing him into the cabinet where he stumbled to the floor, rubbing his back against the bruise forming from the handle.

His mother hadn’t stopped yelling at his father, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, “What on earth has gotten into you?”

Don’t act like you don’t know, Steve so desperately wanted to say, don’t act like we didn’t both know this was coming. He could do nothing more than fight the stinging in his eyes, knowing if he cried it would only enrage his father further. He could only tip his head back and try to breathe through his bloody nose and mouth. 

“I didn’t raise no faggot!” His father boomed, “What would your mother think?” He jeered.

I know, Steve thought, I know for all she used to love me that this is too much. And he did know, this was the one thing that would sever whatever connection they had left.

“Why would you ever say something like that, Richard?” His mother turned to him, though, with eyes almost pleading as they locked on his, “Steven, honey, whatever this is I’m sure it’s a big misunderstanding.”

Apparently that was what did it for Steve, hearing his mother so quick to dismiss him, so quick to brush past all the abuse, now physical. 

He pushed himself up, shaking his head, “You don’t know that.” He mumbled, “You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

Steve hadn’t meant to yell, hadn’t meant to say anything at all really but once the words were out there was nothing he could do to shut up. He’d opened a vein and everything that had kept him going was spilling out with the blood on his face.

 “You don’t know who my friends are, you don’t know that I can’t sleep alone anymore or that I can’t stand the empty silence in this goddamn house because you weren’t there! You couldn’t be bothered to—I was dying in an overrun hospital, beside my unconscious best friends and you couldn’t be bothered to show up! You never even called! You’re never here!”

“I will not be talked to like this, not by the likes of you. Get out of my house!”

The likes of you. The freaks and the disgusting disappointments.

Steve knew he was crying before he felt the angry tears burn hot streaks down his cheeks. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that his father’s fist clenched again, it didn’t matter that his mother was reaching for him because he was already backing out of the kitchen.

“You don’t care!” Steve croaked, wiping his nose and wincing as his hand came back slick with a fresh wave of blood, “Why don’t you care?!” He heard his voice break, felt the pressure building behind his eyes and nose. 

“Steven,” his mother reached for him again but he yanked his arm away.

“No, no, no, don't ’Steven’ me. I-do you know how shitty you are? I’ve spent the last 13 years of my life alone, wondering what I did. What I could’ve done to disappoint you when all I do is try. Wondering why you couldn’t find it in you to love your only son!” His vision was blurry with tears, breathing turned to hiccups, “I’ve done everything you wanted. I played sports I didn’t like and dated girls I didn’t know to keep up your fucking image and you still left me every single time you went on another ‘work trip’ so don’t you dare pretend to care about me now, now that I’m a fucking queer and you need to fix me!” 

He stomped out of the kitchen, grabbing and yanking on the first sweatshirt he saw hanging off of the banister at the bottom of the stairs, it was Eddie’s. Of course it was, everything in the house had shaped and molded around him because he’d come and taken up space and filled the hollow silence in Steve’s life and now his parents were back and undoing it all.

He didn’t wait for a response before he slammed the door, knowing he wouldn’t get one. He did wait, though, outside with the back of his head pressed to the door, hoping maybe his mother would go after him. Hoping she would pull him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and head, make him tea in the kitchen before sending him to bed and telling him they would talk in the morning. Tell him she was sorry and ask what he wanted to have for dinner when they invited Eddie over to meet him. She didn’t. The world stayed a bittersweet quiet.

Steve checked his pockets, cursing when he turned up with no keys. He wanted—he needed to leave as soon as possible, as fast as possible.

Steve didn’t know where he was going when he ran. He just needed to get away, sprang and bolted, all the pent up anxiety left over from the Upside Down fueling his legs. He didn’t know he was headed towards Eddie’s house until he trudged shoulder first into the Forest Hills sign, head down and arms crossed so tight around his middle he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t cut off his circulation. What if Eddie didn’t want him there? What if he was busy or just done being hidden, maybe he decided Steve wasn’t worth the trouble anymore, what if he was right— 

He was knocking on the Munson’s door, the sound echoing through his ears. It was too late to turn back now, fuck he should’ve called again. When would he have the time, between crying to getting kicked out and slamming the door?

Wayne opened the door, tired eyes taking in what Steve could only assume to be his disheveled appearance. His hair was flat and sticking to his forehead. Blood crusted under his nose, dripping down his split lip and staining his favorite sweatshirt. He would have to get it dry cleaned before he gave the wrinkled hoodie back to Eddie. He hadn’t even tied his shoes for Christ’s sake, feet shoved in hastily and tangling with the laces.

Before he can even open his mouth Wayne has a hand on his shoulder, guiding him through the door, “Let’s get you cleaned up, kid.” He sighs.

 Kid, it’s just a word but he’s tearing up again, hand pressed to his mouth to muffle the noise. Wayne calls him kid and it isn’t condescending, it isn’t spoken from a place of superiority or annoyance. Wayne calls him son and he doesn’t hear it in his fathers voice, he doesn’t hear the dripping disappointment that clings to all of his fathers words. 

He’s being walked to the kitchen and sat on a barstool. His vision’s blurred and his nose is swelling, causing the pressure behind his eyes to increase, but he could still make out the man digging around in a drawer for a wash cloth. He held it under the sink and wrapped a couple ice cubes together.

“Hold this here,” Wayne told him, pressing the makeshift ice pack into his hand and holding it to his face, “Ed’s been worried sick, practically had to tie him to his seat.” With that Wayne walked off, towards the back of the trailer, “Eddie! Get out here, would ya?” He knocked on Eddie’s bedroom door.

“Was that the door?” Eddie asked, looking around Wayne as he swung the door open.

Steve saw the moment Eddie noticed him sitting at the counter, his brows furrowed in confusion before twisting to concern.

“Steve, oh my god, are you okay?” He breathed, scrambling to the kitchen, “What happened, I tried calling again but it wouldn’t connect.”

“Yeah my father kind of smashed the phone.” Steve managed to mumble around his numbing face.

“What the fuck?” Eddie reached for his face, brushing his hair away from the damage with one hand and holding his jaw with the other, carefully avoiding his nose, “He do this too?” Eddie asked, swiping his thumb under Steve’s uninjured eye.

Steve looked away but that was all Eddie needed, “What the fuck?” He exclaimed again, at the same time Wayne scoffed out a “what kind of man—”

“It’s fine—” He started, on impulse maybe, but he didn’t even get the words out before Eddie was shaking his head.

“Don’t do that, don’t say it’s fine. You know it’s not fine. You didn’t deserve this or whatever else you’re telling yourself.”

When Steve stayed quiet Eddie spoke again, “Tell me you don’t think you deserved this?”

Uncomfortable silence blanketed the once comforting room, at least for Steve. The others must have felt it too because Wayne coughed and muttered something about finding the first aid kit before exiting the room.

“Steve—”

“Why else would he do it?” His jaw hit the hands still tilting his face up with every whispered word.

Who says I don’t? What if he’s right and I’m just a screw up? This might’ve been the final straw but Steve would never stop blaming himself for the emotions of his father. He wouldn’t stop blaming himself for the case that Tommy broke in eighth grade and the weeks he was grounded until he could pay for it. It was his fault, really, if he hadn’t been so clingy he wouldn’t have called Eddie. If he hadn’t been so selfish he never would’ve woken him up in the middle of the night and his dad wouldn’t have heard them. It was his fault for not hanging up in time and it was his fault making up some lie. He done it before, so why was this time any different? 

Uncomfortable silence blanketed the once comforting room, at least for Steve. The others must have felt it too because Wayne coughed and muttered something about finding the first aid kit before exiting the room.

“Steve—”

“Why else would he do it?” His jaw hit the hands still tilting his face up with every whispered word.

Steve may have been sheltered financially but he knew this kind of thing happened to people all the time. He knew that they didn’t deserve it and the people that did it to them had no excuse other than being horrible people but that wasn’t—this wasn’t like that. He got to live in a big house all alone for free, he got a monthly check every time his parents took a trip, they weren’t—

“Because he’s an asshole. I wish he wasn’t, baby, I wish this hadn’t happened but he’s an asshole. You didn’t deserve this.” Eddie told him again, waiting for him to repeat it.

“I didn’t deserve this.” He mumbled, like it could be true if he just said it.

“Neosporin might be expired but it’s better than nothing.” Wayne called, walking back into the room with an open fist aid kit in his hands as he rifled through it.

Steve was about to reach for the kit, already used to patching himself up after fights, when Eddie grabbed it before him.

“What are you doing?” His voice was still slightly nasally, a side effect of his clogged nose, so it came out whinier than he intended.

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, waving the maybe expired neosporin and a q-tip as if that explained it.

“You don’t have to do that. I can do it. I’m all gross.”

“You just never let anyone take care of you, do you?” Eddie was going for a joking tone even though they both knew the truth behind the statement, “I don’t care if you’re gross.”

