#i was so annoyed about the “er” on the end

[the-kr8tor]

Hobat sneaking into your bag so now you have to keep a tiny bat safe and comfortable until classes end. You know the trope if bringing an animal to school? Either a puppy or kitten and everyone fawns over it and slowly finds out it's in the classroom. 🫡

Ahhhhh hobat my beloved!!! ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like it, bestie!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Vampire au, hunter! Reader, established relationship, Hobat au, cw food mentions, lovestruck! Hobie, Jealous! Hobie, set in my vampire series (in pursuit of blood), fluff!

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You shouldn't have brought Hobie to night school if you knew he'd be a menace most of the time inside your bag. He insisted when he overheard you talking to Gwen about an old fling being a classmate of yours. He didn't mean to eavesdrop but he can't help his supersonic hearing when the walls of his home are older than the eiffel tower. To his credit, he did apologize when you sniffed out his lie of asking to come with because he heard that a fellow vampire could be your classic lit 101 professor. After a bit more convincing on his end, which is cuddling in the coffin while he whispers to you affectionately in a language that predates Julius Caesar, you let him come with you to class in one condition— Stay in his Hobat form and stay hidden inside your bag.

It was all fine and dandy at first as you showed him around campus while he told you small historical facts about the place. You even fed him cafeteria french fries while you studied. He didn't like it, but the way he was munching inside your backpack says otherwise. You liked the thrill, it was like you brought your cat to school when it's forbidden. Like Mary and her little lamb, but as the night continues and he gets bored inside your bag, it gets harder to hide the fact that you brought a bat to night school. It all sounds like the start of a joke.

Hobie wiggles inside your bag that's on your lap, squeaking inside as he reads your notes about Emily Brontë. With a telepathic line connected with you, he speaks in your head while you try to listen to the lesson in front of you.

“Your handwritin’ is shit, love. Didn't they teach you cursive?”

“Fuck off, Hobie.” You reply in your head, but your annoyed expression still shows. “I was homeschooled, and our elders didn't exactly teach anything beyond how to throw a knife or basic spells.”

“That explains a lot.” He snickers inside, the squeaking gets a few people's attention.

You fake a sneeze, looking at them apologetically until they turn their heads away from you. “Keep it down! They can still hear your rat noises! And what the fuck does that mean?!”

“‘m goin' to ignore the fact that you called me a rat, love.” You feel him move around inside your bag. “And I didn't mean anythin’ by that.” His sing-song tone would usually have you gazing at him gently, but with you paying an ungodly amount for night school, his behaviour has you more annoyed than endeared. He does however look cute in his tiny bat form, but that thought escapes you when he peeks his fluffy head out of the zipper of your bag, a q-tip in between his fangs. “Why do you have a used q-tip in ‘ere?”

Groaning audibly, the sound echoing inside the silent classroom, everyone, even the professor stops to look at you. “Sorry, I have to take a call.” Making up an excuse, you gather your things and shove it inside your bag haphazardly while ignoring Hobie's protests in your mind. “Sorry, excuse me.” Slinking out of the hall, you exit out with your head down.

“That fuckin’ hurt!” He rubs his tiny head, peeking through the opened zipper as you ignore him and find a quiet janitor's closet to hide in.

“Good!” You say audibly, flicking the light switch to show your anger towards the bat. “I told you that you can stay if you're quiet, Hobie!”

Flying above you, he matches your height. “I was! Until I saw your shit take about ‘Emma!’”

“It was my opinion! That was the assignment!”

Hobie's about to reply back with another quip, but his ear picks up the sound of footsteps outside. Immediately turning back to his usual form, black smoke fills your vision before you're gently shoved against the shelf. Jugs of cleaners and mops fall down as you feel his lips lightly press against your own. Your instincts tell you to kiss back, despite your previous anger, you kiss him like always, anger dissipating and fading to annoyance until his lips kiss back in tandem then you've forgotten what you were arguing about. You find that he always has that effect on you. Knowing that he'll never use vampire hypnotism on you or anyone, it's safe to say that it's just his lips and touch making you melt in his arms.

The door creaks open, light flooding inside. Hobie pulls away, pecking you once more before looking over his shoulder. “Care to knock, mate?” His hand cradles the back of your head while the other holds your waist. Gentle as he avoids his sharp nails from poking you.

“This isn't a motel.” A gruff voice says, you see him tapping his foot against the floor through Hobie's arm. “Get out or I'll call the dean.”

“Shit, yes, sorry.” Pushing Hobie off of you, the fear of getting suspended tamps out the need to kiss him. Tugging him by his belt loops, you couldn't look the stranger in the eyes as you lead him away. You don't let him go until you're out in the near empty courtyard. Sighing in relief, you lean against the wall and cradle your face in embarrassment.

“Love.”

“Stop.”

“I haven't even said anythin' yet.” Chuckling, Hobie taps your shoe with his.

“I know what you were about to say just from your tone.” Your muffled voice has him laughing more. “It's not funny. That was embarrassing.”

Gently, he takes your hands away from your face, meeting with your eyes as you gaze back to his wine red ones. “‘m sorry, ‘m a wanker.”

“You were.” Stomping your foot like you're throwing a tantrum, Hobie cups your cheeks, hands colder than the night air. “I know you were bored but you could've just said so and I'd take you outside so you could go home.”

“Nah, I wasn't bored.” His thumb traces your cheek. “And I don't want to go home without you.”

“Then why were you being annoying? You know how much this means to me.”

With a sigh, Hobie, a fearsome thousand year old vampire, places his head on your shoulder and exhales like a lovelorn school boy. He mumbles something incoherent and you have to nudge and ask him what kind of sound he just let out.

“Iwastryingtogetyourattention.” He says quickly, barely catching what he meant.

“Hobie, didn't your governess tell you not to mumble?” Joking back, he leans away, eyes narrowed at you.

“I never had a governess.”

“Well, that explains a lot.” Throwing his words back at him, he tamps down a chortle, fangs peeking through his lips. “Come on, why do you need to get my attention when you have it almost 24/7?”

“I saw the bloke that you talked ‘bout with Gwen.” He rests against your clavicle, the position is awkward with his stature, back bent like a shrimp and his hand mindlessly playing with a string from your jumper. “He kept starin’ at you, lovie.”

“Aww,” you coo, hands rubbing along his back. “My big bad vampire is jealous.”

Hobie abruptly yanks himself off you. “I can rip him to shreds.”

“I know you can.” Smiling, you cradle his cheeks, immediately calming him down. “I didn't even notice him there. I was listening to the lesson.”

“You were?” He asks, hands gravitating towards your hips. “I thought—”

“Your jealousy knows no bounds, Hobie Brown.” Poking him, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. “I swear every full moon you're like this, you're like a werewolf but instead of transforming you turn into a green monster of jealousy. Seriously, not even Pav is safe when we drove out for two hours to get his wizard robes.” Maybe something in your ancient tomes says something about vampires and their monthly bouts of jealousy.

“Only for you, lovie.” Puckering his lips, he tries to kiss you but you block him with your hand.

“Nuh uh, you're not getting off that easily. Fly home, Hobat, before I take out my stake.”

“But—”

“Go, or I'll tell our housemates what you did.”

“Not even one—”

“Guess I have to sleep in my own bed tonight.” You fake a sigh.

With a puff of smoke, Hobie turns back into a bat, wings flapping loudly as he squeaks. “Already flyin’ away!”

Smiling as you gaze at his retreating form, you wince. “Now I have to apologize to the custodian. I hope he likes cafeteria cookies.” You think.

“We're still linked, lovie! I'd like some cookies!”

You're never bringing Hobie to class ever again no matter how much he flashes his puppy dog eyes at you and kisses you softly. Maybe, probably.

[lilacthebooklover]

never gonna forget that one time my primary school made me be an accountant for the day. they just took a year 4 boy and a year 4 me into the headteacher's office and made us calculate numbers for a whole day. no calculators, just paper. in retrospect, that was really weird.

[feal-the-grinch]

Agatha's quiet pleading here is killing me. Mouth agape, she shakes her head. Agatha knows why Rio (Death) is here, she feels it, yet, her disbelief is clear, and she still holds hope Rio won't do it.

But then, Rio takes a first step towards her, and then another. The next shot shows Agatha realising that Rio is going to take their/her child. The only person who has ever loved her is going to take away the little being Agatha already loves with her entire heart and soul...

It's no wonder Agatha's defences went up right after. In her eyes, from the moment Death took those steps towards her, Rio chose her job over Agatha and Nicky. From that moment on, something broke between them.

[royaltea000]

YO! Being a drawing, what’s there to be afraid of!

[navree]

"rhaenys could have ended the war by dracarysing all the greens right there" yes because a distant relation to the throne deciding to barbecue an anointed and publicly positively hailed king and his entire family who is well loved within the city and in multiple other parts of the country for the sake of the succession of a far-away princess no one was ever on board with who hasn't been seen by the populace in literal years, her psycho husband, her three obvious bastards, and two toddlers from the psycho husband would go over super well with westeros and especially in king's landing where scores of the still-cheering population were killed for no reason by that same dragon who would do the barbecuing, because when targaryens act unilaterally without thinking of how the people would react there's never any problem, which is why the storming of the dragonpit and robert's rebellion were actually just collective delusions dreamed up by readers who hate rhaenyra and not key parts of the story and house targaryen's history that directly contributed to their demise and are intrinsic to the plot

truly team black stans are made up of only the most genius and media literate amongst us

[kenmaspuddinghair]

giving Riley a bath

warning- slightly suggestive at the end

Riley was well trained, yet here you were absolutely drenched with a wet dog on the loose all through the house. Simon had asked you this morning to give Riley a bath, and you thought it would be a breeze and it was at first, Riley listened and got into the bath but then things went sideways. 

First, Riley kept trying to lick the soap off him, and he kept going in circles while you were trying to rub it in. He kept shaking the water and soap off, getting you soaked. When you brought the shower head down to rinse him off, he jumped out of the tub right onto you, getting both you and the floor drenched in water. 

You’ve been trying to catch Riley for almost an hour when Simon came through the door, “what the hell happened ‘ere” “You told me to give Riley a bath and well he didn’t like it, and now our entire house is covered in water, Riley’s been running around covered with soap for an hour now.” Simon could tell you were annoyed and tired yet he couldn't help but laugh. “Are you really laughing about this right now?” you looked at him like he was crazy “Lovie no, I'm sorry this happened but, this isn't what I meant” he came up to you and tried to kiss you but you pushed him back “explain now, cause I'm not quite sure how else you expected me to wash a dog” 

You followed Simon outside and around the side of the house, he let out a loud but low whistle which Riley came running from the house straight to him. Simon then commanded him to sit before grabbing the hose and rinsing Riley off, of course, he stayed still for Simon but not you. “See easy hun” you started stuttering before you got something out “bu-wha eugh, this is so unfair” Simon just laughed at you while Riley started to play with the water 

You walked into the bathroom a few hours later right as Simon finished drying everything, “Hey Lovie, I'm sorry ya got all wet, thought ya knew how to do it” you simply sighed “it's okay Simon, but I am never doing that again” Simon playfully pouted before he smirked and replied “awe lovie, I loved to see you all wet and soaking waiting for me to come home” “SIMON”

[bi-writes]

I can imagine asking Ghost to take my daughter to the daddy-daughter ball, only not to be able to get rid of him once he brings her home.

"you what?"

you rest your forehead against your locker door, closing your eyes as you tune out the nonchalant voice on the other end of the phone.

he always cancels.

but this?

"y-you can't cancel," you say finally. "you have to go. you can't do this to her, are you fucking kidding me?" you put a hand to your forehead. "you're a fucking asshole. i-i bought her a dress. it's for fathers and daughters, i can't fucking take her. it's all she's been talking about, i can't believe you--!"

you kick your locker shut and take a seat, resting your elbows on your knees. he gives you another excuse, but you just blink away your angry tears.

"no. don't bother. in fact, i don't want to see you again. i don't want her to see you again."

you put the phone down, your hands trembling from how angry you are. you aren't even surprised that he's not calling you back.

he's never wanted her. never.

"sergeant."

the firm sound of your title immediately has you on your feet. you stand up straight, but you relax a little when you see it's just ghost. his head is tilted to the side, and he's watching you carefully from under his mask. you can't see his expression, but his eyes are intense. he's focused on you, very much so.

you wipe the few tears that are under your eyes, and then your phone pinging takes your attention away from him. you pick it up and curse under your breath, opening your locker again to grab your things.

"i'm sorry, lieutenant, i need to go. can i get back to you tomorrow?"

"it's pick-up time, isn't it?"

you freeze from putting your jacket on, eyeing him warily before zipping it up.

"yeah," you say finally. "and i have some bad news to deliver, so while i'd love to stay and chat, i really need to go."

"doesn't hafta be her father," simon shrugs, leaning up against the locker beside yours. "could be anyone."

you glare at him a little, "if you're trying to make some kind of crude joke about the lack of men in our lives, lieutenant, i'd be careful if i were you--"

you stop when he grips your chin tight between his gloved fingers. you blink, unsure of what to do, and he shakes your jaw a little.

"i could take 'er."

you frown up at him, too annoyed to notice how he bends a little more, his face nearly against yours.

"it's not funny, lieutenant."

"not laughin'."

"you..." you meet his eyes, deflating a little. "you...you'd...you'd do that for me?"

ghost merely clicks his tongue before letting you go. when you make your way to your car, he follows, and you try to hide your smile as you make your way home.

ghost exchanges his mask for something more discreet when you aren't looking. a black n95, but his eyes still kill the same. when you come back to the car with a little girl on your hip, she stares wide-eyed at the hunk of man sitting in the passenger seat. he raises a brow at her, saying nothing, and you swallow hard as you buckle her into her seat.

"uhm...this is ghost. can you say hi, honey?"

"ghost? like halloween?"

"like halloween, baby."

as you buckle yourself back in the drivers' seat, you side-eye ghost when you hear the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. when you peek into the rearview to reverse out of the parking lot, you see your daughter with a big smile on her face and a red lolly stuck in her mouth.

"always carrying around sweets, lieutenant?"

he shrugs. "maybe."

she makes him wait in the living room while you get her dress on (she wants a big reveal, coming down the stairs and all). you bought it off of etsy, a custom-made, princess-inspired dress. it has a big skirt of silk and tulle, with a big bow at her back, and when you look at her smile in the mirror, you feel that searing slice of something that makes you want to kill the man that almost ruined her evening.

she gets to do her big reveal. she spins at the top of the stairs to make her big skirt move, and then she's running down the stairs, giggling, laughing, and just as she makes it to ghost, he grabs her under her arms and tosses her into the air. she shrieks with delight when her big dress moves, and you bite your lip watching them. the sight of ghost hiking her up on his hip and commenting on her bow makes your mouth water.

fuck. have his arms always been that big?

they look funny. your daughter looks like the prettiest princess, and ghost looks exactly as he always does--like a SAS lieutenant. he might not have any of his gear on, but the cargo pants, thick boots, and windbreaker don't hide his physique.

"have fun, baby."

you come up next to her, kissing her face, and she clings to your superior, arms tangled around his neck as she waves goodbye. you give ghost the keys to your car, tell him to bring her back by seven, and then you pamper yourself while she's gone.

you drink a few glasses of wine. you take a hot bath. you pick a movie to watch and don't have to make sure the rating is at least PG.

when ghost finally comes back, you're laying on the couch with another glass of wine. pajamas on, blanket over your lap, and you smile when you see her passed out in ghost's arms as he closes the front door behind himself.

"asleep? already?" you giggle. ghost sets your keys down by the door before taking his boots off, and you watch intently as he carries your daughter up the stairs to put her to bed. you follow him, grabbing some of her pajamas from the drawer as he lays her down on the bed. you work together to get her little shoes off and shimmy her out of the dress, and as you get her into her clothes and back under the covers, she barely even moves. she's so tired, yawning and snuggling under her blankets, and you shut the door behind you, leaning against it as you blink up at your lieutenant.

he stares right back down at you. you reach a hand up and trace along the edge of his mask. it's quiet. inappropriate. he won't move away from you, and you won't move either.

you could get used to this. you could get used to watching more adult movies, drinking more wine, having time to fixed your chipped nail polish. you could get used to being bent over your unmade bed and fucked nasty.

you grab onto the crumpled sheets, arching your back more. your knees dig into the mattress as your ass hikes up, and ghost grunts as he uses your hips as an anchor and fucks into you harder. it's been ages since anyone's found your sweet spot, and ghost's cock is nudging it every single time his hips come back to meet yours. his thighs are nearly as fat as his cock, and you feel like your entire body is being rewired as he gives it to you so good, inside and out.

thumb against your clit, balls smacking your pussy, cock splitting you open--you used to think sex was made only for men, but maybe you just never found a real one to show you just how toe-curling it really could be.

if you thought it was good on your tummy, ghost shows you an entirely different feeling on your back.

it's so intimate. no one has ever looked at you this way before. his hands are intertwined with yours, and all you can do is cry and squeeze his hands as he sinks all the way inside of you and barely moves apart. in the dark, he takes his mask off, and you can feel the pant of his hot breaths as he grinds into you deep, slow, purposefully. the stimulation on your clit has your thighs shaking, and when you think the tears are too much, ghost flattens his tongue to lick them off before kissing you wet and languid.

ghost barely pulls out. he just circles his hips, punching back into you, and you see spots behind your eyes when he finally opens his mouth and groans into your ear. something about hearing his voice, hearing him falter, it makes you come. as soon as your cunt squeezes, ghost chokes, gripping your jaw tight and coming deep. you squirm underneath him, arching your back--he fills you up, so much so you can feel it spurting out around his cock and spilling out between your thighs.

you're too tired to protest when he sinks between your thighs after--you have to get clean somehow, right?

when you come into the kitchen in the morning, ghost is at the stove, your daughter on his hip and an egg frying in the pan.

he doesn't leave you when you take him back to work; and he doesn't leave you when you go back home. you should've known better, maybe. it's your own fault. ghosts like to haunt.

and this one is home.