Up until a year ago nobody had wanted to take care of him. Nobody had offered and he was already enough of a bother, he didn’t want to cross the line. He was supposed to be the one that took care of people, that’s what he did. 

“This might sting.” Eddie told him, bringing the q-tip to his lip where it had split open, “Sorry, sorry!” He winced when Steve sucked in a sharp breath.

When everything was cleaned up he could mostly see out of his right eye, the swelling on his nose had gone down slightly and his lip stopped dripping blood. He was exhausted, he realized then after the adrenaline wore off. Sleepless nights and constant anxiety around his parents left him struggling to hold his head up. So he didn’t, he let his shoulders drop and his head fall on Eddie’s shoulder. It was a little uncomfortable, leaning his neck down to reach from where he sat on the bar stool, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“How did this happen, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, hesitant.

“I don’t…I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” The words came out muffled, his face buried in the soft fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt.

 Arms circled around his shoulders and a hand slid through his hair. His own arms wound around Eddie’s middle, rising slightly when Eddie sighed.

“I won't push but you should talk to someone. It’s not a good idea to just bottle this kind of thing up.”

“I know. I don’t want to think about it, not deal with it for a while. I’m just really tired.”

“Do you want to lay down?” Eddie asked stepping back to see his face

He just nodded, already sliding off the stool when he caught Eddie’s expression, “What?”

“We may have to reapply the neosporin. It got a little…” He made a smudging gesture against his own face and Steve groaned, already wiping his face with the washcloth.

After fixing his face again he was being guided to the couch, tucked under an arm. Someone threw a blanket across them before settling down on the other side. The tv was playing some rerun of a sitcom Steve thinks Dustin likes. Maybe it was the background noise or the hand running up and down his back comfortingly under his sweatshirt, maybe it was the familiar smell of the trailer—woody, homey—or fact that he was curled up, squished between two people who actually cared about him, but he found himself drifting off. He felt his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder as the arms around him shifted to hold him closer. 

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I love continuing the age old tradition of naming his dad Richard. Shout out to my Richard’s

Fun fact: I struggled to write this chapter so much, the writers block hit hard man

Tag list of two: @wrenisfangirling @disrespectedgoatman

[forestdeath1]

Cruelty

@prongsfoot-microfic

wc≈1000, tw blood

A Slytherin Beater pulls a forbidden move, undercutting James’s broom with a Bludger, while the crowd and referees are busy with a fight at the other end of the pitch. James falls from his broom, and he’ll definitely blame himself later — typical James, always believing he should have held on, no matter what. Even though it was impossible for anyone to stay on in that situation, he’ll probably say, "It doesn't matter that no one else could have stayed on. I should have."

What follows is a blur: shocked gasps, the game stopping, medical attention, the hospital wing. The search for the culprit.

No one saw how Wilkes did it. No one, that is, except Sirius. Sirius always keeps a watchful eye on James during games. But in Quidditch, there’s a golden rule — if the referees didn’t catch it, it might as well not have happened.

After the game, as everyone's dissecting the match, Wilkes casually passes by Sirius, giving him a cheeky wink and a smug grin.

Wilkes thinks he’s got away with it.

—

Sirius heads into the boys' bathroom on the fourth floor and slams the door behind him. His shoes echo on the stone floor, the sound filling the empty room, which carries a faint smell of soap and stale air.

Wilkes, completely unaware, whistles a tacky old Celestina Warbeck tune as he stands in front of the loo.

"Didn't expect me?" Sirius whispers into his ear, pressing his wand against Wilkes's back. It’s a pointless move in a real duel, but good for a bit of a scare.

Wilkes flinches. He looks ahead and sees Black in the mirror, his eyes lighting up with realisation.

"What do you want, Black?" Wilkes responds, casually finishing up and slowly pulling his trousers back up over his pale arse. He doesn't look the least bit scared. "Can’t sleep, haunted by your wounded Gryffindor sense of justice?"

"Of justice? You think too highly of me," Sirius replies, his fingers deftly searching through the pockets of Wilkes's robe for his wand.

Wilkes, caught off guard, reacts swiftly, snatching the wand back. A flurry of bright magic flashes shoot between them, until the tussle ends with the wand in Sirius’s hands. With a mocking gesture, Wilkes raises his hands as if to surrender, then leans casually against the sink, crossing his legs and grinning broadly. Sirius quickly takes a look at the wand.

"Oak, eight inches," Sirius comments matter-of-factly. "So short.” He twirls the wand carelessly in his hand and tosses it into the loo. The splash is followed by tiny droplets scattering around.

Wilkes laughs loudly, his eyes gleaming with wild joy and mockery. What a sick bastard, thinks Sirius. The Slytherin pushes off from the sink and steps towards Sirius.

"Alright," Wilkes says, coming up close and deliberately pressing his chest against the wand aimed at him. He has never been one to back down. "What do you want?"

Sirius smiles slightly.

"Since you’re so curious," he replies coolly, "I’ll take a bit of roast beef, some time with Katie, and...," his voice drops just a touch, "the pleasure of hearing you moan in pain."

Just like James moaned, dealing with serious injuries from the fall you caused.

Wilkes chuckles, unflustered, "While I can’t help with all your desires, with the second one... Actually, I’m not Katie, but I certainly can fuck you." He suggestively grabs his balls through the robe, his grin widening, "And you'll see that the length of the wand doesn’t really match up with this."

The smile slids off Sirius's face, his hand instantly reaching for Wilkes's hair, his fingers tightly gripping the black strands. Sirius yanks Wilkes's head down sharply and knees him in the nose. The sound of the impact is dull; a bloody print remains on Sirius's trousers.

Wilkes gasps, pressing his hand against his bleeding nose. Blood seeps through his fingers; he glances at it, then locks eyes with Sirius. With a raspy growl, "You fucking bastard," Wilkes lunges at Sirius. Wilkes is bigger, bulkier; there’s no point testing fate. Sirius's strong suit has always been his quick reactions, and the only person with faster reflexes is Bella.

Sirius flicks his wand, and the Incarcerous spell immobilises the boy. Wilkes falls to the floor, face down, thudding against the cold floor, his coarse groan echoing in the empty space.

Sirius kneels beside him, grabs Wilkes by the hair, and harshly lifts his face off the floor, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I’d better not ever catch you even glancing his way again," Sirius says, his voice low. He always speaks quietly in tense moments, probably something he picked up from his father —everyone knew the quieter Orion spoke, the graver the situation.

Wilkes clearly understands whom he's talking about.

"Or what?"

"Curious? Try to dig deeper, but don’t whine when the grave turns out to be yours."

Wilkes spits out, then lets out a hoarse laugh, blood and saliva dripping from his chin.

"You’ve got no backup anymore, mate. You’re on your own now. Attacking me and throwing threats, are you thick?" He throws out roughly, "Or just insane?"

"I think," Sirius, tightening his grip on Wilkes's hair, making him wince in pain, his face so close that Wilkes can surely feel his breath, "you know the answer."

Sirius lets go, and Wilkes’s head crashes down onto the stone floor. The echo of the impact briefly fills the empty bathroom.

Sirius moves towards the door, his hand reaching for the cold metal handle, when he hears a raspy voice behind him:

"It's him, isn't it?"

His hand freezes on the handle, but Sirius doesn’t turn around.

"You left your family because of him, right?" Wilkes repeats, somehow managing to keep a defiant tone.

Sirius stays silent, his grip on the handle tightening.

"You left your family because of him." Regulus says in a contemptuous, icy voice, cutting through the silence as they speak for the first time since Sirius ran away from home.

The handle turns fully, and in a moment, Wilkes is left lying alone on the stone floor.

[bubybubsters]

A Distressing Solstice

a/n: For my lovely @icey--stars I hope you have a wonderful holiday and thank you to the amazing people at @acotargiftexchange for making this a thing!

w/c: 2000+

warnings: 🐱

masterlist

*****

Eris’s POV

Eris glanced in the full-body mirror one last time before taking a deep breath and praying to the Cauldron that nothing would go wrong. He was in a dark red vest that had black patterns covering a black shirt paired with black dress pants. It was the Winter Solstice and Azriel had invited him over to meet his family on good terms and to come clean about their not-so-secret secret relationship. Rhysand and Feyre had found out when catching the two lovers making out 30 minutes before a meeting. Surprisingly the High Lord and Lady had already suspected and was willing to hear them out. Lucien had also found out in a similar way, accidentally walking in on something he definitely never wanted to see again. Eris also knew Morrigan suspected because Azriel had dragged him halfway through Velaris to apologize and explain why he’d left her in the woods that day. If Mor knew, then all the females in the night court probably did as well. Really this was only for Cassian (because Amren always knows everything), the ‘poor oblivious Illyrian baby’ as Azriel liked to call him. Still, Eris’s nerves jangled nervously as he winnowed to the River House. Sparing a look at his watch, Eris realized he was fifteen minutes early. Oh well, couldn’t very well go back now… well he technically could…. Shaking the thought from his head he scanned his surroundings. Although he would deny it to the grave, the River House was as incredible as Az had told him. As he approached the house mansion, he glanced at the windows. Two silhouettes were too close to be casual. He smiled, happy for their love. Then, suddenly realizing one had giant wings, Eris froze, fearing what he was seeing. Creeping closer, he peered through the window focusing intently on the figure with wings. That same jet black hair. Oh no. It couldn’t be. Azriel would never. Eris’s face drained of all color as he saw his lover against the counter with Elain Archeron leaning forward to kiss him. Fire roared through his veins as his own heart broke at the sight and he thought of how devastated Lucien would be. Using every scrap of self control to not smash through the window and beat both Azriel and Elain up for their betrayal, Eris backed up. Indifferent mask falling into place as he watched their lips meet. He turned down the pathway and started the walk back to the unwarded areas. All while slamming up those steel walls in his heart and mind. Pushing his feelings into a teeny tiny box and once more becoming the High Lord. The High Lord that showed no mercy, no compassion, no joy, no love, nothing except cruelty. The High Lord he’d been before Azriel. When Eris reached the end of the wards, he looked back at the River House and without a single trace of emotion winnowed out.

***

Bright light greeted him along with the shocked face of his little brother. The day court. “Eris! I thought you were with Az?” Lucien’s slightly worried voice broke Eris’ facade of indifference. His body gave out and he dropped to his knees in the middle of Lucien’s cabin. “Eris?! What happened? What’d he do?” Eris chuckled. He loved his brother. In a weak voice he asked, “Why do you assume he did something?” “Because you’d never hurt him.” Lucien’s arms encircled him and Eris felt himself being lifted off the ground. “You love him. You would do anything for that shadowsinger. He doesn’t deserve it, but you’d still do it.” “I loved him.” The words were another stab into Eris’ heart as Lucien sat him down in an armchair. “No, you love him. You, of all people, can’t unlove in twenty minutes. I know you Eris. You’re blocking your feelings, making yourself feel nothing. It’s not healthy, you’ve got to at least have closure if you’re going to end it with Az.” Eris glared, hating that Lucien was right. His damned emissary training made him absurdly good with words. “So, I ask you again. What happened?” “Luci… Ela- Elain kissed him. Your mate kissed my mate.”

*****

Azriel’s POV

It was eleven, Eris was four hours late. He probably wasn’t even coming at this point. Azriel drained his wine, glancing towards the door once more before Feyre drew his attention. “Do you know where Elain is?” It was the fifth time the question had come up, all directed at him. “No.” He’d rejected Elain again after she’d forced herself on him. She’d pinned him between the kitchen counter and not willing to hurt her, he’d been helpless. But she’d kissed him and he knew he had to do something but his body froze. He’d shoved her off after a moment and harshly told her he didn’t want her. He’d never wanted her. She’d just been a placeholder while he tried to find someone who was right for him. And he’d found that someone. She’d run off crying. He glanced outside again and still no fiery red head. “Az?” Rhysand placed a present in front of him as he looked down and Azriel with a worried gaze. “You alright?” Azriel nodded at his brother before taking the present. Carefully unwrapping the squirrel and acorn wrapping paper, Az pulled out the present. It was a small box. When opened it was a heart locket the color of autumn leaves. Upon closer inspection Azriel noticed that the locket was broken in two. He opened one side; it had a picture of Eris staring at someone not shown with a heated, loving expression. Frowning, Azriel opened the other locket to fine a picture of him staring with the same expression at someone else. He smiled slightly, putting the lockets together to show a picture of the couple locked in a heated gaze. Looking up at Rhys, his eyes watered at the incredibly thoughtful present. “It’s lovely Rhys. I love it and I’m sure Eris would if he’d bothered to show up.” His voice turned bitter and he let a little bit of his pain show. Anger shown in his brothers eyes. “I can’t believe he stood us up. I thought he was good. Do you want to go find him?” “He is good. I’m not sure. Give it another hour, if he’s not here by then we’ll go see what happened.” Rhys nodded, smiling at his brother before moving back to Feyre’s side and tucking her into his side. Azriel’s heart clenched at the love his High Lord and Lady had. He wished for it, especially the mating bond. But it seemed the Mother had deemed him unworthy of even that. Barely minutes later, Rhysand was once again standing in front of him. “Screw it Az, let’s find that asshole.” His brother had that look on his face that said he wasn’t going to back down on this front. “Fine… just let him explain before murdering anyone.” Rhys’ grin was a slash of white, “I make no promises.” He grabbed Azriel by the shoulder and winnowed them out. The scent of fresh fallen leaves hit him and Az relaxed slightly. He opened the cabin door and stepped in, Rhys a step behind him. “Er?” No answer. “He’s not here Az. Hasn’t been for hours.” Azriel nodded, stepping back into his shadows and winnowing away. There was only one more place Eris could possibly be. Az felt a knock against his mental shields. “I wish to do this alone, Rhys.” “Then best of luck, brother.”

*****

Lucien’s POV

Lucien heard a light knock against his cabin door and sighed, already knowing who stood outside. He couldn’t believe Azriel had cheated on Eris with Elain. Of all people. He wanted to give up on Elain, to find someone who wanted him and cared enough to accept and use his damn gifts. But she was his mate and that string connecting them wasn’t so easy to block. Lucien disentangled himself from his sleeping brothers arms and silently crept toward the door. “He won’t want to see you.” Meeting Azriel’s hazel eyes he felt a surge of anger, especially at the very faint smell of jasmine and honey. The shadowsinger looked confused at Lucien’s words. “Why? What did I do?” Lucien’s brows pulled together slightly, was it possible that Eris had gotten it wrong? That the situation he’d seen wasn’t what it’d looked like? An unwanted flare of hope ran through his body. “You… where were you fifteen minutes before 7:00?” “Umm.” Realization dawned on Azriel’s face. “Kitchens. Oh. So, Eris was early and saw through the window when Elain kissed me and assumed that I was cheating on him?” Damn. He’d gotten it right away. “Yep. And now you can come in, explain you hopefully weren’t cheating on him and make it so I don’t have a brooding high lord in my getaway cabin?” “If you’d step out of the doorway.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you think he’ll hear me out?” Fear and sadness laced his tone. Lucien shrugged elegantly, “good luck!” He needed wine, maybe he’d stop by the River House and take a few of Rhysand’s good bottles and be back in time to kick his brother out before he had sex with the shadowsinger in his bedroom, again.

*****

Eris’ POV

A hand shook him out of his sleep and he groaned, batting the hand away. Said hand grabbed his hand and pinned it to the bed. Said hand wasn’t just calloused like Lucien’s but also had scars. Burn scars. Eris shot up, suddenly wide awake as he looked to his side and was met with a pair of hazel eyes. “Azriel.” He jumped off the bed as the memories of why he was at his brothers cabin came back. Azriel had cheated on him! With Elain. His brothers mate! “Eris, please. Let me explain.” A hint of desperation sparked in his eyes. “No! You kissed her! You-“ “Eris!” Azriel cut him off, rounding the bed to stand in front of him. “She kissed me! I-“ “You kissed her back! You know how much she means to Lucien and you still kissed her back!” “Lordling.” Azriel pushed him onto the bed and hovered above him, pinning his wrists to the mattress. “She kissed me and it took me by surprise so I froze. If you’d only stayed and watched another five fucking seconds you would have seen me push her away and tell her I don’t want her.” Eris’ emotions spiked, “Of course I didn’t stay to watch my mate kiss another! It’d tear me apart!” Azriel stilled above him. “Mate?” That’s when the bond snapped for him and Eris felt the mating bond go taunt. Rushes of desperation, surprise and love flooded his side of the bond. “Mate.” The confirmation alone made the bond glow with life. He leaned up, even as Azriel still pinned him to the bed, placing a gentle kiss on his mates lips. “I’m sorry I ever doubted your loyalty to me… I just assumed the worst and I shouldn’t have.” Azriel’s eyes softened and his body relaxed as he let got of Eris’s wrists and collapsed on top of him. “I love you, lordling.” Azriel’s hands cupped his face and he kissed him passionately, letting the bond between them come to life with shared love. “I’m the high lord. Not a lordling.” Eris grumbled into Azriel’s chest. “But I love you too, shadow boy. A waterfall of ice cold water hit the couple and they both yelped jumping up and out of bed. Eris glowered at his grinning brother as he magically dried himself and Azriel. “You’ll pay for that, Luci.” He grabbed Azriel’s hand and started to drag him out of the cabin. “At least I won’t have the scent of your sex in my cabin for weeks again!” Azriel glanced at Eris, “That long?” Eris grinned nodding, “Longer.” He winnowed them to his own getaway cabin. “Now mate, where were we?”

*****

A/n: Thank you for making it through that… hopefully without any cringing!

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @stargirl1714

thank you @artists-ally for keeping me sane with promises of that one thing and suggesting a name for Az.