[yerchokito]

PRETTY KITTY TURNS PRETTY HORNY .ᐟ FT SATORU GOJO

synopsis - finally you decided to adopt a new friend at the adoption centre! only, he wants to be more that friends…

warnings - p in v, brief oral sex (fem receiving) unprotected sex, slight manipulation(?) creampie, shitty smut, petname: master used mockingly, not thoroughly proofread, talk of potential children, lowk masochist gojo, ect ect. fem reader

notes - yay I finally got this out! lol it honestly did get a bit sloppy at the end but I wanted to get this out b4 christmas!enjoy! the smut is lowkey short but I don’t want to fix it..

edit - I just realised I posted this on his death date

Phew, you did it.

You finally grew a pair and adopted a newly rescued snow-leopard hybrid! After months of your self-pitying you managed to convince yourself to adopt a friend!

You spent many, many hours contemplating on whether to actually adopt. And many hours more watching sad videos on hybrids, how mistreated they are out of the adoption centre.

That was more than enough to convince you.

Now you have an exotic hybrid of your own! And he’s just the cutest little—er big thing! He’s got fluffy little ears, a handsome face, striking blue eyes, and the fluffiest tail in the world!

You’ve learnt a lot about him. His name is Satoru Gojo, around the same age as you! Unfortunately, he spent a lot of his life in illegal fighting rings. Poor thing almost got killed a while back. Luckily, his caretakers at the agency have had no aggression problems with him! He’s affectionate, friendly, reckless at times, but overall great to have as a first time owner!

He’s really—really big. His head just about reaches the ceiling of your small apartment. It's gonna be hard finding clothes for the man. Let alone a bed.

But that’s all a problem for future you!

Packing him in the car was a hefty thing, his tallness being the main problem, a little cramped (he had to lay half his body on the floor) but it worked in the end!

As soon as you bought the little—uh, big critter home, you pampered him with affections. Petting his head, rubbing his ears, scratching under his chin all that stuff that makes him mushy in the brain!

The only problem would be leaving him alone… he’s fairly clingy. You’ll just have to work on that. He seems capable enough. Hopefully…

Note to self: get a baby cam.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Maybe this was a mistake.

Satoru’s a really good guy, he’s friendly, definitely affectionate and really clingy. All good qualities that you love about him!

But, there are qualities you come to… dislike, so to say.

He’s bratty. defiant against your house rules, a back-talker.

He always wants attention. Pushing things off counters or using his tail to block your eyes whenever he wants to annoy you.

He’s very manipulative. Using his wide eyes to trick you—or anyone—into giving him sweets!

He’s also unbearably horny, probably his worst trait. Always trying to rub against you, heck even mount you! For someone so angelic-looking, he sure ain’t an angel.

And you can name a couple of… embarrassing incidents.

Incident #1

“Hey—Toru! What are you doing, stop that!” You shout, trying to push him back and away from— wait, are those your panties he has in your mouth!

“Satoru! Bad boy, get those out of your mouth!” You splutter, face flushing red.

But, apparently you adopted the devil.

He tilts his head in an innocent way, ears flopping to the side as he deviously munches on your precious—and very expensive—underwear.

You try to wrestle them away from his maw, unlucky for you, you’ve also adopted an abnormally tall hybrid. His innocent act drops as he dangles them above your head, laughing at your embarrassment.

Of course, he gave it back. Not without it slicked in his spit and now turned crotchless.

It was… not a great moment for you or your hopes of being dominant over him.

Incident #2

It’s a nice sunny morning, you got up earlier than your alarm, made a nice breakfast, and finally got that darned work assignment finished.

A peaceful day.

Until your precious kitty takes his biting urges on you.

“Satoru, do-don’t bite meee!” You whine, once again trying to push away the snarky beast. God, why must he be twice your size.

He chuffs, pining you with his weight as he nibbles at your skin. Tail swaying mischievously behind him.

“Mn—be still, lemme jus’…” He whispers. Devious man he is. His nibbling becomes full-blown bites, decorating your neck and collarbone in a bazillion bite marks.

Satoru only giggles at your pathetic attempts of squirming away. Pfft, you think he’ll let you walk away? Nothing gets away from his keen eyes.

Needless to say, the bite marks were not a fashion statement at work. Didn’t really capture as many complements as it did laughter.

Note to self: Invest in a muzzle.

Incident #3

Now, maybe this is your fault. You did notice the change in behaviour, he’s always been clingy— the staff at the agency did say he was… the possessive type. But! You didn’t notice the possessiveness until now! So it’s not entirely your fault.

Okay, maybe his growling at your friend— male, should you note— was a teensy red flag, the constant butting of his head against you was also alerting you. So you maybe-sorta-should’ve predicted this.

Maybe if you realised that Satoru is not entirely human (even though he acts like it), you would’ve remembered he has an amazing sense of smell.

“aaahnn… mornin’ Toru’, how did you sleep hm?” you yawn. The lack of response is unnerving, and rude.

“Hey now, ts’ not nice to ignore me, Satoru.” Again silence, wait—what the-?

“Oof! Satoru—gah!—get off!” You struggle, your overgrown hybrid kitty has decided to pounce on you, his full weight crushing you.

“H-hey—oh!” Did.. did you feel that correctly, is your boy.. oh gosh.

“Mrrow…mn, you smell s’ good.” His breath is hot against your neck, sniffing at your throat, his fuzzy ears rubbing under your chin.

“Mnh—heat, in heat? mrr..” He purrs, big hands encasing yours as the big idiot rocks his hips against your backside— oh my.

“H-huh? No, down Satoru! Bad boy—ooh!—don-don’t!” You try not to moan out as he ruts against you. Licking at the nape of your neck, almost mockingly.

“Heh— shh, I’ll take care of ya. Aw’ you’re so small compared to me..” Satoru breathes, chuckling like he always does.

…

Lets just say, Satoru has become real good friends with the spray bottle.

Note to self: Get him neutered.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

And there are way more incidents as… sexual as these ones. You love the big guy, he’s cuddly, got a fuzzy head, really warm, but he seems to really enjoy mounting you. Like, really badly.

He’s become a menace! I mean, you knew he wasn’t neutered, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in you!

It's almost everyday he tries to get in your pants! Gotta hand it to him, he’s really persistent.

Well, you won’t be taking any of his nonsense today!

“Satoru! Breakfast!” You yell out. You hear him scurrying around the corner, jeez food fein.

“Heh, mm waffles..” He purrs at your feet, nuzzling against the back of your knee.

He wraps his tail around your ankle, hands gently kneading at your leg. Nose twitching at the sugary smells.

“You hungry, sweetie?” You coo, petting the big oafs head.

Awh, maybe you’re being too harsh on him. He’s your baby, he doesn’t know any better!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh who were you kidding, of course he knows what he’s doing! Why are you so gullible?

What was supposed to be a nice, calm, peaceful, non-sexual breakfast, ends up with your mischievous kitty munching on your pussy instead!

He’s got your legs up, knees having small-talk to your shoulders whilst he —quite literally— devours you.

“Satoruuu!— don’t do thaah! Oh!” You squeak. You weakly push on his head, trying to get him away from your front.

Unfortunately, Satoru is a determined cat.

“Mnn, be still. M’ hungry.” He purrs between your legs, the vibrations of his voice send tingles up your spine.

For Satoru, that delicious nectar leaking out of you is heavenly. Until this thin, pathetic piece of fabric ruins his meal. If only he could just…

rripp!

“H-huh? S’toru! Those were expensiveee— haa!” You scold. well, try to. It’s hard to speak when you’re literally breathless.

He tongues at your now naked pussy, slurping all that gooey goodness you so graciously produce. So sweet.

He pulls back, your cunt and his mouth connected by a sloppy string of spit. He coo’s and presses a kiss hard against your clit, making you twitch and moan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see the devil incarnate smiling so sweetly, his tail curling around your ankle. What was once a sweet gesture is now no longer reassuring.

Your ‘innocent’ kitty now has free rein to your more… primal parts. The stronger scent pulls on Satoru’s will, he whines at the sudden, yet aggressive urge to bury himself inside you.

Hmm maybe he should.

Hoisting himself up, Satoru leans back on his calves, admiring the little mess he’s made of you. Flushed red, panting, drooling, and completely high on the pleasure. His pants tighten.

He’s been blessed with such a cute owner!

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Haa— d’aww don’t be so shy, master. Heh—fhuck!” Said the devil incarnate, mockingly.

Satoru is a condescending bunch, cute but really full of himself. It’s shows in his way of fucking.

He has you on your back, legs resting on his broad shoulders as he literally folds you in half. Your head is just reeling, your face is covered in his spit, hairline all sweaty, jaw hanging open, and you're burning all over!

His cock is big, too big. It nearly split you in half when he tried to fit it in. He’s never been a patient kitty.

“Awhhh— masterrrr, you’re tightenin’ up sho’ muchhh…” He purrs. Tail swaying mockingly.

Leaning forward, Satoru nuzzles his ears against your cheek, wanting to be pet.

Unfortunately, you’re incoherent to his requests. Too focused on the harsh rutting of his cock into your sticky cunt.

“Heyyy… pet meee,” He whines, “Hm? Heh— tappin’ out already?” His eyes gleam with mischievous-ness as he grins a toothy grin. You’re not gonna make it out alive.

He bites his lip, giggling at your pleasured face. If only he could take a picture, save this moment forever. He cups your face, caressing your sweaty cheeks, then presses a loving kiss to your lips.

“Mwah! Hehe— you’re so cute,” He whispers against your lips.

In midst of this somewhat sweet moment, the pace of Satoru rolling his hips against you increases. Then turning into him full on slamming his hips into yours, huffing as he focuses on pounding you into next week.

All you can do is grip onto him, tugging on his ears. He moans pornographically, drooling as you harshly grip his sensitive ears. The painful yet pleasant sensation sparks something new in Satoru.

With the intent to breed, Satoru turns you over. His chest to your back as he leans his weight on you, arms wrapping tightly around your sweaty skin.

This new position gives Satoru a better chance at giving you some cute mini him’s!

“Oh! Oh!—Toruuu’!” You squeal, tears now brimming in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling that is undoubtedly him.

Without warning, you cum. Hole clenching and spasming and coating his lower body in a translucent liquid.

“Hm—hah— I knew you wan—ahn—wanted me!” He mewls, quickly pounding in and out, creating a wet ‘schlick!’ sound.

Oh you’re so perverted! Letting your precious kitty take you like this!

You’ll never live this down.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care.

“Oooh— m’ cumming, nng— masterrr!” He moans, non-stop humping into your creamy pussy, drooling all over you.

“Not—not insideee! Toru’!” You cry out, pushing your hips back to get him off of you, it does the opposite.

His tail wraps around your thigh as he cums. It splurts frantically inside of you, his cock twitching violently as he whines in pleasure.

It’s hot, sticky and definitely a thick load. It feels endless, liquidy rope after rope. But it feels so refreshing.

He pulls out (you didn’t think he would), nuzzling and purring at the nape of your neck. Innocently licking at your tear-stricken cheeks.

…

It’s been so long since you last experienced this pleasure.

You’ll definitely regret this later.

˗ˏˋ — ˎˊ˗

Oh god, why did you do that!

Having sex with a hybrid is just a different type of low, even for you!

Oh jeez, you're just as perverted as him! Oh whywhywhywhy! He was just supposed to be a companion! Not a—

“Mrr, pet meee..” Satoru whines, pawning at your chest. He’s back to his old self again.

Mostly. He’s become more… confident in his abilities over you. Let’s just say after your regrettable (not in his eyes) playtime with him, he has no restraint on mounting you now. The idiots even started humping you in public!

Which is why you’ve been leaving him at home.

Now more than ever, you two spend a lot of time together. Mostly consisting of naps, him licking you, more naps, eating… recreational activities, blah blah blah. He now sleeps on your bed, he’s more like an overstayed one night stand than an exotic cat.

At Least he’s extra cuddly!

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ the way of the househusband ❞

☾₊‧⁺...cw : househusband!fushiguro toji x fem!reader, you are megumi's mom, flirting, playful banter, just overall silly and cute domestic life

☾₊‧⁺...lunar's note : just some simple lil toji hcs of him as a househusband! i need some sweet stuff of him without a lot of sexual stuff in it bc let's be real, in a domestic setting he's probably just a big clingy and mildly annoying bear husband

f. toji is never going to complain about being the one staying home, watching over the little gremlin that is megumi. he's got his own ways of bringing in money with that friend of his, shiu, but he's more than content to being the one in the frilly pink apron, cooking for you and the lil' man.

toji didn’t ever expect to get married, especially after how he was treated as a zenin. he didn't know much about love or how to connect with people, let alone you. but when you handed his ass to him with no struggle and a pretty smile on your face at the gym, he knew he wanted you. two years later and a shit load of aggressive flirting, toji ends up with you as his spouse and he wouldn't have it any other way.

so imagine toji's surprise when he's genuinely excited when you tell him your pregnant. he's excited but scared. him? a father? there's no way in hell he has any idea what to do, his own father was nothing but a piece of shit...so what if he turns out like him? but the moment you pop that big headed little fucker out of you, toji can't help but grin, that excitement of being a father and creating memories with this tiny little thing erasing all his fears.

whenever you come home from work, toji's usually in the living room with little megumi, who forced him to take part in the exercise part of his favorite kids show. you don't know how megumi, your one year old baby who still talked in little babbles, forced his massive giant of a father who could kill a man with a look to do 'exercise for baby,' but you know better than to question it when you see the two touching their toes in front of the tv.

sometimes, he's in the kitchen, however, wearing that 'kiss the cook' apron you got for his birthday. toji always wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into a kiss, muttering a 'welcome home’ against your lips before poking your side and going back to what he was doing, proud grin on his face at the little screech he gets from you.

he's started to get better at dodging your hands when you go to poke him back, skirting around the table before going to scoop megumi up. “you would never do such an act in front of 'gumi, would you? what if he starts going around poking girls in their sides, hm? then i'll have to explain to his teacher that his mama can't keep 'er hands to herself.”

toji's got you there...so you back off, opting to press a kiss to babygumi’s little forehead, taking him from your husband’s arms when he makes grabby hands at you. you savor the betrayed look on toji's face, sticking your tongue out at him. he scoffs, rolling his eyes before going back to make sure dinner wasn’t burnt. he’ll get you back for stealing his son from him.

despite what people might think, there’s not really a 'dominant' person in the relationship. when together, the two of you give off some of the most intimidating vibes because of the sheer power the both of you carry. it's not even put off by little megumi, because if he notices his parents looking at you in disgust, he's gonna give you one that's even worse.

toji will never forget the day the three of you went to the grocery store, him in his usual black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, you in one of those same shirts and leggings with megumi in the kiddie seat in the shopping cart, eating from the little snack pack toji made for him. toji swears he walked away for three fucking seconds, and he came back to some...fucker getting ready to chat you up. it’s no surprise anyone that he gets pissed, ready to storm over there and make it clear you're taken.

however, it's clear you don't need him to step in, and damn, you look...really hot telling this dude off, angrily flashing your ring when he wouldn't back off. god, he wishes he could marry you again. toji doesn’t even know what you told the guy, and he's tempted to playfully ask megumi what happened, knowing his lil' man would try to respond in babbles and coos.

“he said you crawled out from the trash, toj, i can't stand for that! he could’ve done you some justice and said you crawled out of the deepest pits of hell, so I had to educate him on that. besides, he called you my boyfriend and I almost punched his face.”  “yeah? hm, i’m glad you didn’t, babe, we don’t want to get kicked out the store.”  “i don’t know, i think an imprint of my ring in his forehead would get the message across.”  “well, next time, how about we just kiss like we haven't seen each other in 15 years? not a fan of showing out to some dude, but i'd do it for you, sweetheart.”  “mmn!”  “right, lil' man? mama's so mean t' me, it's a good idea.”  “gumiiii, you're supposed to be on my side!”

occassionally, when you're at work, toji'll just talk to megumi, the little one nice and comfy on his chest.

one habit he'll never get out of is randomly calling you throughout the day when he's particularly bored and missing you. if you don't answer, toji will just leave you a message, usually about how badly he wants you to come home, groaning about how tired he is but he can't sleep without you in his arms, without you playing with his hair until he falls asleep. he's so in love with you, it's almost makes you dizzy.

you'll never forget the day you come home to toji and baby megumi in the front yard, crouched down around...something. parking in the driveway, you make your way over and see what they're looking at. it's...a kitten and a puppy, two tiny little things playfighting with each other. neither one of them say anything, just looking at the two creatures. you sigh, knowing exactly what this means.