[yanderejustforyou]

Golden Cage

Hughie barely registered the sensation of the cold, smooth floor beneath him as he stirred, his head pounding with disorienting intensity. Each throb resonated in his skull like a drum, making it almost impossible to gather his thoughts. The sterile brightness of the penthouse lights greeted him when he managed to pry his eyes open, each flicker stinging against his retinas, disorienting him further. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He wasn’t home; that much was clear.

A creeping wave of panic began to bubble to the surface of his consciousness as he attempted to move, only to find that he couldn’t. He tugged at his wrists and ankles, his heart racing as he discovered they were secured—bound with unnervingly soft material to a sleek, steel chair. The contradiction of the soft binding against the cold, unyielding metal only heightened his anxiety. A figure loomed nearby, imposing and eerily calm, too perfect, too polished to belong to this world.

“Good, you’re awake,” Homelander said, his voice dripping with something that danced between mockery and a twisted affection, as if he were speaking to a beloved pet rather than a captive. The casual cruelty in his tone sent a chill down Hughie’s spine, igniting a fierce instinct to resist.

“What the hell is this?” Hughie’s voice cracked, hoarse and dry as sandpaper, each word a struggle against the overwhelming dread.

Homelander tilted his head slightly, a faint, predatory smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he stepped closer. “A new arrangement,” he said simply, his voice smooth and persuasive, laced with an unsettling sense of authority. “You’ve been running around with that group for far too long. It’s time for a change.”

Hughie’s pulse spiked dangerously, the implication of those words hanging heavy in the air. “You can’t keep me here!” he shouted, defiance fueling his voice, but inside he felt the tremors of fear taking hold.

With a grace that seemed almost inhuman, Homelander crouched so they were at eye level, the faint glow of his eyes—a sickening, electric blue—sending a shiver down Hughie’s spine. “Oh, I can,” he replied, the smug grin on his face widening. “And I will.” His confidence was absolute, a chilling reminder of the power he wielded.

The penthouse was a lavish prison, its luxury only amplifying Hughie’s suffocating sense of entrapment. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the sprawling city below—its glimmering lights and distant sounds mocking him with the freedom that was just out of reach, an illusion he could almost touch.

Days blurred into nights, the rhythm of time lost as each one was marked by Homelander’s overbearing presence. He oscillated between sickeningly sweet gestures—surprising Hughie with gourmet meals that only reminded him of what he had lost and wrapping him in warm, plush blankets during the chill of the night—and chilling threats that lingered in the air like an impending storm whenever Hughie dared to push back against his captivity.

“You don’t understand how lucky you are,” Homelander hissed one evening, his voice low and dangerous, standing over Hughie with a predatory gleam in his eye that set his teeth on edge. “The world out there? It’s cruel. But here? You’re safe. Protected. With me.” Each word dripped with condescension, as if he believed he was doing Hughie a favor by keeping him locked away.

Hughie swallowed hard, his resolve hardening as he met Homelander’s gaze. “This isn’t protection—it’s prison,” he declared defiantly, the weight of the truth heavy in the air between them.

For a fleeting moment, Homelander’s smile faltered, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his features, an unguarded moment that made Hughie wonder if perhaps, beneath the facade, there lay a crack in Homelander’s carefully constructed armor. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that sent a chill down Hughie's spine.

“You’ll see, Hughie,” he said quietly, almost conspiratorially, his voice laced with both menace and an almost childlike need for validation. “You’ll see that this is what’s best for you. For both of us.” The words echoed ominously in Hughie’s mind, the promise wrapped in threat making it clear that escape from this nightmare was far from assured.

Homelander’s gaze was unyielding as he watched Hughie, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with a predatory focus. The sterile walls of the luxurious penthouse felt like they were closing in, their opulence a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside Hughie’s mind. Hughie tried to block out Homelander’s watchful presence, diverting his attention to the towering glass windows that framed the sprawling city below. The multitude of city lights blinked like distant stars, a mesmerizing sight that symbolized freedom—an elusive concept that felt forever out of reach for him, a cruel tease that mocked his captivity.

“Are you going to sulk all night?” Homelander’s voice shattered the silence, oozing with an insincere cheerfulness that made Hughie’s skin crawl. He stood by the elegantly set table, a bottle of red wine in one hand, and two pristine glasses in the other, the scene playing out like a twisted dinner invitation.

“I’m not sulking,” Hughie muttered, attempting to mask the bitterness in his tone.

Homelander chuckled, a sound that was equal parts amusement and condescension. “Sure you’re not,” he replied, his words dripping with a mocking tone that only deepened Hughie’s sense of isolation. As he approached, his movements were languid and deliberate, as if he relished the tension in the air. He set the glasses down on the polished surface of the table, pouring the wine with an elegance that only further emphasized the absurdity of the situation. “You know, I’ve been more than accommodating. I could’ve been… harsher.”

Hughie felt the anger simmering beneath his surface, clenching his fists tightly, the silk ties binding him loosely a constant reminder of his precarious situation. Homelander’s restraint was deliberate; he never tied him too tightly, never left marks. It was as if he wanted to cloak the sinister nature of his actions in a guise of intimacy, twisting the reality of Hughie’s imprisonment into something that felt almost personal.

“This isn’t normal,” Hughie managed to say, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and resolve. “You’re not protecting me—you’re controlling me.”

Homelander sighed dramatically, tilting his head as if Hughie’s words had struck a chord of disappointment. “Why do you always see the worst in me?” he questioned, crouching down to bring his face closer to Hughie’s. “I’m not the villain here, Hughie. I’m the one person in your life who truly cares.”

Hughie let out a hollow laugh, a sound that echoed in the stillness of the room. “Cares? You kidnapped me,” he retorted, the absurdity of the statement hanging heavily in the air.

Homelander’s demeanor shifted, his expression hardening as he reached out, gripping Hughie’s chin with a forceful yet measured hold. “I saved you,” he whispered, his voice low and intense, his breath warm against Hughie’s skin. “From those fools who would’ve gotten you killed. From a world that doesn’t deserve you.”

In that moment, Hughie felt his breath hitch, a flutter of doubt creeping into his mind as he held Homelander’s gaze. There was something unhinged in those blue depths, an intensity that both terrified and captivated him, but also an undeniable sincerity that made him question everything he thought he knew about his captor.

“You don’t have to pretend to like this,” Homelander said softly, his thumb brushing against Hughie’s jaw in a gesture that felt strangely intimate. “But you will, eventually. You’ll see that you belong here. With me.”

Hughie wanted to argue, to unleash the torrent of indignation swirling inside him, but the words died on his lips, trapped in the suffocating silence that surrounded them. Instead, he turned his face away, his silence a small, yet defiant act of rebellion in the face of Homelander’s overwhelming presence.

Homelander sighed once more, straightening his posture and stepping back with an air of finality. “You’ll come around,” he said, his tone lightening as he adopted a singsong quality. “You always do.”

With that, he strolled toward the balcony, leaving Hughie alone once again with his tumultuous thoughts. The untouched wine glasses on the table served as a stark reminder of the twisted semblance of normalcy that Homelander so desperately tried to create. Hughie’s heart raced as he grappled with the reality of his situation, the dichotomy of feeling both captive and cherished, as he pondered the uncertain path that lay ahead.

Hughie stared at the glass nearest to him, wondering if there was a way to use it—to escape. But deep down, he knew Homelander would see through any plan. He always did.

[syllvane]

beginnings pt 4- nikolai lantsov x reader

“I’m sorry about your crew members. They seemed like good people.”

Your voice interrupted Nikolai’s thoughts and he turned around to look at you, his expression solemn.

“They were. The only reassurance is that their sacrifice will not have been in vain- that Alina will tear the Fold down.”

You had never believed in much of anything, living in Ketterdam your whole life.

The only thing you were certain about was the cruelty and insatiable greed that plagued merchants and thieves alike.

For his sake and for him alone, you wanted to believe in Alina as well.

“She will.”

He offered you a small smile, doing his best to dust off the sorrow that had rested on his face moments before.

“It’s a shame that you won’t be here to see it- you’ll be halfway back to Ketterdam.” He said lightly, any emotions he may have felt about this fact masked and unreadable.

“I could stay,” You said and his expression contorted, his eyebrows drawn together. “You only get one chance to see a miracle, right?”

His face changed back into something easy, a dashing smile.

He walked around the desk, standing a couple feet away from you.

“And here I was hoping that you enjoyed my company.”

You rolled your eyes and on your tongue, a million lies about how you couldn’t stand him.

It’s what Kaz would have done, it’s what you knew how to do best.

And yet, in your chest, a delicate, fluttering thing wanted you to take a step closer to him.

“Can’t two things be true?”

The dashing smile faltered, replaced with a genuine one- softer, less showy, gentle like summer rain.

For the first time since you met him, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

A part of you knows it won’t end well.

He is beholden to a country and you are beholden to nothing but your gun.

You both lives to go back to after this- the Crows, your precious Crows.

And you love the Crows and you miss them, and an ocean away it all feels small when you look into Nikolai’s eyes.

“I knew you liked me.” He said and you rolled your eyes, reaching out to shove him and forgetting every intention of pushing him away when your hand landed on his chest.

Your voice comes out a whisper.

“What gave it away?”

He took your hand gently, looking at it as if it- as if you- were priceless treasure.

Any other moment, any other person, he would’ve made some snarky comment.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, slightly breathless and your eyes flickered down to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“I don’t know, can you?” You asked, teasing.

He kissed you gently, pulling you closer until your body was flush against his.

A knock on the door brought both of you back to reality and Nikolai pulled away hesitantly, walking towards the door though his attention was still focused on you.

You took a couple steps back, trying to sit as casually as possible on the desk.

“Tolya. Can I help you?” Nikolai asked, his cheery demeanor forced.

“We’re almost at… are you okay? You seem… flustered.” Tolya said before peering behind Nikolai and meeting your eyes for a split second. “Ah. I can see you’re… occupied at the moment.”

A grin erupted on his face and Nikolai sighed.

“I’m… it’s okay. We’re almost at Ravka?” Nikolai asked and Tolya nodded, grin never leaving his face.

“Correct. I’ll uh, tell the rest of the crew that you’ll be a little bit. Hi, Right-Hook.” Tolya waved to you and you waved back. Nikolai looked back at you, mouthing the nickname in confusion before turning back to Tolya.

“We’re not… we’ll be right after you.”

“Alright. See you guys soon.” Tolya said before walking away. Nikolai closed the door behind him.

“Right hook?”

“Punched him as soon as I woke up.” You said and Nikolai remembered, smile tugging at his lips.

“Right. I don’t know if we have time to talk about-”

“It’s okay. We’ll find time later.” You promised and he smiled, wanting to walk forward but unsure of how to bridge the space between the two of you. “We should go up.”

“Lest Tolya think that we are making out.” He said, opening the door and holding it for you. “After you.”

You smiled, your eyes twinkling.

“How chivalrous, especially for a privateer.”

He laughed and you relished in the music of the sound.

(It won’t end well, but you don’t think it matters at this point.)

tag list: @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mischiefmanaged71 @lunamadhatter99 @feyredarling92 @reverse-iak @zanmorgan @criesinlies @ducks118 @home-of-disaster @96jnie @inluvkai @maddieg1025 @stickyfictioninwriting @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sapphireonline @lareinaa007 @alinasmcu @bcon24 @the-massive-simp @catslovetoreadtoo

[ghooostbaby]

i don't like how much it seems like viktor was so passive all these years

kind of gently nagging jayce on can we please do something for the undercity now and jayce just keeps building stuff for the topside and subtly screwing over the undercity while viktor is politely waiting

i saw a random comment about the original lore that viktor was jayce's enemy and like... stole stuff from jayce's lab to cure a degenerative illness in the undercity... and he was always doing illegal "evil" stuff to directly help people in the undercity. i wish that arcane viktor was more like that

it seems like he sort of bides his time hoping jayce will give the ok and only pushes back when he has a terminal illness and then he's just trying to fight to save his own life and has become almost entirely disconnected form undercity yet still isn't seen as one of the topsiders

i think it would have been a better story if he had fought more

i would want him (and everyone) to stop giving jayce and the topside (can never remember the name) such complete deference, like waiting for approval and acceptance from them before they can do anything. even when viktor is fighting them he still seems so pliant to them, it's on their terms always. the upper city is goodness, and controls what goodness is and means. the under city is badness. and if you want to do good for the undercity you can only do it by going to the upper city and finding ways to help through them, but the upper city just condemns the undercity as bad and nothing happens and those "good" under city people just get absorbed into and become nothing, passive, useless...

like the "good" characters can't find themselves in the active terrorist abolitionists of the underside so they go to their topside oppressers like plz would you mind liberating us? oh, you'd rather i wait for next 10 years, ok, but do you promise to after?

i can't get over the subtle casual cruelty of how jayce treats viktor. his arrogance and ignorance

but it also kills me that viktor never seems to have really pushed back against jayce ignoring viktor's ambitions to help others, always giving jayce so much benefit of the doubt, until jayce fused him to the hexcore. i was cheering when he walk away from him but it seems ... too late. i just finished s2e5 and from what i've seen of viktor so far it seems less like he's shirking respectably to finally fight back against the upper city but more like he's completely absorbed the pultiver ideology of faux goodness, reasonability, order (or the hexcore taking over his consciousness has?) and taken it to the extreme. and now are they gonna make jayce the hero to fight viktor's corruption? it's more of just ... either undercity people are evil or they are passive, and if they try to act in any way the upper city are the heroes that stop them. it's such a cruel system and it is enraging that the story seems to be holding these moderates that created this whole situation as the heroes who are saving the world from the evil actions of those they oppressed... like. have you ever felt so gaslit by a TV show

anyway it's very disappointing. there seems this aggressive individualism in arcane. viktor seemed to wait quietly until disease affected him personally. the glimpse of viktor described in the game lore (which i admit i have no knowledge of other than a random video comment) is so much more appealing, where viktor was acting with that kind of desperation BEFORE it affected him personally.

maybe i would have preferred viktor & jayce had been enemies with viktor fighting for the undercity from the beginning (and they could still do that homoerotically)

[kaidoreunion]

I'm back. Again. So anyways i wondering if you could do stan from south park.

yandere stan marsh: “background character”

content warnings: yandere, stalking, all characters 18 or older, alcohol use, jealousy, kidnapping, GN reader

Stan had been interested in you for as long as he could remember. For the most part, anyway. From seventh grade, the year Wendy, his long-term girlfriend, decided to dump him, to the present, he’d been borderline infatuated with all that was you. His friends teased him for moving on too fast, for pining after somebody that had always stayed far, far away from him and his friends.

He followed you to college. After overhearing that you’d been accepted into a local university, he applied immediately, and was accepted alongside you. In fact, he followed you everywhere, even registering for a dorm when he heard you wanted to live on campus.

His past with you aside, Stan currently stands against the wall, laughing and swapping shots with his childhood best friend, Kyle Brofvloski, at a mutual friend’s engagement party.

“It’s crazy that kids we know are already getting married.” Stan admits, his eye twitching in discomfort as he forces down another shot. “God, that’s bitter.”

“Dude, it’s not even just marriage. Red got knocked up.”

“Seriously?”

Kyle continues, going on to describe how he found out and such, but Stan tunes him out as he spots you across the room. His face flushes and his eyes widen, as he hadn’t expected at all to see you here. After all, you’d never wanted much to do with just anyone from South Park.

Yet, here you are, smiling and congratulating Kenny on his engagement (which he seems less than excited about in contrast to his fiancé, who is bouncing around and sharing drinks.)

“Stan, you’re not even listening.” Kyle scoffs, losing interest in what he’d been saying and with it, motivation to keep talking to him. “What’s with your face?”

Stan looks over and quickly fixes his dropped jaw, clearing his throat. He opens his mouth to answer, but Kyle intervenes.

“Nevermind, I think I know.” He rolls his eyes and carefully takes the shot glass from Stan. “If you’re gonna drool over them, at least do it sober.”

Kyle’s gaze shoots toward you, who is admiring Kenny’s fiancé’s ring as they proudly show it off. “I can’t believe you’re still into them. I mean, it’s been years, and have you guys even spoken? Really?”

Stan glances away. “Whatever, dude. We’ve talked a few times…”

“Was the last time you talked in eighth grade when you asked them out and got rejected? Cause that’s not exactly a brag.” Kyle teases, earning a scowl from his shorter companion.

Stan pushes himself off the wall, not dignifying Kyle’s taunting with a response. No, instead, he approaches you with a surge of confidence that can only be born through mockery and embarrassment.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greets awkwardly, although it seems he’s spoken too softly, because you don’t react, staying engaged in your conversation. So, he tries again. “Y/N, hi..!”

Once again, you don’t even flinch, don’t even look his way. He feels drowned out by the party around him, like a shadow, or a ghost. He knows he’s only ever been a background character in your life, but ignoring him like this? He’s sure it’s cruelty.

You’re invested in Kenny’s fiancé’s story, admiring their ring and complimenting their appearance. Stan’s patience wears thinner, and the slight buzz of the alcohol he’s already consumed only fuels that fire.

Stan swallows his anxiety and grabs your shoulder, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, followed by your eyes finally meeting his. All the confidence he’d built up is suddenly lost on him, and all that’s left in its place is a warm feeling in his gut.

“Hey, can I help you?” You ask.

It’s an innocent enough question, not spoken maliciously or even suspiciously, but it irritates Stan regardless. He’s not a customer, nor you a server, why can’t you be casual with him? He doesn’t want to be a stranger, surely years of knowing each other means something to you, anything?

“Uh, well—“

Before he can finish, the fiancé cuts in. “Oh! Did you want to see the—“

Something in Stan snaps. Kyle had always been the hot-headed one, but Stan’s anger was not lost on him over the years. “Shut up!” He snaps, then turns to you. “I’m trying to talk. Wait your turn.”