"...give them appropriate names and make vet appointments. we aren't naming the dog 'hot dog' and we aren't naming the cat 'kitten'." "i told you it would work, lil' man."

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

THE HELL YOU MEAN YOU GOT A GIRL ?

summary : in which Tim's brothers find out he not only has a girlfriend but she's actually real and attractive and idk dating HIM of all people ???

Tim Drake is a busy man , his family knew that I meant come on ?? The kid is Red Robin, juggling Wayne Enterprises , solving cases, and not mention he attends college.

Not in a million years would they guess he of all of them would have a girlfriend and that he of all of them would have a functional relationship before any if them.

It started subtle at first - he'd finish patrol early , not really a big deal since they'd all assume he was busy with school and just had to go home.

Well truns out he was going home just not to do work just to simply have dinner with you.

The next sign was that he had a picture of you at the back of his phone - it's encased safely behind the clear casing . Dick saw it at first and shrugged it off, thinking it was a kpop idol or some model Tim liked alot - nope it was just him being in love with you and just showing it off.

Tim unironically smells better ? Damian doesn't know how to place it - its not that Tim ever smelled bad or had bad hygiene it's just that he's been particularly very into it as of late - he literally even has a skin care routine now but Damian writes it off as Tim being curious or weird.

Tim also starts dressing classier too like he wears good slacks or nice baggy jeans with fitted tops - showing off his slim but muscular figure as of late - he even asked Jason to borrow one of his old leather jackets and hey - Jason didn't mind lending his brother one - he just thought Tim was getting into the grunge style like him. Nope, it turns out Tim overheard you saying guys in leather jackets were hot, so of course, he had to get the real thing.

Flash forward to like a year and a half down the line and one day all three of them were talking about how Tim was glowing up and getting himself in shape .

Dick : " you know Tim's been idk dressing up as of late ".

Damian : " smh it's like he's pathetically trying to impress someone "

Jason : " I thought he was just idk changing his style ?"

Dick : " you think ? Plus he's been ending patrol early lately"

Damian : " he's a nerd Grayson , knowing him he gets home earlier to study or what not ".

Jason : *cackling* " and he wonders why he can't get a girlfriend "

*Tim who just walked in and overheard jason* : " I literally have a girlfriend. What do you mean ?"

Pin drop silence . Everyone stares at him, eye wide and then they burst out cackling.

Jason : " Timmy boy a blow up sex doll doesn't count a girlfriend"

Dick : *laughing* " Tim the day you get a girlfriend is the day the world would end"

Damian : " Timothy, that's the best joke you have ever uttered."

Tim scowls at them , " I LITERALLY HAVE A GIRLFRIEND AND SHES A REAL PERSON"

Damian *still laughing* : " Alright Timothy, let's meet your so-called very real girlfriend."

Flash forward to two hours later and they're at a local Lego shop at the mall , the batboys are all confused .

Jason : " Tim, when we said a real girl, we didn't mean a Lego woman figure"

Tim just rolled his eyes - annoyed because he can't fathom why they didn't think he can't have a girlfriend .

Not even two minutes passed, and you bolted out of the store and engulfed Tim in a big hug and began kissing him all over his face. Tim wore a big , smug smile as he wrapped his hand around your waist and pressed you a forehead kiss.

Dick's mouth is too the floor , Jason's eyes just widen so big you'd swear his eyes will roll out and Damian looks like he's gonna hurl.

Damian : " I think - I think I going to die "

Jason *still in shock* : " There is no way this is real - literally no way I've got to be imagining shit "

Dick : " Someone pinch me " *Damian pinches him hard* " OUCH WHAT THE FUCK"

Jason points at you and then at Tim , " Miss is he holding you hostage -"

Tim rolls his eyes , " SHES MY GIRLFRIEND"

Damian tuts , " She's too hot to be with the likes of you she should date someone better "

Dick : " Like me -"

Shutting him down immediately, Tim : " Fuck no"

You awkwardly laughing , " So you're Tim's brothers ?"

Jason : " unfortunately ". *dick nudges him hard* " OW WTF"

You : " It's nice to meet you all I'm Tim's girlfriend "

Dick : " yeah that's the part we are all processing"

Damian : " Are you sure you're not talking about another tim?"

Tim , scowling : " Shut the fuck up demon she said she's my girlfriend so can yall stop being so annoying now "

You : " They didn't think you'd have a girlfriend ?"

Tim : " no and I don't know why especially since they themselves don't have one either "

Jason : " in my offense I died -"

Dick : " Pack it up. It's been 4 years since you came back. You got no excuse "

Jason : " I know the man who has fumbled every relationship he touches is not talking "

Damian : " This is all pointless. Love is stupid and worthless"

As the both continue to bicker back and forth, you turn to Tim with a wide grin , " Who do you think is worse ?"

Tim , pulling you in closer , : " Definitely Bruce "

*in a very far distance*

You laugh as you grab his hand and left him off somewhere , " Let's go get milkshakes".

Bruce *sneezes* : " Someone is trash talking me "

ty for reading !!!

[asxgard]

AHHHHH maybe Jack having his wife and son come into the ER after a little incident at baseball practice 😭 just something a little angsty and fluffy but I love soft Jack Abbot! Your writing is so amazing, keep it up and if this doesn’t interest you please feel free to ignore.

Cast | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Requested

Summary: After an incident at baseball practice, you and your son end up in the ER.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon!! I’m giving Jack a child stat! Omg, the world needs more dad!Abbot. I hope this was equally angsty and fluffy enough for you!

Word Count: 1.6k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: vague age gap, foul language, mild angst, injured child (non-life threatening), fluff, dad!Jack, mom!reader, reader has Jack’s surname, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, blood mentions

not beta read

You only looked away for a second, reaching into your bag to put your book away, and the next your son was screaming. Your head snapped to look at the field and you spotted him in the outfield, clutching his arm. You were out of your seat the next second and charging onto the baseball field. You beat the coaches there.

Steven was wailing, though you could hardly blame the six-year-old, and you felt like your heart had stopped, listening to him in so much pain. Clearly he had been hurt, but he had no obvious signs of injury other than the fact that he was clutching his arm tightly to his chest.

You tried your best to soothe him, calm him down, but your own fears had begun to cloud your mind. If it was not broken, it had to be a sprain. There was a lingering sense of dread, of fear kicked into overdrive, but if it was a break, then at least that was not life-threatening.

Your first instinct other than to comfort your child was to call your husband. You first wanted to get Steven into the car so you could get him to the hospital, so you tucked your phone into your pants pocket and helped him to his feet.

“I know it’s really painful, baby, but mommy is going to make it better, okay?” You attempted, “Do you want me to carry you? Can you walk?”

Steven finally took a long intake of air, cheeks damp. He huffed in a few more unsteady breaths in, his lips in a large pout. The hazel in his eyes was exactly like his father’s.

“I can—I can walk.” He said, face scrunched up.

You admired how strong he was being, but you wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. You helped him to the car, trying to position his arm against his chest with the elbow bent without causing any more pain.

“We’re gonna go to the hospital now, and I promise it’ll make you all better.”

You were overly thankful that Steven had been in the hospital enough to not be afraid of it — from picking up his father, to the odd days you needed to drop him off before the end of your husband’s shift so you could get to an early meeting, leaving him in the caring hands of one of the nurses.

Steven was still softly crying when you called your husband, and you found yourself unbelievably annoyed when he didn’t pick up. He nearly always did, always panicked that something might have happened. You hated that was how he reacted when you called him at work, but to be fair, you usually only texted him about things. The one time you actually needed him to pick up? Voicemail.

You tried to calm your own frustration, knowing he was likely in a trauma or something equally serious. Despite all his faults, he never ignored you on purpose.

In the waiting room, you found yourself relieved to see Lupe running registration. She recognized you instantly. Her eyes flickered from you to Steven’s tears.

“I think he broke his arm,” you told her, frowning, “can you get Jack? I couldn’t reach him.”

“I think he’s still in Trauma-1, but I’ll get someone to bring you back right away, Mrs. Abbot.” She nodded, disappearing into the back.

That explained it. Whatever he was doing, it was life threatening, but you still felt antsy to tell him.

It was Collins who came through the door within the next minute, eyes scanning for you. Looking at the time, she was likely rounding out her shift, but it was good to see her. She smiled when she saw you, before looking down at Steven and frowning.

“Let’s get you two into a room,” she said, ushering you into the back with her. “I’ll put him down for an x-ray, but I’ll go see about getting him bumped to the top.”

“Thank you.” You smiled at her. Oh the perks of being married to Jack Abbot.

Collins parked you both in an open room, mentioning someone would be in shortly to start some pain meds while she worked on getting Steven to x-ray. A figure passing by stopped short and stepped into the room.

You greeted Robby with a smile. You two were no strangers, Robby occasionally coming by your house to hang out with Jack. He took one look at you and another at Steven, and panic invaded his calm demeanor.

“Broken arm, I think,” you told him quickly, so his mind didn’t run to the worst case scenario. He was much like Jack in that way.

“Hey, buddy,” Robby said, stealing Steven’s attention. “Can I see your arm?”

Robby assessed your son gently, before ordering intravenous pain meds and administering them.

“Heather is trying to get him into x-ray.”

He nodded, “Jack know yet?”

You shrugged, “I heard he was in the middle of a trauma.”

“I’ll go switch out with him,”

“Thank you, Robby.”

He waved you off and disappeared out into the hall.

—

Due to a mild hiccup, Jack had come into work earlier than usual — missing his son’s baseball practice that evening. He went when he could, but he tried to never miss a game. The Pitt seemed to swallow most of his time, but he never let it steal those moments with his son.

After clocking in, he was thrown right into a major car vs pedestrian trauma, but he fell into it with practiced ease. The buzzing phone in his pocket made him a bit on edge, but with gloved hands soaked in blood, he did not even think to answer it.

It took forever to stabilize the pedestrian who had been hit, but they finally were wheeled up to pre-op and he discarded the bloodied gown. He reached into his pocket to check his phone, finding two missed calls from his wife and a voicemail. His stomach churned uneasily.

He stepped toward the charge desk to put a chart away, glancing up at the board out of habit, before turning toward the staff lounge so he could call you back.

Wait…

His eyes snapped back up to the board, scanning the names and stopping on his son’s.

Steven Abbot.

His heart lurched into his throat. Fuck. He saw the room number and turned, only to find Robby next to him.

“Hey, brother,”

Jack barreled past him toward Central-8, heart beating wildly against his ribcage. He hadn’t even checked what prognosis sat besides his son’s name, or the level of severity, there was just pure instinct to be with him.

Robby jogged to catch up with him, “He’s fine, he’s fine. Broken arm. Was just coming to get you.”

That settled some of his fears, but worry bled through every pore. The one time he did not answer his phone…

His wife’s face did wonders to soothe him, as did the fact that his son was sat back and playing on his wife’s phone, arm in a sling. He released a long breath.

“Dad!”

Jack wrapped his son up in a hug, careful not to put any pressure on his arm.

“Hey, buddy, how do you feel?”

Steven gave a toothy smile, “Better after Uncle Robby gave me medicine.”

A relief washed over Jack’s features, eyeing the IV in his uninjured arm. He kissed the top of his son’s head, turning back to Robby just as Collins stepped into the doorway.

“They’ll be taking him next,” she said.

“Thank you, Heather.” You said.

“Don’t mention it.” She told you with a smile. “Just glad the little man is okay.”

Robby and Collins departed, leaving just you and Jack with your son. You typically were rigid around screen time, but felt being in the hospital was a perfect time to be lenient.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer—”

“It’s fine, Jack,” you told him, grabbing his hand from the gurney. “I know you were busy. Besides, you couldn’t have done anything on the phone anyways.”

He frowned, “But you called and I didn’t answer. I could’ve—”

You sighed, “Had it been more serious, I would’ve called an ambulance, or tried to reach out to Robby or Dana or whomever to let you know. Our son is okay. Let’s not focus on the what ifs.”

Jack sat on that for a moment, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re still a good father, Jack.” You said, as if you could hear the thoughts racing through his head.

His hazel eyes snapped to yours, taking you in.

“I mean it,” you said in the silence. “Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

“I love you.” Jack said, not fully knowing how else to put his feelings into words. His gratitude, his care, his love.

You smiled easily, already understanding what he meant, all he meant, “As I love you.”

He leaned over to kiss you softly and you smiled against his mouth.

Steven made a sound of disgust, shielding his eyes with a soft giggle. You laughed, moving to kiss your son’s forehead. Jack’s heart swelled.

The x-ray revealed that his arm had been broken, likely by falling on it wrong, but it was not serious enough for surgery. That fact relieved both you and Jack tremendously. Just a quick pull to put the bone back right and a cast for five weeks.

“So what color would you like, Stevie?” Jack asked, sitting down beside your son. “They’ve got blue, yellow, pink, green—”

“Green!” Steven yelled happily.

You chuckled at his excitement over his cast.

“Do you think everyone will sign it?” He asked, toothy grin wide.

That ‘look on the bright side of things’ definitely came from you, Jack thought with a smile.

“I’m sure they will, bud.”

All Dr. Abbot content taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @sharkluver @yournerdmodziata

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver

Dad!Abbot?? Give it to meee

Also?? 500+ followers?? You guys are great!🥹

[science-hoes]

Early Spring Snow

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

You didn’t mean to end up in your own ER after a grueling day shift. There had been an early spring snow in Pittsburgh a couple of days ago, and the daytime sun and nighttime freeze caused black ice to form everywhere. The Pitt was slammed with broken bones from slipping and falling. And you were about to be one of those patients.

You had originally planned to go back to your apartment, but your boyfriend, Jack Abbot, insisted that you go to his house while he was at work. If the weather continued to fluctuate, he wanted you to have access to his backup generator that would keep the electricity going. So you agreed, and you had picked up some groceries to cook breakfast for him when he got off his night shift.

You were double fisting the grocery bags as you walked up the sidewalk. Jack had salted the concrete to prevent black ice, and you could hear each crystal crunch under your shoes. You made it to the front door before realizing you left your keys in the car. With an annoyed huff that you could visualize in the icy air, you set the groceries down, and turned to run back to your car to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

And that was your mistake. Your foot found the singular patch of ice on the sidewalk that had evaded Jack’s salting efforts. You had no time to react, and instinctively, your hands braced your fall as you fell hard onto the concrete. A string of curse words hissed from your mouth as you unsteadily rose to your feet. You brushed off the salt from your knees and upper body, but there was an odd pain coming from your left arm.

Because of your puffy coat, you couldn’t initially see that your forearm was going in a direction that it shouldn’t. In fact, the lower half of your forearm didn’t seem to be connected to your upper half.

Fuck. You knew the endorphins were gonna wear off soon, and you wanted to be under a considerable amount of pain meds when it did. Drunk with adrenaline, you got back in your car and drove to the Pitt, ditching the groceries at Jack’s front door.

When you arrived at the parking lot of the Pitt, you were grateful to find it generally unbusy. You walked through the front door and passed through the waiting room. Mel King was the first one to spot you. She grinned and waved eagerly.

“What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly.

You smiled at your friend’s enthusiasm, but the pain in your arm reminded you of your reason to visit. “I think I broke my arm.” You replied.

Mel’s smile quickly vanished, and she began to usher you towards an empty room. “Oh, that’s not good. Let’s get you checked out.” She said.

You entered the room and began to take off your puffy winter coat. You tossed it on the chair in the room, and you heard Mel gasp. Her eyes were locked on your arm, and you saw for the first time how bad it was. Definitely broken.

She sat you on the edge of the bed and immediately began a physical exam of your wounded arm. “What happened?” She asked.

You sighed, feeling embarrassment course through your veins after teasing patients all day about this very thing. “Slipped on black ice.” You responded.

Mel nodded, not an ounce of judgment on her face. What an angel. “I’m gonna go get you a sling and get you in line for an x-ray. I’ll order some morphine, too.” She said, about to run out of the room, but hesitated for a second. “Any chance you’re pregnant?” She asked.

You felt the default answer of “no” in the back of your throat, but you stopped yourself. You had irregular periods, and you and Jack weren’t the best at using protection every time he wanted to fuck you. Although you were confident that you were not, you found yourself answering “I don’t know.”

Mel nodded, taking the information the best she could. You could see from her reaction that she was a little surprised. “Um, okay! Let me get you a sling and we’ll do a urine test before we send you off to x-ray.” She said.

And you were alone in the room again. You shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed and wondered if you should tell Mel to get Jack. The only person on staff that knew of your relationship with him was Robby. There wasn’t much opportunity for others to speculate because day shift rarely interacted with night shift. You decided against telling Jack as you vaguely remembered seeing a mass of doctors and nurses in Trauma 1.

Mel soon returned with the sling and urine cup. “Alright, let’s get you in this sling.” She said.

She guided your distorted arm into the holder of the sling, making sure you didn’t endure anymore pain. Once the strap was adjusted, she handed you the urine cup. “You know the rules. Wipe front to back with the sanitary towel, pee for a few seconds, then collect the specimen.” She instructed.

You smiled slightly. “Thank you.” You replied before heading to the bathroom.

Getting your dirtied scrub bottoms off with one hand was much harder than you thought it would be. Bits of salt were still buried in the fabric, and they began to fall onto the tile floor of the bathroom as you shimmied out of the pants. You followed Mel’s instructions to a T, then did your best to wash your good hand with soap and warm water.