“Don’t be a douche.” You try to reason, crossing your arms. “It’s their party, and I’m sure they didn’t mean to—“

Following the trend of being cut off mid-sentence, Stan interrupts you. “I’m a douche? For real? Y/N, I have done literally everything I could to get even a sliver of your attention, but you’re so self-absorbed that anyone outside your line of sight is disregarded. I’ve known you since I was 8 fucking years old, I mean, seriously!”

“I thought Kyle was the angry one.” You retort. You know it’s a shitty reply, only proving his point, but it just slips out.

You watch as Stan’s irritation and desperation take a physical form, turning his face red and making his body tense up. You expect some yelling, some insults, maybe even a booze-driven slap or a punch.

What you don’t expect is for him to grab your face in his sweaty hands and push his lips against yours. It only lasts a sliver of a second, and he pulls away to gauge your reaction. You struggle to pinpoint your strongest emotion, but you’re sure anger is high on the list.

“Stan, what the fuck?”

“I love you. I’ve loved you since middle school, I loved you when you dyed your hair that ugly ass color in tenth grade and when you fucked that guy from some frat, and I still love you even though you treat me like something you found on the bottom of your shoe.”

“Dude! I don’t like you because you’re impulsive, and you do random shit like kissing me when you’re mad at me. The sentiment is sweet, and maybe you really do mean what you’re saying, but I don’t want to deal with your emotional baggage while I’m trying to support my friends.”

“Holy shit.” He weakly lets go of you, looking you up and down. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“I thought you said you loved me.”

“I do. But it’s easier to romanticize the bitchy shit you do when it’s not toward me.”

You stare up at him, inspecting his expression. He’s absolutely distraught, but more than that, his desperation is creeping back out.

“You know what? Fuck this, and fuck you, and fuck Kenny and his weird ass fiancé. I love you, and I don’t give a shit if you wanna be a jerk, but you don’t get to treat me like this.” He pushes a finger against your collar bone, glaring at you. You look around for assistance but find everyone distracted in their own little worlds, even the fiancé, who ran off to Kenny.

He almost looks like he might attack you, but again, he takes you by surprise. He sighs and kisses your forehead, then grips your wrist and begins dragging you out the back door. You panic and attempt to pull away, but his scrawny body is stronger than you’d think, and the drinks you had aren’t exactly making you stronger, judging by the way your legs turn to jelly.

“You know, just cause I’m calmer than him, doesn’t mean I don’t get mad, too.” He says, referencing Kyle. “I’m gonna shower you in so much goddamn love and affection, you’ll be begging for me not to leave you, and you’ll see how it feels to be so obsessed with somebody that…”

He trails off, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Get in the car.” He pushes your weak, stumbling body into the backseat, following the aggression with an awkward head pat.

[averillaratargaryen]

“A Better Man.”

Chapter XI

“Let me go!” Averillara shouts, her hands being tied down, clamped by metal chains.

“You will be once Aegon is crowned king” one of the guards spoke.

“Aegon does not want to be crowned King! That is not what he wants. My mother is meant to be Queen!” Averillara shouts back in response.

“Is that what he told you?” Alicent walks in, finding herself listening to Averillara’s remarks.

“Why force someone who is not fit to be King? He’s going to run away” Averillara tells her.

“Like how he did last night? With you?” Alicent asks.

“He did not run away with me” Averillara responds.

“Because of you, my son wrote me a suicide note! He made me believe he was dead!” Alicent shouts, “and for what? All so that your mother could have the throne?”

“I did not tell Aegon to do any of this” Averillara shook her head, confused as to why she were being accused.

“No but it was you who led him astray” Alicent responds.

“I am not responsible for your son’s doings” Averillara fought back.

“He will be crowned King” Alicent looks to her proudly, “and your mother has no say. If she tries, she knows that her only daughter will be killed.”

“My Grandsire would not want this. He would not want Aegon on the throne. You are a liar who only wishes to benefit your legacy! To have your name stated in our family!” Averillara shouts.

Alicent, who found Averillara’s words entirely insulting, then reaches forward, before harshly slapping her against her cheek.

“I could have you hung for the words you speak to me” Alicent whispers, her eyes demanding.

“Then do it” Averillara responded, “I would rather die, than live in a world where Hightowers try to usurp the throne from a true Targaryen.”

Alicent no longer wished to hear Averillara’s insults, ready to walk out, before Averillara leaves her one last message.

“I wonder what everyone would think? To know that someone like you was fucking the lord commander of the Kings guard” she whispered.

Alicent stopped, her breath hitched, when she turned to face Averillara yet again.

“What?” Alicent asked.

“You criticised my mother.. judged her, for all these years! Whilst you have been doing the same?” Averillara asks.

“I made my sacrifices-!”

“Like how you had gone to see our Grandsire behind my mother’s back? The one she thought were here friend!” Averillara shouts back, not wishing to hear of Alicent’s sacrifices.

“You are a woman of shame, and dishonour and I hope one day you will understand my mother’s pain and grief” Averillara spat out, “you were no Queen in anybody’s eyes. You were simply the King’s consort.”

Alicent scoffed, finding Averillara’s words towards her unbelievable.

Her mouth is agape, as she stutters, thinking of what to say. But to nobody’s surprise, was she unable to speak.

“If you wish to kill me then do so” Averillara responded proudly, “but the Gods will answer to your cruelty.”

~

“I need to see her” Aegon pushes past his brother.

“You do not” Aemond places his hand above Aegon’s chest, pushing him back, “I told you she is fine.”

“I do not know she is fine unless I see for myself” Aegon responds.

“Mother requested to have her hung” Heleana casually spoke out, as she walked into the room, towards her brothers.

“What?” Aegon asks.

“Mother says that Averillara throws insults. Ones that could have her beheaded” Helaena tells him, “why did you get her into your mess? Now she has to pay the price in defending her family.”

“What family?” Alicent, once again, finds herself walking in midst a conversation, “what family are we, when Aegon decides to lie to us to elope with another woman?”

“I did not do it to elope with another woman” Aegon responds, “I did this to elope from here. From you.”

“After everything I have done for you?” Alicent asks, “I have sacrificed everything, to get you onto this throne.”

“I did not ask for this! I do not want to be King” Aegon responds.

“Your father wanted this-!”

“Our father did not care for us!” Aegon shouted back, “not for me, not for Aemond, and barely for our sister Helaena. I had tried so much, to be the perfect son you wanted me to be. But nothing I did was enough. Neither you or father ever cared. Father, being busy with his daughter Rhaenyra, and you, being busy by your blinding hatred!”

“Aegon” Ser Cole calls out, walking towards him to calm him down.

“And you stay away from me too!” Aegon pushes Ser Cole away, “you can stand here and play make belief but you are not our family. My mother orders her special tea every night, after you leave her room. We all see it.”

Aegon looks around at his family in dissapointment.

Dissapointed at the fact that they wished to force the throne upon him.

“You want me as King? You want me on that throne? Fine” Aegon, shrugs, “I will do it for everyone’s satisfaction but my own. But in return you must let Averillara go.”

“We can not-”

Before Ser Cole could reject letting her go, Aegon draws his sword, pressing it against his neck, “let her go, or you will have no King, and a dead son.”

Alicent takes a step forward, her hands reaching out to stop him, before she looks to Ser Cole, “let her go. Let her go back to Dragonstone.”

Ser Cole nods, and rushes out, to find Averillara.

~

Averillara was sat quietly, debating in her mind on what to do, or what she will have to do, knowing how disappointed her mother would be.

Yet her thoughts were interrupted abruptly by the sound of the gate opening, and a loud, screeching voice she disliked so much.

“You can’t keep me here forever” Averillara looks up to Ser Cole.

“I know. Which is why we are letting you go. Aegon has agreed to become king” Ser Cole smiles smugly.

“What?” Averillara scoffs, “I hardly doubt that, after we spoke yesterday. He told me himself he would not become King.”

“Then I suppose he lied to you” Ser Cole responds.

“Aegon would not lie to me” Averillara responds, “I know he wouldn’t.”

“He only did what he had to do, to spend the night with you. How do you think we found you?” Ser Cole asks.

“By having your little men follow me around” Averillara rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Aegon only wished this so that he could have you before becoming King. Knowing you would not have him after he did” Ser Cole chuckles.

She feels the chains collapse from her wrists.

“I will believe it once I see it” Averillara tells him.

“Please, do” Ser Cole responds.

…

Averillara had made her way to the Dragonpit, followed by Ser Cole.

He then leaves her to herself behind the crowd, and finds himself joining the rest of the Hightower family.

Averillara stood amongst the rest of the villagers, looking around before she heard mummers gradually get louder.

As she looked to her left, the sounds of swords clinking with one another had only meant one thing.

Averillara watched as Aegon walked in. He looked nor regretful nor pleased. He had rather a neutral look, as he took a glance towards Averillara, yet walked right past her.