As you headed back to your room, you caught a glance of Trauma 1. Jack was commanding the room with ease and working hard to creatively intubate the patient. Your heart fluttered at the sight, rarely getting to see your boyfriend in action. You reentered the room, and Mel was there waiting for you.

“Why aren’t you in Trauma 1?” You asked.

Mel took the cup from your hands and immediately dipped a pregnancy test. “Oh, they have too many people in there already.” She answered and placed the test and cup on the counter behind her. “Plus, Doctor Abbot is scary in trauma situations.”

You giggled and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he can be pretty fierce in a high stress situation.” You replied, trying not to let on the extent of which you knew him.

Mel nodded and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know, I’ve heard Princess and Perlah mention that he has a girlfriend now. He’s been a lot less mean.” She added.

Your face flushed, and you prayed the fluorescent lighting wouldn’t highlight the redness. “Oh, seriously?” You tried to fake.

“Yeah. She works on the day shift I think. I don’t know who it is. Do you?” She looked to you, genuinely curious.

You shrugged nonchalantly, honing in on your best acting skills. “I don’t think so. But now I’ll be on the look out.” You replied.

Mel turned slightly to look at the test. “Oh. Um…let me get another test.” She said before hurrying out of the room.

You raised an eyebrow but figured she may not have saturated the first test enough. When she returned, she dipped the second test in the cup and placed it next to the first one.

“I’m gonna get you some acetaminophen for the baseline pain.” She said and disappeared again.

You let out a disappointed sigh. Acetaminophen wasn’t going to do shit with your broken arm. Morphine would work a lot better and faster. Mel returned with a couple of pills and a small cup of water. You downed the pills, hoping they would provide some relief.

Mel peered over at the pregnancy tests again, and you could see she was uncomfortable by the way she wrung her hands. “Okay, so both of these tests are positive. You’re pregnant.” She said, not knowing the exact tone to use.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn’t even speak, but with your free hand, you reached out. Mel handed both tests to you. And she was right. Two lines instead of one. Pregnant. Your hand began to tremble, and the room spun around you.

Mel noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder to push you back against the bed. Your head came to rest on the mattress. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?” She tried to calm you.

You nodded, and you followed her lead in taking two deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I just-…I didn’t know.” You admitted sheepishly.

Mel nodded. “That’s okay. It’s not what you expected. Let me go get the ultrasound machine, and I can see how far along you are.” She said before hurrying out.

You were alone in the room again. Pregnant. How could you not know? You didn’t have any morning sickness. Your irregular periods made for a perfect red herring. Maybe your bras had been a little tighter, but you assumed that was from eating extra snacks in between breaks. Oh. Eating extra snacks. Yeah, that was one sign.

Then all you could think about was Jack. You had talked about the future, about kids, but that was wishy washy stuff. You expected that to be much farther into the future. If it ever happened. Not now. Was he going to be mad? Or sad? Was he going to leave?

You were brought back to reality when Mel swung the curtain open and wheeled the ultrasound in. “Okay, I’m gonna put some warm gel on your belly, could you lift up your shirt?” She asked.

You did as she asked, and your eyes were riveted on the compression marks from your scrub pants. They had been a little snug lately. Mel squirted the gel onto your belly, then took the probe to navigate.

“We may not see anything if it’s still early. I’ll have to use the transvaginal probe if it is. But…” She trailed off as she watched the screen. “It looks like we can see baby right now. Inside the uterus where it belongs.”

You looked to the screen, and there it was. Your baby. Jack’s baby. The outline of a head and body. Arms and legs compressed against it. Just a little fetus. You felt an odd feeling in your chest, a mix between anxiety and joy.

“Oh. That’s my baby.” You said, not even aware that it was out loud and not in your head.

The curtain swung open, and you flinched at the sudden sound. Mel’s hand jerked away from your belly and turned around. Jack stood there, trying to take in the sight before him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked firmly, but you could tell he was distressed in his eyes.

You looked awkwardly to Mel, who decided to present you as a patient case. “29-year-old female presenting with suspected left radial and ulnar fractures after a fall.” She stated, in perfect form.

Jack looked to the ultrasound and back to you, unable to follow based on Mel’s presentation. “So what’s the ultrasound for?” He asked.

Mel shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should share her coworker’s business. But you were a patient now. “She had two positive pregnancy tests, and I was confirming with ultrasound before sending her to x-ray.” She explained. “Would you like to check?”

Jack had kept his eyes on you the whole time, something unreadable in his face. You had gotten pretty good at understanding the small changes in his expression. He never smiled, even when he laughed, so you had to pick up on the tiniest changes to figure out his mood. But this was new.

“Yes, thank you, Dr. King.” He answered, trading places with her on the rolling stool next to your bed.

He dragged the probe across your belly, staring straight at the screen. You watched him intently, trying to decipher his body language.

“Dr. King, can you give an estimated gestational age?” He asked.

Mel looked at the monitor, noting the baby’s features. “About 12 weeks. About to start the second trimester.” She answered.

You felt another wave of anxiety rush through you. You missed the entire first trimester. “A-are you sure?” You asked.

Jack nodded, not looking away from the screen. “She’s right. Measuring at about 5.4 centimeters.” He confirmed, voice as firm as ever.

Mel looked to you, a small smile on her face. “At 12 weeks, you can tell the gender.” She reminded you.

You looked to Jack, who was diligently studying the baby’s anatomy, making sure there were absolutely no informalities as of now. “The gender?” You repeated, and it brought Jack back to reality.

Jack turned to look at you fully for the first time since he entered the room. Those hazel eyes were welled up with tears, and he was doing everything he could from letting them spill over. “Do you want to know?” He asked, and you could hear the barely-there strain in his vocal cords.

You nodded, not breaking his eye contact. “Yes, please.” You whispered.

It took ounce of military training to hold Jack from breaking down in tears. “It’s a boy.” He answered as steadily as he could.

You smiled, then grinned, and tears streaked down your cheeks. “A boy?” You repeated.

Jack nodded, twisting his face to prevent himself from crying, grateful his face was turned away from Mel. “Yeah, a healthy baby boy.” He affirmed.

You brought your free hand to your face to wipe away some of the tears, and you laughed with a new joy you hadn’t felt before. Jack turned away from you in that moment, but still not fully facing Mel.

“Dr. King, could you go check with imaging and see if they’re ready?” He asked.

Mel nodded. “Yes, sir.” She replied, but looked to you and smiled the biggest smile she had. “Congrats on the baby boy!”

You matched her smile. “Thank you, Mel.” You replied, and then she disappeared behind the curtain.

Before you could begin to speak, Jack wrapped you into his arms, carefully cradling you to avoid your broken arm. The love you felt from that embrace had more than exceeded your expectations. “You’re not mad?” You asked, pulling away slightly.

Jack looked to you with an offended demeanor. “Mad?” He questioned while rubbing your shoulder. “Sweetheart, I could never be mad at you.” He added. “Especially over this.”

You smiled and ran your free hand through his thick, silvered curls. “You’re gonna be a dad.” You whispered.

Jack’s bottom lip quivered, and the tears spilled over his face. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He repeated.

You had never seen him cry before. You desperately wished you had two available arms to pull him tightly into your embrace. Instead, you guided his head to rest close to yours and kissed him gently. He energetically returned the kiss, fingers threading through your hair. But he pulled away when reality hit him.

“Wait, how did you break your arm?” He asked, a new wave of concern washing over his face.

You rolled your eyes at your own clumsiness. “I slipped and fell on black ice outside of your house.” You responded.

Jack huffed, disappointed that he hadn’t put down enough salt. “I’m sorry, love. I thought I fixed it up for you.” He replied.

You shrugged and a slow smile found its way to your lips. “It’s okay. Because now I’m here. And now we have a baby.”

Jack’s concerned expression melted into one of pure happiness. It was one that you had only seen a few times. But despite his tear-streaked face, the joy was unmistakable.

—

A/N: Yeah I’m a sucker for giving my favorite characters a baby, sorry this wasn’t super long, but I wanted to write it before the week started!

[perseephoneee]

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ reckless driver [frank langdon x f!reader]

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

synopsis: we all need a little bit of healing (or frank patches you up after an accident)

a/n: i got really badly injured at a waterfall and then proceeded to write this while holding back tears. also i binged the pitt and i'm so deeply in love with frank i love my wet rat babygirl.

thank you to @eurydiceauxenfers for being the best beta a girl can ask for <3

tagging @mayfieldss and @a-house-of-endless-fandoms for suffering through my pitt tangents

This wasn’t out of the norm for you.

Not the type of injury, of course, just ending up injured. You were prone to tripping, falling, hitting something, pretty much any accident under the sun. You woke up with bruises and cuts you didn’t remember receiving, and aches that weren’t there before. As long as you weren’t bleeding, you considered it fine. Take some ibuprofen and call it a day. As befits a doctor, you were horrible at taking care of yourself.

It was that flippant attitude that ended with you in this situation. You took the bus to work, like every morning, getting off at the closest spot to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It was still a 10-minute walk, but the sun was out, so you didn’t mind. Until you saw a dog run out into the road in front of a car, and then decided to run and push the dog out of the way. You always did have a soft spot for animals.

Of course, the car didn’t stop. You would consider the treatment you got a love tap. Sure, you landed flat on your back on the pavement, but no broken bones. You weren’t dead. You weren’t bleeding too badly. It took you all of five minutes to tell people that ‘yes, I’m fine’ and ‘I’m a doctor, I would know’ before they’d leave you alone. It took you another five minutes to (calmly) chastise the driver for their negligence.

You were late to work and unhappy about it.

A couple of minutes into your walk, the adrenaline wore off, and your leg started to hurt. Like, really badly. Your head kinda swam too, but you ignored that. The driver did hit your leg straight on, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But you really didn’t want to worry your colleagues.

Robby would make you go home; he was overprotective like that. Dana would follow you around like a mother hen. And Langdon would…be Langdon.

You never knew with Frank. He was one year ahead of you in his residency and usually full of snark and a boundless energy you couldn’t match. You thought he was cute the first day and hid that info by being as sarcastic as he was. Using humor to deflect your feelings was one of the best ways to avoid getting hurt. Especially when the inevitable would be nothing happening and him finding someone else.

(It would absolutely devastate you anyway.)

But the few times you got hurt to the point of it being a problem, there was a switch in Frank. He would become worse than Dana, but a whole lot more argumentative. Part of you liked to think he cared, the other part wondered if it was exasperation in his tone. 

(You would keep getting hurt if it meant you could feel his touch on you.)

You made it to the hospital by slowly limping as fast as you could. You entered the ER, slowed to a stroll to hide your leg, planning on waiting until you could corner Samira to help you out. She always was good with confidentiality. 

You were never that lucky. You took approximately ten steps, said hello to Robby, who was waiting at central, before getting called back by him. He had taken one look at you and known something was wrong.

“Morning, doc,” you saluted, hiking your bag up on your shoulder. He narrowed his eyes.

“What happened.”

It wasn’t a question the way he said it.

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit. What happened.”

Robby was like a bloodhound when someone he cared about was hurt. It was very annoying. Probably what made him a good doctor.

“Just had a run in, not a big deal,” you shrugged. He still didn’t believe you. Footsteps behind you made you inwardly curse.

“What’s up?” Frank asked, jogging up. He looked like he had his morning Red Bull and was raring to go.

“Dr. L/N was going to tell us how she got hurt this morning.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“What? You’re hurt?” Frank immediately stepped toward you, tone serious and brows furrowed. You glared at them both.

“No, I’m totally fine. See?” You twirled on your feet, clenching your teeth as your leg protested. Robby noticed.

“I want you to walk normally in a straight line,” Robby crossed his arms, looking you up and down. You blinked back at him. You walked slowly until Robby narrowed his eyes, and you were forced to pick up the pace. You felt tears prick your eyes. “I’ll ask you again. What. Happened.”

Robby had this tone he got with his residents, like they were unruly children lying about their report card, and you hated to hear it. It made you feel like you should be in time out.

You mumbled about the car.

“I’m sorry?” Robby leaned forward.

“I maybe accidentally, perhaps, been hit by a car,” you rushed out, taking a step back as if you could escape to the lockers. 

“What?!” Robby and Langdon both said at the same time. You flinched at the noise. 

“Room 2. Now,” Robby snapped, grabbing your arm and dragging you forward. You dug your heels in despite the pain and refused to budge. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine! I don’t need medical attention!” You seethed, trying to wrench out of his grip.

“Langdon. Grab her.”

Frank immediately stepped up behind you, blocking your escape. 

“Sorry, princess,” he shrugged, picking you up when you wouldn’t move. He ended up throwing you over his shoulder when you proved to be difficult. “Would you stop hitting me?!”

“Let me down or so help me God—“

“You’ll what? Limp toward me in fury?”

“Motherfu—“

Langdon plopped you on the patient bed in a huff. Robby closed the door, and you knew that you had lost this battle. No way getting past these two. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” Robby sighed.

“I don’t like bothering people,” you crossed your arms, leaning back on the pillows. Before he could examine you, one of the nurses knocked on the door, telling Robby they needed him. He looked between you and Langdon, running his hand over his head.

“Langdon, take care of her. I’ll be back,” Robby stated, nodding at you before leaving.

This was a nightmare.

“You don’t have to be doing this,” you murmured. Langdon checked your eyes and vitals, ignoring your statement.

“How did you even get hit by a car?” he asked, putting on his stethoscope. You tried to mellow your heart, but it was hard when he was close.

“I…was saving a dog.”

He looked at you in disbelief for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Only you,” he chuckled. “I’m going to order a CT, because I don’t trust that there isn’t something wrong with your head. Roll up the pants for me.”

You did as instructed. He touched along the calf, and you hissed. He pulled his hands away. 

“Any other injuries you’re refusing to show me?”

You stuck your tongue out at him but reluctantly offered up your palms, which were scraped from supporting your fall. He pulled up a chair and grabbed some first aid, sitting close to you as he grabbed your hands. His touch sent electricity down your spine, even as he cleaned the wounds with antiseptic spray. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” you whispered. He looked up at you, that one lock of hair falling into his eyes and driving you mad.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like I shouldn’t care,” he responded. He wrapped your palm in gauze, not letting the hand go, even when it was bandaged. He traced your fingers with his thumb, staring down at your hands. “I do care. Why is that weird?”

“Because you’re usually an ass.”

You watched him suppress a smile at that. He finally looked up at you, blue gaze steely. You felt like you fell into the deep end of the waters and couldn’t get back up. You wondered if you’d even want to.

“Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me?”

The question caught you off guard. So off guard, you actually just stared at him, blinking for several seconds. Then you remembered you had to answer.

“I, uh, yes, um…I do want to date. Go on a date with you,” you stammered. 

“Really?” He looked so hopeful that it made your heart hurt. 

“Really,” you smiled, honestly. And then your heart flipped as Frank kissed your palm, returning your hand to you. He was a tease, and both of you knew it. 

“Kisses make everything better, medical fact,” Frank smirked. 

“Are you kissing your patients? Because that seems like an HR case,” you jibed, your voice dying out as he kissed your other palm. He ignored your teasing.

“Any other injuries?” He inquired. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking.

“I think I scraped my lip.”

“Did you now?”

“Yep, totally. Happened when I face planted the pavement.”

“I think I have something for that,” Frank smirked, before leaning in and kissing you. His hand cupped your cheek, so gentle and yet so firm in his affections, it made the butterflies in your stomach go on overdrive. He tasted like caffeine and spearmint, and you wondered if you could survive on him alone.

“Jesus fuck, I asked you to take care of her not hit on her,” Robby groaned, stepping inside the room. You both broke apart, you with heat rushing to your cheeks and mortification in your eyes. Frank, with a sort of smug satisfaction. Bastard.

“I was providing care.”

“Sure,” Robby rolled his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Just need a head CT,” you coughed out. You still couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Then get on that,” Robby sighed. “Now, break it up, lovebirds. Langdon, I need you now.”

Lovebirds. That’s all you thought of as Frank left with a wink. 

Maybe you should get hit by a car more often.

[loveindefinitely]

01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

[daycourtofficial]

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 14.7k | warnings: depictions of violence, gore, blood, bodily harm

Summary: your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Author’s note: happy Gingerfucker Week to all who celebrate!! My first post has to be the most anticipated gingerfucker fic ever - otherwise I’m sure yall would kill me lmao

“Eris, we’ll be fine. Feyre wouldn’t let anything happen to us. But if it would make you feel better, you may winnow us there.”

The babe in your arms slept softly, the smallest crop of red hair peeking out from his swaddled head. Atlas was so tiny, yet had grown so much in his one month of living. The last babe you remember spending prolonged time with was your younger sister, and even though a baby’s basic needs were the same, caring for a wingless babe felt different, almost unnatural.

Being a young female in Illyria meant spending many hours and nights helping the other females with their young. Atlas was likely the first babe without wings you had ever seen. It still surprised you to rub your hand across his empty back or that you didn’t have to stretch his wings multiple times a day.

Only a quick winnow trip separated you from your nephew, leading your impatience to grow with each moment Eris spent rifling through trunks. You were dying to see the toddler, having missed several months of his life due to your brother’s refusal to see you. Things were still rough between the two of you (not from your lack of trying), but they seemed to be improving. It felt right to spend a few days there - to let your family see Atlas, hold him, spend some time with the three of you. It might be foolish, but a tiny babe is enough to have at least some of the pressure off of your mate.

Your words did little to slow him as he flitted about the room, a cloud of anxiety following him as he searched for something you weren’t entirely sure existed. He moved about the room, opening trunks and moving their contents around before closing the lid in a huff. If you weren’t getting annoyed at the delay, you would be amused by his antics. 

“Er, if it’ll really make you this upset, I can wait until tomorrow when you’re able to stay with us.” The possibility that Eris was purposely stalling wasn’t lost on you. He was less than thrilled about this visit, however he was unlikely to ever stop his mate from getting what she wanted.

“No, no, you were adamant about arriving tonight so you could see Nesta on her birthday and- aha!”

From one of the seemingly thousands of chests around your room, all full of gifts from every High Lord, advisor, and courtier the two of you had ever come into contact it seemed, Eris procured a tiny yellow blanket, one end of it full of stuffing to give the illusion of the head of a duck. He raised it quite proudly as if it were a trophy, gallivanting over to the two of you as if he were a prized mare.

“What is that?”

“It’s Atlas’ favorite blanket.”

You squinted your eyes at him, clutching the babe tighter to your chest. The blanket looked brand new, unmarred by the constant stream of dribble Atlas left everywhere he went. Eris ignored you in favor of situating the blanket into the crook of your elbow, situated next to his son. “He’s three months old, he doesn’t have a favorite blanket.”

“Surely pregnancy has not completely rotted your brain. This is his favorite blanket.” He ignored the glare you sent his way, furthering your annoyance. You gripped Atlas tight in one arm, using your free hand to smack Eris’s bicep. An incredulous look overcame his pale face as he turned back to you. “You’ll wake the babe - set him down before trying to get physical with me.”

“I’ll get real nice and physical when I throttle you.” Your threat was not received as you had intended. Instead of coiling in fear and cowardice, your mate moved about, putting everything back into all of the various chests. “Then you’d be late for dinner and breaking Madja’s rules, and I never took you for a tardy rulebreaker.”

“I can throttle you without breaking Madja’s rules.”

“My love do not pretend if you were to kill me you wouldn’t be riding my cock as you did it.” You gasped, moving to press Atlas further into your chest and covering his other ear with your hand. You hissed his name, sending a barbed spike down the bond in frustration. Eris’s hands met his hips, amusement quickly turning into exasperation. “He’s asleep.”

“He can hear you!”

“He is in a deep sleep from spending nearly an hour on your tit. He’s going to be out for the next hour or two.” Eris felt your frustration through the bond, placing his hands on your shoulders, causing you to look up at him. “Come now, I’ll escort you both to Night, see that you are safely in Feyre and Rhysand’s care, then I’ll come back here until tomorrow.” 

Eris moved past you, grabbing the bags you had packed before putting them across his shoulders. He reached an arm out, taking Atlas from your hands and securing him to his chest. You reached out, already missing the warmth of your babe, a hand pressed to his back to feel his slow breathing. Eris moved his free hand up to your face, fingers soft caressed your cheek.

The world changed around the three of you, Atlas shifting slightly beneath your hand as the orange curtains you recently had hung up on the brown paneled walls were exchanged for the light blues of the foyer of the River House. Atlas didn’t stir, but the sudden change in the world made you slightly dizzy. It had been months since you had last winnowed, a fact more pronounced by the stagger in your stance.

Eris had been writing to Rhysand, requesting special permission for him to winnow directly into their home. In true Rhysand fashion, he turned it into a much bigger spectacle than it was by placing special limitations on it, telling him he’d change the wards when everyone departed at the end of the week. His letter contained an additional note at the end, stating, “I will, however, allow Atlas in through the wards permanently in case he were to be a savant and learn to winnow and his first action be to leave you.” You had sent Rhys a responding scathing letter using words Eris was not entirely certain were real. 

Feyre and Rhysand were waiting in the foyer, Feyre quickly standing off of Rhys’s lap to embrace you. Feyre always treated you differently than the others did, perhaps because she knew how awful it could feel to be as no more than an extension of Rhysand. Or perhaps because she knew what it was like to go to the ends of the earth for your mate. 

You melted in her embrace, her lilac and pear scent a bit flowery but welcome. Her hug was gentle, careful not to squeeze too hard, something the High Lady had to work at perfecting after being turned high fae. It had taken years for her to master her grip strength. That time was not missed, however, the crushed door handles were always a source of amusement.

“Eris,” Feyre smiled, reaching her hands out after untangling herself, shifting to look at the High Lord, “hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.”

You giggled, pushing Eris toward her outstretched arms. She cooed at the bundle as it was put into her arms, her fingers moving the blanket so she could see his face. She made little faces, the Cursebreaker nowhere in sight as the babe reached out for her, gently grabbing her loose hair.

“He looks just like you, Eris.”

“How unfortunate.” Rhys ignored the pointed look he received from Feyre, picking lint from his jacket as he strolled forward. You stayed silent as he wrapped his arms around your body, and you couldn’t help but melt a little in his embrace. He was an asshole, gods was he an asshole, but he was still your brother and you loved him so dearly. You could feel the tension slough off of Rhys’s shoulders in your embrace, hoping this weekend could be a step forward for all of you.

Eris leaned down, kissing Atlas on the forehead before softly rubbing his head. He gurgled in response, causing Feyre to chuckle. 

“I just want to eat his little cheeks! Nyx doesn’t have his chubby cheeks anymore, it’s a real shame.” Her hand gently smoothed over Atlas’s cheeks as she spoke, her heart breaking over realizing just how much her little boy had grown.

“He’s not on the menu tonight, Feyre.” 

“I know, but I just want to eat him! He’s truly adorable.” Feyre continued making faces, certain she could get a tiny giggle from them. She puffed her cheeks and moved her lips a bit, deflating at the indifference Atlas showed her. 

“I trust that your wards are secure enough for the two of them.” Eris cut into the discussion, having noticed the sun moving through the windows. Stacks of papers sat on his desk waiting for his eyes to peruse them in preparation for the next day’s council.

Rhys rolled his eyes, nearly scoffing at the male’s tone. “If they weren’t sufficient, would I allow my mate and son to live in them?”

“Rhysand, I am not in the business of trying to make sense of every decision you make.” Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre’s voice cut through the growing tension, extinguishing the sparks the two High Lords were sending each other. “That’s enough, thank you Eris for winnowing them here. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” 

His amber gaze was glued to the tiny bundle before dropping the bags he was holding. The Autumn High Lord did not want to leave his son. He was still so small and so vulnerable. He remembered all of his brothers at such a size and it never ceased to amaze him how much newborns truly depend upon their parents. He looked back up to his mate, one last confirmation needed. A slight nod was all it took before he cupped her jaw, swiftly kissing her forehead.

“I will see you all tomorrow, then.”

-

Feyre had left quickly after Eris’s departure, returning Atlas to your arms before checking on Nyx. Truthfully your sister in law looked exhausted, and you were sure she was taking any opportunity that Nyx slept to take a nap of her own. She had written to you just last week that Nyx was in a sleep regression and she and Rhys were not having a great time. You had offered to reschedule your visit, but Feyre insisted you come and outright demanded to see the babe. She had said Nyx had lost his baby smell ages ago and she was convinced smelling it on Atlas could get her through this sleep regression.

You sat in Rhys’s study, Atlas sleeping on your chest after having just fed and changed him. Before running off, Feyre had given you one of Nyx’s old onesies, the pale babe in your arms looked so out of place in the black fabric. It felt so strange to be back in Rhys’s study - it must have been at least two years since you had last been in this room. It looked exactly the same - the massive portrait of Feyre looming over the two of you. So much had changed the past few years, and yet nothing had. Rhys looked exactly the same sitting across from you. If you placed Atlas down, it would be as if you had never left.

“Watch out for Cassian.”

Rhys’s words confused you. You waited for further explanation, looking up to find Rhys’s gaze on Atlas. Deciding he likely won’t tell you, you asked, “why?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning from the shift in weight. “He followed Feyre around for months, asking to try some of her milk.” He laughed at your grimace but continued. “Someone told him the health benefits of breastmilk and he’s more than determined to get his grubby hands on some.”

“Eris will be thrilled to hear that.”

You could hear his retort clear as a bell in your mind. “A bastard so desperate for a mother’s love he’d suck random teets to get it.” You decided it was best kept to yourself.

You ignored Rhys’s scowl at the mention of your mate. “Do you think he’s trying to convince Nesta to have a babe so he can take the milk for himself?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. Nesta kicked him out of the house for a few days because he wouldn’t stop trying to make everything into a deal to impregnate her.” Rhys was smiling at the memory of a downtrodden Cassian slipping into the River House one night, Feyre passing him as he grumbled about her sister. You laughed softly at Cassian���s antics. 

It felt strange to be back here - in the Night Court, in the River House. As if you hadn’t left, your family continued on. Their lives continued with or without you. Your heart felt a slight twinge at the realization. You would choose Eris again and again, but you did miss the everyday antics of your family.

“Have I told you that Eris’s hounds detest Lucien? He visited a week prior and two of them worked together, one in front and one in back, to table top him into some mud- what is that face for?” Rhysand tried to recover the earlier smile, his mouth slowly forming into a grimace. It was impossible not to notice - he looked as if he smelled something terrible.

“Nothing. Just remembering something I have to do.” A lie. Your blood was heating beneath your skin. It annoyed you to no end whenever Rhys lied to you, something you hadn’t been able to shake since childhood. It made you irrationally upset, hormones raging through you.

“No, it’s because I was talking to you about Autumn, wasn’t it? Can’t you at least pretend to care about my life?”

“I do care.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to give off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes remained sharp.

You stood slowly, ensuring your feet were steady as you rose with Atlas. “I won’t sit here and listen to you lie to me, Rhys. I thought we were past this, I thought things were different now.”

“They are different.” His curt responses caused your nostrils to flare, your jaw tightening with every word.

“Because I made them different?”

“Your words, not mine.” You groaned, feeling like a little girl before him. He looked like he were dealing with a petulant child, his gaze only adding more fuel to your anger.

“You are so..” you trailed off, not knowing where to start. Pigheaded, brainless, annoying, condescending.

Rhys’s mouth turned into a snarl. “Think any harder, why don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You cradled Atlas’s head closer to your chest, placing a hand over his ears. “You’re such a dick, Rhysand. You can’t stand that I have a life away from you and this court.”

“I tolerate it.”

Your jaw dropped as his words tried to take shape in your mind. “You tolerate it? What the fuck does that mean? I’m trying to open up to you about my life, Rhys. About my home. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Fix the things you broke? Why don’t you just go back to your new home, then, if Night is so inferior you have to cross courts for cock.”

You stilled, slowly turning towards your brother, head cocked. The tension had reached its boiling point but you weren’t shying away from it. “Is that all you think of me then? Someone who gave up her title, her name for love. That I did it all for a quick fuck?”

“Don’t act as if you gave it all up for him.”

“You forced me to!”

“I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He rose to his feet, his hands slapping on his desk accenting his words. The air went cold at his words, the insinuation lingering.

“That’s rich, Rhysand. You spout off about choices, but really it’s always ‘option A: what Rhys wants’ or ‘option B: perilous death and despair’.”

“Maybe it’s because if I don’t guide you, you make stupid decisions.” His eyes flickered to Atlas, and your blood boiled beneath your skin. You took a step forward, jaw clenched as you snapped at him. 

“Are you insinuating that Atlas was a stupid decision?”

“I’d never insinuate what I can convey with words.”

Tears stung in your eyes, one landing on the tiny head in your arms. The room was too stifling, too suffocating. You had to go anywhere but here.

“Well, if insinuations are out the window, listen to me loud and clear: fuck. you. Fuck you, Rhys. Sorry I don’t fall into line with the path you planned out for me. Sorry for making my own choices. Sorry that the Mother made plans for me and didn’t ask for your input. And I am terribly sorry for Feyre because you are an asshole!” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You winnowed into the void. If you heard Rhysand’s voice for one second longer, you’d say something horrible. Irredeemable. Anger simmered at his words, claws desperate to come out and stoop to his level. He never understood your choices, never tried. No matter how many times he had promised to listen, Rhys had never tried to fix the walls he had put up between the two of you. 

The world shifted as you thought about your home in Autumn, the brilliant leaves of the forests, the warm spices of the kitchen, your mate’s touch. A blur of colors passed and your throat tightened as shame washed over you. Eris was right - you shouldn’t have come. You needed more time. Rhys needed more time. You clutched Atlas tighter, taking comfort that you had him, at least. 

Mind hazy, you moved through the courts, the world flashing with sunshine, the rush of an ocean, and the patter of rain until your magic unraveled, and the two of you fell from the air onto your back into a wooded area. At the impact, Atlas sniffed and then whined as he rubbed his face against your shoulder.

You took in your surroundings, opening your eyes to the bright afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Your eyes darted the area, looking for any signs of life as you laid still. Atlas moved in your arms as you maneuvered the two of you, trying to sit up to lean against a tree for better sight. Once you were certain no one else was around, you pulled Atlas away from you, unwrapping him from his swaddle to assess him for any injuries. His wailing was piercing through the woods, a sure cry to any creatures that were here.

You shushed him as you checked him, content that his worst injury was being woken from a nap. His cries were lacerations on your heart, each tiny inhale causing so much distress. It nearly cracked you in half, deep breaths a half hearted attempt at self-soothing.

The land was unfamiliar, nothing about it gave you any information about where you could be. The two of you were surrounded by trees, none any species which were familiar. The green leaves blocked out most of the sun, occasional streaks of light passing through. This didn’t feel like any of the solar courts - did you winnow past the mountain? If you had, you would have landed in Winter, or if you veered off course in Summer. Maybe you overshot and ended up in Spring?

The two of you moved about the area, your feet crunching on dry leaves as you went. You hadn’t made it very far before stumbling over a large root, some how hidden beneath your skirts. You barely caught yourself, the jerking motion causing another round of screams to come from Atlas. His little face was so red from crying. You looked back to the spot you had landed, hoping to sit back against that tree once more, but the land behind you wasn’t what it had been. In its place was a swampy scape, several inches of water that would have made your trek impossible. You clutched Atlas tighter to your chest, tucking his head beneath your neck.

You swiveled your head around, breathing labored as you realized you were somewhere you haven’t been in centuries. Where the land was nonsensical and ever changing, where horror stories began and ended. The land above the mountain where atrocities occurred in the caverns and tunnels beneath it. 

The two of you were somewhere in The Middle. A land no court wanted for themselves, the tireless mazes too much for any fae to justify living in.

A land no one wanted to be lost in.

-

Pumpkin wandered into Eris’ room, the small pup clearly lost without Atlas to follow around. Eris ignored the whimpering from the hound, the beast having grown incredibly close to his son in a short span of time. It was sweet the way the hound trailed behind him when he was carrying Atlas, shushing and singing him to sleep. Eris was especially happy to see Pumpkin and Clover standing on high alert whenever Atlas was being fed. It soothed some part of him to know even in moments he had to step away from, his family was well guarded, even if just from his brothers.

Eris reviewed his notes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin at the distance between him and his family. He’d never deny you anything, but if you had had any doubts about spending a night without him, he wouldn’t complain about your presence in Autumn for one more night.

Pumpkin whined once more, Eris’s pen dropping at the sound. His chest felt hot with anger, something he’s unsurprised by. Any visit with Rhys often left the two of you fighting, your anger flaring through his veins as you fought. Your own feelings were compounding his own, utter annoyance at the meeting that kept him away from his mate. 

Eris felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly pulling him from his seat. Everything inside of him was pinging, his chest felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. What was happening over there? He waited a moment, trying to parse out each emotion. The anger in his chest subsided, every instinct inside of him urging him to go. He abandoned his notes, watching the brown hues of his study swirl and churn into black and blues.

-

Feyre looked about the office, confusion crossing her blue gray eyes as she didn’t find who she was looking for. “Rhys, where’s your sister?” Feyre’s voice echoed across the room as Rhysand took another sip from his glass of whiskey, slumped in his chair.

“Autumn.”

Feyre looked around, as if he were lying, covering up her hiding somewhere in the room to surprise her. “What do you mean she’s in Autumn? She was supposed to stay here for a week so we could spend time with her and Atlas.” Rhys shrugged, his eyes unable to meet Feyre’s, “she left.”

Feyre’s eyes were skeptical, certain that her mate was leaving pieces out. Things had been tense, but surely it didn’t take her mate three hours to scare off his sister?

“Did Eris take her back? Change his mind about his mate being here?”

Rhys gritted his teeth at his brother in law’s name, sinking into his chair slightly, “no.”

Feyre ticked her jaw, determination flooding her to understand her mate’s standoffishness. “Was she upset by our accommodations?”

“No.”

“Did Cassian annoy her into leaving?”

“No.” It came out as a growl, causing Feyre’s eyebrows to raise. “Just cut to the chase, Feyre. Ask what you really want to know.”

“What did you do?”

He sucked in a breath, as if the question were shocking. “Words were exchanged.”

That was all Rhys was able to get out before the doors to the room burst open, the wood hitting the walls as all of the heat was sucked out of the room, everything going cold as the High Lord of the Autumn Court stormed in, his rage palpable. Cassian trailed behind him, trying and failing to hold him back, unable to stop his path.