He made his way through the crowd, where his family awaited to crown him, including Ser Cole.

The sounds around her fading into a muffled hum as she stood frozen, unable to comprehend the sudden coldness.

Her chest tightened, a knot forming in her throat as her mind struggled to reconcile the man she once trusted was now a stranger who had just walked away.

Aegon stood before the people, watching as everyone cheered.

Everyone but Averillara, who stood watching him silently.

Aegon knew what it was that she was feeling. He knew the betrayal he caused her, but he had to do what must be done, in order to make things right.

“The crown of the conqueror, passed down through generations” Ser Cole called out, as Aegon stood in front of him, his head down.

His breath catching up to his feelings, as he held all the anger towards his family, knowing that this was wrong, knowing he was not to be King.

It was the disappointment he felt not only in himself, but his mother who forced this upon him.

It was silent, as everyone watched Ser Cole take a step forward, reaching the crown to his head as he places it above.

Averillara watched, as her heart wretched, wiping her tears away.

She no longer felt the need to be upset, having to seen for her own eyes all the lies that Aegon supposedly told her.

Instead, she had no interest to see any longer, feeling far too angry, and far too betrayed by it all.

And with that she turned around and left, almost promising herself she would never return.

Not to him.

After placing the crown above his head, Ser Cole then takes a step back, “let the seven bear witness. Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the iron throne.”

Many of the people looked around at one another, confused, as they whispered to one another, “what of Princess Rhaenyra?”

Aegon, having heard this, let out a sigh, knowing what the people were to think of him.

He stood up, as he was faced towards him family, each one then giving him their courtesy as a form of respect.

Aegon looked towards his siblings, as both Helaena and Aemond had done the same.

Aegon then almost uttered words, not wanting them to give courtesy, to him at least. He was their brother, not their King.

But having looked around, he realised he could not speak a word. At least not now.

“All hail his grace, Aegon. Second of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm. Aegon the King!”

The bells rung three times, as everyone begun to cheer.

Aegon slowly let his eyes look up, watching as the people accepted him with the crown on his head.

He raised his sword, projecting a smile on his face, as he looked around, before his eyes searched to the back, and his smile had disappeared once again.

Averillara was gone. And possibly forever.

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chapter 12

[kentuckyfriedsatan]

ℭ𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰 ℑ𝔫 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℑ𝔠𝔢

《 Chapter 4 》

❚ Rating: M

❚ Pairing: Dew/Ifrit, Dew/Rain (end goal)

❚ Chapter word count: 601, sorry for such short chapters

❚ Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Self-Loathing, touch starved Rain, touch starved Dew, Ifrit is a manipulative bitch in this one, I am so sorry for that I normally love him, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort In later chapters, emotional abuse, brief sexual abuse not on screen, degradation

❚ Chapter summary: Aftermath of Dews and Rains moment

Read it on Ao3 or here under the cut!

Dew’s heart pounds as he walks down the dimly lit hallway towards Ifrit's room. Each step feels heavier than the last, the echo of Rain's concerned voice still lingering in his mind. He hated lying to Rain, but he couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the truth. As he reaches the door, it creaks open before he could knock, revealing Ifrit leaning casually against the frame, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Was wondering when you would show up," Ifrit drawls, his tone icy. "Had a nice little chat with Rain, did you?"

Dew freezes, his stomach twisting in knots. "No no I-It was nothing," he stammers, looking down at the floor.

Ifrit’s hand shots out, gripping Dew’s chin and forcing him to look up. "Nothing? And what about practice today hm? From what I saw, it looked pretty cozy. So I ask again, what did he say to you?"

Dew's mind races, panic setting in. "He just... asked if I was okay," his voice is trembling. "That’s all."

Ifrit’s eyes narrow, his grip tightening painfully.

"You think I’m stupid? I saw the way he looked at you. Like he cares. But he doesn’t, firelily. He’s just pretending."

Tears prick at Dew’s eyes as he tried to pull away, but Ifrit’s hold is unyielding.

"He does care," Dew whispers, barely believing his own words.

Ifrit laughs, a harsh, mocking sound. "Oh, please. Rain doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s just playing the hero. Do you think he’d stick around if he knew how worthless you are?"

Dewdrop flinches, the words cutting deep. He tries to shake his head, but Ifrit’s grip holds him still.

"You’re wrong," Dew says, his voice breaking. He wants to believe that Rain gives a damn.

Ifrit’s expression darkens, his eyes blazing with anger.

"I’m wrong? Look at you. Clinging to anyone who throws you a scrap of kindness. Pathetic."

He releases Dew with a shove, sending him stumbling back. Dew’s heart aches, the familiar sting of Ifrit’s cruelty mixing with the fresh pain of his harsh words. He wants to defend Rain, to scream that he wasn’t pretending, but the weight of Ifrit’s manipulation bears down on him, crushing his spirit.

"If you were worth anything, you wouldn’t be here," Ifrit continues, his voice a cold sneer. "Rain doesn’t want you. No one does. I’m the only one who tolerates you."

Dew’s tears fall freely now, his body shaking with silent sobs. He believes Ifrit. He has to. The thought of being alone, of facing the emptiness without Ifrit, is too terrifying to bear. "I’m sorry," he chokes out. "I won’t talk to him again."

“Don’t be silly, you should at least reassure Rain that something like at practice won’t happen again and that it was a mistake. Don’t you think, firelily?”

“Yes I will.”

"Good. Now, come here." He gestures at the bed.

Dew obeys, his movements stiff and automatic. He lies next to Ifrit who wraps an arm around Dew’s middle, pulling him close, but there is no warmth in the gesture. It is a possessive hold, a silent assertion of control.

"You’re mine," he whispers into Dewdrops ear. "Don’t forget that." He licks down his throat and gropes him.

***

Later, as they lay in the dark, Dew feels the full weight of his isolation. Ifrit is there beside him, but it is an empty presence, devoid of the love and connection he craves. He longes for the gentle touch and kind words Rain might offer, but he quickly pushes those thoughts away. He doesn’t deserve that kind of tenderness. Not after everything.

[limehaspassed]

To Give a Man His Name

(Thomas Hewitt x M!Reader)

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In which you have dinner with the Hewitt’s.

Part Three (Soon)

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He was a brute of man, tall, wide, and intimidating. His eyes were like bottomless pits of undeterred determination, envy, and pain. His gaze was strong, sharp, it encompassed you and compressed you. Under his gaze, you felt small, insignificant, weak. You felt as if you were nothing more than prey waiting for its predator to attack, but you didn’t want to believe he would attack, you refused to believe he would attack.

“Good morning.” You greeted him one morning.

You were met with silence.

“Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you around here yet.” You asked, trying to make small talk.

At these words, he turned from where he stood in front of the table to look at you. His eyes were sharp, it felt as if he was melting you with a glare beyond anything you’ve ever seen. You wanted to sink away but you refused to, not wanting to back down. You didn’t want to let the rumors get to you, to ruin your image of him before you’ve even held a conversation with him. You didn’t want to let them be true.

You cleared your throat and looked away, his piercing gaze weighing heavy on you. You returned to your work and continued speaking from there.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t miss yah, you’re a pretty big guy.” You spoke casually not meaning your comment as a slight against him. You were simply trying to make a joke but from the glare you could feel bore into your head, you knew you had said the wrong words. You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was staring at you with righteous anger. You had entirely spoken without thinking.

“I didn’t mean that against yah.” You clarified. You could still feel his burning eyes. “I just meant that you’re tall and there ain’t anything wrong with that. I think it’s pretty cool. In fact, I wish I could be that tall, you know how easily I would be able to grab things if I was that tall? Stupidly easy.” You expanded your comment, rambling on at this point, just speaking whatever came to mind.

Eventually, after a moment, his eyes fell and you internally sighed, glad to have dodged that bullet. You knew he wasn’t a monster but you also knew that you had no gauge over his emotions, he was a new pal after all. You didn’t know how quickly angered he was, or how quick he was to resort to cruelty. You hoped he was passive, that he went against what the people say about him. There was a part of you that wanted to explore his mind and prove to everyone how wrong they were about him, how different he is compared to their unjustified expectations.

He didn’t talk for the entire day and you didn’t push him anymore. You kept quiet for the remaining work time, deciding that it was best not to force him to talk. You wanted him to like you after all and forcing someone to talk is a guaranteed end of a relationship, even if it was just recently formed.

“Goodbye. Have a good day.” You spoke before taking your leave after your shift had ended. He didn’t return the favor. You didn’t mind it.

You went to start your walk home when the sheriff showed up. He pulled up beside you and flashed you a smile.

“Want a ride?” He asked.

You went to say no but stopped yourself, knowing that a lift would be a lot of help.

“Couldn’t hurt.” You replied and hopped in the cab.

The ride was silent for a bit until Hoyt broke it.

“So, you get out often besides work?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not really. Wish I did but there is little to do in this town.” You explained with a sigh.