The redhead looked around the room before he stalked over to Rhys, grabbing the collar of his tunic before his hand connected directly with his eye, spitting out, “where is my mate?”

Rhys wrapped his hands around Eris’ wrists, trying to get him to stop. Cassian’s hands wrapped around Eris’ biceps before quickly pulling them away, his hands smoldering.

“Stay back, pigeon, if I find out you had a hand in this I’ll burn more than just your hands.”

Eris was a blazing storm inside of the house - his flames were erupting over the surface, turning the room red with heat. Dark tendrils of shadow coated the flames, attempting to extinguish them. The flames burned a bright blue in response, whirling around the tendrils, burning them up.

“Did my sister come to her senses and leave you? Ran off with one of your more capable brothers?” Rhysand’s smirk dropped as Eris hauled him from the chair, pressing his back to the wall. Eris’ long fingers dug into the lapel of Rhys’ dark coat, the fabric singing as the redhead pressed him into the wall. 

“Watch your tongue, Rhysand. It would be a remarkable mount on my wall.”

The two males snarled at each other, Rhys moving his leg out to get Eris off balance. He faltered just enough for Rhys to get momentum, swinging his fist into Eris’s face.

Feyre and Cassian were scrambling as the two continued their brawl, both High Lords successfully bruising the other.

“Where is she, Rhys? Have you locked her away in a tower, thinking I wouldn’t notice?”

Rhys pushed Eris off of him, hands moving to straighten his jacket to find his lapels singed off. 

“Perhaps you need to hone your abilities at hide and seek before Atlas is older.” Rhysand’s nonchalance caused Eris’s anger to burn brighter, certain the day was going to end with the Night Court in ashes.

“Why can’t I find my fucking mate but I can feel her desperation and fear in my chest?” Eris’s words clanged through the room, everyone stopping to take in his words. Feyre moved closer to him, her voice soft. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“I mean,” he snarled in Rhys’s direction, “something's very wrong. She has never felt like this in my chest before. Not even during labor. She’s panicking, I have never- never felt this from her before.”

Feyre turned to Rhys, her eyes wild with concern. Eris was quick to interject, his voice echoing through the room. “No, don’t do this. Don’t be communicating where I can’t hear it. This is about my mate, I deserve to hear it.”

“You don’t deserve-” Feyre’s arm on Rhys’s bicep stops him. “Rhys, where is she? Where’s Atlas?”

The High Lord of the Night Court’s chest was heaving with each breath, certain a rib or two was broken. “They went back to Autumn.”

“They haven’t arrived in Autumn.”

Rhys went pale, concern taking over his features. “They must be. They winnowed away ages ago - did she go straight to bed?”

The words fueled his rage once more, his voice on the edge of despair. “She is nowhere in Autumn.”

-

Trudging through the forest, you weren’t certain which way you were headed. You tried to feel for that bond with Eris in your chest, trying to pull it taut to receive some direction but whatever cord it created merely tugged you in over a dozen directions, the strength of each pull ebbing and flowing with your breath. You felt Eris’ concern grow as you stood, looking in all directions.

The trees were too tall for you to see the sun - it would give you some indication of which direction to head. Autumn laid in the southeast of The Middle, but navigating through its woods would still be impossible even with the sun’s guidance.

You cursed your hothead, annoyed you couldn’t just run out of Rhys’s study and go hide in your room until Eris came back. Surely you could have tried to mend things with Rhys, not just going on the defensive?

You spun in a circle, nearly tripping over more roots before deciding to just pick a direction and go. Atlas remained calm in your arms, what little power you have going to soothe him. Your breaths were slow and deliberate, trying to keep yourself calm. It was working enough to soothe Atlas and to keep a level head, and that was all that mattered.

You would need a source of water soon. It felt like you were moving on a downward slope, keeping your eyes peeled for any creeks or streams nearby. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck, sticking to the hair that covered it. It was oppressively muggy, the air feeling heavy with humidity. 

Time was hard to track in the Middle, every moment stretching endlessly as you continued to walk a path that seemed to never change. Each tree looked the same as the last, no distinguishing characteristics to help you track any sort of progress. 

Perhaps you were stuck in an endless loop, circling the same bit of land over and over until you collapsed from exhaustion.

“Running from something?”

A high pitched voice caused you to stop mid stride. A sinister tilt to the question that caused you to secure Atlas to your chest before your feet went flying without turning to look at the source.

-

Eris paced across their floor, a thin layer of fire coating his skin and clothes, a small trail of flames followed his path on the floor. 

“I would prefer if you didn’t leave scorch marks on my floor.” Rhysand’s voice was buzzing in Eris’s ears, much like the annoying pests of Summer.

“And I would prefer my mate to have a better family, preferably one who doesn’t allow her to leave unattended so soon after giving birth.”

Eris was itching to unleash his anger, desperate for some fight to break out to let out a fraction of the rage that had nestled in his gut.

“My sister’s been strong-willed since she was born, anything she gets her mind on she does.” Rhys strode closer to Eris, looking down at the new High Lord. It hadn’t even been two full years since the magic had chosen him. The newfound power that thrummed within him was an adjustment, but he had quickly taken the reins of it. Now he felt like nothing more than a vessel for the well of magic inside him, set to erupt any moment.

“And yet, she’s not foolish enough to believe she could winnow across Prythian unless she felt she had no other option.”

“What are you insinuating, Eris?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Rhysand. I’m speaking directly. I apologize if my language is too complex for your pigeon brain to understand.” Something in Eris snapped before he pushed Rhysand up against the wall, his head thumping against the wall as flames licked around Rhys’s skin, not burning, but restricting. “My mate felt so unsafe she took our babe and her chances of going anywhere but here.” 

Every other word was enunciated with Eris shoving him into the wall, “and now you better pray to the Mother we find them both unharmed or your mate will rule this court alone.”

Rhys snarled at the threat, a rebuttal dying on his tongue as someone pulled Eris off of him, shoving him into a chair. Eris’ snarl died as he met the eyes of the eldest Archeron, the only person in this court he truly tolerated. 

“Killing Rhysand can wait. Unfortunately, he may be helpful in finding her.” Nesta’s voice was a pleasant surprise for Rhys, probably for the first and last time. He took in a deep breath, the flames gone from his neck, before he straightened his jacket, moving toward the maps Azriel and Cassian had been looking over. The two Illyrians had been having a discussion of their own while Eris and Rhys fought, both too caught up in plotting to pay mind to the High Lords. Cassian’s thick fingers trailed a path from Velaris to where they knew the Forest House was located. 

“Eris would know the second she stepped foot in Autumn, Rhys would know if she were in Night.”

Azriel stood rigid, his wings tucked in tight behind him. A formidable strategist determining the right course of action. “She could be anywhere in Day, Dawn, or Winter.”

“Or in The Middle.” Just the name gave Nesta chills, the phantom feel of the Kelpie around her. She swallowed harshly, the action feeling more restricting than it should.

“Lucien’s in Day, I could fill him and Helion in there while Azriel goes to talk to Thesan. Mor can go to Winter. Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, and Eris can look around the Middle. Elain, you stay here, take care of Nyx. If she comes back, let the twins know and they’ll contact us.” Feyre looked around, wanting to see how everyone felt about the plan. Everyone was on edge, this relief team more likely to implode on itself than succeed. 

This was a tragedy and everyone had a finger they wanted to use to pinpoint the source. 

-

Trees were a blur, hitting the ground in swift footfalls, every breath not big enough. There was no cleared path to take, the brush and bramble catching on ankles. Blood dropped from the nicks and cuts of thorns, but the urgency to run never stopped.

Atlas continued crying, soft wails coming from him as you pulled him closer to your chest, trying to quiet his pain.

There was no way to know where you were going, paths changing as you moved down them, but you continued forward, deciding it was your best option. You knew whoever found you was still following you, their breathing so loud it felt like they were right behind you.

Sudden sharp, shooting pain caused you to fall, your ankle caught on something as you fell forward. Quick thinking had you turn on your side, taking the brunt of the fall, except some thorny vines sliced through the swaddle, cutting Atlas’s arm.

Brows cinched together, the pain from your foot almost unbearable. Eyes were pinched closed, not wanting to see what had caught your foot. Whatever it was was still there - and was crushing your leg too. It took everything not to wail out in pain, matching Atlas’s cries. You breathed in through your nose, lifting up your skirt enough to see the metal bear trap that had clamped shut around your left leg, blood rushing out in spurts.

The sight caused bile to catch in your throat, quickly moving your head to the side to expel it.

Trying to sit up and assess the situation was no longer an option when the hunter appeared, her strong hands wrapping around the trap and tugging your body toward her. A scream ripped from your throat as blood gushed out of the wound, hot pain causing your vision to darken with each tug of the chain. Atlas was wailing, the protective arms of his mother insecure for the first time. His grip loosened on the duck blanket he carried, the yellow fabric turning brown with mud.

-

The Inner Circle and Eris were divided into teams, each taking on their own travels. Once everything was agreed upon, Eris was the first to winnow away, grabbing Nesta by the arm to take with him. She struggled in his grip as the world blurred around them, the smell of the unforgiving forest burning Nesta’s nose. Eris held tight against her as the familiar smell of burnt umber filled his nose, the two reappearing in his study. 

Nesta searched the room, never having set foot in the Autumn Court, much less the Forest House Eris resided in. She looked at the papers scattered across Eris’s desk, eyes quickly scanning for anything of interest. A quick, high whistle startled her, bristling in his grip before a large hound came barreling through the door. A second, longer whistle came before the beautiful, sleek hound stopped before Eris.

He wrapped his hand around the hound’s collar before winnowing the three of them once more. Nesta’s head spun as the ground slipped from beneath her feet once more, the back to back winnowing causing her to stagger once they landed in a forested outcrop.

Eris quickly let go of her, his ears and nose twitching for anything he could pick out. Satisfied the area was secure enough, he gave the command to Clover, telling her to fan out. He was certain she knew Atlas and his mate by name, but nonetheless he provided a discarded shirt to her. She took large inhales, memorizing the scent before she ran off, her nose to the ground. She weaved between trees, dodging above ground roots with practiced ease. 

Eris didn’t wait before taking off in a brisk pace after Clover, boots stomping through the muddied ground, his boot prints replacing paw prints in the soil. Nesta tried to keep up, her form trailing behind Eris as they moved through the landscape. 

The Middle was unlike anywhere else in Prythian. It was what Nesta expected faelands to be when she was a mortal girl. Roots snarled over barely forged paths, an attempt to trip up any travelers. The landscape was hazy, almost dreamlike. There was an idea of what you were looking at, but the longer you looked, the more confusing it became. Hairs stood on end, a perpetual feeling of being watched followed travelers as they moved across paths.

Paths were nonsensical - rivers flowed up the mountain, ending wherever they wished rather than venturing out to the sea. Nesta’s limited experience here before was enough to know she did not care for the creatures that lurked here.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp, looking in every direction, desperate to pinpoint and remove the feeling of being watched. Eris trudged ahead, uncaring of Nesta’s plight behind him. He made no attempt at stealth - whatever they would find out here, Eris wanted the beast to know he was on the move. A bark up ahead quickened Eris’s pace, a catch in his throat at what his furry companion may have found.

The barking continued until Eris reached a break in the trees, finding Clover sat on her haunches. Tears sprang at his eyes at Clover’s discovery, crouching down to investigate further. He knew what it was, even covered in dirt and mud. He had handled the thing just hours prior.

Nesta caught up to the pair, pressing her hand to a tree, trying to catch her breath. Eris was hunched over something while Clover whined softly next to him, sitting perfectly still. His arm reached out, pulling something from the mud. He motioned Nesta over, pulling her water skein from her before pouring some out onto the muddied thing. The clear water ran brown, the dirt clinging to the object before running off it. Eris’s fingers rubbed at the spherical shape to reveal yellow fabric. He poured more water, draining the entire skein, to find a tiny yellow blanket with the face of a duck sewn onto it. 

-

Darkness swam at the edge of your vision, everything feeling so bright as you were dragged through the dirt. Your fingers pressed hard into Atlas’s blanket, a firm grip desperate to keep him as close as possible. His cries were causing pain to swell in your breasts, your body not knowing the difference between his hunger and his concern.

Your body ached, the pain ricocheting through every crevice. You grit your teeth, not wanting to give the female any satisfaction. 

There were rumors of fae who roamed The Middle. They were an interesting subspecies of fae - their movements were said to be jerky and strange, their bodies having adapted to the constant change of their homelands.

There was no known record of how many there were or anything about them. They were urban legend during Amarantha’s reign, thought to lurk the woods to drag anyone who fled her captivity back to the Evil Queen herself.

Rumor turned into a nightmare as she grabbed you by the bear trap, your cry of pain echoing through the trees, certain the blades were going to cut through the bone. A gutteral scream left you as she pulled you up by the ankle, shoving you into what seemed to be the back of the wagon. Somehow you still managed a tight grip on Atlas, his wails blocking out all sound. The wretched creature pushed the two of you up, your ankle catching on something too dark to see as she pushed you further in. It smelled awful, the stench of urine and vomit coating your nostrils.

Her rough, barklike hand let go, the pain subsiding enough to look around. You felt woozy from the blood loss, certain you were going mad when you heard barking somewhere in the distance. There wasn’t much in the back of the wagon - a wooden floor covered in various dark, unidentifiable stains. 

Your thoughts whirled with self-deprecation, this whole situation being preventable if you had just stopped and waited.

Patience was a virtue you certainly had not acquired.

It was getting harder to stay awake, the pain overbearing. Sweat made your clothes cling to you, nearly chafing from the dryness. The last thing you thought of before drifting off was that the barking sounded like home. It sounded like warm pumpkin bread and cold nights spent by the fire.

-

The wet blanket squished between his fingers, water evaporating off the surface as he boiled with anger. The air around him seemed to silence, waiting to know what the High Lord would do next.

“Clover, find.” His command was razor sharp, the smokehound racing off, her muzzle to the ground. Eris ended many of his days with Clover, the hound loose, the need to hunt satiated as she found whatever it was she had been looking for. The thrill of not knowing what the two would find.

It was the worst hunt of his life. The uncertainty of how it would end. Most hunts saw him thirst for blood, content at culling the populations of the prey animals around Autumn.

This hunt was nothing like that.

He waited for his trusted companion to return, not wanting his own scent to interfere. Clover was the most clever dog he had bred, but he wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Nesta!” The voice shouting for the Valkyrie wasn’t too far away, his deep, loud voice not causing Eris to look away from where Clover had descended to.

Nesta wasn’t surprised Cassian had found the pair - her mate had spent the entirety of her time in the Middle tugging and pulling at the cord connecting them. She could feel his concern through it, the concern deepening each time a sound spooked her. But Nesta kept him at an arm’s length. She knew that cold rage that still lingered inside her at Feyre’s near death.  

She knew exactly how Eris felt both now and about Rhysand in general. They both were members of the ‘resignedly having Rhysand as a brother in law’ club.

Nesta responded by pulling the bond, tugging Cassian in their direction. She could hear branches breaking and curses shouted before the two Illyrians made their way through the trees. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, the dried mud nearly up to their necks. Nesta couldn’t help the small smirk that formed at seeing Rhysand’s appearance so unpolished.

“Nes-” she quickly cut Cassian off, holding a finger up to him before turning back to Eris. He stood still, lingering on the path his hound had taken away from them. Rhysand observed him too, and Nesta was certain some barb laid on his tongue. Before he could, she brought the two up to speed about the blanket in a hushed tone. As she was finishing, a high pitched bark echoed through the wood. Eris took off in a sprint, the three quickly chasing off after him. They ran several miles, barely keeping up with Eris’s pursuit.

Eris met Clover’s barking, the hound circling a wagon, keeping the owner from getting into the front. The hair on the hound’s spine was raised, her teeth bared as she snarled and snapped at the fae. The horses attached to the wagon were startled by the hound, causing their own commotion. The pauses after their whinnying should have been silent, the space between brays a reprieve. Instead it was filled with the sound of a wailing baby. 

Clover’s teeth clacked at the stocky female, sinking into the fabric of her pants and letting go before she was swatted. The hound had repeated this over and over again, not having received a command to go in for the kill. This hadn’t kept the hound from drawing blood as she nipped, her own territorial act over his master’s family. Blood was dripping from the female’s leg, thick, green liquid falling in puddles on the ground. 

The other three fae weren’t far behind Eris, quickly approaching the scene not a moment after him. Cassian moved toward the wagon while the others approached the female Clover was on the verge of mauling. 

Rhysand flicked his wrist, the reins restraining the horses disappearing, the pair running off. Their hoofbeats got quieter as the fae were surrounded on all sides. She looked between the four sets of eyes, certain the dog was her best bet. The most unlikely of allies banded together as a pack offering no escape.

Cassian climbed into the wagon, his weight shaking the cart. The bounty hunter flicked her forked tongue out, her hand reaching for something on her belt. A shadow lashed out, wrapping around her forearm, causing her to let go of her belt. She shrieked in pain as the shadow twisted her arm behind her back.

The clearing was dark, the only sound came from the bounty hunter’s mouth, cries of pain swallowed them as arm cracked and bent in every direction. The wind caught beneath the bounty hunter’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

“Cassian?” It was perhaps the only time Eris had referred to the general by name. His tone was stern, a voice he had used for centuries as a general himself. But something desperate creeped at the edge of his voice, a reality he didn’t want to consider.

The one where he was too late. That this was the wrong wagon. That his mate was somewhere else and this was a waste of time.

Cassian’s silence forced Eris to move, his feet jumping off the ground without him telling them to. He lunged forward, catching the fae offguard as he landed on her. 

Eris laid on top of the bounty hunter, her long sharp nails scratching at him. One of her arms was still behind her, but she was determined. He didn’t register the fabric she ripped through, uncaring at the scratches on his arms. 

“Cassian, are they alive?” His question was accented with the sharp thud her head made as it hit the ground. She was snarling up at him, her lifeless eyes dark as she peered up at the High Lord.

“Have enough coin for the pair?” 

Eris’ fangs grew longer, the High Lord’s second form desperate to come out. His fingers quickly changed to talons, the nails biting through the fae’s skin, causing her to cry out. She began thrashing once more, Eris’ weight pinning her down. He was snarling, practically spitting as he couldn’t contain the rage boiling inside of him. He heard shuffling behind him, Nesta or Rhysand moving to help Cassian.

“They’re breathing!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it, the sounds blurring together. It sounded like Cassian, but all his mind could make out was they were alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was enough to tide him over for now.

“Take them to the Forest House, my healers are on standby.” He didn’t know if they responded, if they even looked his way, if they tried to argue. That thrumming need inside of him to protect his mate felt satiated enough knowing Nesta or Cassian was with her, that they were en route to Autumn. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold the loves of his life as they went back home. He was desperate to know how they were, to listen to the beating of their hearts.

His gaze narrowed back on the creature beneath him, her brown skin turning red beneath him. His heart was miles away, but it would eat him alive to see a fae with such audacity not receive their comeuppance. 

“And what was the price on her head? How much was she worth to you?” His tone was ice, his question not a rhetorical one. He wanted to know how much this lowlife wanted for the two most precious things in his life. His wonderful mate, his equal in every way. Atlas, his darling boy. To consider them nothing more than traded goods made his stomach churn.

The bounty hunter couldn’t answer, her throat drying and desperate for water with every breath. The air was unbearable hot, but she managed to whisper out, “five thousand gold marks.” Once the words escaped her lips, the hard metal of coins pelted her face. She winced from the pain. Eris ignored the resounding crack in the air, metal meeting bone.

“Here, take it all.”

He poured more coins onto her, winnowing them from somewhere. He could barely think straight, every fiber of his being thrumming with revenge and anger. 

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

But really, what is the life of a trafficker? 

Every breath was difficult, her lungs ached with heat. Fire caught around the pair, the flames staying low to the ground. Eris still sat atop her, unmoved by the flames circling their bodies, slowly making their way closer to the tree like fae.

“Take them back.” Eris’s command was directed to the group behind him, if they were still even there. He had no idea - his world had become so small. It was just him and this fae now. “Take them back to Autumn. Now.”

Her tongue dissolved to ash in her mouth, unable to speak. The High Lord grabbed more coins, shoving them into her mouth. The gold coins began losing form in her mouth, a river of melted gold pouring down her throat. It burned as it moved through her body, all of her organs alight with heat and fire.

Eris watched as her eyes dried out, as she tried to scream but was unable to. He watched as she thrashed beneath him, begging for mercy as if he were a kind and just god. Eris didn’t believe in the old gods, but if he did, he knew they would approve. He watched for several moments before her body slowly began turning to ash, carried away in the wind.

He didn’t linger long after the remnants of her floated away, not even looking back before winnowing back to Autumn, rematerializing to find the Forest House in chaos. Servants moved quickly through the halls, hurried footsteps as they carried linens and rags toward the team of healers he could hear yelling down the hallway.

“Call off your guards.” The first words to greet him were from his brother in law. It was a voice he could never get used to, the smoothness grating.

Eris’s mate and Rhysand looked strikingly similar - same violet eyes, same feline-like face. But Rhysand didn’t look right in the Forest House. He didn’t carry with him the warmth that made his mate look so at home here, as if the entire court had been made in preparation for her. 

Rhysand seemed so out of place in his sister’s home. The once close siblings’ stark differences could not be ignored.

Eris waved his hand noncommittally, the guards lowering their swords from Cassian’s and Rhysand’s necks. 

“They let me bring her in before threatening me, at least.” Cassian’s joke doesn’t land, the silence bouncing through the hall before Eris moved forward, his path straight to his bedchambers. It was a guess - the correct one - as to where they’d put you to look over you. He stormed into the room, a fierce blaze on the wind as he moved inside. You had been placed on the bed, the healers circling you tending to every inch of you. 

The bond shook with anger, that golden string practically vibrating with urgency at the mangled mess that had been your ankle. 

Nesta was standing off to the side, holding Atlas as he cried. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone. I haven’t taken my eyes off her this whole time.”

It felt like the cord around his heart had divided into two - one path to the bed, his bloodied mate, the other to Nesta and the tiny bundle that laid in her arms.

He knew which you’d prefer for him to go to. You had an army of healers around you as you laid unconscious, but all Atlas had was Nesta.

“Give him to me.” The tone of the High Lord. Nesta slipped the small babe into Eris’s arms, “they looked him over. He has a scratch on his arm, but otherwise fine.”

The worst feeling his son had experienced up until now had been the harshness of birth. The sensory overload of the world - how loud and bright it was after being evicted from his dark and cozy home. He had not known physical pain, had never been exposed to it. Every fae held him with such tenderness, it was impossible for Eris to rectify that his son, barely a month old, knew the atrocities of fae.

“Someone will check my son every half hour, ensuring he is in good health.” None of the healers answered, but Eris had known them long enough to know they heard him. He took a breath, holding the bundle tight to his chest. Atlas’s cries slowed, softening as he felt the familiar comforts of home.

Amidst all the chaos of the room, it seemed almost like they were alone. Eris’s ears twitched, listening intently to his son’s breathing.

A commotion was heard through the door, but Eris ignored it, opting to let himself feel the comfort of his son.

Shouting could now be heard, breaking the stillness he had artificially created. 

Eris wretched open the door, searching for the source of the yelling, only to find Cassian and Rhysand fighting with the guards at the door.

His jaw tightened, his mate’s family a permanent fixture beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Everyone stilled at his words, the hall clearing of commotion.

“Never mind. I do not care. You have done enough. Her family,” Eris nodded towards Nesta and Cassian, “are allowed to stay. You,” he pokes a finger into Rhys’s chest, the tip singeing his shirt, making the black shirt slowly turn ashen, “are not welcome here until she says so.”

The two males continued staring each other down. Eris didn’t blink as he addressed the crowd, “if any of your thoughts align with your High Lord’s words from earlier, I suggest you leave now before I have to disgrace myself with the sight of you once more. Otherwise we have accommodations you may stay in.”

The redhead went back inside to his mate, shutting the door on Rhysand. Eris slumped back in the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Small flames erupted from the hand not holding Atlas as he flexed his fingers, trying and failing to burn off some of his anger. It was all consuming - the death of the fae responsible doing little to quench the adrenaline pumping through him. 

Eris couldn’t stop the biting words coming from him, couldn’t stop the waves of anger coming off of him as the healers worked around him. Your hand stayed still in his, his grip firm as he let loose words he didn’t truly mean.

-

“Why are you out here?”

“I want to be in there, but that Night Court healer kicked me out.” The anger had lessened the longer Eris had sat in the hallway, his mind clear of the chaos anger brings to the forefront. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow, “you take commands from old bitties now?”

“I do when they tell me to come back when I won’t set the curtains on fire.” Lucien looked down at his eldest brother. A fixture in his life, someone so tall in his memories, now looking so inconceivably small as he sat on the floor. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but at this moment he was nothing more than a concerned mate. “And now I feel no better than a kicked hound.”

“You’ve never been one to let being kicked keep you down.”

“I wasn’t the one who got kicked.” Eris’s words were cracked as they came out, finally verbalizing the guilt that had been gnawing at him for hours by this point. It wasn’t very freeing, but it felt surprisingly good to share the feeling with Lucien.

“I wasn’t there-” Lucien was quick to cut him off. The love of your life in danger indirectly because of you was one few understood. “And if you were, this would never have happened.”

Eris stayed quiet, a sight so unfamiliar to Lucien. He looked to the door, surprised at Eris’s lack of desire to have the last word.

“Where is Atlas?” 

“The Archerons are watching over him. Your mate arrived just before I was removed from my own bedchambers.” Lucien was certain it wouldn’t take much to procur that story from Elain. His smile was hard to contain imagining the healers tossing him out.

“Do you trust them?”

“They are three rooms down in a windowless, winnowless room.”

“So you trust the viper?” The fact Eris allowed them to take Atlas away from him was proof enough for Eris’s feelings about the pair. He didn’t want to mention how he wasn’t even trusted alone with Atlas yet.

“I suppose I do.”

A pregnant pause settled between the two, their gazes coming together to look at the door. They sat in silence for a while, neither looking from the door, their minds stuck on the possibilities that laid behind it. Eris tugged at the bond in his chest, desperate to feel his mate on the other side of it. He kept his face neutral at the silence that followed.

“It will likely be a while before she wakes.” A hard truth even harder to verbalize.

“I did not come here for her.”

Lucien’s voice came out strained and soft, so unlike his usual confidence. It betrayed his worries - his concern for not only his friend and new sister, but for the brother next to him. Eris was cruel, playing the part Beron had wanted for so long it was difficult for him to untangle every memory for the truth behind it. 

Lucien knew Jesminda wasn’t his mate, but the grief that nearly consumed him whole was real. He hated Eris for playing the part of dutiful son, but he had played the part of rebellious son. Were the roles they played assigned or did they have some choice in them? The rebellious son returned home to the legacy the prodigal son had dismantled.

“I mean, I did come for her. I want her to be alright.” Lucien leaned against the wall before sliding down it, sitting next to Eris, facing the door his brother’s mate lay behind. 

His unsaid words hung in the air and, shocking both of them, Eris reached out a hand, desperate for some familiar touch. Lucien took it with little hesitation, squeezing softly. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he just sat in his brother’s company like this or the last time he had touched Eris.

Despite the circumstances, it felt easy.

The two sat in silence for a while, the air heavy and stifling with uncertainty. 

“Lucien, I..”

Eris trailed off, not sure if the language existed to convey how much fear lingered in his chest. He felt your pain bouncing inside of him like a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel you any longer. He couldn’t take a moment to linger in the part of his chest that was normally bursting with everything you. He didn’t hear any music, the silence almost deafening. Lucien squeezed his hand again, “I know.”

“No you don’t.”

Lucien shrugged, his long hair swishing with the movement. “I don’t know.” He brushed some of his hair off his shoulder, “but I know you look like shit.”

Eris didn’t need to look down at himself to know that his brother was right - he hadn’t bathed since they all went off looking for you, certain there was debris and blood all over his clothes and hair. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his chest, his skin itchy from the contact. The larger of the two made a big show of sniffing the air, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Smell like it, too. But that’s nothing new.”

Eris growled, unable to ignore his brother’s taunts. “At  least I am not a smartass.”

“Ah,” Lucien tutted, a smug look on his face, “now we both know that is a lie. Autumn’s High Lord, starting your new tenure off on mistruths. What a look.”

Lucien’s feline smirk lessened a bit as he looked at his brother with something bordering on fondness. “I will take up the hallway guard if you go bathe. Really, you want your mate to smell you like this? If she doesn’t leave after that, I will be certain you’ve poisoned her mind somehow.”

“I am certain that would be the worst of my crimes.”

“I would believe so, forcing the mother of my babe to believe she was in love with you.”

Eris hissed in response, his knees popping as he stood up. Lucien ignored his brother, his barbs continuing.

“To think the mother of my child could be in love with an old, decrepit thing like you. Witchcraft, I say.”

“You’re not going to be speaking for long if you keep this up.”

“He does look rather like me, don’t you think?” Lucien grinned, something big and wolfish. The look only a little brother could have at getting beneath his brother’s skin.

“And why is your son so pale?”

Lucien shrugged, unbothered by Eris’s irritation. “Ran out of pigment. Who am I to question the Mother?”

“Ran out of my pigment my ass,” Eris muttered, finally moving down the hall to some bathing chambers.

“Do all High Lords speak with such vulgarity or just you?” 

Eris responded by slamming the door, blocking out Lucien’s laughter. He didn’t linger long in the bath, the extra two hundred feet of distance felt like too much space between him and his family. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien was right - having the grime removed from his skin made him feel more capable of handling things. Fresh clothes made him feel more like himself.

His brother was still in the hallway when he returned, his head shaking slightly when he saw Eris walking in his direction. The healer must still be tending to you. He stopped at the door next to yours, turning the knob before walking in. The two older Archerons were in the room, his brother’s mate carrying Atlas in her arms. Eris’s son appeared to be in good health - so far each check proved the same, and despite the physician's groaning, he continued them. Elain seemed happy to carry Atlas around, her soft voice explaining to him the recent travels she and Lucien had gone on. 

“Tulips of every color covered the fields. I’m sure one day Lucien and I can take you to see them.” Her vivid descriptions of the continent wasted on the babe’s ears. Nesta’s gray eyes looked toward the door, watching as Eris entered. 

“Elain, the High Lord’s going to have you killed for speaking of kidnapping his son.” He couldn’t help the slight tilt to his mouth, some deep part of him appreciating Nesta’s attempt at normalcy.

“Nonsense, Nesta. If I had Elain killed, Lucien would mope about the house for the rest of his life.” His hands reached out, gently taking Atlas from Elain’s hold. “You keep him entertained for me. I owe you a great debt for it.”

The middle Archeron never knew how to respond to Eris, having only truly interacted with him a handful of times up to this point. She swallowed, thinking of all the stories Lucien had told her about his eldest brother and how language was his preferred method of battle.

“Perhaps you could entertain him with the dog toys?”

Eris tilted his head, his thumb stroking down his son’s back as he bit back a laugh. He knew any Cauldron fated mate of Lucien’s and sister to Nesta was surely somebody of interest to him, but Elain had yet to show anything Eris found to be interesting - until now.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded, wondering if he had underestimated his brother’s mate. The weight of the day had exhausted him, his bones begging for respite. Now that Atlas was in his arms once more, the tiny bundle so warm, his mind drifted to his bed where his mate currently laid. Your fate was still questionable - the healers were certain a full recovery was the most likely outcome, but when had the most likely outcome ever happened with Eris? Had he forged a life for himself only for it to be ripped away from him - the mother wanting him to know what happiness could be so he could feel its absence?

The air held a hint of awkwardness as they all stared at each other, Eris doing nothing to improve the warmth of the room. The two sisters filed out quickly, their voices directed toward Lucien as they left. The click of the door behind them was a beautiful symphony to Eris’s ears. To be alone with his son at last. It had only been twelve hours, but it was more like weeks had passed since he had seen Atlas’s small face, kissing his forehead goodbye. Nothing had felt off - no sense of anxiety overcame him, no fear for his family. Just annoyance and sadness at being away from them. 

Eris gently cradled Atlas’s head as he made his way up the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard, back cushioned by pillows. His son had been restless in his arms when he took him from Elain, his little arms and legs trying to disturb the perfectly swaddled blanket around him. 

The room had no windows and technically connected to his private chambers. When he was a boy, he had a full time nursemaid stay in here. Once he outgrew her, the space became his own private sanctuary. Many nights were spent hidden in this room, no concept of the passage of time as he poured over books, back curved in desperation to stay awake so he could finish it.

The shelves still lined the walls, but he had some of the furniture removed should his mate eventually want her own chambers. 

His muscles ached less the longer he stayed still, and he softly piled up pillows on each side of him. Atlas was stirring in his arms, tiny coos that were endearingly pathetic. He broached a long finger close to Atlas, tiny hands wrapping around it as he settled back down. If he could, he’d strip his shirt to allow his son to rest on his skin, but thought better of it. The jostling would wake him for good, and he’d be doubly upset to know he was on someone’s chest who wasn’t his mother.

The sound of deep breaths was all that could be heard in the room as Eris used his magic to put out the lit candles littering every surface. The darkness of the shadows made his eyes heavier, but he fought to stay awake, not wanting to let his guard down.

“My beautiful son.” Hushed words filled the room, the warmth of his voice almost visible in the darkness. Atlas didn’t acknowledge the words, content in his slumber and being with his father. His body felt warm in Eris’s arms, Vanserra babies always running hot. 

“I will always find you.” Outside the moon rose high in the air, the cold bringing a slight frost to Autumn. The midnight hour was one Eris made most of his best kept promises, all relating to the mate from the Night Court he found centuries ago. A tradition he unknowingly passed on to doing with his son. He was so pale, cheeks flaming pink. 

Atlas didn’t know his father was High Lord or general of Autumn’s armies for centuries. He had yet to experience the parts of himself that Eris wanted to keep hidden. Eris’s eyes closed slowly, lulled by his son’s breathing, content to know that for now, his son only knew him as a father.

-

Eris startled awake, something prodding at his arm. A groan escaped his lips, his brother’s scent filling his nose enough to rouse him from slumber. He must have slept off the adrenaline, his heart rate a more regular rhythm.

“She’s asking for you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eris scolded before he shot up, nearly jumping off the bed.

Lucien rolled his eyes, Eris’s annoyance growing further at the action. “You had been awake for days, Eris. You needed the rest. Don’t they say to sleep when the baby sleeps?”