Hoyt hummed in agreement. “Right. So I’m meeting an old friend, Charlie for dinner. He told me to bring someone else. Would you be interested in joining? It’ll give you something to do and a reason to put on something a little more formal.”

You rolled your eyes at his last statement but ultimately agreed, not having much else planned either way. “And this is now?”

“Yeah but I thought we should swing by your place so you can get cleaned up.” His words held no weight to them but his expression did. He was waiting for something, something you didn’t know.

“Sounds good.” Your reply was short. There was a tension in the air now, one you felt but not the latter. You were afraid of what this something might be, what he might be searching for inside you. You did your best to push your suspicions away and to give the man your benefit of the doubt. After all, he was a part of the police system.

Soon enough, the two of you arrived at your house. He pulled into the dirt driveway and set the vehicle in park. “Go get ready, sweetheart.” He teased, giving you a sly look.

You feigned a smile and exited the cab, making your way towards the front door. You dug your keys out of your pocket and jammed them into the keyhole with a little more force than needed. Hoyt was quickly growing to be an annoyance, his remarks building up underneath your skin. You slid the door open and let out a relieved sigh, happy to smell the familiar air of your home.

Quickly, you made your way inside and into your small room. You walked into the bathroom off the side of your room and washed up quickly before heading back into the main area of your room. “What to wear?” You thought aloud as you rummaged through your dresser. You wanted to wear something casual but formal, something modest but cute.

Eventually, as you reached the bottom of your drawers, you found a flora printed shirt that you haven’t worn since you lived in California. It held a faded print and was cut enough to tease but not enough to show, it was appropriate enough. You slipped it over your body and adjusted it before grabbing your go to pair of shoes and heading out the door.

You stopped short of crossing the threshold when a hand reached out and grabbed your arm.

“Where are you going?” Your daughter asked, looking up at you with confused eyes.

“I’m heading out to dinner.” You started, turning to face her. You bent down and sat on the same level as her. “How about this? You come with me?” You offered.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. She immediately ran to her room and got ready. You didn’t know if she would be allowed to come but you didn’t care. She was your daughter and if you’re going, she’s coming too. Time passed and she soon came running out of her room, wearing a dress similar to your shirt. It was modest and you were thankful, not wanting to force her to change into something else.

“Did you match on purpose?” You asked, examining her dress next to your shirt.

She grinned and nodded, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door. You led her to the car and stopped in front of the passenger side door.

“And who is this?” Hoyt spoke the second you opened the door of the car. He held that mystery expression he held before, that intention you weren’t aware of.

You forced a smile in his direction. “This is my daughter, Lillian.”

“A Princess, how swell. You sure you want to bring her to a drinking party?” He questioned.

“You said it was dinner. Besides, I won’t be the one drinking.” You explained, opening the back door for Lillian to climb into the back of the cab. She got situated quickly and buckled up. You closed the door and took your own seat.

“Suit yourself.” He said and pulled the car out of park and reversed it out of the driveway. The three of you were now on your way to Charlie’s house.

You have heard of Charlie but you’ve never met him. The only bit of information you knew about was that he was the town’s local pervert. The reason you were glad Lillian wore a more modest fit was because of this rumor. You only wanted to play safe, after all, there was still that mystery intention Hoyt seemed to hold, the something you still haven’t figured out.

The ride was silent besides Lillian’s quiet humming. You could tell it was starting to tick Hoyt off but before he could say anything, they pulled into the driveway of Charlie’s house.

It was a larger house, certainly bigger than your own. From the looks of it, it held two floors. You haven’t seen a house quite this big since when you lived in California as you would drive through the upper class neighborhoods, wishing that you could one day live there. This reminded you of those upper class neighborhoods and what they might be when the economy fails.

The car was placed in park and the engine killed. You climbed out and opened the door for Lillian, who thanked you as she descended from the car.

The two of you walked towards the front door where Hoyt already stood, waiting for you. He knocked once you guys caught up to him. The door opened quickly, it was an older woman that greeted them with a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be Charlie’s friends. Come on in. My name is Luda Mae.” She introduced herself, waving the three of you in.

Hoyt was the first to walk through the door, followed by you and Lillian. You didn’t miss the sweet smile the elderly lady gave Lillian. You could only hope that Lillian gave a smile in return, that she has listened to your teachings. By the lady’s face, you could tell Lillian was listening after all.

As the two of you entered, you were both met with the smell of cooked meat and vegetables. The smell was appetizing to your hungry bellies. It was enticing and invited you further into the home. You would have followed the smell to the kitchen if it wasn’t for Luda Mae, who directed you to the living room while she finished making the food that smelled absolutely wonderful.

“Please, take a seat in the living room, dinner will be ready momentarily.” She spoke before disappearing into the kitchen.

Hoyt led the two of you to the living room, where a second person was introduced. He was in his late forties and he held crazed eyebrows. You did your best not to judge but it wasn't that difficult to keep up with eyebrow maintenance. You knew Lillian had noticed the man’s eyebrows as well and was probably snickering about it behind your back.

“Charlie!” Hoyt greeted excitedly, clasping the man on the back.

Charlie, returned the favor and hugged his friend back. The two then took a seat opposite of each other and started talking. They talked quickly and rather loudly. You didn’t really know where you fit into the picture so you just had Lillian and you took a seat on an unoccupied couch. Lillian sat close to you, practically sitting on top of your leg.

“Oh, these are my friends.” He goes on to introduce you and Lillian to Charlie.

“I said bring only one person.” Charlie restated his guidelines.

“It’ll be fine. It's only a kid.” Hoyt brushed off the situation.

“Whatever.”

You could tell Charlie was a bit aggravated by this but he didn’t say anything on the topic further. Instead, he started a conversation with Hoyt about the state of the town and how it seemed to be hitting a downward curve. They continued to talk about this for a while until Luda Mae came back into the room and announced that dinner was ready.

All four of you stood up and made your way into the dining room, you simply followed behind Hoyt and Charlie who knew where they were going. When you arrived at the table and took your seat, Luda Mae wheeled in yet another person, one that was older and couldn’t walk. The man looked over at you for a moment before looking away, towards the food on the table.

You watched him for a moment before turning your attention to Luda Mae, who was already looking at you with a sweet smile. You smiled back. She then turned to Charlie and waved at him, a signal he understood.

He stood up from the table and walked away. You could hear him yelling someone’s name but you couldn’t fully make out what he was saying. He returned back to the table with nothing in tow, coming empty handed. He sat down at the table and started talking with Hoyt once more.

“Is he coming?” You heard Hoyt asked to which he was interrupted by a door sliding shut fairly loudly.

There were loud footsteps heading towards your direction, they entered the dining room and stopped behind you. You were nervous to look behind you. A moment passed and Luda motioned for the person to take a seat. The footsteps continued and soon a man came into your view, taking a seat next to you.

It was him.

“Thomas?” You asked, rather shocked.

He looked up at you, slightly jarred that you remembered his name. He had seen you earlier that day, he didn’t expect you to be here, nor did he expect you to remember his name, especially considering most people only know him as the word, “freak.” It was quite a shock.

“Have you two already met?” Luda Mae asked.

“Yeah, we work together.” You didn’t let your gaze fall from the man beside you. He stares you in the eyes, almost as if it was a competition. This goes on for a bit until you blink and look away, not able to hold eye contact anymore. This didn’t stop him from staring.

For the rest of the night, for the rest of the time you were at that table, he stared at you intently. You didn’t know what he wanted and you wished he wouldn’t stare, it put you under a spotlight, one you didn’t want to be casted underneath. You hated being the center of attention and it felt like you were whenever his eyes landed on you.

You tried your best to distract yourself by exchanging a few words with Luda Mae but it never seemed to help, his stare was just as invasive. It loomed over you, causing you to sweat with nerves. You hated being looked at like this.

“Dad, are you alright?” Lillian asked quietly, tapping your arm.

You turned to her and forced a smile. “Of course, dear. Just a little out of it. It’s been a long day.” You explained, something that wasn’t a complete lie.

She nodded and continued eating. You were glad she didn’t ask anymore questions, that she accepted your lie.

Dinner came to an end and you were soon all saying your goodbyes. Luda gave each and every one of you a hug. Her hug was warm and inviting. You enjoyed it more than you would like to admit.

You turned to Thomas after Luda had moved on to give Lillian a hug. You gave a smile and a small wave. “Goodbye, Thomas.” You said before grabbing Lillian’s hand and walking towards the front door where Hoyt was with Charlie.

The two were engaged in a small conversation when you met up with them. Hoyt shook Charlie’s hand and said his goodbyes. Charlie smiled and wished him a good day. Hoyt headed out the door and you went to follow him when Charlie stopped you.

“Now you better stay nice to Tommy.” He warned, a threatening tone overtaking his voice.

You nodded sternly. “Of course.” You spoke, trying your best not to show your fear.

Charlie let you go after that, patting your back and sending you on your way. He closed the door after you left.

“That was odd.”

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Part 2/9

Tag List: @one-green-frog @kodasstar @cross-axis @the-lonely-abyss