Eris ignored his brother as he remembered his last moments before he fell asleep.

“Where’s Atlas?” 

“Cassian has him.” Eris shot his brother a glare.

“That’s not funny.” Lucien’s hand went up in defense. “Atlas is asleep on Cassian, and Elain and Feyre are with him if he wants any help.” 

“When did you move him?”

Lucien shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You didn’t want to let go of him.”

Lucien’s words were nonchalant, an air of not knowing to them. Why would Eris ever let his son out of his arms again? He had already been exposed to the horrors that lay outside his father’s arms - he wouldn’t let it happen again. He left Lucien in the room, the hallway much quieter now. So much had happened in the past few days, and yet the halls of the Forest House were unchanged. 

Eris stood outside the door, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Heat danced at his fingertips, a small attempt at having any control over the situation. 

Big, violet eyes looked back at him as he opened the door, something settling in his soul. His mate had a plethora of pillows behind her, each one working to prop her up to be sitting. Long black hair flowed around her, lacking its usual shine. The dark hair highlighted just how pale she looked, but life was slowly returning to her face. A blanket covered her lower half - for the best, perhaps. The tight lid he was holding on his rage was sure to give if he were to see her injuries.

“Hi, Er.” Your voice cracked with trepidation. 

“How is the pain?” You looked down at your bandaged ankle, not moving it to check if the pain was still there. The wound only stopped pulsing with pain recently. Though you had been mostly unconscious, flashes of light and intense pain lingered in your memory.

He continued standing in front of the closed door, keeping his back to it. His eyes were focused on your face, watching every slight movement.

“It’s not so bad with the tonics Madja provided. She said the trap got to the bone of my ankle, so I should limit putting weight on it for a week.”

Eris nodded, the healer telling him much of the same. He had been trying to work through solutions to keeping his stubborn wife bedbound, not quite above shackling her to prevent further injury. A bassinette already sat next to their bed - maybe he could have it moved to his side so he could pick Atlas up and bring him to her. 

Eris nodded, staying uncharacteristically quiet. His feelings were dulled in your chest, muffled by a blanket of privacy neither of you used before.

“Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued staying by the door, his tone growing slightly sharper. He was being petty and spiteful and you were having none of it.

“Tell me how you feel. You have never hidden your anger from me.”

“That is because I have never felt such anger at you.” The room was cloaked with Eris’ words, not quite stifling the roar of the fire.  “I cannot lose you. Either of you.”

His words were soft, nearly a whisper, but the crackle of the fireplace gave hint to how deep the anger ran.

“I know.”

He kept speaking, not acknowledging your words.“You are far too precious to me. Please, don’t ever risk yourself to escape Rhysand.” His words surprised you, a new wave of guilt overcoming you. Your actions had been done out of anger, winnowing when you knew well enough you shouldn’t. 

Everything could have ended so differently. And for what? To get back at your brother?

“Look at me.”

Eris had moved closer to the bed, as if his confession were a bridge that led him to you. His fingers moved slowly, gripping your chin. “There were a hundred better options, including asking the other bats to fly you home. Do not be so foolish with your life. With Atlas.”

Home. How that word had changed over the centuries. It was the cabin in Illyria, your mother and brother and sister inside, occasionally housing Cassian and Azriel. It was being four years old and scraping your knee and Rhys doing everything to dry your tears and make you laugh. It was flying with Cassian, determined to finally beat him in a race, chastisement over how knotted and wind whipped your hair had become.

And then it was Eris. Late night rendezvous turning into a permanent fixture. It was eating meals at the large, expansive table with two chairs right next to each other. Hounds lazing about the house, one practically laid out in every room in the massive dog beds you had insisted on. Warm colors making everything so vibrant.

And now it was Atlas. Two chairs soon becoming three. Two toothbrushes that would become three. A bassinet beside the bed. Teaching him everything he needed to know, his own neck unable to support the weight of his head. 

Tears clouded your eyes at wholly dependent upon you he was and how you wholly failed him today.

“I was a fool. I- I could have gotten Atlas killed or taken. I am- I will never allow my anger to cloud my judgment when it comes to Atlas.”

“Or you.” It felt like a gentle caress through your chest, so many unspoken words in those two.

“Or myself.”

The words felt like a truce, like you had both arrived to some understanding. To further prove it, you gently patted the bed next to you, eager to feel more of your mate’s warmth. He climbed on the bed, sliding in next to you. 

It was his preferred side to sleep - the left side, facing the door. It allowed him to come and go more easily without waking you, to keep himself between what laid in the world outside the confines of your marital bed.

Anger bubbled back up in your gut, remembering the bounty hunter’s wretched face, the immense delight she had found in your agony.

“Is she?” 

“Dead? Yes.”

The confirmation did little to ease the panic inside. She had been so close to hurting Atlas, so close to selling him away. It was an anger you were certain you would carry until you died.

“My only regret is I didn’t do it myself.”

“Rest assured, my mate. I took care of it.”

You leaned into his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He laid above the blankets, his feet crossed at the ankle. He looked so prim and proper, it delighted you a bit.

“And Atlas?” His arm wrapped around you, his hand stroking your cheek lazily.

“He is safe with Lucien as we speak.”

“I don’t think anything’s safe with Lucien.”

His grip on your head was soft but firm, keeping you close to him. His thumb started moving on its own, his body so content to be next to yours once more.

“I thought-“

“I know.” And you had known. His panic was all you had felt before being rescued. It would have been easy to drown in it if it weren’t for the instinct to protect Atlas.

“But we are okay.”

But for how long?

“There’s a note on the side table.”

Eris had to change the subject, unwilling and unwanting to face his emotions head on. Your eyes moved to find Rhysand’s delicate penmanship on the fold of the paper, the letters of your name in grand, swooping movements of the pen.

“Can I see it?”

You could feasibly reach it, but your arms felt so heavy. Your body was still so tired, movement a burden to worn out muscles. He reached over you, careful not to lay his weight on you, keeping the paper folded as he handed it to you.

“You’re not going to peek at it?”

“It is your correspondence.”

You rubbed the paper through your fingers, not certain if you were ready to know its contents. You wanted to read this alone, not have Eris coloring your feelings.

“Can you bring Atlas in here? Madja said I can hold him.”

Eris nodded, slowly untangling himself before leaving. The click of the door prompted you to open the note, some small part of you wanting this to be between siblings. Hope had bloomed at the sight of the note - a ceasefire, maybe. Or maybe it would contain the tenderness Rhysand had so adamantly kept locked away the past few years.

Eris had been adamant his relationship with Lucien was his to navigate. He wanted Lucien to feel Eris deserved his company, not coming around because Lucien likes Eris’s mate.

And so this letter was yours. Rhysand was your brother. Any tenderness or ire or passive aggression from him is yours to decide what to do with.

-

The letter sat next to you, your mind lost in thought when Eris returned with the small bundle in his arms. Your chest lightened at the sight, the tight grip of anxiety around your heart lessening with every step Eris moved forward until your son was tucked back into your arms.

“And he’s okay?”

“Yes, he’s been looked over at least a dozen times by now. His worst injury is a scrape on his arm that has already healed.” 

You gazed down at the impossibly tiny thing in your arms, taking in the features of his smooth, pale face. He was beautiful and he was yours.

“I am sure the extent of his injuries is in no small part due to your quick thinking.”

“Eris-“

“You are littered in cuts and scrapes, bruises everywhere. Do not think I can’t be both angry and proud of you at once.”

You preened a bit at the compliment, your mate’s pride in you always making your heart swell. “And if I did risk injury to myself for him?”

“Then you’d be the female the Mother mated me to, the one I had sworn myself to so long ago.”

It was quiet, two pairs of eyes looking down at the young boy between them. He was so small, so unaware of the danger that had surrounded him for several hours. To him the afternoon was different and scary in a new way: utter exhaustion had left her unable to stop her emotions from spreading and he felt his mother’s fear bubble in his belly. 

“I haven’t seen such injuries on you in so long.” Centuries ago, the blonde male had dropped off the Night Court princess in Autumn, her beautiful wings haphazardly cut off. The outpour of blood seemed endless, Eris not knowing how you still had any left. He could still smell the blood and vomit, the scent had stuck to his walls for years to come. 

“It would be the greatest disservice for Atlas to not know his mother.” Eris couldn’t say more, couldn’t verbalize the fear that was easing off his chest. It would gut him to not have anyone to share Atlas growing up with. He would go on without you for Atlas, but he wouldn’t be the same. How much pain can one bare before it consumes you whole? 

The room was silent, the small family huddled together, enjoying their reunion. Warmth radiated around the room as two sets of eyes watched Atlas smile.

-

A soft knock at the door woke you from the sleep you had dozed off into. You were alone - Eris’s scent still lingered, likely having left not even ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath, feeling around in your chest for him. All that was found at the rope that tethered you to him was a sense of calm and pride. He was definitely with Atlas, hopefully eating a meal as he cradled his son to his chest. 

“Come in.” 

The door opened, your brother’s head popping in through the door. Rhysand looked so out of place here in Autumn. His violet eyes screamed ‘wrong’ as he stood out from the background. You had the same eyes as him, but they seemed wrong here.

He kept his head low as he walked in, varying degrees of guilt and shame pouring off of him. The magic inside of you was slow to return, but Rhysand’s emotions wouldn’t be a mystery without them.

“Hello.”

“How cordial of you.”

“Well, when in Autumn.” He shifted on his feet, taking your silence for confusion. “Historically Autumn is a much more proper court than Night.”

An awkward tang filled your mouth with each word. “I am aware.” 

The two of you looked at each other, the silence in the room settling over the siblings. So far from their younger selves, so many atrocities laid between them. An observer would think they were strangers from the odd tension in the room.

Speaking was the hardest either had done.

“I am sorry.” His words were slow and deliberate, emphasizing each syllable to truly show he meant it. His shoulders hunched slightly, Cassian’s words from an earlier conversation swirling through his head.

We’d expect that kind of treatment from your father.

“When was the last time you said that to me?” Rhys was never good at apologies - every one had been followed up with “but-“. It would have been more sincere for him to apologize for his actions hurting your feelings.

“Far too long.” 

Silence. You waited, wanting more from him. You were tired of fighting with him, a constant battle for choices already made, each party wanting to be the victor. It was exhausting and with a new babe, something had to give.

“Rhys, this is my life, whether you like it or not. I can’t- I’m not playing games with you anymore. I don’t care if you like Eris or not, but you have to believe I can make my own decisions. You have to trust me.” Your earlier words seemed to finally get through to your brother, his shoulders slumping in some form of concession. “I can’t keep doing this merry go round of things seeming to be better just to blow up again.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” The question flew from your mouth without thinking. “I kept this a secret for a century, Rhys, because you reacted exactly how I expected you to. You don’t - you used to trust me, let me make my own choices, but since that night you haven’t.”

You were growing wearisome from this argument, the fight draining you of what little energy was left. You pointed to the water cup on the nightstand, Rhys picking it up and giving it to you. He hovered next to you, staying at your bedside.

“I am sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you.” The water helped ease the slight headache that was building, and gave you something to do while you took a moment to think on Rhysand’s words.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” His voice broke as he spoke, a desperation lacing his words. “But how can I trust anyone else to care for you? How could I live with myself if I let you be with him only for him to hurt you?”

“He’s a good male, Rhys.”

“I want you safe. I want what’s best for you.”

“And he is. If I told you Feyre was no good for you, what would you do?” He quickly looked away, proving you right. His hand tugged at his hair, an action he hardly ever did.

“I was scared. When Eris came in and you were missing, I was scared. Cassian had to talk me down from blowing up the entirety of the Middle.”

The truth finally came from him. Every discussion, every argument, all Rhys would talk about was his anger, the betrayal. He kept his emotions so tight to his chest, they were suffocating him. You kept quiet, letting him continue.

“I was scared that it finally was happening. That another court was finally going to finish what Spring had started. I thought Eris had done this somehow, wanting us to discover his deeds. Wanting to basque in the glory of getting the upper hand over me.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, his hands shaking as he brought them to his face. Unshed tears lined his violet eyes, the depths of sadness keeping your gaze. “But it was me who led you to danger. It was me who couldn't keep you safe.”

A sob tore through him, the sound of the last wall between the two of you collapsing. You moved over on the bed, allowing space for Rhys before patting the bed. He stood before sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes, and laying next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he draped his arms around you, clinging tight. 

He clung to you as he sobbed into your shoulder, your own tears falling on top of his head. How had things become so twisted? How had your relationship crumpled this much? 

The High Lord’s embrace allowed the emotions of the day to crash into you, clutching his shirt tight in your fingers. The soft silk was such a contrast to the pain in your chest. 

Rhysand was your brother,  the only person alive who loved you before you were born. He didn’t have to know you to love you.

Rhys had always told you he loved you before you were born, something you had never grasped until Atlas. Seeing something so small and tiny and knowing you would go to the ends of the planet to help them. 

“You didn’t get to meet Atlas.”

He stayed in your arms, a less than dignified sniffle coming from him. When was the last time you had seen Rhysand cry? Those nights he would find you in Feyre’s absence when she was in Spring, letting you soothe him to sleep? Or was it when Nyx was born and Feyre nearly died? 

“Do I even deserve to at this point?”

The two of you were the sole survivors of a noble family. An entire family gone in one night. You leaned further into him, nose pressed against his bicep. He was warm, the citrusy scent coming off him made so many memories flash through your mind: learning to fly, lounging in his study as he worked, intense chess matches that left everyone mad. Centuries of baggage laid in the space between the two of you.

The second part of his scent was the soft undertone of sea salt that always reminded you of home. Your mother smelled like sea salt and caramel, a scent that always made your mouth water for sweets and feel safe. She was gone, had been for so long your memories of her were blurry from use, but so much of her lay in the male next to you.

There was no way back to her or the rest of your family, gone for centuries now, memories so replayed they were memories of memories by now. But you still thought of them often. You were thinking of your mother when you spoke once more, thinking of the excitement Rhys had to finally have a little sister.

“Yes, you do.”

Author’s note: AHHHHHHH wasn’t that great ❤️

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Thanks for reading ❣️

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Bill Dickey - Comic & Ego Extraordinaire

Welcome to the club, why not meet the president?

William “Bill” Alan Dickey [04/13/80] | [5'11.5 (that .5 is real Important*)] Secretary of Comics | President of the Eltingville Club AOL / Online Users: [greedo318] | [DarkxKnightx] Theme Songs: What’s My Age Again? - blink-182 | My Own Worst Enemy - Lit | Brutal - Negative 25 Favorite Shit: Stan Lee, The X-Men, Complete Runs, Signed Editions, The Joker, Emma Frost, The Batman, Alternate Earths, Variant Covers, Crossovers, Torrent Sites, Action Figures, Statues/Busts, Alex Ross, Bondage Covers, First Printings, Continuity, Cosplay Chicks, “Headlights”.

In the ripe year of 1999, Bill Dickey couldn't be any more... Tired? Annoyed? A lonely piece o' sh-- But that's fine, everything is fine, right guys? .... Guys? The fact he's managed to keep the club together is baffling at best (and all thanks to Jerry, and May.. er.. Mr. Osewai, actually), and completely unbelievable at worst, but he's still got his friends (kind of) and they still like him (eh..) He's a nice guy, honest, just.. don't turn on your brain.

Variants Under the Cut--

Oh Captain, My Captain

His @ greedo318 account got banned essentially in the first two weeks of him getting it on Messenger about a year back, as May and Pete helped Josh essentially spam report it when he started to harass Josh there too. Hence the new name that he actually uses.

Mrs. Dickey is still trying to force him to get a job, and while he has applied, he flops any and every interview he lands with his stupid need to be the loudest asshole in the room.

This man's ego is absolutely the size of the sun, it's almost immeasurable I assure you, HOWEVER--

Show him some ⋆｡°✩spunk~✮⋆˙ show him you bark back just as harsh as him and he *might* just keep you around.

Someone please just get him a better acne face wash and a steady form of income that isn't his mother's paychecks bro please for the love of god--

He was actually one of the first in the group to get a car, but he never has money for gas so he like never drives it. It was a "gift from dad" according to his mom, but he doesn't believe her for a minute. (He's convinced she bought it for him to get him to move out.)

His mom watches Titanic every year on his birthday after 1997 and he HATES it to the point he has threatened to disconnect the breaker if she kept playing it at full volume.

He is still convinced that he has a shot with May (Despite her telling him repeatedly no) and is INSISTENT about it like a possessive little weirdo (news flash, he doesn't but he's delusional so it's fine)

^^ This absolutely pisses Pete off but he can't say shit cause he's a baby that won't ask her out so--

The night of the Destruction of Joe's Fantasy World, Mr. Osewai had tried to stop in and pick something up for May when he walked in on.. well, Dickey on fire. His paternal instincts kicked in and managed to help the kids and smooth some things over with the families (and.. may or may not have threatened to rip out Joe's tongue but like it's fine).

Dickey has a strong sense of gratitude for the guy, even if he expresses it in the WEIRDEST ways, 'cause at the end of the day the guy kind of saved his only group of friends from his own bullshit.

When he does eventually land a job, it's essentially a generic gas station attendant, but they let him read his comics on the job when he has to work nights so that's a plus?

Guh guys I hate this man so much can someone please explain why I have so much fun drawing him please please please--

also... this somethin' y'all want?